A mysterious entity, existing beyond time and space, has gathered the most feared, powerful, and cruel beings across countless dimensions. Their histories are stained with blood, their victories unmatched, and their ambitions endless. But why have they been summoned?A voice echoes across the void. It reaches through dimensions, whispering into the souls of those who have long abandoned humanity, and transcended to something more.

  Each member of the Unholy Round Table is ripped from their reality, transported into a mysterious, boundless realm.

  The members enter one by one, their presence and aura different from each other but deadly nonetheless...

  Demon Lord Kessel – The Tyrant of Endless Conquest[View Demon Lord Kessel Illustration]

  The fmes part before him—not as if afraid, but as if worshiping his return. His armored form gleams obsidian beneath streaks of blood, and his golden eyes bze like twin suns from a dying star. He does not walk in... he arrives, like a procmation of war.His presence crashes down like a war drum—slow, confident, and inevitable.

  "You dare rip me from my throne mid-conquest? Hah… how bold. How utterly suicidal."

  He ughs—not from joy, but from the sheer absurdity that someone believes they can summon him and survive.Behind him, echoes of a world still burning linger, the screams of kingdoms colpsing under his banner. The throne he left behind is already ash, and he’s not looking back.

  "Very well then. Entertain me, Entity. If I kneel, it will be atop the corpses of your chosen."

  Kessel does not conquer for power.He conquers because nothing else is worth his time.

  Anti-Hero Jeruva – The Bde That Ended a World[View Anti-Hero Jeruva Illustration]He steps into the chamber with a silence so absolute it feels like reality holds its breath. His armor is fractured, corrupted—glitching with shadows that bleed light in reverse. One half of his body still remembers divinity; the other half is rot and ruin, a reminder of the world he erased.His sword drips not blood, but essence—pure void, carved from the soul of a dead god.His voice is cold, distant.

  "Another realm... another lie. Shall I end this one too?"

  Jeruva no longer seeks redemption. Nor does he crave vengeance. He is simply a bde in search of silence. His own world was consumed by his wrath—cut in half not by war, but by the colpse of hope.Now, he walks only to test one truth:Is there anything left in existence worth sparing?

  Blood Saint Pirika – The Crimson Vixen of Elegant Sughter[View Blood Saint Pirika Illustration]A crimson moon rises behind her as if summoned by her presence, casting her four flowing tails in divine shadow. Her ivory hair glistens like freshly spilled silk, and her red eyes glow with nguid hunger. Cd in ceremonial bck trimmed in blood-gold, she moves not as a warrior—but as a priestess of carnage.

  "How precious... you brought all your souls together in one pce. Shall I make a masterpiece of your final screams?"

  She steps forward with grace, her sword dragging a line of molten red across the floor. Her world? A kingdom drowned in ritual blood, its final symphony conducted by her bde. She smiles—not in cruelty, but in reverence. For Pirika does not kill for sport or victory.She kills for art.

  God Syer Heramsis – The Mortal Who Mocked the Divine[View God Syer Heramsis Illustration]Heramsis didn’t walk like a warrior. He strode like a final verdict. Every step cracked the ground beneath him, not from weight, but from sheer contempt. His presence didn’t demand attention — it commanded it. The very air warped with a pressure that wasn’t magical, but primal. Ancient. Wrong. He gnced around, amber-gold eyes fshing with disdain.

  “Another god behind a curtain?”

  Voice dry, unimpressed.He rolled his neck, shoulders flexing zily.

  “Cute. I’ve crushed holier ones with a yawn.”

  His right hand fred — not with spellfire, but with something worse: memory. The divine tried to rewrite him once. Tried to chain him to prophecy, to destiny, to obedience. He answered by tearing off their halos and wearing their fear like a crown. Heramsis didn’t fight for justice. He didn’t kill for bance. He wasn’t chosen. He was the rejection of all of it. The man who stood, middle finger raised to the stars, and carved his legend into the bones of heaven itself. He didn’t care if the gods bled. He made them bleed — to prove one thing:They were never above him.

