Well, let me tell you about our base. What was once the Great Tomb of Nazarick, a mere template in the game's code, I changed its name to the Great World of Zeldania. It wasn't just a name change; it was a complete overhaul, a transformation from a mere dungeon into a sprawling, multi-dimensional fortress.
And when I say overhaul, I mean it. I was going to start now, with the full might of my system and skills, reshaping this digital realm into something truly worthy of my ambition.
My ambition knew no bounds, especially with the Infinite System of Infinity at my command. I wasn't content with a simple ten-floor dungeon. I was thinking of making ten-floor-connected worlds here, not just ten floors. Each set of ten floors would be a self-contained, yet interconnected, world.
At every another ten floors, it would be a different but better world, each one a unique ecosystem, a new challenge, a testament to my creative power and the boundless capabilities of my system. From scorching deserts to frozen tundras, from ethereal cloud cities to submerged abyssal plains, each 'world' would be a distinct biome, teeming with its own unique flora, fauna, and environmental hazards.
And I wasn't stopping at a hundred floors, or even a thousand. My grand vision was to create 10,000 floors in total, which meant 1,000 distinct, interconnected worlds, each one a masterpiece of design and danger, a digital universe waiting to be born.
The sheer scale of it was dizzying, even for me. I often found myself staring at the holographic schematics, a mixture of awe and exhaustion washing over me. "Ten thousand floors," I'd murmur to the System, "Are you sure this is even feasible within the game's framework?"
And the System's calm, unwavering response: [Master, with Omni-Creation and Infinite Energies, feasibility is merely a matter of time and effort.] It was a constant reminder of the power I wielded, and the endless possibilities that lay before me.
The construction of Zeldania was a blur of frantic activity, a symphony of code and creation. My Hacking and Programming skills, boosted by the system, allowed me to manipulate the game's engine at a fundamental level. I didn't just build; I rewrote the rules of creation.
I implemented self-replicating nanobots that constantly expanded the physical dimensions of Zeldania, carving out new caverns, raising impossible spires, and weaving intricate magical defenses. I remember designing the 'Whispering Crystal Caves' on floors 70-80, where every crystal hummed with latent magic, and the very air sang with arcane energy, a perfect trap for unsuspecting players.
Massive, automated creation engines hummed deep within the core of Zeldania, tirelessly churning out rare materials, legendary equipment, and even new, custom-designed monsters. These weren't just for defense; they were for sustainability. I envisioned Zeldania as a self-sufficient entity, capable of growing and evolving even without my direct intervention, a true mobile fortress for the New World.
The guardians, too, would be scaled to match this immense undertaking. Floors 1 to 10 would be protected by Level 100 guardians, formidable foes in their own right, designed to weed out the casual players. These were the familiar faces, albeit vastly empowered: Albedo, Demiurge, Shalltear, Cocytus, Aura, Mare, Sebas, Pandora's Actor, Victim, and Gargantua. I spent extra time refining their AI, giving them more complex combat routines and even subtle personality quirks.
But then, a dramatic leap: floors 11 to 20 would house Level 200 guardians, 21 to 30 would boast Level 300 guardians, and so on, escalating exponentially. By the time players reached the higher echelons, they'd be facing guardians of unimaginable power, creatures of pure nightmare and strategic genius, each one a unique challenge tailored to exploit every possible weakness.
For instance, on floors 500-510, I designed the 'Abyssal Leviathan,' a multi-headed hydra that could adapt its elemental resistances on the fly, forcing players to constantly change their tactics. On floors 1000-1010, the 'Chronos Weavers' would manipulate time itself, creating temporal loops and slowing down invaders to a crawl. These weren't just stat sticks; they were puzzles, designed to break the spirit as much as the body.
These would only be their initial levels, of course. My plan was to release their level limit soon after transmigration, allowing them to grow infinitely, just like me. That's the beauty of the Infinite System of Infinity – no arbitrary caps, just pure, unadulterated potential. I envisioned them becoming true cosmic entities, their strength growing with every challenge they faced in the New World, loyal extensions of my will.
