With determination in his heart, Rolan turned his focus inward—to the boundless world of his Soul Realm. It was time to make it more than a mystical space; it would become a sanctuary, a hidden civilization under his dominion. With a surge of mana, he began expanding its boundaries, pushing its radius to two full kilometers. The earth twisted and formed under his will. Forests flourished, rivers meandered, and even jagged mountains rose in the distance. Resources like herbs, minerals, and lumber spontaneously sprouted across the land, drawn from the deep magic that empowered the realm.
He planned carefully, visualizing each structure and settlement. Then, with the help of his shapeshifting slime clones—mimics molded after himself—he sent them to the physical world to survey and relay data from the locations he intended to relocate. Notifications blinked into his vision, one after the other.
---
[Transfer Military Camp into the Soul Realm?]
"Yes."
[Transfer Bloodsworn Village into the Soul Realm?]
"Yes."
[Transfer Tribal Village into the Soul Realm?]
"Yes."
[Transfer Castle into the Soul Realm?]
"All yes!" Rolan commanded.
---
The land shimmered, space warped, and with a low hum, the vast territories vanished from the material plane—reappearing deep within Rolan's Soul Realm. He designated their new locations with precision: the Military Camp was stationed to the North for defense; Bloodsworn Village to the East for agriculture and labor; the Castle remained central as the administrative hub; and the Tribal Village was relocated to the West, closer to the wild regions for expansion.
With the settlements secured, Rolan turned his attention to the ancient dungeon—the very place where he had first been summoned. Solomon stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the order.
---
[Transfer Dungeon?]
"Yes," Rolan replied.
---
Once again, the dungeon flickered and vanished from its original site, materializing inside the Soul Realm near the mountain range. Despite the relocation, the minerals, underground veins, and flora within remained intact. Rolan appointed a slime mimic to manage the area, tasking it with maintaining balance and gathering resources. Making it a place of sanctuary full of hidden treasure and a treasure trove. A place to harvest minerals and resources alike!
The villagers, upon waking and stepping outside, were shaken by the sudden shift in their surroundings. Mountains loomed where none had stood, rivers carved new paths through once-familiar woods. Panic brewed, but it was quickly smothered when word spread: this was the work of their lord.
Frederick, now clad in a proper butler uniform, approached Rolan with a composed but curious expression.
"This is your doing, my lord?" he asked.
Rolan nodded calmly. "Yes. I moved our lands into my Soul Realm. It's safer here."
"I see… Fascinating. The land stretches endlessly. Waterfalls, dense forests, rolling hills... It's like a hidden paradise. The vitality here is remarkable."
"I'm glad you find it so," Rolan replied, offering a faint smile.
Returning to his hut, he found Reginald seated casually, sipping something warm. The old veteran grinned as Rolan approached.
"Well, this place sure changed," Reginald said. "Bigger, livelier... full of energy. But I have to ask, how far are you planning to take this?"
"As far as it takes. Until all the tribes are gathered and protected."
Reginald scratched his chin, his gaze drifting to the glowing sky of the Soul Realm. "A noble goal. But you do know the Demon Clans and Holy Empire won't sit idly by. Survivors are scarce. They're scattered, hunted. You'll need time—and luck."
"I'll find them," Rolan replied firmly. "One by one."
The next morning, after a full night's rest, Rolan returned to the physical world. The wind was crisp, and danger lurked. As always, he moved with caution. From within the Soul Realm, he released scouting slimes in all directions. They bounced and rolled through the wilderness, eliminating stray threats along the way.
Then, a faint cry echoed in the trees.
He spotted a small child—a girl no older than seven—racing through the underbrush in terror. Her clothes were torn, her body bruised and coated in grime. Behind her, a horde of rotting undead lumbered forward, their milky eyes locked on their prey. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the forest floor with a helpless sob.
Before the creatures reached her, a slime slammed into the nearest corpse with such force that its brittle bones shattered. More slimes followed, intercepting the horde. One quickly enveloped the girl and transported her to safety—into the Soul Realm.
Rolan narrowed his eyes. The undead were too numerous to be wild stragglers. He summoned his mimic army. Dozens formed a defensive line around him, taking on distorted humanoid forms with large, grinding jaws. The battle that ensued was gruesome.
The mimics devoured the undead, but the creatures bit back with the same hunger. The battlefield became a chaotic storm of biting, ripping, and disintegration.
System prompts began flashing rapidly:
---
[Hunger of the Dead: Analyzed]
[Tenacity and Pain Nullification: Analyzed]
[Agility and Speed: Analyzed]
[Undead Plague Carrier: Analyzed]
[Unlimited Stamina: Analyzed]
---
Rolan's jaw tightened. "Damn it."
The "Hunger of the Dead" was the most worrying. These undead evolved as they devoured flesh, growing stronger as a collective. Worse, they originated from the north—his scouts confirmed a growing horde. In all likelihood, an Undead Lord or even a Lich Lord was orchestrating the siege, using the corpses of fallen tribal clans as fodder.
To make matters worse, they carried a plague. Airborne and infectious. Had he not relocated his people to the Soul Realm, the infection could have consumed his entire population in weeks.
From now on, every death required cremation—or else the corpse might rise and turn on the living.
With urgency, Rolan returned to his Soul Realm. He entered through a hidden portal and found the rescued girl resting inside a small tent. Ella was by her side, gently brushing the child's hair. Others stood nearby—soldiers, villagers, survivors—all of them staring at Rolan as he entered.
Their faces were grim.
They were ready for war.
And so was he.