Leaving Alaric alone, Damien soon was lost in though, he couldn’t believe he was finally back

Not only was that, but his chest unknowingly began to thump, as he couldn’t wait to make his mark on the world

He wanted everyone to know that he Zero was back!

So with that thought in mind, he made his way to his room

The subterranean guest quarters provided by King Durin were a masterpiece of Dwarven luxury, insulated against the ceaseless pounding of the Ironforge factories.

Damien sat in a high-backed leather chair, his coat draped over the armrest. He wasn’t wearing the silver mask of Mozart or the terrifying porcelain visage of Zero.

He was just Damien, his silver hair falling loosely around his shoulders, his heterochromatic eyes—one abyssal black, one blazing dragon gold—staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"The tea is ready, Master."

Isabelle stepped into his line of sight, placing a porcelain cup on the mahogany desk. Her skin was perfectly smooth, the terrifying, glowing red fissures that had once threatened to shatter her soul completely erased by the *Tear of Platinum*. She moved with a serene, lethal grace, the aura of a 7th-Order Demon Queen perfectly restrained beneath her pristine maid uniform.

"Thank you, Isabelle," Damien smiled, taking the cup. The warmth seeped into his fingers. "It feels strange. Drinking tea without having to filter out toxic ash and sulfur first."

Isabelle’s ruby eyes softened. "The Abyss is behind us, Master. You won."

"Not yet," Damien murmured, his gaze darkening. "Azazel is still stirring. The Central Empire is still hunting us. We just survived the prologue, Isabelle. Now, the real game begins."

Damien set the teacup down. Beneath his skin, the flawless, unified rotation of his *Eclipse Core* hummed. As an 8th-Order powerhouse who had mastered the Concept of Domination, his soul possessed a metaphysical gravity that demanded obedience from the world around him.

He closed his eyes and reached into the depths of his mind.

Damien commanded inwardly. "Activate the Roundtable."

**[Skill Activated: The Roundtable of the Greedy King]**

The lavish Dwarven room melted away.

The sensation was instantaneous. The scent of tea was replaced by the cold, crisp smell of ozone.

Damien opened his eyes. He was sitting on a massive throne of woven shadow and gold. Surrounding him was a vast, circular chamber walled in swirling grey mist, reflecting the light of distant, unseen stars.

In the center of the room sat the colossal obsidian table.

Isabelle flickered into existence, standing faithfully behind his right shoulder.

*ZZZT.*

The first chair filled. Alfred materialized, adjusting his silver-rimmed glasses, his black tailcoat immaculate.

*ZZZT.*

Lyra appeared next, leaning back in her chair, a dagger spinning idly between her pale, grey fingers.

*ZZZT. ZZZT.*

Barnaby and Cipher flickered into existence side-by-side. The merchant was nervously tapping his Golden Abacus ring, while the spymaster sat perfectly still.

*ZZZT.*

Hephaestus popped into his seat, wiping a smear of axle grease from his goggles, looking exhausted but manic.

*ZZZT.*

Finally, Leona slammed into her chair. The Beast Queen wore a heavy mantle of white fur, her Void-Gauntlet resting heavily on the obsidian table.

The entire inner circle of the Black Thread was gathered.

"Boss," Leona grunted, leaning forward. "You’re finally back, guess no need for those potions anymore"

Damien looked around the table at his vassals.

A slow, genuine smile spread across Damien’s face.

"No, Leona," Damien said, his voice echoing through the misty hall.

"I won’t be needing any more sanity potions. The air up here is actually quite refreshing."

Silence.

Absolute, pin-drop silence descended on the Roundtable.

Alfred’s hands froze on his pocket watch. Lyra stopped spinning her dagger. Barnaby dropped his abacus.

Leona’s golden eyes widened to the size of saucers.

She stood up so fast her chair screeched against the marble floor.

"Up here?" Leona whispered, her voice trembling. "Young Lord... are you saying...?"

"I’m out," Damien declared, his 8th-Order *Greedy King’s Intent* flaring warmly, washing over their souls with absolute certainty.

"I broke the 9th Layer. I found my parents. I am currently sitting in a guest room in Ironforge."

"HE’S OUT!" Leona roared, throwing her arms up in the air. The sheer joy in her voice shook the misty walls of the subspace. "THE BOSS IS HOME!"

Barnaby burst into tears of relief, burying his face in his silk handkerchief. Lyra let out a long, shuddering breath, a rare, brilliant smile breaking across her stoic face. Even Cipher visibly relaxed his posture.

Alfred stepped back from his chair and delivered a bow so deep it nearly touched the floor. "Welcome back to the surface, Young Master. You have been sorely missed."

Damien let them celebrate for a full minute, absorbing the warmth of their loyalty. Then, he raised a single hand.

Instantly, the cheering stopped. The Black Thread snapped back into absolute, lethal professionalism.

"I am back," Damien said, his tone shifting into the cold, calculating cadence of a commander. "But our enemies haven’t been resting. I need a synchronized status report. Barnaby, Cipher. Start with the Central Empire."

Cipher leaned forward, the shadows clinging to his grey tunic.

"Emperor Aurelius is paranoid, Boss. Since everything happened, The Imperial Titan Legions are mobilized, actively hunting any trace of Class F and our syndicate."

"He’s bleeding gold to keep the military loyal," Barnaby added eagerly. "His treasury is strained. But because of his panic, no one dares to march against him. He is a wounded, cornered beast."

"Let him stay cornered," Damien nodded. He waved his hand over the obsidian table. The glowing, magical map of the continent shifted and zoomed in on the Eastern territories.

"During the Surface War," Damien stated, his mismatched eyes locking onto the map,

"I used Lyra’s vessel to atomize the Second Prince and his Void Shrine it could be said I wiped the head off the snake."

He looked at his generals.

"The Dragon Empire lost their commander, their False God, and a massive chunk of their elite forces. They are fractured. Bleeding. The surrounding kingdoms are currently circling like vultures, waiting for the right moment to scavenge the remains."

Damien leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the obsidian table. The *Eclipse Core* pulsed within him, projecting an overwhelming, tyrannical hunger into the mental space.

"I did not crawl out of the 9th Layer of Hell to let scavengers pick at my kills."

Damien tapped the glowing borders of the Dragon Empire.

"The Second Prince left a massive power vacuum. We are not going to reclaim a single noble seat. We are going to swallow their entire Empire whole."

He looked at Leona. "Mobilize the Beast Federation. Bring the White Lion Army to the Northern border."

"With pleasure, Boss," Leona grinned, flexing her Void-Gauntlet.

He looked at Lyra. "Deploy the Pale Legion. I want your Valkyries assassinating every loyalist general in the Dragon Empire before our troops even cross the border. Blind them."

"They’re already dead," Lyra promised, her violet eyes gleaming.

He looked at Hephaestus. "Prince. Are the Ironclads ready?"

"Mass production is complete, Damien," Hephaestus laughed, a manic glint in his goggles. "The Dwarven Artillery is hungry for a target."

Damien sat back in his throne. He looked at his continent-spanning army, a force of nature he had built from a single 100-DP edit as a baby.

"The board is set," Damien declared, his voice ringing with the absolute authority.

"I can’t way to play the first peice"

Just was Damien was thinking of this, Leona’s words suddenly broke his train of thoughts

"By the way boss, are you going to tell your parents about this place?"