Evening skies over the world were rarely quiet anymore.
Even within kingdoms unharmed by conquest, the name Eclipse Imperium rode the breeze as an ethereal rumor—spoken in the same hushed voiceonce reserved for death, deity, and legend. It was not a question of whether or not Regis Vortigern would ascend to global dominion. It was a question of when.
And when the envoy he dispatched out into the mysteries beyond—insilence, in stealth—disappeared in themists, the whole Ashen Dominion court was held fast.
Regis did not swagger. He did not worry.
He waited.
His throne room had grown chillysince the emissary left. Not in terms of temperature, but in terms of atmosphere itself. Even the air seemed tense—as if the very fabric of the world had caught its breath to see what came next.
The Return of the Emissary
It took three days.
Three days of hushed, motionlesshours, in which Regis' vassals and servants moved with restraint. Lady Valeria herself restrained her basest nature, sitting in motionlesscontemplative silence. Zeraphis trained relentlessly in the darkest depths of the Obsidian Coliseum. Voldren sat atop the Tower of Temporal Flame, staring into timelines yet to be forged, ready for every contingency.
And then, when the moon reached its peak on the third night, the air shattered with reality-warping force.
The emissary returned.
No longer bound, the Voice of the Sovereign now sported golden runes etched across his chest and mask—symbols that appeared to pulse with power, as if another god had laidhands upon him.
He knelt before the throne, his voice distorted as it echoed through the chamber.
"The Ruler of Death has received your message… and answers thus:
'We see your ambition. We see your lordship. And when the stars fall and the void weeps, you will have your war.'"
There was silence.
Regis lay still for a few moments. Then he exhaled slowly, his golden eyes shining with satisfaction.
"Then. so the Supreme Being answersin turn. Then let the world behold usrise."
Fangs Beneath the Surface
With diplomatic ties—albeit fragile—now established, Regis turned his focus inward.
Although outwardly peaceful, Regis was cognizant. Not all of those within the nations he absorbed were true to him. The Draconis Theocracy, while publicly loyal, had whispers of rebellion. The Arborian Kingdom, taken in by treaty, still had nobles who dreamed of reclaiming their throne.
And so, he summoned Ysilia, the Dreamweaver of Lies, an enigmatic half-succubus spy master who once ran a whole spy network throughoutYggdrasil's player cities.
She fell to her knees before him in a dress that glimmered like liquidmercury, her voice smooth as honeywith poison.
"My Lord," she began, "seeds of discord germinate where the light does not shine. Should I lop off the weeds?"
"Yes," Regis answered.
"No blood. Not yet. Turn them. Break them with illusion. Let them believe they are free until the leash tightens."
Ysilia smiled, vanishing into mist.
He would not rule by fear alone. He would rule with finesse.
The Army of Ash
Regis considered the warfields next.
The Blackguard Legion's warriorspracticed day and night in ordered ranks. Ashwings patrolled the air—wyverns made of bone, smoke, and magic. His war-beasts were adjusting; his engineers were building siege engines that ran not on coal or oil, but on raw magical leyline power.
In the Soul Crucible, where the soulpower of killed enemies was converted to fuel, Regis observed the fusion of sorcery and technology—Eclipse Alchemy—a science unknown even to Nazarick so far.
Before him stood Grendal the Forge Ascendant, a brass and soulsteelgolem, kneeling in submission.
"We have achieved perfection in Obsidian Juggernaut design, my Lord. With your blessing, we can construct a legion of living siege engines."
Approved," Regis said. "But let them be symbols. Engrave the Eclipse Seal upon their chests. Let the world tremble when they march."
Servants of Power
Within the inner sanctum, his most loyal guardians met for the inauguralFull Court Assembly following Regis' rise.
A guardian stood in for a region under his control.
Seraphine the Moonbinder, Ethereal Library Archmage, who commandedknowledge and artifacts.
Vaegor, Blade of the Eclipse, an ex-NPC-turned-duelist who was the best teacher.
Elozareth the Pale Flame, a phoenixkin cleric and herald of divine rage.
The Silent Choir, an order of 12 masked psionicists who spoke inminds rather than mouths.
Regis didn't need to say much. They knew what they were doing. But even they, with their loyalty absolute, regarded him with something more in their eyes.
Faith.
He was more than a king.
He was becoming a legend.
Rehearsing the World Stage
Whispers of Regis Vortigern now spread beyond the continent. Dwarven ambassadors, previouslyisolated in mountain halls, bore gifts. The Elven High Council, icy cold, requested an audience—swearingallegiance for protection.
Within a month, Regis' rule spreadbeyond an empire.
It had become a legend on wheels.
And yet, the actual storm had yet to burst loose.
Clash of Thrones Approaches
On the brink of Nazarick's sensormagic, Regis' stronghold finally materialized.
And with the sensors blinding in the Great Tomb, Ainz Ooal Gown himself was at Albedo's shoulder, narrowing his undead eyes as Eclipse Imperium's presence unfolded across the magicalmap.
"He's not just growing," Ainz snarled. "He's… coordinating."
"Shall we attack ahead, my Lord?"Albedo asked.
No. Not yet." He spun around. "There's something familiar about this one. We'll observe. For now.".