Now, standing in front of Alfred, faced with the unexplainable displacement of his entire capital, Aman realized the full impact of that decision.
His soldiers, his advisors, even Alfred, all of them were tense, their minds racing through every worst-case scenario.
But they weren't panicking. No, their fear wasn't making them weak.
It was making them prepare.
And that was why Aman had to keep his own composure.
He couldn't tell them the truth, that even he didn't know the nature of this transfer. If he admitted ignorance, doubt would creep in. Not because they would lose faith in him, but because the unknown was the one thing that could shatter even the strongest of wills.
Uncertainty was dangerous. If the soldiers of the empire believed that even their ruler had no grasp of the situation, then fear might spiral out of control. And that was something he couldn't allow.
He doesn't know when but his evaluation for Ainz had escalated. The key right now to solve the situation is for him to act like Ainz.
Ainz from Overlord never let his subordinates see his doubts. He always acted like everything was part of his grand plan. Aman needed to do the same.
Even if he had no idea what was happening.
Even if he had no way of confirming whether this was the work of some unknown entity, or even a simple cosmic accident.
He needed them to believe that he had a plan. Because as long as they believed, they would keep moving forward.
His people had lived through the Dark Era. They knew fear intimately. They had faced horrors beyond comprehension and survived.
The chaos-borns, the eldritch beings from the void, were the greatest source of that fear. Even now, speculation was spreading.
Could the chaos-borns have been the ones responsible for the displacement?
There was no way to know. No matter how many signals they sent into the void, there was nothing. No response. No interception.
Just silence.
And that silence was far more terrifying than any enemy they could see.
Originally, at the dawn of the Era Pacis, the empire had completely occupied and assimilated the entire Asrameda Galaxy. There wasn't a single system left that wasn't under imperial governance.
This meant that all 500 billion Asterran planetary states across Asrameda were part of the empire. A full, one-hundred-percent acquisition of territory. That's not even counting the deceased civilization that perished and their homes. This just shows how vast the Asrameda galaxy is.
And yet, despite that, they had no idea how far they had been displaced from their home.
If they were merely a few light-years away, perhaps within the edge of the Veldora Cluster or even the Milim Expanse, those are yet another sacred sectors of the empire that's unoccupied or anything, if they're placed in that system then maybe reestablishing contact would have been a simple matter. A task as easy as aligning a beacon and sending a pulse transmission to the Dyson sphere.
But that was the terrifying part.
No matter what they did, no matter how many signals they sent out, no matter how far they scanned…
There was nothing.
We were not home.
No response. No sign of anything even slightly acknowledging their existence.
"I suggest we activate the shield and keep a low profile. We don't even know if there are hostile aboriginals in this region. While we have enough forces to engage potential threats, it would be wiser to preserve our strength until we reestablish contact with the empire."
The mention of aboriginals wasn't without reason. After sending a pulse scanning the system they had found themselves in, the results were clear, several planets exhibited conditions that were perfect for the emergence of life.
Not just the possibility of primitive microbial existence, but full-fledged sentient species.
Whether they had already developed civilization or were still in the early stages of evolution remained unknown due to disabled infrastructure of the empire, but the risk was there. If intelligent life existed, encountering them without preparation could lead to unforeseen complications.
"Mm, I see." Aman agreed, but he has an idea what might be in that world.
"If we need to send workers to mine nearby celestial bodies, they should be escorted by a minimum of four frigates. Not only for protection but also to serve as additional storage capacity."
"In that case, we should begin warship production with the available resources. Ensure that resource allocation is optimized."
Without hesitation, Aman passed the order to Alfred.
"Alfred, I'll leave the preparation to you."
"Thank you, my liege. I shall see to it so no problems occur."
Alfred spoke with confidence. But then, he just stood there, unmoving.
He literally just stood there. This action of his was observed by Aman.
What's this guy doing?
Before he could question it, Alfred suddenly moved again.
"I've already passed the order, my liege," he reported as if nothing had happened."
Aman realized what had just transpired. Alfred was processing multiple commands simultaneously, issuing directives to the appropriate departments without outwardly showing any signs of movement.
"Mm, good work."
"Also, my liege, this is the current state of our resources. Please review it."
As Aman scanned the data regarding their remaining warships, a wave of discomfort surged through him. He was struck by a massive headache, an almost physical pain, accompanied by an unbearable sense of loss.