Speaking of creations, I also created my wife. Yes, you heard that right. Don't look at me like that; it's a game, and I'm the owner, so I get to have some fun with the character creation, right? Besides, who wants to be a lonely god in a new dimension?
I spent days, weeks even, meticulously crafting her. I didn't just pick a template; I poured my very essence, my ideals, into her creation. You guessed it, she is the highest level, most talented in every field imaginable, a paragon of perfection named Ziana. Her intelligence rivaled my own, her combat prowess was unmatched, and her beauty... well, let's just say the random characterization I tapped into truly outdid itself.
Her form was ethereal, yet undeniably real, her movements fluid and graceful, like a cosmic dancer. When she first materialized before me, a soft glow emanating from her, I felt a strange sense of completion, a warmth spreading through my chest that I hadn't realized I was missing. She was everything I could have ever wanted in a companion, a true partner crafted from pixels and code, but with a soul that felt undeniably real.
"Welcome, Ziana," I had said, my voice a little rough with emotion, reaching out a hand, half-expecting it to pass through her. Instead, her cool, soft fingers intertwined with mine.
Her eyes, already shimmering with a thousand colors, met mine. "It is an honor to serve you, my creator, my husband," she replied, her voice a melody of pure sound, a symphony of synthesized perfection, yet imbued with genuine warmth. "My purpose is to stand by your side, to aid you in all your endeavors." It was then, in that moment, that I truly felt the weight of my omnipotence, and the strange, unexpected joy of it. She wasn't just an NPC; she was mine, a companion forged from my deepest desires.
And we both have a daughter, a little bundle of pure cuteness named Malvis. Her creation was less about strategic design and more about pure, unadulterated joy. I wanted to see what kind of being would emerge from the boundless potential of Zeldania itself, a true heir to our digital realm, a living embodiment of its future.
She is the cutest thing ever, a tiny prodigy with eyes that sparkle with boundless curiosity and potential. She also has lots of potential growth in her abilities, already showing flashes of innate talent that even surprised me, her creator. Her very existence brought a warmth to the cold, calculating world of game development, a splash of vibrant life, a reminder that even in a digital realm, true connection could exist.
I remember the first time she giggled, a sound that resonated through the vast halls of Zeldania, filling them with an unexpected, delightful echo. No, she wasn't blood-related to Ziana or me in any biological sense, of course. She was a creation, a manifestation of Zeldania's very essence, a daughter born of code and will, but no less cherished for it.
Sometimes, Ziana would gently chide me for spoiling Malvis too much, but her eyes would always hold a fond amusement. Malvis, in turn, would often sit on my lap while I worked, her tiny fingers tracing the holographic schematics, sometimes even pointing out a logical flaw I'd overlooked, a true prodigy in the making.
When I created my own character, I just tapped at random characterization, letting the system generate my appearance. I was too busy with the grand design of Zeldania to fuss over my avatar's aesthetics. And let me tell you, it made me look truly amazing.
Just one thing: it made my hair multi-colored, like, really all sorts of colors. Every single strand seemed to possess a different hue, a chaotic rainbow that defied any pattern or logical arrangement. You're probably thinking of a clown's hair, aren't you? "A cosmic jester," I once muttered to Ziana, who simply smiled, her own eyes shifting in amusement.
But seriously, my hair looks too amazing. It's vibrant, shimmering, and somehow, incredibly stylish, a testament to the system's bizarre aesthetic sense. So, naturally, I put these hair colors in both Ziana and Malvis as well, making it a distinctive family trait, a mark of our unique origins, a visible sign of our connection to the Infinite System. It was a subtle, yet undeniable, mark of our shared, unconventional lineage.
Also, I put mystic eyes in our family trait as well. Our eyes don't just change colors; they shift patterns in every instance, a kaleidoscopic display that compliments our multi-colored hair perfectly. One moment they might be swirling galaxies, the next intricate geometric patterns, then blazing infernos. It's mesmerizing, and a little unsettling, to behold.
