The four demon generals fell completely silent. The tense atmosphere of impending war vanished in an instant, replaced by a complex emotion known as "meeting an old friend in a foreign land," and a deep sense of awe. In this world of swords and magic, the word "Wi-Fi" was a "divine language" understood only by the First Demon King and his inner circle. It represented more than just a network; it was an authentication of identity, a resonance of civilizations.

  “We are not,” the lich sighed, put away his bone staff, and the soul fire behind his gold-rimmed glasses softened. “We are the natives of Aethergard. But the First Lord… he taught us a lot. He told us that beyond the stars, there is a world without magic, yet where one can fly to the moon.”

  “He taught me to manage magic like an ‘accountant,’” the lich said, pointing to the ledger in his hand. “He taught me to train the army like ‘special forces’.” The orc scratched his head.

  “He taught me to live like a ‘gentleman,’ even a vampire should have taste.” Julius shook the wine jug in his hand.

  “So…” Elise the Dark Elf, who had been silent all along, emerged from the shadows. She was a stunningly beautiful woman with a cold and aloof face. “Are you a visitor from that world? A fellow countryman of the First Lord?”

  “I guess so.” Sergei did not deny it. He walked to the head of the conference table, the seat that had originally belonged to the First Demon King. He did not sit down, but instead placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, a posture that was extremely aggressive.

  “Since we’re all ‘one of us,’ I won’t play any tricks.” Sergei’s aura changed instantly. If he was a mysterious and unpredictable demon king just now, then now he was the one who fought on Wall Street and bled on the border. The Iron-Blooded CEO.

  “Let me introduce myself. My name is Sergei. My former profession was ‘Hero,’ and my current profession is… the new CEO of this ‘Demon King’s Castle Corporation’.” He extended a finger and tapped the grim battle map on the table. “Now, can someone explain to me why, even with four legendary ‘previous generation heroes’ in our ranks, we’re being driven to our doorstep by a bunch of second-rate mercenaries from Osia?”

  “Reporting… to the boss.” The lich was the first to adapt to this role change. He floated to the table, opened the thick bone-skin ledger in his hand, and spoke with the bitterness of a working-class man: “It’s not that we don’t want to fight, it’s that we can’t afford to.”

  “We’re out of money?” Sergei raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s not just about not having money.” The lich pushed up his glasses. “According to the ‘Sustainable Development Outline of the Demon King’s Castle’ left by the First Lord, we cannot slaughter humans at will, otherwise we will incur divine punishment from the Papal States. Therefore, we can only rely on defensive towers for ‘deterrent defense’.”

  “But…” the orc interrupted, looking frustrated, “that commercial alliance called Osia is so unsportsmanlike this time! Instead of sending knights to charge, they bombarded us with ranged magic cannons! Our defensive towers have no energy, they’re just for show!”

  “Because the power core, ‘Heart of Chaos,’ suddenly shut down,” the Lich added, “just as you were fighting the First Lord.”

  “And our employees… cough, monsters,” Julius said, taking an elegant sip of tomato juice, “most of them ran away because we couldn’t pay their wages (magic crystals). The rest are mostly old, weak, sick, and disabled people who can only help out in the cafeteria.”

  After hearing this, Sergei’s expression under his visor became quite interesting.

  Goodness.

  The defense system was paralyzed, there was a fiscal deficit, employees were leaving, management was hesitant, and outside there was a group of fully armed robbers banging on the door. This wasn’t a demon king’s castle; it was clearly a bankrupt company with a broken cash flow, about to be violently acquired.

  “So, you rushed in just now because you were planning to run away with me?” Sergei asked.

  “This is Plan B,” Elise the Dark Elf said coldly, toying with a poisoned dagger in her hand. “Plan A is: if we find that the new Demon King is a piece of trash, we will kill you, give your head to Osia in exchange for severance pay, and we’ll all go our separate ways.”

  That’s ruthless. Very much in line with her profession.

  “And now?” Sergei asked, looking at her.

  The dark elf sheathed her dagger, knelt on one knee, and lowered her proud head: “Since you understand ‘Wi-Fi,’ then you are one of us. Shadow Guard, at your command.”

  Immediately afterwards, the orcs, liches, and vampires also knelt on one knee. This wasn’t out of fear, but because they saw in Sergei a long-lost quality that could lead them out of their predicament: Leadership qualities.

