The night was one to remember.
The newly expanded village roared with life as laughter, music, and cheer filled the air. Lanterns swayed gently, casting warm golden hues over long tables piled with food—roasted boar, steaming stew, fresh vegetables, and baskets of soft bread. Kegs of fruit wine and ale were passed around freely. Goblins and Kijin mingled with growing camaraderie, barriers of race and origin dissolving in the warmth of shared celebration.
Shuna, graceful as ever, led a group of Goblinas in a soft song that made even the rowdiest goblins quiet down in reverence. Some Goblins danced—clumsily but with enthusiasm—while others clapped along to the beat of makeshift drums.
Shion, after drinking just a bit too much, challenged several Hobgoblins to an arm-wrestling match and proceeded to win with ease, laughing heartily.
Even Veldora sat at the head of the gathering, sipping from an enormous wooden mug, grinning proudly. "Ah! Nothing beats the taste of celebration!"
Varvatos, dressed simply but with unmistakable authority, walked among his people—his people—offering nods, words of praise, and quiet smiles. The Kijin, initially reserved, soon loosened up, feeling warmth not just from food and drink, but from the unity and genuine welcome they received.
As dawn broke, the feast's afterglow gave way to a new day—one of organization and growth.
Varvatos stood atop a platform in the village square, flanked by Benimaru, Hakuro, Souei, Shion, and Shuna. His voice echoed with calm authority, but every word resonated with strength.
"We have grown," he began, "and with growth comes responsibility. Today, I will assign roles that will serve as the backbone of our future."
He turned to Benimaru.
"You, Benimaru, will be the Commander of our forces. You carry the heart of a warrior and the mind of a strategist."
Benimaru bowed deeply. "I will not fail you, Varvatos-sama."
"To your side will stand Shion," Varvatos continued. "Her power and loyalty make her a perfect second-in-command. Together, you will lead our defense."
Shion smirked proudly. "Let anyone dare threaten this village—I'll cut them down myself."
He then faced Hakuro.
"Hakuro, your wisdom and mastery with the blade are unmatched. You will oversee the training of our warriors. Make them sharp. Make them proud."
Hakuro placed his hand over his heart and bowed. "With honor, my lord."
"Souei," Varvatos said next, his gaze settling on the quiet Kijin in the shadows. "You move unseen and strike with precision. You will lead our information network—spies, scouts, messengers."
Souei nodded silently. "I accept."
Lastly, his eyes fell on Shuna.
"Shuna, your grace and attention to detail are invaluable. You will oversee the village's daily life—clothing, cooking, and coordination. Make our home warm and functional."
Shuna smiled gently. "It would be my pleasure."
The crowd of goblins and Kijin alike broke into cheers and applause. A clear chain of leadership had been formed. One that promised strength and balance.
But Varvatos wasn't finished.
He looked out across the village and raised one hand toward the eastern plains. "This village must grow."
With a surge of aura and a hum of energy, magic began to swirl around him. The ground trembled lightly. Lines of glowing energy traced across the soil like veins of power.
Then, before the eyes of all present, buildings began to rise from the earth.
Walls emerged first—tall and elegant, fortified with enchanted stone. Then houses followed, each uniquely structured, crafted with smooth wood and reinforced roofing. Barracks, storerooms, and even a large training ground took shape. A fountain erupted at the center of a newly formed square, its waters pure and shimmering.
The ogres—now Kijin—stood wide-eyed, their mouths slightly agape.
"Incredible…" Benimaru whispered.
"This power… this vision…" Shuna added softly.
Hakuro could only chuckle. "He is not just a leader… he's a legend."
Even Veldora, watching from a rooftop, gave an approving nod. "Hah! Showoff…"
As the dust settled and the newly shaped section of the village stood in completion, Varvatos turned and calmly exhaled. "Let there be no doubt. This is not a temporary shelter. This is a home… and one day, a kingdom."
Later, as the sun climbed higher, Benimaru approached Varvatos near the training grounds.
"Varvatos-sama," he said, "with your permission… I believe we should consider acquiring skilled blacksmiths."
Varvatos tilted his head. "Blacksmiths?"
"Yes," Benimaru said. "We are warriors—but for us to grow stronger, we need proper weapons, armor, and tools. The Dwarves of the Kingdom of Dwargon are master artisans. If we could bring some of them here… we'd benefit greatly."