He almost felt like dropping to his knees.
Just how many times…it'd remind me of my failure?
He almost felt like dropping to his knees. The current resources that are in their arsenal with the set of plans they have written up now will only last them several years before consuming it all.
I've become so poor.
Back in the imperial capital system, the sight of the planetary system was breathtaking, a cradle of civilization surrounded by the colossal embrace of a Dyson sphere.
That sphere alone held enough firepower and combat effectiveness to wage war on an interstellar scale. Battlecruisers, warships, and entire armadas were docked within its immense infrastructure, ready to deploy at a moment's notice.
Yet, what left a bitter taste in his mouth was the very decision he had once approved.
The Asterran Grounds, the birthworld of Emperor Aman, had been deemed sacred. A symbol of the empire's legacy, it was to remain untouched, preserved in its pristine state. Beyond his Throne Palace, a massive continental-sized world item, and the planetary propulsion systems that allowed the planet to traverse space, most of the capital world was an unspoiled paradise, untouched by industry or pollution.
In other words, the imperial capital was completely defenseless.
Its once-dominant war capabilities had been reduced to nearly nothing. The situation had become so dire that even scholars, librarians and archivists, were being considered for either utility roles or combat roles aboard the fleet. While there was no shortage of willing hands, the reality of the situation was undeniable.
While the empire prided itself on nearly every citizen being combat-capable and bound by military duty, the current state of the imperial capital painted a different picture.
Most of the population here belonged to one of four groups: the Elite Skurr'Ers, war logistics personnel, the imperial church, or librarians. These roles had become the dominant occupations within the capital. If they needed proper soldiers and marines, they would have to draw from the various planetary systems across the Asrameda Galaxy, where entire worlds were dedicated to the rigorous training of troops.
He should be relieved at the fact that they still had the Skurr'Ers, but that thought only left a bitter smile on his face.
Where did it all go wrong?
He wonders where things go wrong. The sight of countless warships filling the skies, the grand military parades, visions he had imagined so many times, were gone.
Although he doesn't know what kind of usage output the resources will be used hence it'll only last several years.
No point in dwelling on it.
If he continues to whine, it'll never end and he shall eventually go in a spiral.
Complaining wouldn't fix anything anyway. He had more important things to do.
Aman stood up from the throne.
For now, he planned to tour the Continent-sized World Item, The Birth of Worlds, also known as the Imperial Capital.
By lore, The Birth of Worlds was the very place where Aman was born, a result of countless experiments, sacrifice, and enhancements designed to forge a single entity capable of standing against The Slumbering Khan, Azgarom. However, its significance didn't stop there.
It was also the cradle of the Asterrans, the unified race of the empire. The Birth of Worlds had been instrumental in the transformation of all intelligent life across the Asrameda Galaxy, fusing them into a singular, superior species. In essence, it was the very womb that birthed the empire's people.
In the game test, the official function of The Birth of Worlds was to serve as a safe haven for those who registered with it. Unlike Standard resurrection mechanics, this World Item allowed both players and NPCs to revive without losing levels or dropping items, a feat unheard of in the Yggdrazil.
Its defensive capabilities were just as broken. It could project an unbreakable barrier over any designated world, shielding it from external threats regardless of distance. No invader could breach it under normal circumstances. If that wasn't enough, the item was personally owned by Emperor Aman, meaning its full potential was only accessible to him.
It made sense in the Asterran Empire's lore. The Birth of Worlds was meant to safeguard planets under the empire's banner, ensuring they remained untouched by the war against the Chaos-Borns. But to prevent things from being too easy, the developers balanced it by making the Chaos-Borns an entire dimension stronger than even World Enemies.
In the game's hierarchy, World Enemies and Chaos-Borns were made connected, but the gap between them was vast.
World Enemies, like the infamous Devourer of Nine Worlds, were the pinnacle of raid bosses in Yggdrasil. These entities required entire guilds or alliances to take down, their mechanics designed to push even the most optimized teams to their limits.
They were powerful, yes, but they still operated within the confines of the game's balance. No matter how overwhelming they seemed, they had stats, defeat conditions, and a set place within the system.
Chaos-Borns, on the other hand, existed on an entirely different level. If World Enemies were raid bosses, Chaos-Borns were existential threats, beings that defied mechanics altogether. They weren't simply stronger; they didn't follow the same logic. They weren't meant to be defeated conventionally; they were forces of destruction that warped reality itself.