  Timekeeper Chrono – The One Who Witnessed the End of All Things[View Timekeeper Chrono Illustration]A spiral of celestial light unwinds as he appears, each footstep causing time itself to ripple. His golden eyes shimmer with timelines colpsed and rebuilt. From beneath an obsidian-and-gold hood, long white hair flows like threads of starlight, brushing against robes etched in sacred geometry and adorned with radiant blue gems—each one a sealed moment in eternity.The scent of sun-warmed stone and desert wind trails him, as if he carries echoes of a forgotten empire carved into sand. There’s something ancient in the way he moves—like a pharaoh unbound by death, older than gods, yet still walking among stars.Behind him, a clock ticks with no hands—because even time waits for him to speak.He doesn’t ask why he was summoned. He already knew. Long before the summoner did.

  “So this is where the path splits. Again.”

  He surveys the others—not with judgment, but quiet acknowledgment. A pause. A faint smirk. He’s pyed this scene before. Chrono has seen the heat death of reality and the birth of universes from fragments of thought. He doesn’t fight for power, glory, or conquest.He fights because even fate needs to be reminded who wrote the first draft.

  Unbothered Tyrant Draziel – The Heir of Crimson Sovereignty[View Unbothered Tyrant Draziel Illustration]

  He doesn’t arrive. He phases in—Like an overpowered character from a glitched-out endgame file, Draziel materializes with all the fir of someone too powerful to care. Red energy flickering zily along his fingers as if it’s just tagging along.

  His obsidian outfit doesn’t roar authority—it hums with it. Sleek, sharp, unbothered. A long crimson sash snaps in the breeze behind him like a banner without a war, and twin dragon wings stretch wide—not in threat, but as if mocking the idea that anything could stop him.He stands like a monarch who retired out of boredom, not defeat. The dragon heritage is there—etched in gold, whispered in scales—but he wears it like jewelry, not a burdenDraziel's crimson eyes sweep across the realm, a lopsided smile pying at his lips — not smug, just casually amused, like the universe dropped the mic and he's here to see what comes next.

  “You dragged me here? Bold move. I like your style.”

  He smirks, tapping the butt of his spear against the glitching ground. A ripple of red lightning distorts the floor like a broken mirror.

  “Alright then, mysterious voice in the void. Is this gonna be a war, a game... or a very long group therapy session?”

  And if he decides to py along?The game ends on his terms.

  Trickster Bzard – The Jester Who Laughs at Reality[View Trickster Bzard Illustration]

  He doesn’t enter—he moonwalks.Every step is a meme come to life—dab, twirl, pelvic thrust. Reality glitches just trying to keep up. His tone mischivieus“OHHHHH BABY!! What do we have here my dears?!”

  He clutches his face in mock awe, spins on one foot, and strikes a vilin pose so dramatic it’d make a stage actor weep.“Mmmm… , multiversal energy, cryptic host, a bunch of murder-happy warlords trying to out-brood each other? I LOVE the vibe!”

  He snaps his fingers—cards explode into the air like shrapnel made of drama.“KyeeeehahahahahAHAAHAHAHA-HOHOHhhahAA–ohhh.."

  A little sharpening on the suit with an unholy grin on his face.“It’s got fvor. It’s got spicy. It’s got blood in the wallpaper and trauma in the punch line!”

  He floats midair, upside-down, arms spread wide like a magician on opening night.

  As the members of this new alliance look around their surroundings, the castle reveals itself in Gothic design—built from obsidian, crimson stone, and cursed metals. Endless halls and shifting chambers rearrange themselves like a living entity.

  A massive round table dominates the heart of the chamber.

  It pulses with unseen energy, its obsidian surface whispering with echoes of fallen worlds. Sigils flicker, carved from forgotten wars. Each seat is etched with symbols reflecting its ruler’s essence, power, and legacy.At the head, the Arbiter of Ruin’s throne sits vacant—watching. Waiting.The table responds to emotion itself—shifting, pulsing with dark intent.

  Each member takes their seat—

  The Unknown Entity Speaks in a tone just enough so it can be mistaken for a voice..an echo...

  "W e l c o m e—g o d s—o f—r u i n—a n d—k i n g s—o f—o b l i v i o n."

  "Y o u—h a v e—s h a t t e r e d—w o r l d s—a n d—s e t—r e a l i t y—o n—f i r e."

