The first topic of discussion turned to the Primordial Demons.
Guy Crimson leaned forward slightly, his usual arrogance tempered by caution. Even he seemed aware that confronting me recklessly could be suicidal. His sharp eyes studied me, curiosity masking his unease.
"Then, Atem," he asked calmly, "explain yourself. What is the purpose behind bringing these… primordials here?"
I regarded him without a flicker of hesitation. My gaze alone carried the weight of authority that even Guy, with all his experience, instinctively respected.
"The reason is simple," I said, my voice measured, each syllable deliberate. "Diablo brought them here. I accepted them because their loyalty and capabilities were immediately apparent. They are under Diablo's supervision, and their cooperation is his responsibility. As for me, I operate with far greater concerns than petty squabbles about introductions."
Guy's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't speak further, but his posture and the faint tensing of his hands indicated he was absorbing every word, analyzing for weaknesses—or motives.
"I assume you were aware that these individuals are not ordinary demons," I continued, my tone leaving no room for argument. "They are primordial—first-born lineages. Their power is ancient and absolute. I do not act without foresight or control."
He inclined his head slightly, curiosity piqued, yet caution overriding arrogance.
"So… your plan," he asked, "involves them willingly serving you? They answer to you, and their actions are under your direction?"
I did not flinch. I did not justify. I did not seek his approval.
"Yes. That is exactly the case. Their obedience is a matter of strategy, not courtesy. If any misstep occurs, responsibility lies with those who manage them—Diablo, in this case—not with me. I am aware of every eventuality, and nothing escapes my attention."
Guy's eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with a careful calculation. He was testing me, probing, seeking cracks in the calm of a king who had never once faltered.
"I see," he said softly, measuring each word. "And what of the world? The balance of power… it seems to shift drastically with their presence. Do you not consider the consequences?"
I smiled faintly, a subtle curve of lips that carried the certainty of an unstoppable force.
"Consequences exist only for those unprepared to act. I am prepared. My plans take every variable into account. The world's balance is not a matter of fear or hesitation—it is a chessboard, and I move the pieces as I see fit. Whether you agree or not is irrelevant."
Guy's body tensed imperceptibly. He did not question further. He did not challenge. He understood, or at least feared, the futility of doing so.
"The primordials are not reckless," I said. "They follow commands because they recognize authority. They follow because it benefits them to do so. And if anything happens that threatens their loyalty, I am more than capable of correcting the course personally. No one else is required to intervene, and no one should presume to interfere."
Guy exhaled slowly, shifting slightly in his seat. He was cautious now, aware that his usual bravado was meaningless in my presence. My aura alone spoke volumes—supreme, unyielding, and far beyond what he had ever faced.
"Then your plan… you act entirely on your own terms. Nothing is negotiable?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
I leaned back slightly, letting the silence carry the weight of my answer.
"Correct. My actions are my own. My decisions require no consent. Anyone—anyone—who cannot align themselves with the path I choose… they will simply become irrelevant. That is all you need to know."
A heavy pause filled the room. Even the air seemed to respect the command of my presence. Guy studied me for several long moments, then inclined his head in acknowledgment, not with approval, but with a pragmatic understanding.
"I see," he murmured. "Then it seems… everything falls under your direction. I cannot say I agree, but I understand the scope of your authority. I will observe. That is all I can do."
I nodded once, the gesture absolute and final.
"Very well. Observation is acceptable. You do not need to agree. You only need to understand that your opinions will not alter my actions. Let us proceed to the next matter."
With that, the discussion of the primordials came to a close. My position, my power, and my authority had been reaffirmed—not through shouting or threats, but through the undeniable certainty of my presence as King of Eterna.
Guy remained seated, cautious, but no longer intrusive. He had seen what happens when the king acts. And he understood, fully, that questioning me further could carry consequences he would never dare risk.
The meeting continued, calm restored, the primordials' existence and loyalty secured under the absolute authority of Atem, King of Games.
Even after his earlier explanation, Guy Crimson continued calmly, recounting his role in the unfolding crisis.
He spoke without bluster, without his usual arrogance—his voice level, almost measured. Even he understood that raising his voice in my presence would be foolish.
"I have been orchestrating disasters," Guy said, "intentionally and periodically. Humanity needed a reminder that the true threat lies beyond their petty rivalries. Fear unifies them when wisdom fails."
He glanced toward me—cautiously, but without hostility.
Guy Crimson, Demon Lord of Calamity, was choosing his words with care.
"When Granbell oversaw things, he preferred passive observation. But now that he instigated a war against Luminous, the balance collapsed." Guy continued, resting his hand on the table. "I ordered Mecha to instill fear again. A controlled push. A reminder of the danger that still reigns above them."
Mecha, one of Guy's aides, had created the scheme.
Her plan was simple and ruthless:
Terrify the Western Nations into unity.
But then Guy sighed.