This connection wasn't just a random addition, it was intentional. Aman had built the lore of the Asterran Empire as a bridge between the two worlds, though only in narrative form. Yggdrasil and Asterran were separate, and Aman never treated one as an extension of the other. Instead, he designed the Asterran Empire with a different goal: to bring it into the New World, making it more than just an in-game faction.
World Enemies and Chaos-Borns weren't two stages of the same evolution. In Yggdrasil, no World Enemy would ever "ascend" into a Chaos-Born. They were different classifications entirely. However, in Asterran lore, World Enemies were merely precursors, powerful, but ultimately insignificant compared to the true horrors that lurked beyond the known universe. While Yggdrasil had its limits, Aman had deliberately written Asterran without them.
In the end, the connection between the two worlds was only in the story Aman had crafted. World Enemies and Chaos-Borns were related, but one was never meant to evolve into the other.
But seeing it coming to life, the plan at least worked.
Going back, this meant that, despite the shield's invulnerability, the most powerful Chaos-Born entities could still bypass it. Over time, their corruption seeped through, breaking down defenses until the lore reached its most tragic point, the Mekalthortheplr Incident.
Near the end of the war, Mekalthortheplr, a highest-ranking Chaos-Born, orchestrated a grand scheme.
Several of Azgarom's children sacrificed themselves to unleash a death-powered curse, turning all sentient life into monstrous blobs of corruption. The barriers collapsed, entire worlds fell, and the empire stood on the brink of ruin.
At the time, the developers justified this decision by saying,
"We need to make the war dramatic. If it's too easy to win, it's not fun. So let's make the Chaos-Borns even stronger than the Devourer of the Nine Worlds."
Aman had once speculated that even if every level 100 player from Yggdrasil banded together, they would still be doomed. If they encountered Mekalthortheplr's curse, they'd either be instantly corrupted or forcibly dropped to zero HP, triggering a 100% item drop rate.
It would've been an absolute nightmare. A massive headache. The kind of thing that would make even the most hardened players rage-quit out of sheer despair.
As the saying goes, if you want to find the best torturers, don't go to interrogators. Go talk to game developers.
Aman himself had struggled to keep up with the game's updates. It seemed like the devs' passion for their large scale war scenario exceeded his ability to adapt.
But here's the catch. That was just the game system's function.
What about the Flavor Text?
Back in his original world, Aman had read theories that Flavor Text was the key to to become strong in the New World. This was precisely why he had meticulously crafted his intergalactic empire, to ensure his advantage when crossing over.
The Flavor Text of The Birth of Worlds was extensive.
Creation of Life, the ability to create and shape new lifeforms. (This was how the Asterrans were born.)
Absolute Protection, the power to shield entire planets. (Billions of worlds were under its protection at the height of the empire.)
Limit Breaker, the capacity to surpass all restrictions. (Asterrans saw their transformation as breaking through their former limitations, allowing them to resist Mekalthortheplr's curse and emerge even stronger.)
It was through this World Item that Aman created the perfect race, Asterrans.
The game mechanics dictated that any corrupted NPC or player resurrected through it would return stronger than before, and that any registered world would be permanently protected by its shield.
However, the Flavor Text's interpretation in the New World was far more terrifying. It implied that anything was possible, so long as it was written into the lore. But now he doubts that.
Back to the Present…
Aman stepped out of the palace, his boots making a soft thud against the smooth ground.
The air was clean. Too clean.
Everything was as he remembered from the design phase.
The roads stretched endlessly, lined with towering structures made of polished metal and dark crystal.
"Hot..."
Aman muttered, but the word didn't fit. He felt the warmth on his skin, but it wasn't the kind he knew.
He looked up.
The sky stretched overhead, clear and blue, it was beautiful knowing it was now real. But he knew it wasn't actually real. The biosphere system projected it, regulating everything—temperature, humidity, atmosphere.
Every imperial planet had one, even those that were reclaimed.
Still, this heat was different.
The reports said the planet was outside the Goldilocks zone.
There was no real sunlight here.
It wasn't like his previous world, where "sunlight" came from massive panels hanging above the arcology.
