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 air in the throne room was thick with a new kind of tension.

It wasn't the frantic energy of an impending battle, but the quiet, simmering excitement of a conspiracy.

We had found a secret. A breadcrumb trail left in the digital wilderness, leading to... what? An alliance? A trap? A support group for Demon Kings with bad backs and existential dread?

"Pixia," I commanded, my voice low and serious.

"We are responding to this message.

But we will do so with an abundance of caution and a healthy dose of paranoia.

I want plausible deniability. I want a digital ghost."

"Understood, my Lord," she squeaked, already buzzing with a flurry of activity.

"I shall procure a disposable, untraceable communication device from the human world.

And I will establish a secure, encrypted connection through a series of offshore proxy servers routed through a defunct pizza delivery app's network.

The Demon King's Secret Clubhouse