Knight_Plot

Birth rates are decreasing. Hope is vanishing. The world has gone gray.

Humanity, drifting in quiet collapse, receives an email.

Every person on Earth. Simultaneously.

The Aegis Mandate.

Disguised as a cosmic aptitude test, it triggers The Incident of Separation—a global psychic cataclysm that erases identities, wipes memories, and divides all survivors into three factions: Law, Neutral, and Chaos. Overnight, cities become battlegrounds. Apartments become dungeons. Ordinary people become monsters—or the ones who hunt them.

Ragnar Vhagar was just a loner university student. Now, thanks to a system he didn’t ask for, he’s a newly minted Demon King, locked in a crumbling apartment with goblins under his sofa and a glowing soul crystal next to his frozen peas. His new job? Build a deadly domain, defend it from invading “Heroes,” and somehow level up fast enough to not die.

Alongside him is Isabelle Thorne, a razor-sharp warrior of few words and one very sharp sword. Their reluctant alliance, born in blood and snark, evolves into trust—and maybe something dangerously close to affection—as they rise together through the layers of the game-like world they’re trapped in.

With each conquered domain and defeated boss, Ragnar realizes the truth: the dungeons aren’t meant to crown a winner. They’re meant to break the players. The Law faction wants control. The Chaos faction craves destruction. But Ragnar? He wants something they’re all too afraid to say out loud:

Freedom.

In the ruins of Kanta’s ogre stronghold, Ragnar and his misfit warband take their biggest step yet—claiming a kingdom, unifying a fractured system, and preparing for what comes next. The Heroes are watching. The gods are stirring. The world is watching a war.

And somewhere deep beneath it all... Ragnar is rewriting the rules.

I Can Easily Defeat SSS Ranks... This World Is Already Mine

The war against Queen Alyssa had settled into a grim and tedious rhythm.

For days, my two elite teams, the Wrecking Crew and the Shadow Strikers, had been making steady, brutal progress.

They were a sledgehammer and a scalpel, carving up the outer sectors of her crystalline fortress.

Every sector they conquered was a victory, but a costly one, chipping away at my limited resources and my even more limited patience.

The Proclamation of War had turned my domain into a sealed arena, an inescapable cage match, and while I was landing blows, my opponent was a high-level magic-user with an infuriating home-field advantage.

"This is a slugging match," I muttered, staring at the holographic map projected over the stone table in my Throne Room.

The glowing green icons of my forces moved with agonizing slowness.

"And I'm starting to feel like the slug.

A Personal Invitation