The arcology was built to protect the elite, not to sustain life. Outside of it, the air was toxic, the land was barren, and people barely survived.
The biosphere wasn't like that.
It didn't just block out the environment, it made one an actual environment.
The air here was natural, the ground wasn't lifeless concrete, plants grew. The system wasn't a shelter, it was a process that terraformed planets.
Aman stretched his fingers, watching the light move over them. It wasn't hot, just warm. Almost familiar, but not quite.
This was different from what he was used to.
This was what a real world should feel like.
Above, 5D drones moved in organized patterns, likely repairing infrastructure damaged by the disconnection.
Unlike the outer systems filled with civilians, the imperial capital was sacred ground.
No common residents lived here.
Only those with vital roles or high ranks—Imperial Guards, Skurr'Ers, war logistics personnel, administrators, the imperial cult, and archivists—were allowed within these borders.
Everywhere he looked, people moved with purpose. Skurr'Ers, towering over the others, passed by quickly, their expressions unreadable. Most Asterrans lacked facial features, their bodies crafted for efficiency over aesthetics.
War logistics officers stood in place, exchanging data through their interfaces. Imperial Guards patrolled the pathways in synchronized formations, their heavy boots echoing in unison.
Then they saw him.
The moment Aman's towering figure entered their view, all nearby Asterrans halted. Their glowing eyes locked onto him.
A second later, they knelt in perfect unison, saluting with fists crossed over their chests. Heads lowered.
Silence.
Even the drones in the air shifted slightly, their formations adjusting as if acknowledging his presence.
Aman didn't react outwardly, but the weight of their obedience sat heavy on him. They had been waiting. Watching. And now, they waited for his word.
Several commanders rushed forward, their capes fluttering behind them.
Among them, a high-ranking officer stepped closer, clad in black and silver military attire. Like the others, his face had minimal features, but his eyes carried the weight of experience. The synthetic material of his body had a faint golden hue—a mark of status.
"My Emperor." The officer knelt briefly before rising.
"To what do we owe the honor of your presence?"
Aman glanced around at the countless personnel working tirelessly.
"Just a tour," he said simply. "I want to see things with my own eyes."
The officer nodded. "Understood, my liege. I can have reports prepared detailing the current state of the capital."
Aman waved a hand. "Later. For now, I'll walk."
The officer hesitated, choosing his next words carefully.
"My Emperor… I must speak plainly."
Aman raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"There is unrest."
Aman's expression remained neutral. "Unrest?"
"Not of rebellion. No one would dare. But uncertainty. We have not faced conflict for millennia. We have not encountered another living force in the void. And now… we are here."
Aman said nothing, so the officer continued.
"We do not know who or what displaced us. We don't know if our outer colonies remain intact. It was not our doing. It was not within our control. And if it was an external force… then that is cause for concern."
Aman slowly turned to face him.
"Concern?"
"There are those who believe we should move immediately. If we remain idle, we risk losing what remains of our strength. They believe—"
Aman cut him off with a sharp look. "And what do you believe?"
The officer hesitated before answering.
"We serve the empire. We follow orders."
"You didn't answer my question."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, the officer spoke. "I believe waiting too long is a mistake. The empire was never meant to be passive. We do not know if this universe is untouched by the Chaos-born or if it harbors another force strong enough to wipe them out, as we once did. If they see us as invaders, war is inevitable."
Aman was silent for a moment before speaking.
"I understand the concern. But I'll decide when we move."
The officer straightened. "My Emperor… what if time is not on our side?"
Aman's tone remained steady, but there was a weight behind it.
"Then we move when I say so. Not before. Considering possibilities is not a flaw, but do not let it control you."
He studied the officer for a long moment before continuing.
"Do you think I do not understand the nature of this displacement?"
His voice was calm, but it carried force.
"Do you believe that in all my years ruling this empire, I would fail to consider something so obvious?"
The officer tensed, lowering his gaze.
"Do you believe this is a problem that would worry me? A matter worth my concern?"
The officer clenched his jaw.
"…No, my Emperor."
Aman's gaze remained firm. "Then tell me your name."
"Fleet Commander Veyron Caelum Asterra, of the 9714th Expeditionary Fleet."
Aman raised an eyebrow. "9714th? A smaller fleet, yet stationed in the Imperial Capital. That means your standing is high."
"Yes, my Emperor."
