Silver swordlight flowed across the sky like a river, a torrent pouring through a rent in the clouds and plunging straight into the Western District.

The light was so bright that allied soldiers had to raise their arms to shield their eyes, yet even then their eyelids flashed red, as if they were seeing the noon sun through skin.

Only then did the sound arrive.

Rumble, rumble...

Layer upon layer of thunder rolled like the earth being torn open, like the whole world collapsing downward. The Mana Tide surged in from the Western District, pushing everything that could be pushed.

The banners on the allied line snapped taut under the blast, stretched like drumheads and snapping in the wind. The front-line warhorses neighed and reared, only to be held down by taut reins.

The ground began to shake violently; some soldiers couldn’t keep their footing and dropped to one knee, palms pressed to the stones, feeling the concentrated tremor under their hands, as if their palm rested on a drum being beaten.

Slime Knights crouched on beetles, the beetles’ segmented legs dug into the slabs, the gel bodies trembling with the tremor of the earth.

“Hold steady!”

Galvin’s voice rose above the roar.

He stood at the front of the formation, the knightly sword planted in the ground, both hands folded over the pommel, facing the surging Mana Tide head-on.

The blade cleaved the tide in two, shielding the soldiers behind him.

Thud, thud, thud...

One statue-like gargoyle after another descended under Yeno’s command, forming a barrier before the line. The Treant Legion sank their roots into the ground, stabilizing the soil.

The rumbling went on for a long time.

Maybe minutes, maybe longer—gradually the light faded until only a gray haze hung over the Western District.

The tear in the clouds made by the swordlight remained; sunlight leaked through that rent like a slanted pillar, striking the dust that rose from the Western District.

Everything fell silent.

After checks and adjustments, the Sky Oath moved forward first.

Silver Sparrow piloted the fortress and drifted slowly above the ruined palace.

Along the deck edge, the Forest Sages stood in a row.

Selene stood in front, her hand on the railing, hood blown back by the wind to reveal long silver hair and pointed ears.

Her gaze passed through the dust, over the leveled district, and settled on the pit below.

Everyone looked to the same place with bated breath.

Silver Sparrow transmitted the view, the image flowing through the Gel Network back to the Slime army.

Every soldier connected to the network saw the same scene.

The Western District was gone.

Streets, houses, the bell tower, the square, the fountain—all vanished, replaced by a giant crater.

The ground had been cleaved down dozens of meters; the difference in elevation was stark. Standing on the rim and looking up made it feel as if one stood beneath a cliff.

The pit floor was bleached white; rock vitrified into glass and formed a pale, hard shell.

At the center of that shell something floated.

A slime wearing a crown and draped in a cloak.

Chen Yu crouched on his Flying Sword, his gel restored to its pale green.

He stared at the opposite side.

At the end of his gaze the Dome of Life had already dispersed.

That barrier, the pride of the legendary sorcerer, had been shattered by brute force.

Casaric stood amid the shards.

His left arm stayed raised, palm open, fingers frozen in a casting posture by inertia.

But from the fingertips outward, that arm was dissipating like sand blown by wind.

Casaric’s chest heaved; his pupils trembled slightly, but he dared not move erratically. He could only stare at Chen Yu across from him.

Chen Yu didn’t speak; he only lifted a small gel hand slightly.

That ordinary, flimsy gel hand—one that normally couldn’t even break a leaf—was enough to make Casaric, the legendary demon, shrink his pupils again.

The flash of swordlight replayed in his mind.

His heart thudded, and he spun around.

“Slime King, I will return.”

Casaric spat the threat, drew a fissure in the air with his staff, and slipped into it, skulking away in defeat.

Chen Yu rode his sword through the gap, stopping where Casaric had vanished.

He crouched on the Flying Sword and smacked his lips.

He could have caught him.

But the magic muscle had been completely consumed—the massive Mana condensed in the gel had been expended by that swordlight.

He couldn’t swing a second time; he could only watch the Soul Crown slip away from him.

Such a waste.

Chen Yu shook his gel, his small eyes full of regret at the crown, but then he accepted it.

What was Casaric?

A newly promoted legendary demon sorcerer, well versed in legendary spells.

Although he fought ferociously, leveling a district, this was the style of Xu Xuan Heaven—how magical creatures fought.

True legendary practitioners didn’t always have the flashiest spells or the most shocking effects, but their techniques were far stranger.

Domination magic, soul control, shapeshifting, teleportation—commonplace for them.

At a legendary level, the status of mage and warrior is completely reversed.

Strength means little before a legendary mage; if anything, brute force becomes the least lethal.

But in the end, he had been defeated by Chen Yu.

A slime had driven off a legendary sorcerer.

Chen Yu wobbled his gel in satisfaction, then rode his sword upward.

The Flying Sword bounced out of the pit and soared above the allied army.

Wind hit him, lifting his Red Cloak into a fluttering banner of bright red.

He looked down over the whole allied force.

The soldiers below gazed up at him.

