Day 16 woke the castle in a slow, careful light. Sam opened his eyes to the smell of damp stone and the faint tang of smoke from the torches that still burned low along the battlements. Vasuki lay coiled around his wrist like a living tattoo, scales cool and impossibly smooth against his skin. Helios dozed on a low parapet, one great eye half‑open; Dionysus shifted on Sam's shoulder, restless even in sleep; Indra curled at his feet, a small, fierce bundle of fur and wind.
Sam sat up and stretched, the motion waking the others. One and Eleven stood a short distance away, silent and efficient, waiting for orders. Sam's voice was steady when he spoke. "Tell Two to have the District Leaders tell the people a Guardian blessed the domain last night. Frame it as a blessing, not a weapon. Calm them."
One inclined his head and moved to carry the message. Eleven lingered, eyes on Sam, ready to relay whatever came next.
One returned with a report while the courtyard brightened. The ranches, he said, were close to supporting the domain. With the Nature Mages working the soil and the magic beasts assisting irrigation and plowing, wheat and vegetables would begin to come in by the end of the week. The two Steel Fist Apes were fully tamed and waiting in the castle garden; their strength would speed heavy labor and guard rotations. The Monster Ranch teams had nearly finished stabilizing the new brood pens; handlers were confident the slimes and low‑tier beasts would seed steady yields.
Sam listened, letting the facts settle. He offered food to his bonds, a small attempt at normalcy, but before anyone could move Vasuki's voice slipped into the quiet—soft, intimate, and not at all the thunder that had announced itself the night before.
They are still too weak to protect you truly, Vasuki said. Let me take them to train. Let them gain power.
Helios bristled at the suggestion, pride and protectiveness warring across his great face. He wanted to deny it, to keep his charges close. But the logic of it—growth through combat, experience through risk—won out. He nodded once, reluctant and resolute. Dionysus's eyes flashed; she laughed and agreed, fierce and eager. "I will not leave your side forever," she said. "I will be stronger and return."
Indra looked up at Sam with a small, determined face, then rubbed his head against Sam's leg. The gesture was simple and fierce. Sam felt the tug of it—pride and fear braided together. He could not keep them safe by locking them away. With a steadying breath, he gave the order he had been circling in his mind.
"Go," he said. "Train. Get stronger. Come back."
They left with a flurry of motion—Helios folding into flight, Dionysus streaking like a comet, Indra bounding with the impatient energy of youth. One and Eleven watched them go, then turned to Sam with the same unreadable faces that had become his anchor.
Vasuki uncoiled from Sam's wrist and grew, the motion smooth and terrible. In moments the serpent was ten meters long and one meter wide, a dark, galaxy‑flecked shadow that filled the courtyard with presence. Sam did not flinch; the shock had been absorbed the night before. He watched as Vasuki opened its mouth and expelled an egg the size of a small cart—three meters tall and one meter wide. The shell cracked and a smaller serpent slid free, a two‑meter echo of Vasuki, eyes bright and curious.
"This is a Tier‑9 clone," Vasuki explained, voice low and resonant. "It has roughly a week of life energy. It can share vision and link mentally to me. It will be your eyes when I am distant."
Sam reached out and the clone slithered to his side, coiling with a tentative trust. The smaller serpent's scales shimmered with the same nebula colors as Vasuki's, but its movements were quicker, less measured. Sam smiled and accepted the creature. It pressed against his palm like a living promise.
Vasuki's eyes glowed and a portal opened before the serpent, a thin seam of darkness that smelled faintly of ozone and old stone. "This leads to my pocket," Vasuki said. "A place inside me where I keep what I need. It is a wasteland, but safe for short visits."
Sam stepped forward and peered into the seam. The pocket dimension unfolded like a bleak map: a vast, empty plain under a void sky, wind that tasted of iron, and horizons that seemed to fold into themselves. It felt alien and oddly calm. Sam stepped back and told the others it was safe enough for a quick look.
Reluctantly, Helios, Dionysus, and Indra entered. Each reacted differently—Helios with a wary, measured curiosity; Dionysus with delighted mischief; Indra with wide‑eyed wonder. Vasuki closed the portal and rose into the sky, a dark comet against the morning light. Sam watched them go, a small, private smile tugging at his lips. He wondered how much trouble they would find and how much strength they would return with.
Alone with the clone, Sam patted its side and led it toward the garden.
The garden was a riot of green and iron: rows of experimental wheat, cages for slimes, and the two Steel Fist Apes—massive, silver‑furred, red‑skinned, and proud. When they saw Sam they thundered forward and knelt, chests heaving, muscles rippling. Each stood roughly 2.5 meters tall, fists like boulders. Sam laughed, a sound that felt like relief, and introduced them.
"Kong," he said, pointing to the larger of the two. "Titus," he added to the other.
They beat their chests and roared, a sound that shook the leaves. Baloo, the stone‑skinned bear who guarded the throne steps, rose at the commotion and padded over. He received head pats and scratches with the slow, satisfied rumble of a creature who knew his place.
Sam led the new company into the throne room—an odd procession of a man with a galaxy‑scaled serpent at his side, and two hulking apes behind him. He sat on the throne and felt the weight of the room settle. "Boost patrols," he told One and Eleven. "Tighten security. Increase scouting. I want more eyes on the borders and more false trails for anyone hunting us."
He used his free daily summon to call a cadre of Moon Mages and sent them to Tide with orders: reinforce the walls, set layered wards, and prepare for rapid redeployment. One and Eleven moved like shadows, dispatching runners and sending coded messages.