  “Very good.” Sergei straightened up. He stared at the red dots representing the enemy on the holographic map, and a crazy battle plan quickly formed in his mind. As a special forces soldier, he knew how to use the terrain to his advantage in desperate situations. As CEO, he understood better how to use human greed in negotiations.

  “Listen, we’re not running away. We don’t have the money to pay severance.” Sergei’s voice echoed in the hall, carrying a metallic coldness and confidence. “Since they want to use this place as a buffet…” He extended his black claws, towards the figure represented on the map of the Demon King’s Castle Gate. The position was marked with a heavy cross. “Then we’ll serve them a ‘hard dish’ that they can’t swallow.”

  “Kel’Thuzad,” Sergei gave his first order, “go and reconnect that broken broadcast system. I need to talk business with the ‘guests’ outside…”

  “Also, open the door for me.”

  “Huh?” The orc was stunned. “Boss, we don’t have any defensive towers left. Opening the door is just suicide, isn’t it?”

  “No.” Sergei turned around, his black cloak fluttering in the air. “This is called… Empty City Strategy.”

  —---------------

  The outer perimeter of the Demon King’s castle, 3 kilometers from the core area.

  The command ship of the Seventh Privateering Fleet of the Osia Commercial Alliance, the Gold Coin, hovered menacingly.

  “This is simply…gold everywhere.” Fleet Commander, Count Waldo of the Osia Alliance, stood on the bridge, gazing greedily through his monoculars at the magnificent black castle in the distance.

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  With the departure of the hero’s party and the disappearance of the Demon King’s aura, the "Wall of Sighs" barrier that had shrouded the Demon King’s castle for thousands of years had completely dissipated. The Demon King’s castle, now unprotected, was like an oyster with its hard shell removed, its tender, juicy flesh exposed to greedy diners.

  “My lord,” the adjutant approached with a fawning expression, holding a freshly printed reconnaissance report, “the scouts ahead report that all the magical artillery turrets on the city walls are offline. And… we can no longer detect the high-energy reactions of those ‘monsters’ (magic generals).”

  “Ran away?” Count Waldo scoffed contemptuously, swirling the wine glass in his hand—which contained genuine aged red wine, not some tomato juice. “I knew it. The so-called demon generals are nothing but a pack of stray dogs after losing their master.” He put down his wine glass, his eyes flashing with the shrewdness of a businessman and the cruelty of a bandit.

  He spared no expense in this operation. Although nominally it was to "assist the Papal States in eliminating the remaining evil forces," his real target was the "Ancient Magic Engine" located beneath the Demon King’s castle. That was the legendary power source capable of lifting an entire continent into the air. "If we get our hands on that, the Osia Alliance's stock price could at least increase tenfold!"

  “Pass down the order!” Count Waldo waved his hand sharply. “All troops, charge! The first person to storm the main hall will be rewarded with ten thousand gold coins! Tear that castle down to its foundations!”

  “Yes!”

  As the order was given, the privateering legions, who had been unable to contain themselves, let out beast-like howls. Three hundred steam-powered mechs spewing black smoke led the charge, followed by twenty thousand fully armed mercenaries, and Waldo’s most prized trump card—one thousand heavily armored "Black Iron Heavy Cavalry" riding wyverns. The torrent of steel whipped up clouds of dust as it rolled toward the lifeless black castle.

  The Demon King's Castle, Throne Hall.

  Sergei stood in front of the huge holographic map, watching the red wave approach like a tsunami. “30,000 men, heavily armored, and with air support.” He analyzed the situation expressionlessly, as if he were looking at a flawed merger and acquisition plan, “If we fight head-on, what are our chances of winning?”

  Standing behind him, Kel’Thuzad the Lich pushed up his glasses, his hands moving rapidly across the abacus: “In my prime, I could wipe them out by myself. But now… our magic reserves are only enough to keep the main hall lit. If we don’t run away, we’ll become spoils of war in ten minutes.”

  “Running away is not an option for me.” Sergei turned around and looked at Grom, the Orc General. “Is the door open?”

  “It’s open, it’s open.” Grom swallowed hard, looking completely bewildered. “Boss, I’ve fought a lifetime of wars, and I’ve never seen such law-abiding behavior. Isn’t this just luring someone into a trap?”

  “No, this is called ‘risk disclosure’.”

  Sergei walked to the control panel beside the throne, the one left behind by the First Demon King. His fingers danced rapidly across the complex rune keys, moving so fast they were just afterimages.

  “System, take over the city’s broadcast array.”

