Before Sergei could react, countless memories that had been forcibly suppressed or even altered by divine power burst forth like a flood, breaching the white dam in his mind.

  Not just the twenty years he had fought as a hero in Aethergard, but… his real self. They were finally back.

  Those were countless lines of green code flashing across a black screen, representing his Department of Software Engineering. As a child prodigy, he had independently designed the first core algorithm.

  That was the muddy rainforest and the cold sniper rifle; it was him. Abandoning the pen for the sword, after being selected for the special forces as a technical soldier, he held his breath during a decapitation strike on the border. His exceptional physical abilities made him both a hacker and a butcher on the battlefield.

  Those were the days and nights he spent navigating the turbulent business world after founding his tech company following his military service. Even when facing attacks from capital, he carved a bloody path through the market like a wolf.

  The final image froze on a grand bell-ringing ceremony. His company had gone public, his net worth was in the billions. He stood before an enormous floor-to-ceiling window, champagne in hand, when suddenly a sharp pain shot through his heart. Death from overwork. He collapsed at the pinnacle of his life, and then… captured by a beam of light, he was thrown into this damned alien world.

  “Oh…” Sergei—or rather, the once-powerful special forces CEO—let out a low, cold laugh. “I see.”

  He raised his head again and looked in the mirror. Beneath the visor, his pair of dark purple pupils flickered violently, no longer filled with confusion, but with a… long-lost calm and domineering presence that commanded everything.

  Sol, the God of Light, that arrogant fellow, had not only kidnapped his soul but also turned him into a naive and obedient hero, making him work for the god for free for twenty years.

  “Okay. Very good.” Sergei gripped his claws tightly, his fingertips digging deep into his palms, feeling the power that could tear steel apart.

  “Now that you’ve cut the line, control of this ‘company’ is now mine.”

  [System self-check complete.]

  [Loading kernel: Chaos_OS_Ver.0.1 (Alpha Build)]

  A pale blue interface popped up on his retina. Looking at the code structure flashing across it, Sergei immediately understood its intricacies.

  “Is the underlying logic a distributed architecture based on chaotic algorithms? That’s interesting… Although the UI looks like a pile of crap, the code is written very beautifully.” As a former top engineer, he gave a professional evaluation.

  “System, report your physical condition.”

  [Command confirmed.]

  [Host: Sergei (Awakened)]

  [Race: Void/Abyssal Creatures (Uniqueness)]

  [HP: 1% (Extreme hunger)]

  [MP: 0/0 (Magic circuits have melted, all light-based skills are useless)]

  [Current Status: Void Assimilation (Stage 1)]

  “Number of magic points? Whatever.” Sergei cracked his neck, his bones popping like popping beans. “I’m more used to solving problems with tactics and fists than with fancy magic.”

  He turned around and looked at the huge "Seven Realms Dynamic Tactical Map" projected by the system in the center of the hall. The edge of the map represented the Osia Business Alliance. The cluster of red dots had broken through the outer defense line, and like a group of piranhas attracted by the smell of blood, it was surging towards the core area.

  “System, analyze the enemy and our situation.”

  [Enemy: Osia's 7th Privateering Fleet. Approximately 30,000 troops. 500 magical mechs, and several mercenary groups.]

  [Our forces: Demon King's Castle Core Area Defense Force... 0.]

  “Zero?” Sergei raised an eyebrow, his gaze instantly shifting to that of someone scrutinizing a disastrous financial statement. “What about the executives who were outside resisting the coalition forces just now?”

  [Warning: Four high-energy reactions detected rapidly approaching the Throne Hall!]

  [Identification signal: Friendly forces. Speculated motive: Returning to confirm the Demon Lord's status.]

  “So he didn’t abscond with the money, but came back to check if the ‘chairman’ was really dead?” Sergei straightened his tattered cloak and sat back down on the throne. Although he was only level 1 now, the aura he exuded—a fusion of the decisiveness of a special forces soldier and the shrewdness and authority of a listed CEO—was even more terrifying than when he was a hero.

  “Alright. Since we’re going to take over this mess, whether it’s a ‘hostile takeover’ or an ‘internal restructuring,’ we need to quell the troublemakers first.”