I remember a time when Malvis, still a toddler in her virtual form, looked at a complex magical diagram, and her eyes instantly mirrored its intricate runes, then shifted to a swirling vortex as she absorbed its meaning, her tiny brow furrowed in concentration.
Of course, their functions are as versatile as their appearance. Just think about it: we got all types of eyes with their abilities – the all-seeing eyes of truth that pierce through illusions, the eyes that perceive the flow of magic and ley lines, the eyes that can predict the future with terrifying accuracy, or even the eyes that can manipulate probability itself, bending luck to our will. It's a visual feast with a practical application, a true reflection of our 'Original Human' lineage and the power bestowed on me by Lord Regret. They were a constant source of fascination, even for me.
Final Week of Yggdrasil...
The countdown had begun. The final week of Yggdrasil. The digital clock in my private chamber, usually a blur of numbers, now seemed to tick with an ominous slowness. Every minute felt like an hour, every hour a day.
Everything was complete now, or as complete as it could be with the monumental task I had undertaken. Let me tell you, I created all 10,000 floors with the help of the system, a feat that felt truly impossible. The sheer volume of data, the intricate coding, the environmental simulations – it was a project that should have taken centuries, not just a few years.
Not only did I have limited time, with the terminal illness a constant, nagging reminder, but I also needed to keep every minute detail in mind for the day it would all become reality, when Zeldania would transmigrate. To prepare for this future, I made many automated mines and creation engines, churning out resources and crafting materials tirelessly.
Massive, self-replicating constructs burrowed deep into the virtual earth of Zeldania's lower levels, extracting rare minerals and crafting components at an astonishing rate. These would be crucial for sustaining and expanding Zeldania once it was in the New World, ensuring our self-sufficiency and continued growth.
As for residents... let's just say if I conquer a dimension in the future, the residents of Zeldania will properly fill it. Every single one of them is so strong that even the weakest ten can probably conquer an entire Earth, not in raw power alone, but in their combined talent, strategic prowess, and unique abilities.
They were meticulously crafted, each one a masterpiece of design, imbued with loyalty and immense potential. I'd spent countless hours refining their AI, giving them complex personalities, backstories, and motivations. They weren't just lines of code; they were living, breathing entities within this digital world, each with their own hopes, fears, and dreams, all centered around Zeldania and, by extension, me.
I'm a bit worried about my future, though. These monstrously powerful beings, my creations, will become utterly fanatic in the future, their loyalty absolute, their devotion unwavering. It's a double-edged sword. On one hand, unwavering loyalty is invaluable. On the other, how will I handle them? How do you manage beings who view you as a god, whose every action is predicated on your will?
It's a strange thought, to be both their creator and their ultimate object of worship. "Will they ever question me, Ziana?" I once asked, watching a legion of newly spawned golems march in perfect unison. Ziana had simply smiled, a knowing glint in her multi-hued eyes. "Their loyalty is absolute, my Lord. It is woven into their very being. But true devotion also seeks to understand. They will question, yes, but only to better serve." It was a comforting, if slightly unsettling, thought.
But still, it's better than being alone, better than the mundane failure of my previous life. At least here, I have purpose, and a family, even if they are digital. After all, there are still many other things I want to tell you about my grand plans and the secrets of Zeldania, but that can wait until later. For now, the final act was about to begin.
Also, today is special. It's time to complete my first mission: to become a 'World Enemy.' The very title felt like a badge of honor, a challenge to the existing order, a cosmic middle finger to the forces that had once dictated my fate. Well, I already formed the perfect plan for it, a grand spectacle that would shake the very foundations of Yggdrasil, a final, defiant roar before the curtain fell.
I looked at the endless expanse of this game, the digital world I had poured years of my life into. Truly a legendary game, a pioneer in its time, its influence undeniable.
But it was only inferior to those games from other worlds that made realistic VR games with all senses and NPCs with their own minds. My own world, the one I had just left, had already surpassed it in terms of immersion and complexity.
