"I'll check the south."

  Mark's words echoed through the hall, making the commanders exchange glances.

  Curiosity gnawed at Mark, especially after the recent visit. If he had already been restless before, now he felt an urgent need to leave.

  Tower Defense: Age of Blood had never been an open-world game. Mark's experience had always been confined within the walls of Ziggurat, watching hordes of enemies march inside.

  If what the desert lizard had said was true, there was a human city to the south.

  Real humans.

  'Luminaris…' Mark sifted through his memories, but the name brought up nothing.

  As expected.

  In the game, the items dropped by mobs had varied descriptions, mentioning everything from where a sword had been forged to vague information about distant powers.

  But Mark had been playing for four years; it was impossible to remember every obscure detail.

  Besides, item lore was gone.

  He had confirmed that when he picked up the Large-Scale Teleport Scroll to bring his commanders to the first ring walls.

  The detailed text windows were gone, leaving only the raw utility of the item.

  It was as if many of the game's functions had vanished, leaving only the status and inventory screens behind.

  Now there was a gap of a thousand years between the moment he had been sprawled on his couch at home and the instant he opened his eyes on that throne.

  What had happened to the world in that time?

  They were in the middle of an unknown desert Mark didn't remember ever being mentioned in the game, so his knowledge of the current map was practically nonexistent. Staying locked inside Ziggurat in that situation was like watching paint dry.

  Boring and inefficient.

  He needed to see what lay beyond the gates with his own eyes.

  And he would start with Luminaris.

  "Humbly, this servant cannot agree with that, my Lord."

  Hermos's voice cut through the silence.

  'Hm?' Mark frowned immediately, almost on instinct.

  "Ziggurat is still recovering its functions," Hermos continued, keeping his head lowered in respect, but his voice firm. "The outside is an unknown. It is far too dangerous for the Sovereign to depart alone into territory that may be hostile."

  Mark stayed silent for a moment, processing what he had just heard.

  Internally, he was surprised.

  So the servants' obedience wasn't completely blind. They had enough will of their own to question a decision if they felt his safety was at risk?

  Mark didn't know whether that was good or bad. But it was definitely more interesting than if they were just mindless cards obeying him without thought.

  He shifted his gaze from Hermos to the other commanders still in the hall, watching him.

  "And you?" Mark asked, his voice cold and heavy with authority. "Do you agree with Hermos?"

  There was a tense pause.

  Carmilla was the first to speak, stepping forward with elegance.

  "While I wish for the Sovereign to enjoy all that this world has to offer, Hermos is correct about the logistics," she said, her red eyes shining beneath the soft light of the hall.

  "S-Sovereign…" Malphas whispered. "I… I fear that if you leave now, without knowing what lies outside… something may go wrong with the hall's security."

  Karkinos slammed one of his pincers against the floor, a dry sound echoing.

  "I disagree," he said, his voice rough and unadorned. "The Sovereign wishes to go forth and conquer. We should support him."

  He leaned his massive body forward, antennae shifting as his compound eyes locked onto Mark. "I will accompany you, my Lord. My carapace will be your shield, and my pincers your scythes."

  "…" Mark.

  He ignored that and looked to the last one who hadn't spoken.

  Elizabeth, still curled in on herself, suddenly spoke up. "It's… lonely out there."

  She whispered, her voice nearly fading. "You should… stay here. It's safer." She gripped the hem of her dress and looked at Mark with her large blue eyes.

  Mark felt the urge to rub his temples.

  If it weren't for the weight of Vaelin's presence in his mind, he might have laughed. He was being stopped by his own servants from leaving his own fortress.

  His lips curved into a faint smile at the thought.

  "It's already decided. I'm leaving," Mark declared, silencing the hall.

  In the end, he still had the final say. Asking their opinions was only meant to hear a perspective different from Hermos’s.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Mark was still determined to go.

  Hermos, realizing there would be no retreat, made one last attempt. "If that is your will, Sovereign… then at least allow one of the commanders to accompany you. Karkinos or Carmilla would make suitable escorts."

  "Yes, I would be delighted—" Carmilla said quickly.

  "No. I need you here," Mark refused at once. "Ziggurat is still awakening, and the other three commanders remain in deep sleep. Until they rise and security stabilizes, you are the pillars of this place."

  He turned to the butler in the white suit. "Hermos, you will handle the administration. If anything important happens, inform me."

  Then Mark shifted his gaze to the back of the hall, focusing on the small figure in a top hat. "Pippin will come with me."

  The choice caused a moment of confusion.

  "I fear that may not be appropriate, Sovereign…" Hermos said, eyeing the 'blood brother' with suspicion.

  Pippin was, by far, the weakest member present. However, Mark had a strategic reason rooted in the hidden logic of the cards Hermos had once let slip from his control.

  In the game, Hermos and Pippin belonged to the Winged Clan and possessed a racial passive Mark had never seen be useful in tower defense.

  [Bloodline Resonance].

  In the unit description, it stated that members of the same bloodline of the Winged Clan could share information across long distances. In the game, it served only as narrative flavor to give a small damage bonus if both were on the battlefield.

  Basically filler.

  But this was no longer a game.

  Hermos could emit ultra-frequency waves that Pippin, even kilometers away, could hear. The two were like walking biological radios.

  As long as Pippin stayed by his side, Mark would have a direct line to the fortress.

  "Pippin will be my connection to Ziggurat," Mark explained. "We'll keep in contact that way."

  Hermos hesitated, processing the order.

  He looked at the small servant, who seemed on the verge of fainting from nervousness under the Sovereign's gaze. In the end, the butler bowed his head, accepting the logic.

  "I understand. It is a prudent decision."