Aman's gaze drifted toward the massive fleets docked in the distance.
"Did you lose your fleet due to the displacement?"
Veyron lowered his head slightly. "I am ashamed, my Emperor."
"You are eager to act."
"I only wish to serve."
"And yet, it seems some have mistaken my momentary silence for hesitation."
Veyron stiffened. Several other officers did as well.
"Tell me," Aman continued, his gaze sweeping over them.
"Do you think you may act without my command?"
Silence. The place was enveloped with a creeping silence.
"No! my Emperor," Veyron said immediately.
"Forgive me for my insolence."
"Then you will have your orders soon. There is work to be done before we act."
"Understood, my Emperor."
Aman exhaled slowly.
"Ensure that everyone understands this. No one acts without my order. Just because I haven't given an order yet doesn't mean anyone is free to act on their own."
"If anyone thinks otherwise, remind them who they serve."
"Disobedience will not be tolerated. If any commander moves without my command, they will answer to me."
Veyron held his salute longer this time.
"It will be done."
Aman studied him for a moment before turning away.
"Continue your duties."
The kneeling Asterrans remained motionless. Not a single one stood until Aman had fully disappeared from view.
Even then, no one moved immediately.
It was reverence.
The weight of his presence lingered, pressing down on them even in his absence.
Only after several long seconds did they finally rise, one by one. None spoke at first.
Then, a logistics officer exhaled sharply.
"For a moment… I thought I wouldn't leave this place alive."
A Skurr'Er beside him, towering even among the others, tilted his head slightly.
"You are not the only one."
Veyron, still standing rigidly, clenched his jaw.
"Dying under his gaze would have been a mercy compared to the alternative."
Another officer nodded.
"To be suspected of rebellion… to be doubted by him…" He shuddered. "There is no greater shame."
A communications officer, her glowing eyes dim with lingering tension, pressed a hand to her chest.
"My core faltered for a moment when he spoke. It was as if…" She hesitated. "As if my very existence was being questioned."
Veyron exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
"That was not a question. That was a warning."
Another logistics officer swallowed hard. "I felt my blood halt in my veins."
A younger Asterran hesitated before speaking.
"…Our shared blood."
The others turned to him. He lowered his head.
"The Emperor… our Father… he shared his own blood to create the bodies of our ancestors. That connection still continues, even now."
Silence.
Veyron finally spoke. "We exist because of him."
They all knew this. It was not just doctrine. It was a fact.
"To shame him… to be doubted by him…" His voice grew heavy. "I would rather tear out my own core than let that happen."
A murmur of agreement passed through the gathered Asterrans.
They would not make the same mistake again.
One by one, they returned to their duties. Their minds were clearer.
The Emperor had spoken.
And they would obey.
Aman continued walking, but after a few blocks, he stopped in his tracks.
If he remembered correctly, every Asterran had built-in teleportation capabilities. In the game, it was a simple function—press a command, select a location, and you were there. But here, he had no interface, no menus, no prompts.
He exhaled.
If the Asterrans could do it, so could he. He was their emperor, after all.
Teleportation wasn't magic or an external ability. It was part of their design, an internal function. If it was instinctual for them, then it should be for him too.
He looked at a spot a few meters ahead. A simple jump.
Move.
At first, nothing happened. Then, something shifted. A faint sensation, like something unlocking. The next moment, the world around him folded, and suddenly, he was standing in the spot he had been looking at.
Aman blinked.
He turned back. His previous position was empty. There had been no movement, no transition, just an instant change from one place to another.
It worked.
He glanced at the passing Asterrans. None of them reacted. That was good. He should've gone to the training field first, but since no one noticed, it didn't matter. He flexed his fingers.
"So, it's just a thought. No casting time, no cooldowns. Just instant relocation."
That was convenient.
But if he could teleport a few meters, what about longer distances? And his other abilities, he needed to test them all.
Only one way to find out.
Aman was about to teleport across the capital when another thought came to him.
"…Alfred, cancel the guards at the training field. I need it empty. Prepare the audience room while you're at it."
Alfred hesitated for a moment, confused. But hearing his tone, he understood something.
"Understood, my liege."
That "understood", whether built on expectations, over-expectations, or something else entirely, was a story for another time.
For now, Aman had training to do.
Later, he would hold an audience and address the empire.
How they would move forward, well, that was a matter for another day.