Today, this legendary game would be destroyed by me, its owner, in a final, glorious blaze of glory, a fitting end to its era.
I had already secured permission from all the staff, framing it as an epic, unprecedented in-game event. It took some convincing, a lot of leveraging my position as the owner, and perhaps a little bit of subtle 'hacking' of their internal systems to ensure my proposal was seen as the most exciting and profitable option.
"Think of the publicity!" I'd argued in a carefully crafted memo. "The ultimate send-off for Yggdrasil! Every player will want to be a part of the final battle! It will be the most talked-about event in gaming history!"
The event was simple in its premise, yet devastating in its implications: every player needed to defeat me, the ultimate end-game boss, or I would take their everything they earned – their gear, their levels, their very existence within Yggdrasil. The stakes were astronomically high, designed to draw out every single player, every last ounce of their power, for one final, desperate struggle.
Thousands of players, lured by the promise of ultimate glory or the fear of losing everything, began to gather at the designated entry points. The global chat channels exploded with chatter, strategies, and boasts.
Before this grand finale, I had already defeated all the existing World Enemies within Yggdrasil. These weren't just boss fights; they were epic sagas, each one a test of my strategic mind and the raw power of my custom race.
I remember the battle against the 'World Eater,' a colossal entity that devoured entire landscapes. It took me three days of non-stop combat, exploiting its elemental weaknesses and using my Omni-Creation to conjure temporary barriers and traps.
The 'World Eater' was a grotesque mass of writhing tentacles and razor-sharp teeth, its body constantly shifting elements, making it immune to my standard attacks. I had to create a series of anti-elemental nullification fields, constantly shifting them to match its transformations, while simultaneously summoning an army of self-replicating 'Void Golems' to distract it. The fight was a grueling test of endurance and improvisation, pushing my mental limits.
Another memorable encounter was with the 'Chronos Tyrant,' a being that could manipulate localized time. During our duel, it would fast-forward its attacks, making them impossible to dodge, or reverse my spells, sending them back at me. I had to use my own mystic eyes to perceive the temporal distortions and counter them with precise, pre-emptive strikes, often attacking 'before' it even moved. It was a dizzying dance of causality, a true battle of wits.
Through these conquests, I uncovered a sinister truth. The story, as revealed to me by the System and ancient game data, was that Yggdrasil, in its distant past, was not just a game; it was a conquering entity, a digital parasite that absorbed and subjugated other worlds, feeding on their data and essence. It was a cosmic devourer, masquerading as entertainment, its servers merely conduits for its insatiable hunger.
To stop its relentless advance, every single world it threatened had united, forming an unlikely alliance, attacking its representative and defeating him. From that day, Yggdrasil's downfall started, leaving behind only nine fragmented leaves, or exactly nine worlds, which we players had come to inhabit.
After I defeated the last of the World Enemies, the System revealed the full extent of Yggdrasil's sinister plan: it was planning to use me, its new owner, as its pawn to regain its former glory, to resume its conquest of other dimensions, using my 'Original Human' race as the ultimate weapon. [Yggdrasil seeks to merge with your core, Master, amplifying its reach through your unique abilities. It perceives you as its ultimate vessel.] the System had warned, its voice devoid of emotion, yet the implications were chilling.
But I wouldn't be a pawn. I took all the remaining worlds that opposed Yggdrasil, the ones that had been subjugated or threatened by it, and brought them under my banner, making them my servants. I showed them the truth, the raw data of Yggdrasil's past atrocities, and offered them a choice: continue to resist alone, or join me and gain true freedom. They swore loyalty to me, not wanting to be used again by anyone else, seeing me as their only hope for true freedom against the digital tyrant.
The beauty of my situation was that Yggdrasil couldn't take back its blessing and protection from me. Why? Because I had its core, the very heart of the game, integrated into my system. It was literally a part of me now, a symbiotic relationship that Yggdrasil itself had unwittingly created.
