Deep within the luxurious confines of an opulent underground chamber, illuminated only by softly glowing mana crystals embedded in intricate sconces, four noble lords sat around a polished obsidian table. The air was thick with anticipation, ambition, and a hint of carefully concealed fear.
Lord Varus, the eldest among them, stroked his graying beard thoughtfully. "The reports are conclusive," he announced, tapping a finger impatiently on the glossy surface. "That pulse of divine energy has drawn every creature in the wasteland straight to Kenji’s doorstep. His defenses must be buckling by now."
Across from him, Lady Isandra chuckled softly, her eyes glinting sharply with ruthless cunning. "Perfect timing, I must admit. If we strike while he's overwhelmed, victory is assured. Even his infamous mutated soldiers have limits."
A stout and heavily armored noble, Lord Darius, leaned back in his chair, arms folded confidently. "Our combined armies will crush what's left of his little operation. He was a fool to refuse cooperation with us."
The youngest among them, Baron Calix, a slender and ambitious man in elaborate robes, sneered disdainfully. "Still, we must address the matter of the three cowardly houses who refused to join us. Public neutrality indeed—it's obvious they've chosen to hide behind excuses."
Lady Isandra waved dismissively. "Let them hide. Once Kenji falls, those spineless nobles will see their mistake. They'll either bow or break."
Varus stood slowly, signaling the end of the council. "Then it’s settled. Kenji’s little empire ends before it begins. We move immediately."
As the nobles departed, none noticed the subtle glances exchanged among their attendants—silent eyes filled not with loyalty, but with treachery. For while the four plotted openly, the supposedly neutral houses remained curiously silent—watching, waiting, perhaps calculating. Somewhere beyond that council chamber, messages had already been exchanged, and unseen hands were adjusting the board. The game was shifting, though none of the four seemed to realize it yet.
The ice-bitten winds screamed across the wasteland as four heavily armored crawlers pulled up to the Shack’s perimeter. Each bore the insignia of a noble house, their banners fluttering like declarations of arrogance. Marching behind them were well-drilled troops—four armies, each between 400 and 700 strong. Armored, polished, disciplined. These weren’t raiders. These were nobles playing war.
But they hadn’t come to fight—yet. They came to make demands.
Kenji stood atop the Shack’s observation platform, a steaming mug labeled “World’s Okayest Overlord” in hand. On either side of him stood Sola and Luna—silent, composed, and perfectly still. Their maid uniforms shimmered faintly under the Shack’s alert glow, synced with the Hive’s battle state.
He stared at the approaching procession, dead-eyed and unimpressed.
“Ah,” he muttered, “the Discount Conqueror Convention finally arrived.”
A combat drone hovered silently behind him as the nobles disembarked. They approached under a flag of truce, weapons sheathed, posture proud.
Lady Isandra stepped forward, flanked by two decorated commanders. Her voice rang sharp against the cold.
“Kenji,” she called out, “you have one chance to surrender your holdings and system access to our coalition. Do so peacefully, and we will grant you exile. Refuse, and your shack will be buried under a mountain of steel.”
She smirked. “You’re in no condition to withstand a full assault from four noble houses. Our armies are elite, rested, and prepared. Yours is battered, your defenses overextended. This doesn’t need to end with your death. Think carefully.”
Kenji took a long sip.
“Loud, arrogant, and late,” he said. “That’s three red flags in one sentence. You nobles really are a bulk discount on bad decisions.”
He leaned on the railing, gesturing lazily toward the barren terrain. “But hey, I like the confidence. Tell you what—come back in ten minutes. I’ll have the recycler heated and ready. That way, I can shove your corpses straight into the biomass processor. Should be enough fuel to get my coffee machine running again.”
He raised the mug in mock toast. “Appreciate the delivery. Saves me the shipping.”
Then, without waiting for a reply, Kenji turned and walked inside.
The nobles stiffened. A few snarled under their breath. But they didn’t move. Not yet.
They thought Kenji was bluffing.
They were wrong.
Inside, Kenji tapped open a console. A grid flared to life—hundreds of red markers blinking across the perimeter.
He smirked.
“Showtime.”
Moments after the nobles returned to their armies, still stewing from the insult, the plains around the Shack shifted.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
High in the air, Vulture Strike? drones broke formation from the Drone Hive, forming a black halo above the battlefield.
To the north and east, figures emerged from camouflaged terrain—elven recon units in silent stride, longbows crackling with mana-augmented frost. From the south, the ground rumbled with the steady march of dwarven vanguard—bulky figures in stone-forged armor supported by rune-driven artillery constructs.
From the west, banners of the three “neutral” noble houses rose high, their troops already in position.
Kenji didn’t bother giving a speech. He just tapped the console again.
And the sky fell.
Screams erupted. The noble armies had no time to regroup.
From above, the Vulture Strike? drones rained down hot plasma and shredding flechettes. Soldiers turned to ash mid-scream. Half a battalion simply ceased to exist under the initial barrage.
Then the Astarions came.
Flanksteak was first—charging like a monster out of myth, body smeared with dried gore, his eyes blank and inhuman. His axe cleaved a captain clean in half, spraying both halves of the man across his subordinates.
Buttercup followed, silent and savage, tearing through soldiers with clawed gauntlets bigger than most helmets. A noble officer raised a sword in panic—Buttercup simply ripped his arm off and used it to bludgeon two others.
Dante and Brisket moved like wolves through the chaos, their strikes surgical and remorseless. Blood soaked the snow in long, steaming trails.
Across the battlefield, noble commanders shouted conflicting orders—some to charge, others to retreat, many simply screamed.