  "B u t—d o—n o t—m i s t a k e—t h i s—p l a c e—f o r—a—t h r o n e."

  "I t—i s—a—t e s t."

  "A n d—y o u—a r e—m e r e l y—t h e—f i r s t—p i e c e s—o n—t h e—b o a r d."

  "T h i s—i s—a—S e c r e t—R e a l m—"

  "S u s p e n d e d—i n—v o i d."

  "A—f o r t r e s s—o f—c h a o s—a n d—c o n q u e s t…"

  As the Entity paused for a few seconds--The realm itself shifted, adjusting to what's to come

  "Y o u—s e v e n—n o w—r e p r e s e n t—t h e—U n h o l y—R o u n d—T a b l e."

  "A c r o s s—d i m e n s i o n s—e x i s t—t h o s e—"

  "W h o—c a l l—t h e m s e l v e s—‘h e r o e s’—a n d—‘v i l l a i n s.’

  "T h e y—h o l d—o n—t o—m y t h s—w h i l e—y o u—a r e—r e a l i t y."

  "B u t—y o u—w e r e—n o t—c a l l e d—t o—p l a y—t h e i r—g a m e."

  "Y o u—w e r e—c h o s e n—t o—p r o v e—"

  "T h a t—y o u—a r e—a b o v e—t h e m—a l l."

  The Unholy Round Table—seven of the most brutal and powerful beings across the multiverse—now sit upon their thrones in a realm beyond time. Before them, a vast, swirling portal reveals countless worlds awaiting conquest. They shall descend and cim dominion over reality itself…

  "B e f o r e—y o u—l i e s—t h e—t a p e s t r y—o f—e x i s t e n c e."

  "E a c h—w o r l d—i s—r i p e—f o r—t h e—t a k i n g."

  "B u t—o n l y—o n e—s h a l l—t a k e—t h e—s t a g e—f i r s t."

  "E a c h—a n d—e v e r y o n e—o f—y o u—p o s e s—u n i m a g i n a b l e—p o w e r s"

  "G o o d ? — E v i l ? — y o u ’ r e — a b o v e — a l l — t h a t ."

  "S o—c h o o s e—w i s e l y—"

  "F o r—t h e—e c h o e s—o f—y o u r—c o n q u e s t—"

  "S h a l l—s e t—t h e—s t a g e—f o r—w h a t—i s—t o—c o m e."

  Demon Lord Kessel is the first to speak."I was in the middle of conquest when you pulled me out. My blood still burns for battle and destruction. I’ll go first."

  A cruel smirk pys across his face as he leans forward, his eyes glowing with anticipation. He craves the thrill of war, the screams of submission, the sight of kingdoms colpsing before him, the carnage.Kessel looks at the image of the world he will conquer...with an evil grin pointing on the screen he says:"That one seems fun....monsters pying at kings? Demon Lords who know nothing of war? How amusing. I will teach them what conquest truly means—through fire and ruin."

  The Demon Lord rises from his seat, his dark aura distorting the space around him. The Unholy Round Table watches in silence, intrigued. As he steps forward, the portal expands, revealing a nd of forests, kingdoms, and magic—a nd ruled by an anomaly known as—

  —Rimuru Tempest.—The world he will dive into "The Central World" —The Location —Jura Tempest Federation

  The Unknown Entity watching Kessel's reaction replies

  "A—w o r l d—w h e r e—m o n s t e r s—a n d—m o r t a l s—u n i t e'

  'A n d—o n e—w h e r e—D e m o n—L o r d s—r u l e.'

  'Y o u—w i l l—f i n d—n o—w e a k l i n g s—h e r e."

  Demon Lord Kessel gets even more excited by this information"Perfect. If they refuse to kneel, I shall carve my throne from their corpses."

  The other members of the Unholy Round Table watch with amusement, curiosity, and disinterest.

  Blood Saint Pirika: "Oh my, what an interesting choice… A world ruled by monsters? How poetic. You’ll be right at home among those beasts. I do wonder, will their blood paint a beautiful shade of red?"She swirls a goblet of blood, watching the portal with intrigue. She doesn’t care for conquest—only the art of death. If the Demon Lord massacres the entire world, she may visit ter to admire the carnage.