  Boom—!

  Before the words were even finished, the incredibly heavy obsidian side door of the main hall was smashed open by a terrifying force. The massive stone slammed into the ground like a cannonball, kicking up clouds of dust.

  “Boss! Those greedy humans are already tearing down my front door! How come you didn’t make a sound—”

  Before the smoke and dust had cleared, a gigantic figure, like a mobile fortress, charged in first. That was Grom, the Orc General, someone over three meters tall. His muscles bulged like granite, and his body was covered with fragments of human armor that were still dripping blood. He held a giant axe the size of a door in each hand, and the ferocious aura emanating from him was enough to suffocate an ordinary person.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  But the way the other three figures behind him entered the arena displayed remarkable tactical sophistication:

  A person wearing tattered robes, Kel'Thuzad the Lich, floated in mid-air, the tip of the bone staff in his hand glowed, clearly maintaining some kind of detection magic; in the shadows, a blurry silhouette flashed by, indicating that Elise the Dark Elf, the assassin general, had entered stealth mode. She had already silently reached the highest point of the main hall. Beside the orc, a red and black afterimage flashed by in an instant, stopping abruptly beneath the throne with an extremely elegant yet astonishingly fast movement. He was a pale-faced man wearing a tailcoat, Grand Duke Julius the Vampire. He wasn’t panting like the orc. In the instant he stopped, he even had the leisure to straighten his slightly disheveled bow tie, then pulled out a jewel engraved with intricate rose patterns from his robes—a Silver flat wine jug.

  “Rude.” The vampire glanced at the orc, elegantly unscrewed the lid of the flask, and tilted his head back to take a swig. A trickle of red liquid spilled from the corner of his mouth, starkly contrasting against his pale skin.

  However, the orc’s roar abruptly stopped. Because they clearly saw the presence on the throne. That wasn’t the First Demon King they knew, always dressed in a gray robe and fond of lecturing from books. Sitting there was an unknown creature, its entire body pitch black, shrouded in black mist, with its face burning with eerie purple flames in its eyes.

  The air froze instantly. Four terrifying killing intents instantly locked onto Sergei on the throne.

  “Who are you?” The vampire duke slowly closed the wine jug, his eyes turning incredibly dangerous. His neatly trimmed nails instantly grew three inches longer, gleaming with a metallic glint. “…What did you do to that old man?”

  Despite facing four top-tier experts who were ready to strike and kill at any moment, Sergei remained completely calm. His dark purple eyes flickered slightly. His keen observation skills, honed by his special forces background, combined with the enhanced senses of his "Black Hole Armor," allowed him to instantly detect the unsettling atmosphere in the air.

  What that vampire was drinking…? It didn’t have the metallic smell typical of blood; instead, it had a… sweet and sour plant-like aroma?

  “System, analyze the target liquid composition,” Sergei commanded in his mind.

  [Analysis complete.]

  [Ingredients: Water, fructose, citric acid, lycopene...]

  [Conclusion: High-concentration tomato juice (salted version).]

  Sergei’s lips twitched slightly beneath his visor. These "demon generals," indeed, none of them were normal. But he didn’t show it, just leaned back lazily in his chair, a posture he often adopted when listening to bids from opponents at board meetings—the posture of an absolute controller. He slowly raised his black claw, his fingertips lightly tapping the armrest of the throne.

  Clatter. The crisp tapping sound, amplified by the system, was transformed into a low-frequency vibration that directly bombarded the soul—[Skill: Abyssal Pressure (Bluster Version)]. This oppressive aura did not belong to any magical element of this world; it was pure "rule." Like a higher-dimensional being looking down upon a lower-dimensional being, it caused the four demon generals’ souls to instinctively tremble.

  The vampire duke’s pupils contracted sharply, and his hand holding the wine jug trembled violently.