Human knights had removed helmets, sweat-soaked hair clinging to brows, faces still streaked with demon-black blood; the light in their eyes now shone brilliantly.

Slime Artillery poked their heads out from behind the Goblin Ripper. A rainbow crowd of dango-like warriors stared up at him with adoring little eyes.

Finally a slime couldn’t hold back and bounced.

“King!”

“King! King! King!”

Thousands of slimes jumped at once, the slap and squish of bodies blending into one sound like a bubbling pot of jelly.

The orcs remained silent, heads bowed, their eyes filled only with respect.

On the iceplain, orcs respect only one thing.

Power.

Pure power.

That violent scene had completely conquered them.

The slime cheers continued, the slaps like an unending tide.

“Hail the King! Mighty!”

“We won! We won!”

“Long live His Majesty! Long live the Kingdom!”

Human soldiers caught the fever.

A knight raised his helmet and shouted hoarsely,

“Long live His Majesty!”

His voice cracked as if he might shout his throat raw.

Then the knights around him echoed the cry.

“Long live His Majesty! Long live the Kingdom!”

The cheering rippled through the Slime army—slimes, humans, dwarves, elves—everyone celebrated this hard-won victory.

Some were so excited they tossed a nearby slime comrade into the air.

Above, Sekashi and Semiaya rode back on snow eagles, leading the Dragon Cavalry; Sekashi waved both arms hard, eyes sparkling.

Beet also led the Poison-stinger Wasp legion slowly back into formation.

The most fervent were the faithful of the Great Slime Religion; they surged forward in a mass.

Especially Casimir, the usually devout vampire bishop—his eyes were red now. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, hands clasped at his chest as if to seize the light rising from his heart.

He knelt and praised the miracle.

“Hail the great Slime Majesty.”

“Praise your power.”

When those words left Casimir’s mouth, he suddenly opened his eyes; in his blood-red pupils white Holy Light reflected back. His white robes lifted without breeze, thorns coiled around his body, and a holy blossom unfurled from his chest.

An Extraordinary cleric.

Nilly stepped out from the shadows with wide eyes, as if to say, isn’t that a bit over the top—kneel and you become Extraordinary?

That was too easy.

But...ahem...it seemed she wasn’t far behind; all thanks to Little Coal Ball’s eating efforts, it had dragged her into the Extraordinary tier.

After watching for a few glances and seeing the Holy Order surround Casimir in celebration, she slunk over to Chen Yu, dagger already sheathed at her waist, and pushed forward obsequiously.

“Heh heh...Your Majesty, I knew it—legendary sorcerers, northern emperors—before our Majesty they only fart and piss themselves running away.”

She perched a hip, pride thick in her tone as if that was how it should be.

Chen Yu blinked at her.

He thought her flattery rivaled Count Bran’s.

At that moment Louisa, Nolan and others stepped out of the ranks.

Louisa led, Seleste and Alice at her sides. The Merchant Alliance’s Extraordinary professionals followed further back.

She stopped before Chen Yu, her expression complicated as she looked at the slime mass in front of her.

She had pictured retaking the capital many times.

Maybe amidst artillery thunder, maybe at a negotiation table, maybe one morning riding through the gates.

She had never imagined it would be like this.

When she had seen the Soul Crown on Casaric’s head, and the remnant sunlight scattering from that crown, she had once felt all her efforts had been wasted.

But Their Majesty had done it.

He had driven off a legendary sorcerer.

Words could hardly describe the tangle of feelings in her chest—reverence and admiration for the sovereign, relief at a lost thing regained, hope for the kingdom’s future...so many emotions braided together.

Louisa inhaled deeply and made an important decision.

She lifted her skirted armor with both hands, and, in front of the Restoration Army’s knights and soldiers whose eyes widened, slowly dropped to one knee before Chen Yu.

Louisa’s voice fell on the land that had been trampled by demons and then reclaimed by the allied forces.

“I, Louisa von Whiteman, thank Your Majesty for everything you have done for this kingdom. The White Horse Kingdom will honor our accord and from this day...”

She paused.

“From this day forth become a vassal state of the Slime Kingdom.”

Her words carried clearly to those nearby.

Seleste and Alice hesitated for a beat, then also dropped to one knee.

They understood the weight of Louisa’s kneel.

The White Horse Kingdom was now a shell; the Third Prince was a puppet of demons—this was common knowledge among the allied forces. The royal bloodline had dwindled to Louisa alone.

This princess was the final heir; her actions represented the entire White Horse Kingdom.

This single kneel therefore signified the submission of the White Horse Kingdom.

Chen Yu watched Louisa kneeling and his gel rippled.

“The Slime Kingdom welcomes citizens of all races and treats them equally, whether human or magical creature, whether native or newcomer.”

“You will be glad you made today’s choice.”

“From this day forward, you shall be crowned a queen under the Gel’s Blessing.”

He raised a small gel hand; pale green gel flowed from his palm and condensed in the air into a golden Main Crown.