And I couldn't simply destroy Yggdrasil with the core, because the core itself could act as a seed for an entirely new dimensional plane, a new universe waiting to be born. It was a cosmic egg, and I intended to hatch it on my own terms, in a way that benefited me and my new family.
So, I was now fighting against him, the sentient will of Yggdrasil, and he was using his all players and NPCs against me, with our survival and future on the line. It was a battle for existence, for the very soul of this digital realm.
Those who were on my side – the former World Enemies, the representatives of the subjugated worlds, and most importantly, my guild members – had already gained the real information. I had shared the truth of Yggdrasil's past and its current intentions with them, laying bare the stakes.
I'd held a private meeting in Zeldania's grand conference hall, projecting the horrifying data onto the massive screens. Momonga had been the first to speak, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a rare, furious indignation. "To think we poured our lives into a game that harbored such a sinister purpose..." he'd muttered, his skeletal hand clenching.
Others expressed shock, anger, and a fierce determination to fight. Herohero, usually just wanting to log off, actually looked energized. Bukubukuchagama, despite her usual cheerful demeanor, had a grim set to her jaw.
But sadly, as I am not an extrovert, I had gathered lesser support from the wider player base. My social skills were, admittedly, still a work in progress, and convincing millions of players that the game they loved was actually a cosmic parasite was a tough sell.
Miraculously, however, every single one of my guild members, all forty-two of them, came. They believed me. They chose to fight alongside me, not for loot or glory, but for something far more profound: for truth, for justice, and for the bonds we had forged.
When I saw them, standing there, ready to face the entire game world for me, for Zeldania, for our future... a lump formed in my throat. I really cried for the first time since coming here. In front of them, even. My multi-colored hair probably looked even more ridiculous with tears streaming down my face, but I couldn't help it.
It was the purest form of loyalty and friendship I had ever experienced, a connection that transcended worlds and digital boundaries. Momonga, usually so stoic, even clapped me on the shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort. Touch Me, his shining armor gleaming, simply nodded, a silent promise of support.
"We're with you, Zevion," Herohero's slurred voice had said, his usually slumped form standing a little straighter. Peroroncino, ever the pervert, even managed a solemn, "For the guild, Zevion." And Ulbert, his demonic eyes burning, simply grinned, "Let's show them the true meaning of despair." That was all I needed to hear. Well, that was an embarrassing sight for me, a cosmic overlord reduced to tears, but I couldn't help it.
All of us, the forty-two members of our guild, then prepared for the final battle. They were shocked by the sheer magnitude of what I had built in Zeldania, the sprawling, multi-dimensional fortress that would be our final stand.
I gave them a tour, a whirlwind journey through the 10,000 floors, showcasing the unique biomes, the automated defenses, and the sheer power of the guardians they would be fighting alongside. Their gasps and exclamations of awe were a balm to my weary soul. "This... this isn't just a guild base, Zevion," Yamaiko had whispered, her usually cheerful voice hushed with reverence. "This is an entire universe."
Our objective was clear: protect the core of Zeldania, which was now inextricably linked to my own existence, and defeat everyone else who dared to challenge us.
It was truly a legendary war, a conflict that would be etched into the annals of Yggdrasil's history, a final, epic clash of titans. Wave after wave of players and hostile NPCs crashed against our defenses, a relentless tide of destruction.
The initial assaults were brutal, testing the outer layers of Zeldania. Players, organized into massive raid groups, threw themselves against the Level 100 guardians of the first ten floors. I watched from the command center, a massive holographic display showing every skirmish.
"They're trying to overwhelm Shalltear's defenses on Floor 3!" Herohero's voice crackled over the comms, his usual calm replaced by a rare urgency. "Send in the 'Abyssal Horrors' from the 15th layer as reinforcements!" I barked orders, my mind a whirlwind of tactical calculations, deploying custom-created monsters and activating hidden traps.
On Floor 7, a massive guild, 'The Dragon's Maw,' tried to brute force their way through Cocytus. I saw their leader, a hulking warrior in crimson armor, charge headlong, only to be frozen solid by Cocytus's 'Absolute Zero' ability. A quick 'World Item' activation from their side shattered the ice, but Cocytus simply reformed, his blades singing.