  “Put away your murderous aura, esteemed ‘seniors’.” Sergei’s voice, amplified by his visor, became deep and metallic. He didn’t use that melodramatic, devilish tone, but rather a calm, rational, and undeniable commanding tone. “Furthermore, Archduke Julius…” Sergei called out the vampire’s name (extracted from the original owner’s memories), his tone carrying a barely perceptible hint of mockery: “As a former hero, drinking tomato juice may be healthy, but on the battlefield… isn’t that a bit too leisurely?”

  The entire room fell silent. The vampire nearly dropped the silver pot. The dark elf’s figure flickered on the roof beam, revealing its true form. The orc’s mouth gaped open, his expression even more shocked than when he had seen the monster.

  “You… how did you know it was tomato juice?!” the vampire exclaimed, his aloof persona instantly crumbling.

  Sergei pointed to the red enemy dots on the holographic map, his gaze sharp as a knife, instantly switching back to his decisive CEO mode: “Enough with the small talk. The most urgent thing right now is not to start internal strife.”

  “If we don’t fix the door soon, our ‘company’… will be completely destroyed by those hostile takeover robbers outside.”

  “A…company?” Grand Duke Julius, the vampire, hadn’t recovered from the shock of "the tomato juice being exposed" when he was hit with this money-grubbing and modern term, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He subconsciously hid the silver wine pot behind his back, and the aloof duke’s mask on his pale, handsome face was now shattered.

  “Stop hiding it.” Sergei retracted his claws, which had been radiating terrifying pressure, and his voice beneath his visor was as calm as still water. “Premium tomato juice with added salt is indeed good for replenishing electrolytes. But on the battlefield, I suggest you switch to more efficient energy bars, Julius.”

  The air inside the hall remained tense. The four demon generals did not completely lower their guard because of Sergei’s few words. After all, they were battle-hardened warriors, former heroes who had once dominated this world.

  Kel'Thuzad, the Lich, floating in mid-air, a flicker of spiritual fire flashing in his eyes. He adjusted a pair of monocle perched on his nose, and slightly raised his bone cane, pointing it at Sergei: “Your Excellency not only possesses the power of the First Generation, but also such keen…insight. However, merely discerning the tomato juice does not prove that you are qualified to sit in this position.”

  The lich’s voice was dry and rational, revealing a shrewdness born from long-term dealing with numbers. “Right now, the ‘Osia Demolition Team’ outside the city is less than five kilometers from the core area. If you are the chosen successor of the First Lord…” The lich’s empty eye sockets stared intently at Sergei, “How do you plan to resolve this deficit crisis?”

  “Deficit crisis?” Sergei keenly caught the word. He didn’t answer directly, but slowly stood up. The black chitinous carapace rubbed against each other, producing a teeth-grinding metallic sound. He stepped down the throne steps, each step extremely steady, as if he were not a wounded soldier at only Lv1, but a supreme commander inspecting a factory.

  He walked to the holographic map in the center of the hall, with his back to the four demon generals. This was an extremely dangerous move. He was exposing his back to four top assassins who could kill him at any moment. But this was precisely Sergei’s psychological tactic—Absolute self-confidence is often more intimidating than absolute force.

  “Before answering your question, I have an even more important question to confirm.” Sergei looked at the dense red dots on the map, and without turning his head, asked in an extremely casual tone: “What’s the Wi-Fi password here? I can’t connect to the local network.”

  The air seemed to freeze in that instant, as if it had been frozen by liquid nitrogen. Julius was stunned. The dark elf nearly fell in the shadows. The lich’s bone staff trembled.

  And Grom, the Orc General, with the most straightforward personality and the most developed muscles, almost unconsciously, as a conditioned reflex, blurted out: “I told you! The router burned out during the thunderstorm last month! The signal is terrible now…”

  The orc’s voice abruptly stopped. He covered his mouth in horror, his bull-like eyes widening as he looked at his three companions staring intently at him, then at Sergei, who had his back to him.

  “…I, I mean…that…” the orc stammered, trying to find a way to explain.

  “Alright, Grom.” Sergei turned around, a knowing smile playing on his dark purple eyes. “Looks like that old guy from the first generation wasn’t just a programmer, but also a pretty good teacher. Or rather…” Sergei’s gaze swept over the four of them, “You guys are also unlucky bastards from that place called ‘Earth’?”