  Hermos turned to Pippin, his voice hardening into absolute command. "Pippin. Protect the Sovereign with every fiber of your being."

  Pippin trembled violently, the top hat nearly slipping off his bald head as he nodded frantically.

  "Y-Yes, Lord Hermos! With my life! The Sovereign will be safe with me!" he squeaked, snapping a shaky salute.

  "There's no need for that much concern," Mark interrupted, his voice calm, but carrying a confidence that bordered on arrogance. "If there is someone in this world stronger than me, then my name isn't Vaelin."

  Mark felt a chill run down his spine.

  Ugh… so cheesy.

  He had really said that.

  Mark struggled to keep his expression neutral as regret for the line hit him full force. It sounded like something ripped straight out of a terrible anime.

  However, the effect on the commanders was instant and devastating.

  They were stunned, the silence in the hall turning almost sacred. Carmilla placed a hand over her chest, her eyes shining with renewed devotion, while Karkinos clicked his pincers in approval.

  "As expected of the Sovereign…" Malphas murmured, stuttering less than usual from the shock. "Your strength is… the only truth."

  "Unquestionable," Hermos added, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly touched the marble. "Forgive my insolence in suggesting you might need protection. My sight is limited before the greatness of the Sovereign, Lord of the Crimson Ziggurat."

  Even Elizabeth stopped gripping her dress, staring at Mark with fascination.

  To them, it wasn't an embarrassing line; it was simple, absolute reality.

  If the top of the food chain was going for a walk, the rest of the world should be grateful it wasn't being crushed.

  Mark cleared his throat, trying to dispel the heavy air of worship that had settled over the hall.

  "We depart tonight," he announced, his voice regaining neutrality. "I have preparations to make before then. Pippin, get ready. The rest of you, return to your posts."

  He waved vaguely, dismissing them. "I want to be alone."

  The commanders bowed one last time, executing a perfectly synchronized choreography of respect.

  Hermos led the exit, followed by Carmilla who still seemed to float in bliss, a heavy-stepping Karkinos, a slightly trembling Malphas, and little Elizabeth, who cast one last curious look before disappearing through the doors.

  Pippin hurried out as well, nearly tripping over his own feet as he went to prepare.

  The massive doors closed with a dull boom, echoing through the empty hall until absolute silence returned.

  Mark finally relaxed.

  He leaned back on the throne, stretching his arms and feeling the tension leave his shoulders.

  Without the fervent, fixed gazes of his subordinates, he could finally just be Mark again.

  Or whatever was left of him in that body.

  'Now…' If he was going out, he had to do it properly. He couldn't just walk into the desert relying on nothing but his newly found arrogance.

  'Inventory.' Mark thought the word, the dimensional rift silently opening in the air once more.

  His fingers slid inside, navigating through the item categories.

  The big question hammering in his mind was whether everything he had accumulated over years of gameplay had transferred into this reality. When he first opened the inventory, he hadn't had time to check everything.

  He was especially curious about the chests.

  As a max-level player, Mark owned treasures that would make any player envious, but his focus now was finding something that could help him move among humans more easily.

  'Let's see what survived.'

  The list was the same. Immense. Rows upon rows of colorful icons filled his vision. Various equipment, magical weapons of different grades, and resources. He let out a breath of relief when he realized the vast majority of his belongings were still there, static, waiting to be used.

  His eyes scanned, lighting up when he finally found what he wanted.

  He pulled an item from the inventory.

  In his hands was an unassuming cloak, gray-brown in tone and slightly worn, as if it had seen many roads. Anyone looking at it wouldn't notice anything special.

  '[Threat Dissipation Cloak].' Mark thought.

  In the game, the item was purely technical and only 'epic' in rarity. As the name suggested, the cloak reduced "aggro" (enemy attention). Players equipped it on fragile support units so monsters would ignore them completely and focus on other servants.

  It was a target-priority mechanic Mark often used to keep his healers alive.

  But he wanted to try something.

  Without wasting time, Mark put the cloak on, feeling the heavy, rough fabric settle over his shoulders.

  His theory was simple: the item forced enemies to ignore a unit by calculating it as non-threatening, even when it clearly was.

  Now that the game had become reality, the effect had to adapt to perception. For the world to stop seeing him as the Sovereign, the cloak didn't need to create a new face—it only had to filter everything that made him intimidating or unique, forcing any observer's brain to classify him as "irrelevant."

  Curious about the result, Mark rose from the throne and walked to a gold-framed mirror hidden in a corner of the hall.

  When he stopped in front of it, he froze for a second.

  The transformation was subtle, but effective.

  His hair was still black, but the unnatural sheen was gone.

  The intense, predatory red of his eyes had faded into a brown so dark it nearly looked black—common and lifeless.

  Still, the disguise wasn't perfect.

  The [Threat Dissipation Cloak] wasn't made for aesthetic transformation, but for manipulation, so it couldn't mask everything.

  His skin still looked pale, and his features were symmetrical and attractive enough to draw curious glances or suspicion.

  However, the luxurious crimson silk clothes were the last remnant of the 'Sovereign.'

  Mark searched his inventory again for low-level gear, but the lowest he owned was still epic rarity.

  Digging through his high-tier pile, he finally found a set of clothes that, despite their strong stats, looked ordinary.

  He took them and changed right there, replacing the luxurious garments with outfits resembling the worn leather and fabric of low-level adventurers.

  Mark reached out and touched the mirror, pulling his upper lip with a finger. His prominent fangs were gone, leaving only normal human teeth.

  "Not bad." He murmured, his voice sounding less deep.

  To anyone else, he now looked like an ordinary adventurer who seemed short on money.

  The combination was very effective.

  'Now there's just one last thing.'