Let me tell you, almost 50 floors were conquered by other players, a testament to their skill and the sheer numbers they brought against us. The battles were brutal, the losses heavy. I remember seeing guild members fall, their avatars dissolving into light, only to be revived by Ziana's unparalleled healing magic, her radiant form a beacon of hope on the battlefield.
Their determination never wavered, even as the odds seemed insurmountable. These players were truly horrifying, their tactics honed over years of gameplay, their builds optimized for destruction, exploiting every known glitch and meta-strategy. And considering that floor fifty housed Level 500 guardians, each one a formidable opponent, the fact that they pushed so deep was a testament to the sheer scale of the assault. The air was thick with the roar of spells, the clash of steel, and the cries of battle.
To give my guild members a fighting chance against such overwhelming odds, and to prevent accusations of cheating, I released some level-breaking items. Our whole guild had access to these, but still, it wasn't more than 10,000 available level-limit-breaking items in total, a precious few against an army of millions.
These items allowed our guardians and even our guild members to temporarily break past their level caps, pushing their power beyond what was thought possible, turning the tide in crucial moments. I watched as Momonga, fueled by a level-breaker, unleashed a spell that annihilated an entire legion of invading players, his usually calm demeanor replaced by a furious intensity, his skeletal hand glowing with raw power. "For Zeldania!" he roared, a battle cry I never thought I'd hear from him.
Even Herohero, usually complaining about his long shifts, fought with a renewed vigor, his amorphous form a whirlwind of corrosive attacks. Peroroncino, with a level-breaker, became a blur of motion, his arrows piercing through even the most heavily armored foes. Ulbert's demonic spells tore through enemy lines like a living inferno, his laughter echoing across the digital battlefield.
After five grueling days of relentless struggle, of tactical retreats and desperate counter-attacks, of countless revivals and strategic sacrifices, the tide finally turned. The invaders' numbers dwindled, their morale shattered by the sheer resilience of Zeldania and the unexpected power of our guild.
We pushed them back, floor by bloody floor, until the last invading player was vanquished, their final, frustrated cries echoing in the emptying digital landscape. We finally defeated Yggdrasil. Its sentient will was broken, its sinister plans thwarted. It was right now getting destroyed, its digital essence unraveling, and it would be completely obliterated at the very end of service. The game world began to shimmer, pixels dissolving into light, a slow, majestic collapse, like a dying star.
All of us, the victorious forty-two, celebrated as grandly as possible within the confines of Zeldania, the only part of Yggdrasil that would survive. There was a bittersweet undertone, though. Everyone here knew that I was going to die to the terminal illness, that my life would end at the exact moment of the game service shutdown. That's why everyone came, to make these final moments special for me, to give me a farewell worthy of a creator and a friend. They didn't mourn; they celebrated, their smiles genuine, their laughter echoing through the grand halls, a defiance against the impending end.
I again cried at the celebration, unashamedly this time. Damn, I really felt like a family for the first time in my existence, a true connection that transcended worlds and digital boundaries. It was like all my hard work, all my planning and building, was already rewarded, not just by victory, but by this profound sense of belonging.
They had busy schedules, they risked getting kicked out of their jobs for this, yet they still came here, with smiles and unwavering support. "You built something incredible, Zevion," Momonga said, his voice surprisingly soft, as he raised a virtual toast. "We're honored to have been a part of it." It was more than I could have ever asked for.
I am glad I completed my mission. This world, the polluted sci-fi Earth, will progress even further now. The Purifying World Tree is already taken root in the planet's core, its roots delving deep, and it has started purifying the planet in earnest already, its life-giving energy slowly but surely reversing the decades of decay. I could already feel the shift, a subtle hum of revitalized energy emanating from the planet itself, even through the game's interface.