Casimir and many believers sang and prayed nearby, lending a sense of sacred ritual to the coronation.

“We did it.”

Seleste stepped forward and whispered, holding up Louisa’s original princess crown with both hands.

“I know you are not interested in power, but the White Horse Kingdom now needs a sovereign who can pull all citizens from wandering and confusion.”

“Enjoy this moment. Enjoy your victory.”

The great eagle Druid finished and stepped aside.

“I understand.” Louisa inhaled deeply and opened her eyes.

“Please, Your Majesty, crown me.”

Chen Yu bounced over. Once Louisa bowed her head, he set the gel crown onto her.

When the crown settled, its gel rim adjusted itself to fit her hairline perfectly.

The White Horse crest glowed at her brow; the pale gold light softened the sharp planes of her face into something sacred and gentle.

“Rise, my queen.”

Louisa stood, right hand over her heart, left hand at her side.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Chen Yu wobbled his gel, pleased with the address.

After the coronation, Galvin finally stepped forward.

His knightly sword hung at his side; he remained exacting in armor, not relaxing like other soldiers.

His apprentice Anna followed, and together they halted before Chen Yu, right fist pressed to their breastplate.

“Your Majesty.”

Galvin looked up.

“Because of fear of your power, those orcs and the Broken Sword Legion of the Third Prince still linger nearby and dare not stray. They have not fled in the chaos, nor made hostile moves.”

“Would you like to speak with them?”

Galvin’s reminder made Chen Yu remember the orcs still to be handled.

“Then let’s go see them.”

He bounced forward; Galvin and Anna turned and followed. A line of Slime Knights rode along, beetles clattering under them.

As they passed, Slime soldiers automatically cleared a path.

The orc soldiers likewise stepped back respectfully.

Finally Chen Yu stopped before Durlontan and Lide.

They stood amid ruins, apparently in discussion; at Chen Yu’s appearance they fell silent.

The surrounding orcs held their breath.

In front of this seemingly soft slime mass, no one dared move; the atmosphere weighed heavy.

When Anna and Galvin approached, her gaze slipped through the crowd to land on Lide.

She reflexively reached out, then stopped. She wanted to say something; her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Lide seemed to notice and shot her a warning glance.

A few seconds later, he stepped forward, right fist pressed to his breastplate, breaking the silence with a salute.

“Hail the Slime Majesty. The Third Prince’s desire to expel the demons has been fulfilled. He refused to become a demon’s puppet and has taken his own life in the palace.”

“The Broken Sword Legion was originally part of the Border Corps, raised to fight demons. Now that the demons have been driven away, the Broken Sword Legion has no reason to exist.”

“All authority will return to the White Horse Kingdom. As for me...I will personally resign all posts and submit to an open trial.”

“Commander...”

Knights behind him couldn’t help exclaiming.

They all knew this was the best outcome.

Although the Broken Sword Legion had not fought the Slime Kingdom directly, during the Storm Fortress battle they had held the city. If the Slime Majesty wanted retribution, none would escape. Yet now the commander was taking the blame to find a way out for them.

Chen Yu looked at Lide; his small eyes blinked.

“Your crimes will naturally be judged by others.”

Then his gaze dropped to Durlontan.

Durlontan stood there—though towering over Chen Yu, he felt watched from above by the slime mass rather than the other way around.

No one could have anticipated, not even he, that months ago the dango child and the orcs would experience such a staggering reversal of status today.

Even the strength he had once been proud of seemed ridiculous before this slime.

Durlontan was solemn and silent; sweat beaded on his brow despite the deep winter.

He knew the fate of the orc army rested in this gel hand.

If he said one wrong thing, without Chen Yu striking himself, the floating fortress overhead could mercilessly rain cannonfire down on them.

The orcs behind him had been brought from the iceplain, gathered from many tribes, following him all the way to the capital.

Some were so old their tusks had worn; some so young they had no battle tattoos yet.

They had marched south for a better future, so their children could grow up where spring blossoms, not starve on the tundra fighting monsters.

But now their fate lay in his words.

Facing those hopeful, terrified, and confused faces, pressure like a burden animal sat on his chest and he struggled to breathe.

He could, with orc pride, urge these slimes not to be cowards, proclaim courage even in the face of the powerful.

But...

Seeing the expressions, he could not follow through.

Under everyone’s gaze, the proud orc warlord sank to both knees; heavy knees hit the stone, and he chose submission.

“I, Durlontan.”

His voice was low, each word heavy with acceptance.

“On behalf of the Orc Legion...”

“Kneel before the Slime Emperor.”

He extended his battle axe to Chen Yu, straightened his back, and closed his eyes.

“Spare them.”

“But true orc warriors should not kneel and grovel for honor; their shame I will bear alone. They did not betray the orcs; they merely survived because of my cowardly decision. All blame lies with me—Durlontan—who has stained orc honor.”

“Please, Slime Emperor, grant me the ending fitting a warrior. I will die on the battlefield.”