Varvatos stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm…"
Just then, Rigur—who had been passing by—overheard and stopped. "Ah! My lord, if I may… Our people used to trade with the Dwarves of Dwargon before everything fell apart. It's a grand kingdom underground, ruled by King Gazel Dwargo. Their smiths are the best in the world."
Varvatos nodded slowly. "Dwargon…"
He looked to the sky, thoughtful.
"Then it's decided. In a few days, I'll journey to Dwargon myself. If we are to become a true nation, then we need allies… and craftsmanship worthy of legends."
While life blossomed in Varvatos' village—training sessions echoing through the fields, smoke curling gently from kitchens, and the rhythmic pounding of hammers crafting practice weapons—in a far, distant land where the cold never thawed, a different kind of energy stirred.
The Ice Continent, a land sculpted from frost and silence, was home to the most ancient Demon Lord of them all: Guy Crimson—the Primordial Red.
Deep within his opulent crystalline palace of blood-ice, Guy stood alone in his throne chamber. The room was vast, carved from glacial obsidian and shimmering ice, refracting light into dancing crimson and blue hues. A silence, heavy and brooding, filled the air.
His piercing red eyes narrowed slightly, a hand resting against his chin as he sat back on his throne.
The memory of Varvatos—his eyes calm, power unimaginable, and that quiet yet absolute confidence—flashed again in his mind.
I never stood a chance, he thought bitterly. It wasn't anger that plagued Guy—it was something far more rare for a being like him: humility… and curiosity.
"Rain. Misery," he said calmly, his voice carrying clear authority across the chamber.
In an instant, the air warped, and two women appeared kneeling in front of him.
Rain—cold, elegant, and composed—had pale blue hair and eyes sharp as icicles.
Misery—fiery and graceful, dressed in red with hair like burning silk—wore a mischievous smirk as always.
"Yes, Lord Guy?" Rain asked softly.
"Walpurgis," Guy said plainly. "Call it. Tomorrow night."
Both maids blinked. That was rare.
"A Walpurgis, my Lord?" Misery asked, rising with curiosity. "It hasn't been long since the last."
Guy's eyes sharpened. "This isn't about politics or power struggles. This is about balance. Something is shifting in this world… and I don't want the others to be caught off-guard."
Rain nodded, already understanding the seriousness behind Guy's expression. "Shall we inform them all directly?"
"Personally. Let them know I've called it. The location remains here—the Frozen Spire. Do not delay."
"As you command," both maids said in unison. Then, like whispers of wind, they vanished.
As their presence faded, another stepped into the chamber, barefooted yet regal, with long silver hair that danced with cold light.
Velzard, the White Ice Dragon, arched a slender brow as she approached.
She folded her arms and smirked, her breath frosting the air. "You're unusually tense."
Guy didn't move, but his eye twitched. "I'm fine."
"Hmm… you only ever summon Walpurgis when something either annoys you… or scares you," Velzard said, circling his throne lazily.
"I'm not scared," Guy snapped back.
Velzard chuckled. "Oh? Then it must be about him, isn't it? Varvatos, was it?"
Guy remained silent.
She tapped her lip in thought. "The man who—if I'm not mistaken—floored you in under three minutes?"
Guy's eye twitched again. "It was four."
Velzard grinned. "You sure? Because I was watching… and I counted two and a half, including the time he spent waiting for you to get serious."
Guy's teeth clenched. "…Why are you here again?"
"Because I'm intrigued, obviously," Velzard said, leaning against the side of his throne. "For someone to defeat you that cleanly? That effortlessly? I want to know more about him. I want to know what he wants, what he's building… what he's hiding."
Guy leaned forward slightly. "That's the thing. I don't think he's hiding anything. That's what makes him so terrifying. He's… complete."
Velzard's eyes narrowed with a gleam. "Interesting…"
Guy finally turned his head and looked at her fully. "You'd lose against him too."
"Oh?" she said, raising a snowy eyebrow. "You're underestimating me, Guy."
"I'm not," he said, and the weight behind those two words made Velzard's playful smirk fade slightly. "I'm saying even you, in all your icy glory, wouldn't win. He's not like us. He's not just strong. He's something else."
A moment of silence passed.
Velzard eventually stepped back and turned toward the window, gazing out over the frozen horizon. "Then… maybe it's time the rest of us learned who we're dealing with."
Guy nodded. "That's why I called for Walpurgis. We need to talk about Varvatos… before he decides whether we're worth keeping around."