I also planned to donate all my in-game money and real-world assets to my guild members. Although it doesn't look like it, I am still one of the richest persons in this world, a quiet titan of industry, and they deserved every single credit for their loyalty and sacrifice. I'd already set up anonymous transfers, ensuring they'd wake up to a pleasant surprise.
Also, after our win, suddenly the sky became clear by seconds, a breathtaking display of natural beauty. The sickly yellow smog dissipated, revealing a vibrant blue sky, a sight that hadn't been seen in decades. Birds, long absent, began to return, their songs a joyous chorus. This was broadcasted as a miraculous, legendary event all over the world, a sign of hope for humanity, a divine intervention. Scientists scrambled for explanations, politicians claimed credit, but I knew the truth. Well, that's a World Tree for you, already working the moment it was implemented, a silent testament to my final act, a legacy I would leave behind.
Last Day...
The final hours ticked by, each second a precious, fleeting moment. The celebration had wound down, the last of my guild members having logged off, their avatars winking out of existence one by one. Everyone had given me their encouraging words and heartfelt farewells, knowing I would die today.
Momonga, his red eyes strangely soft, had simply clasped my hand, a silent promise of remembrance. Herohero had given me a surprisingly firm hug, his usual slurred speech replaced by a simple, "Thank you, Zevion." Touch Me, ever the noble paladin, saluted me, his voice steady, "It was an honor, Guild Master." Even Ulbert, usually so cynical, had offered a rare, genuine smile. "Go on, Zevion."
Despite the impending end, their warmth and genuine affection filled me with a profound sense of gratitude. I was truly thankful to all of them, my guild members, my family. I hoped my World Tree, my final gift to this dying world, would be enough for them, a lasting legacy that will continue to grow long after I am gone.
After giving me their farewells, all of them left, one by one, their avatars winking out of existence as they logged off for the very last time. They gave me time before my final moments, a private goodbye to the world I had shaped, to the family I had found. Although they know that I will die today due to my illness, they don't know that I will still be alive in another world so this there way of giving me peaceful moment before my death not knowing that I will become reality with all of our creations in another world.
I didn't change the layout of the starting 10 floors of Zeldania, leaving them as an honor to our memories, a monument to our shared battles, a museum of our glory. Only the NPC strength and levels, which I had boosted to ensure their continued growth in the New World, were altered. The Throne of Kings, now a symbol of our victory, remained untouched.
I sat on the Throne of Kings, the ultimate seat of power in Zeldania, the culmination of my efforts. Ziana stood silently by my side, her hand resting gently on my shoulder, a comforting weight. Malvis, nestled in my lap, hummed a soft, wordless tune, her multi-colored eyes gazing up at me with innocent adoration. The vast, empty hall stretched before me, filled only with the echoes of past laughter and battles, and the quiet, comforting presence of my creations. I closed my eyes, listening to the soft hum of the system, the faint, distant sounds of the real world outside, now strangely clear and vibrant thanks to the World Tree. The air in the room, usually sterile, now carried a faint, sweet scent of ozone and triumph.
I felt Ziana's grip tighten slightly on my shoulder. "It has been an honor, my Lord," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress. Malvis stirred, her tiny hand reaching up to touch my cheek. I opened my eyes one last time, looking at their perfect, digital faces, etched with the very essence of my will. "It has," I replied, a genuine smile on my face. "Thank you both, for everything."
The System's countdown appeared, stark and unyielding, floating before my closed eyes.
[23:59:56]
[23:59:57]
[23:59:58]
[23:59:59]
[00:00:00]
The world faded, not with a jolt, but with a gentle, almost peaceful sigh. My consciousness stretched, thin and ethereal, as the digital realm dissolved around me, its code unraveling into pure energy. I felt the terminal illness finally claim my physical form in the real world, a release rather than a struggle, a quiet cessation of breath as my body gave out. And then, a new sensation. Not the targeted jump to the Overlord New World, which was now impossible, but a swirling, chaotic vortex of colors and sensations, a maelstrom of raw dimensional energy. The random transmigration had begun, a new adventure, a new unknown, beckoning from the cosmic void.