"Yet… for some reason, Testarossa was present at the assembly where Mecha targeted the councilors. I slipped and used her old name—habit."
I nodded once, letting him proceed. Guy Crimson resumed:
"Mecha abandoned her plan after recognizing Testarossa. A wise decision. But that's the problem. Without fear to restrain them, humans will inevitably turn on one another. With the Rosso family gone, they will tear at each other's throats, and with the Eastern Empire moving strangely… the Western Nations will fall apart. Atem, this is the result of your interference. What will you do?"
His tone wasn't accusatory.
It was wary.
He sought answers, knowing full well that challenging me would be dangerous.
I studied him silently.
Guy Crimson—who cared little for humanity—now admitted that he sought to preserve them from collapse.
His methods were questionable. His reasoning extreme.
But at least he understood the stakes.
Before I could answer, Diablo stepped forward.
His eyes gleamed with devotion, unshaken even in Guy's presence.
"There is no need to complicate matters," Diablo said, voice smooth like polished obsidian. "All we must do is manifest Atem-sama's ideals."
I raised a brow—Diablo's timing, as always, unpredictable.
But I allowed him to speak.
"What ideals?" Guy asked calmly. No hostility. Just curiosity—laced with caution.
Diablo smiled faintly.
"Why cling to fear as a leash? Fear fades. Fear breeds resentment. And resentment… evolves into hatred."
He stepped closer, every syllable cutting sharply through the room.
"Humans will forget tragedies because their lives burn short. They will forget your warnings. Yet their hatred will endure."
Guy's crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "And your answer is?"
"A different principle," Diablo replied.
He spoke as though lecturing a student who dared question the obvious.
"Humanity is foolish, yet creative. Instead of cornering them, offer them choices. Let them
believe the future belongs to them. A self-forged illusion that binds them far more tightly than terror ever could."
Guy leaned back, quietly analyzing.
He did not dismiss Diablo.
"This 'principle'… what do you call it?"
"A new economic structure," Diablo answered, "that fosters cooperation rather than fear. Where stability comes from shared prosperity—over which Atem-sama presides."
Diablo cast a meaningful glance my way, reverence in his eyes.
"As long as Atem-sama ensures security, the people will take pride in the peace he provides. Gratitude, Guy—not fear—becomes the foundation."
I felt the gazes of Luminous, Leon, and their subordinates focus on me—clearly impressed.
Even if this had grown beyond my original intention, I would not break the illusion here.
Guy tapped a finger on the table.
"So the cycle becomes self-sustaining," he murmured. "A peaceful world protected by Atem… that people would fear to lose."
He nodded slowly. "I see. Humans caring for what they built themselves. A bloodless war replacing raw violence."
He exhaled softly.
"It's a sound idea. Perhaps better than the Rosso doctrine."
Diablo bowed slightly.
"Of course. It is Atem-sama's desire for a world where many can prosper."
I allowed a faint smile to form—controlled, deliberate.
"My intention," I said, "is not the dominion of fear. My aim is a future where conflict becomes unnecessary. A world shaped by stability, culture, and opportunity. Whether one agrees or not is irrelevant. I will shape the world regardless."
They listened.
Not one interrupted.
Guy spoke next, quietly:
"Long-term, meticulous planning will be required. Mishandle it, and humanity's numbers could spiral out of control. Can you manage that many lives?"
Diablo answered before I could.
"Hm. Are you implying Atem-sama lacks foresight?" he asked, voice dangerously soft. "What is arduous for you is effortless for Atem-sama. There is no need to worry."
Internally, Solarys—the Sovereign of Wisdom—whispered to me with calm certainty, aiding my calculations.
But outwardly, I remained still, serene, and unquestionable.
Guy nodded with unforced acknowledgment.
"Very well. I will observe," he said. "Your success benefits me. Your failure? Then I act. I will cull the fools myself. Show me how you manage your responsibilities."
"That is acceptable," I replied. "I walk my own path. Your approval is unnecessary."
Thus, the Octagram entrusted me with guiding the Western Nations—formally and publicly.
But the meeting wasn't finished.
Leon folded his arms.
"Atem, a warning. Carrera—Jaune—has a violent temperament. She uses nuclear magic at the slightest irritation. If you don't restrain her, this capital will vanish."
Luminas added, "And Violet… she is unpredictable. Sweet before you, but in truth she is the embodiment of cruelty. Do not relax your guard."
Their words were sobering.
Testarossa, Carrera, and Violet—Primordials.
And whether they obeyed Diablo or not, their actions would fall upon me.
The other lords watched me closely.
I felt the weight of command tighten around me—a burden I accepted, but not one without cost.
I released a slow breath.
Managing human society seemed trivial compared to commanding primordial demons.
A king does not run from responsibility.
But even kings may acknowledge when the path becomes steeper.
Solarys hummed through my consciousness, steady and ancient.
"Atem, your will reshapes worlds. This is merely another trial."
Perhaps.
But it was going to be a trial nonetheless.