The sun rose over Alabaster Port, but it was no longer the same sun. The light bathing the marble now seemed to vibrate at a purer frequency, a reflection of the evolution that had elevated every citizen of Avalon. With the Ultimate Skill [Shiva], Sirzechs no longer needed hours to process bureaucracy, yet the palace dynamics remained an immutable constant.
Sirzechs walked through the capital's hanging gardens, stopping to converse with a group of human artisans working on the ornamentation of a new fountain. As an accessible king, he listened to concerns about trade routes and the well-being of families who had migrated from Farmenas. He did not emanate terror; his presence was like a cloak of security that warmed the souls of his subjects.
— The marble is solid, but the happiness of those who carve it is what keeps this empire standing — Sirzechs commented, offering an encouraging smile to a young apprentice.
However, this aura of benevolence found its counterpoint just a few steps away. Grayfia Lucifuge walked right behind him, the sound of her heels on the crystal floor sounding like the rhythmic beats of a precision clock. She did not merely see subjects; she saw efficiency and order.
— Lord Sirzechs — Grayfia's voice was gelid, though it carried unshakeable loyalty. — You have already dedicated fifteen minutes to informal conversation. There are three runic crystal export treaties and Grimmjow's logistics report on the maritime patrol awaiting your signature. Evolving to the Ultimate level does not exempt you from the weight of the pen.
Sirzechs let out an amused sigh.
— Grayfia, sometimes I feel your Ultimate Skill [Cocytus] was made specifically to freeze my good mood every time I try to escape the paperwork.
— Order is the ice that prevents chaos from melting Avalon, my Lord — she replied, extending a parchment without changing her expression. — Please sign here before the visitors arrive.
Grayfia's warning was not in vain. On the horizon, a familiar and friendly spiritual pressure approached. Rimuru Tempest did not come alone. The slime, now an established Demon Lord, brought a chaotic entourage: Milim Nava, jumping with joy at the sight of the shining marble towers, and the former Demon Lords Frey and Carrion, who now served under Milim's tutelage and the alliance with Tempest.
Upon landing in the main courtyard, Rimuru was momentarily speechless. As a wielder of the Ultimate Skill [Raphael], he immediately felt that the atmosphere in Avalon had changed drastically since his last visit.
— Hey, Sirzechs! — Rimuru waved, though his eyes were fixed on his friend's crimson aura. — I felt a soul energy fluctuation all the way from Tempest that nearly fried my analytical skill's circuits. What did you do? And why does Grayfia look even scarier than before?
Milim did not wait for formalities. She ran toward Sirzechs, stopping abruptly and sniffing the air.
— Wahahaha! Sirzechs, you've changed! You smell like something that can destroy and create at the same time! It's like Velzard, but... different! Shall we fight? Just a little?
Carrion and Frey, on the other hand, maintained a posture of deep, almost fearful respect. They had been Demon Lords for centuries and could recognize when they were standing before something that transcended the classification of "Demon Lord" itself.
— Lord Sirzechs — Carrion bowed his head. — We came to observe the progress of Alabaster Port, but it seems the port is just the tip of a much deeper iceberg.
Sirzechs looked at Rimuru, ignoring the piles of paper Grayfia still held with insistence.
— Welcome to Avalon. Rimuru, I simply decided we should not wait for fate. If the world needs souls to evolve, I create them myself. But come in, Benedict has prepared a banquet that, I hope, will distract Milim from wanting to destroy my new courtyard.
Grayfia cleared her throat, a subtle sound that made even Rimuru straighten his posture.
— The guests are welcome. But the diplomatic meeting regarding the railway expansion will occur in exactly sixty minutes. With or without a banquet.
The atmosphere in Avalon's training courtyard was thick, almost palpable. While Rimuru and Milim were distracted by the architecture, Carrion and Frey remained static, observing Sirzechs' elite guards. They did not see mere soldiers; they saw beings whose very breath distorted the magicules around them. As former Demon Lords, their pride impelled them to test this new plane of existence.
Carrion stepped forward, adjusting his arm guard. His beastly eyes were fixed on Coyote Starrk, who was yawning against a marble pillar, looking like the least dangerous person in the room.
— Lord Sirzechs — Carrion began, his deep voice resonating with authority — we serve Milim now, but our blood still burns for strength. I would like to see with my own eyes the difference between an ordinary Demon Lord and... one of these subordinates of yours.
Sirzechs smiled, making a permissive gesture. Starrk sighed, dragging his feet to the center of the arena, while Tier Harribel silently positioned herself to accept Frey's challenge. The Queen of the Celestial Cities spread her wings, invoking her lance with lethal elegance.
The combat was short, but devastating to the visitors' egos. Carrion advanced with the force of a tsunami, but Starrk did not even draw his pistols; he moved like a shadow, appearing behind Carrion before the blow even landed. When Starrk finally released a fraction of his new spiritual pressure, Carrion fell to his knees, feeling as if the weight of a mountain had been placed upon his shoulders. Beside him, Frey watched her wind blasts being simply absorbed by Harribel's aura, which controlled air humidity with such precision that Frey's wings became too heavy to fly.
— It is enough — Sirzechs declared, and the pressure vanished instantly.
Carrion panted, wiping sweat from his forehead while looking at his own trembling hands.
— Unbelievable. I thought we had reached the top, but you... you are playing a completely different game.
Frey sheathed her lance, her gaze now filled with cautious admiration.
— Avalon is not just a kingdom of monsters, Rimuru. It is a nursery for deities.
The tension of combat was broken by Grayfia Lucifuge's sharp voice, appearing on the upper balcony with a crystal timer in hand.
— Ten minutes late for the banquet, Lord Sirzechs. Benedict's food does not wait for the identity crises of former Demon Lords.
The group was led to the Great Banquet Hall, where Avalon's opulence manifested in every detail. Rimuru, instigated by Raphael, questioned the generation of souls through the Visionary.
— You realize you've broken the rules of the world, right? — Rimuru lowered his voice. — Generating souls from nothing... that's something even True Dragons don't usually do without an immense cost.
— The cost is my own will, Rimuru — Sirzechs explained, his eyes glowing with Shiva's aura. — I do not destroy lives to grow; I disintegrate the vacuum and reorganize it. If the system is flawed, I simply write a new chapter upon it.
As they spoke, Grayfia discreetly interrupted, placing a small silver note before Sirzechs.
— Alabaster Port has just detected an unknown fleet crossing the interdiction line, My Lord. Grimmjow is requesting permission to "offer a welcome."
Sirzechs looked at Rimuru and then at Milim, who stopped eating for a second, sensing the scent of a possible fight in the air.
— It seems our guests will have the chance to see Avalon's expansion in real-time.