  [Command confirmed.]

  [Audio channel has been established.]

  [Voiceprint camouflage: Activated (Mode: Abyss Tyrant).]

  “Now, please keep quiet.” Sergei took a deep breath into the microphone on the control panel.

  —-----------------------

  The square outside the city.

  With the vanguard less than 500 meters from the city gate, Osia’s mercenaries could already make out the exquisite demon reliefs on the gate.

  Sudden.

  Sizzle—!

  A piercing crackling sound of electricity exploded across the entire battlefield, even drowning out the roar of the steam-powered mechs. Immediately afterwards, the obsidian gate of the Demon King’s castle, which had been closed for thousands of years, slowly slid open to both sides with a muffled rumble.

  There were no ambushes or traps. There was only one straight road leading into the deep darkness.

  The pilot of the leading mech instinctively slammed on the brakes. The previously frantically charging column was thrown into brief chaos by this bizarre turn of events.

  Just then, a deep, hoarse voice, as if from the depths of hell, boomed in everyone’s ears through the city’s extensive loudspeaker network:

  “…Is this what they call the ‘Human Alliance’?”

  His voice was filled with drowsiness and disdain, like a lion that had just woken up looking at a group of mice that had disturbed its afternoon nap.

  Count Waldo on the command ship trembled, spilling red wine on the carpet: “That voice… Could it be that the Demon King isn’t dead?!”

  The voice continued, with a chilling chuckle: “Come in. I’m quite hungry… Thirty thousand living souls, though a bit few, are barely enough to fill a gap in my teeth.”

  Hungry? Food getting stuck between teeth?

  The mercenaries, who had been brimming with murderous intent, instantly turned deathly pale. They were there for the money, not to be used as fodder! The terrifying legends of demons "devouring living people" instantly flooded their minds.

  The procession stalled, and fear spread like a plague.

  “Damn it! He’s bluffing!” Count Waldo roared into the communicator, “The hero clearly sent a signal to confirm the kill! This must be the work of those demon generals! Anyone who dares to back down will have their commission docked!”

  He pointed to the gate ahead: the Black Iron Heavy Cavalry Regiment. “Charge in! That’s a ruse! Once you raze the palace to the ground, those ten thousand gold coins are yours!” A generous reward would surely attract brave men.

  The elite heavy cavalry regiment, composed of a thousand desperados, led by their captain, roared and spurred their dragon beasts into a torrent of steel as they charged straight through the gate!

  500 meters… 300 meters… 100 meters! They rushed up the Black Stone Square leading to the Great Hall.

  There was no obstruction.

  “Haha! It was a scam after all!” The cavalry captain was overjoyed. He could already see the black figure sitting on the throne deep inside the hall. “The Demon King’s head is mine!”

  —-------------------

  Inside the throne room.

  Sergei stared at the thousand red dots rushing into the "absolute death radius" on the holographic screen, his eyes beneath his visor completely unmoved.

  “Greed is indeed the best bait.” He raised his right hand, palm up, and then clenched it into a fist.

  “System, overdraft all the energy currently stored in the armor.”

  [Warning: Energy depletion will cause the armor to enter hibernation.]

  [Confirm execution?]

  “Execute,” Sergei uttered coldly, “Activate… Gravity collapse matrix.”

  In an instant. The fluid metal on the surface of the Black Hole Armor surged wildly, and all the purple light was extinguished instantly.

  —------------------

  Blackstone Square.

  The ecstasy on the cavalry captain’s face froze.

  Because he suddenly felt… the world had become heavier. It wasn’t that the armor had become heavier; rather, the air, the light, and even the blood in his body had suddenly become incredibly heavy. There was no explosion, no fire. A muffled "hum" was heard, as if the space itself was groaning under the strain.

  Immediately afterwards, a black sphere, no bigger than a fist, appeared out of thin air in the center of the square.

  The next second.

  Boom!!!

  It wasn’t an outward explosion, but an inward collapse. A thousand fully armed heavy cavalrymen, along with their several-ton wyverns, were pulled to the ground in an instant by an irresistible and terrifying gravitational force before they could even scream. That was the crushing force of the laws of physics. The steel armor was crumpled like paper, the bones were instantly pulverized, and the flesh was compressed to its limit. In that instant, the once three-dimensional army of a thousand men transformed into a sheet less than a centimeter thick, made of a mixture of steel and flesh, on the plaza floor… a Two-dimensional scroll.