The system feeds were a storm. Messages poured in by the millions—demands, threats, offers of alliance, mercenary contracts. Sam scrolled through a fraction of them and felt the dizzying scale of attention. Olivia worked the channels, trying to craft a narrative that would convince other Overlords the World Devouring Serpent belonged to The Twilight Lord and that he was either a threat to be toppled or a prize to be courted. Lilly mobilized more bear troops and sent dragons out to scout and gather intelligence. Smaller Overlords and mercenary bands posted bounties and offers, the digital world already sharpening into blades.
Sam's inbox swelled to over a hundred million messages. Most were invitations—factions, cults, guilds—each promising protection or power in exchange for loyalty. He skimmed, uninterested, until a name snagged his attention: Sleeping Beauty, a Top‑Ten handle. He was about to open the message when the throne room doors burst inward.
Vlad strode in, laughing, a broad grin splitting his face. He carried himself like a man who had just won a small war.
Vlad's entrance was a spectacle and blood. He waved a hand and a blood portal opened at his feet. From it shot a compact Tier‑10 Blood Eagle, small now but fierce, its feathers slick and eyes bright. Sam recognized the controlled size—Vlad had bound it to fit the moment. The bird landed on Vlad's arm and shrieked once, a sound like a blade being drawn.
"Everything worked," Vlad said, grin wide. "It's mine."
Sam nodded and asked if Vlad would spar. They moved to the training grounds without ceremony. Sam took his Void Sword; Vlad hefted his spear, the weapon humming with blood magic. The air between them crackled with the kind of friendly danger that sharpened muscles and minds.
Sam opened with Lunar Laser slashes from his blade, silver beams that sizzled through the air. Vlad dodged with practiced ease and returned with blood lances, streaks of red that cut the dusk. Sam conjured a Flame Bulwark to block and then cast Lightning Prison to try and trap Vlad. Vlad slipped through four cages with a grin and closed the distance, throwing his spear.
Sam blocked with the Void Sword and moved to counter, but his danger sense flared. He cast another bulwark and rolled aside as Vlad's spear, attached to a blood chain, whipped back and forth. Sam launched a Lightning Spear that Vlad deflected, then Vlad spun his spear to catch Sam's blood‑born projectiles and slammed it into the ground. Fifty blood spears erupted, pinning Sam in a ring of red.
Vlad laughed, breathless. "You're improving," he said. "But you've got a long way to go."
Sam grinned despite the sting of the spears. The spar had been honest and brutal and exactly what he needed.
Far from the castle, Clone Sam and the King's Guard Golems returned from a hunt with the ground around them littered with troll corpses. The Golems were battered but whole; without them, Clone Sam would not have survived. The trolls had been a brutal test—fifty of them, fifteen at Tier 8, with strength and regeneration that felt almost like a higher tier. The Golems had held the line.
As they prepared to move, the forest erupted. A massive four‑armed Praying Mantis—dark green, blade‑arms nearly a meter long—burst from the foliage, followed by five more. Clone Sam cast Lightning Prison after prison, not to trap but to distract. He could feel the speed and power of the mantises and knew they were Tier 10.
The Golems formed shield walls. Phoenix Guards condensed flaming shields while Tiger Guards arranged into a V formation. Clone Sam shouted the command and the air behind the formation condensed into lightning tigers around five spears. The tigers launched and struck the mantises, sending them into convulsions. The Phoenix Guards finished the job. Three mantises died; two were alive, badly wounded.
Clone Sam looked at the survivors with a tactical eye. "Bring them to the Monster Ranch," he ordered. "They'll make excellent scout bonds if we can tame them."
Back in the castle, Sam checked the three Garuda Eggs. They sat in a warded formation, humming with absorbed energy. Two King's Guard Golems stood sentinel. Thinking, Sam unfolded the loot map he had tucked away; it dissolved into golden dust and integrated with his system map. One of the markers aligned with a cave Clone Sam had found earlier.
Sam called One. "Send scouts to this location. Take a Shade Assassin. Move fast—the wolves will get there tonight."
He tapped the Shadow King's Ring and summoned ten more Tier‑7 Shade Assassins. They rose from smoke and shadow, silent and precise. Sam sent them to Two for orders and told One to expect the scouts to arrive by nightfall.
Far beneath the earth, in a cavern lit by fungus and torchlight, Goblin shaman Borto bowed to a troll warlord. Borto's face was pale and his voice trembled with a fear he dared not show. The troll before him—Girlock Blood Fang—was a champion among his kind, a hulking presence who had grown in power and cruelty over five years.
Girlock mocked Borto's airs and called him weak. Borto swallowed and told the troll of a human Overlord with a castle, magic beasts, and food for a clan. Girlock's grin split his face. "A castle," he said, voice like gravel. "Human blood in the halls. We will have a feast."
Borto bowed lower, the shaman's fear a thin thing under his words. Girlock's ambition was a blade that would cut toward Sam's borders if left unchecked. The cave council's laughter echoed off stone, a sound that promised violence and hunger.
Sam closed the map and felt the weight of the day settle into his shoulders. The world had shifted again—Vasuki bound to him, scouts moving toward a cave, trolls sharpening their teeth, and Overlords whispering in the dark. He had time, but not much. The week before the System test would be a crucible of training, diplomacy, and secrecy.
He rose from the throne and walked to the window, watching the sun tilt toward afternoon. The castle hummed with motion: runners, wards, and the quiet, relentless work of a domain preparing for a storm.