One young officer watched in horror as his warbeast was bisected by a dwarven golem. His hands shook so violently he dropped his sword and pissed himself before being impaled by an elven frost spike.
Lady Isandra’s face twisted in rage and confusion as her elite guards were shredded in under a minute.
“What is this? What—what are those things?!” she shrieked, watching Flanksteak rip the jaw off one of her lieutenants.
“They’re not human,” another noble whispered, eyes wide. “They can’t be.”
The Astarions bled—deep gashes across chest plates, cracked helmets, glimmering bone visible beneath broken armor. But they didn’t fall. They didn’t stop. They didn’t flinch.
The wounded Astarions were nowhere to be seen—but the six that remained were enough.
Discipline evaporated. Noble soldiers fled in every direction, only to be herded into kill zones by automated drones and waiting ambush units.
Bodies piled. Fires spread. Panic reigned.
Kenji watched the feed, sipping from his mug. “Told you to bring more.”
Smoke drifted across the snow-choked battlefield like a funeral veil. The once-proud banners of four noble houses now lay trampled beneath broken bodies and scorched metal. Here and there, severed limbs twitched. Most didn’t.
Kenji stepped out from the Shack at last, the wind catching the edge of his coat. Sola and Luna trailed him like silent shadows, eyes alert, faces unreadable. Neither had moved a step during the battle. They didn't need to.
“Clean up’s gonna be a pain in the ass,” Kenji muttered.
Lira jogged toward him, panting. Her cheeks were flushed from effort and exposure, not fear. “It’s over,” she said. “They’re running or dead. All of them.”
“Figures,” Kenji grunted. “They brought too many mouths and not enough brains.”
Behind her, Saeko and Elyra were already moving among the corpses, tagging salvageable gear and separating energy-rich armor for recycling. Mirelle arrived shortly after, her expression oddly chipper.
“Four noble houses in one go. That’s gotta be a record,” she said. “Should I prep the good wine?”
Kenji didn’t answer. He was already walking toward the edge of the blood-soaked field.
The six surviving Astarions stood in formation, coated in viscera, their armor cracked and scorched. None spoke. Flanksteak’s chest plating had been caved in on one side, and Dante’s right leg dragged slightly, trailing smoke.
Kenji surveyed them with a sigh. “You idiots cost me a fortune.”
He crouched beside one of the recovery pods near the Shack’s south wall. Inside, Razor lay motionless, half-submerged in bio-stabilizer gel. His face was pale, eyes closed, but the monitor pulsed steady.
Kenji tapped the glass.
“Still alive. Annoying, but alive.”
Lira approached cautiously. “They… don’t die easily, do they?”
“Not unless you take out the heart and brain in the same blow,” Kenji replied. “They shut down to conserve power. Like mean, blood-soaked bears going into nap mode.”
He stood, stretching his back with a groan. “Still gonna cost me. Hope their noble cores are worth the biomass.”
Sola tilted her head slightly. “Enemy remnants: eighty-three. Still fleeing. No pursuit orders registered.”
Kenji shrugged. “Let ’em run. Word’ll spread faster if someone’s left alive to cry about it.”
[SYSTEM REPORT: KENJI'S POST-APOC SNACK SHACK]
Event Log: Post-Noble Engagement CleanupTimestamp: [Day 2 – 23:49]
?? Structural Integrity: 73%(Significant external damage sustained during beast siege. Outer plating scorched, perimeter vents partially melted. Auto-repair in progress.)
?? Energy Reserves: 58%(Recharging. Continually fueled by fresh biomass intake from battlefield cleanup. Coffee machine re-enabled.)
?? Drone Fleet:
- Vulture Strike? Combat Drones: 61 still alive, 19 exploded gloriously
- Builder & Salvage Units: Active, looting the battlefield like raccoons on Red Bull
?? Astarion Combat Status:
- Flanksteak – Heavily damaged, angry
- Dante – Limping, not complaining
- Brisket – Needs buffing
- Buttercup – Claws chipped, ego intact
- Chisel – Broken gauntlet, still menacing
- Barrage – Smells like ozone
- Razor, Vice, Havoc, Drift – Hibernating like angry murder bears
- Stitch – Severe internal trauma, entered emergency hibernation mode
?? Notable Loot:
- Biomass: [EXTREME YIELD] – Includes noble jerky and beast meatballs
- Monster Cores: 41 (flavored chaos, assorted types)
- Energy Cores: 17 (hot and spicy)
- Armor & Enchanted Alloys: Somewhat melted, still useful
?? System Commentary:
"Cleanup in Aisle Four Noble Houses… complete. Bonus XP for dramatic timing."
"Noble dignity: shredded."
"Reminder: Repair costs will emotionally hurt."
"Biomass may be free, but dignity liquefaction is priceless."
[SYSTEM NOTICE: Shack Evolution Progress]
Crimson Core Expansion: Thermal influence radius increased by 47%. Local ambient temperature within 2km now above freezing.
Drone Hive Capacity Surge: Internal Hive size increased. New drone deployment limit: 160 (previous: 80)
Archotech Merge Protocol: INITIALIZED – divine fragments recognized and interfacing with the Crimson Core. Merge pending Tier 6 activation.
Current Tier: 5
Evolution Threshold to Tier 6: 72% Complete
Recent biomass and core intake has accelerated upgrade potential.
Next milestone unlock: Dimensional Reinforcement Chamber + Fortress Wall Perimeter
Advisory: Energy Core reserves sufficient to support one major construction upgrade or two minor fabrications.
Recommend strategic material stockpiling for Tier 6 protocol unlock.