  Timekeeper Chrono:"An evolving world, huh? Let’s see if you can adapt faster than them."He adjusts a floating hourgss next to him, watching with calm calcution. The Demon Lord may believe himself unstoppable, but Tempestis a pce of rapid change. He is curious to see if even a force of destruction can be undone by the flow of time.

  Unbothered Tyrant Draziel:"Might makes right. It’s a cssic. But listen—if you leave some survivors, maybe I’ll drop in ter. Y’know, see ifthey’re worth my time."Draziel barely looks up, casually flipping a small crackle of red lightning between his fingers like a bored magician with a coin.

  Trickster Bzard: "Oh-hohoho! Walking into a world that EVOLVES? Now that’s a surprise waiting to happen, do make me ugh my man!" His grin stretches like a rift in logic—too wide, too knowing, too wrong. He flicks a glowing card into the air, letting it burn away in green fire. He doesn’t think the Demon Lord will fail… but he does think something unexpected will happen. He thrives on chaos, and Jura Tempest is anything but predictable.

  God Syer Heramsis:"Demon Lords? Tch. A real god would break them in an instant. Try not to bore me, Kessel—I don’t like watching weaklings struggle."He sees no true gods in Tempest—just arrogant creatures that believe themselves powerful. If the Demon Lord struggles, he’ll ugh. If the Demon Lord destroys them effortlessly, he won’t be impressed.

  Anti-Hero Jeruva tilts his head slightly, staring at the portal with bnk, glowing eyes. He doesn’t say anything, not at first. Then, with a quiet voice—"Hmm....."

  He doesn’t care what world the Demon Lord chooses. He has seen worlds rise and fall in a single instant. Unless something truly unpredictable happens, he won’t be impressed.

  As the Demon Lord enters the portal he stops for a fraction looking back at the other members: "Hah! You amuse me, but you’ll see soon enough—this ‘evolving’ world will kneel, just like every other before it."

  With a wave of his hand, the portal engulfs him, and in a fsh of dark energy, the Demon Lord vanishes—descending upon the world of The Magic Continent.

  In the heart of Jura-Tempest Federation—

  Rimuru sat in his office, flipping through some paperwork, trying to ignore the stack that had mysteriously grown overnight.Across the room, Veldora sat sprawled on a couch, nose deep in a manga. The dragon was completely absorbed, his eyes scanning the pages with a childish grin as he muttered-"Heh… they never saw that attack coming…"

  Shion stood nearby, arms crossed, keeping watch as usual. Benimaru leaned against the wall, deep in thought, while Diablo sipped his tea with that ever-present, mischievous smirk. Shuna stood beside Rimuru, calmly pouring him tea.

  Everything was calm.Until it wasn’t.

  A portal opened....Kessel with unbothered posture floated out of the portal looking around the nds and the city below him—the portal pulsed—widening like a wound in the sky, bleeding bck fme and pressure that cracked the clouds themselves.

  "Ah, is this the legendary kingdom they spoke of? Not bad but needs a bit of carnage."

  With a flick of his wrist and a deadly smile——The skies above Jura Tempest darkened in an instant. A massive crimson sigil burned into the heavens, crackling with unnatural energy. A suffocating pressure filled the air, warping the very fabric of existence.

  The moment Kessel’s feet touched the ground in front of the entrance of Jura Tempest Federation, the air cracked like gss. The pressure was unbearable, for miles everyone could feel it...even Rimuru’s very soul— His instincts screamed. Every fiber of his being told him that this… was something entirely beyond logic.

  Rimuru’s heart clenched the moment Ciel's voice faltered—something it had never done before.

  《WARNING! EXTREME THREAT DETECTED.》

  His fingers twitched."Extreme?"

  He had fought Hinata’s near-perfect swordpy, faced Cyman’s scheming, and even cshed with Guy Crimson’s terrifying power—yet never once had Ciel sounded like this.

  Across the room, Veldora froze mid-turning a manga page. His golden eyes darkened, and for the first time in ages, the Storm Dragon looked unsettled."Oi... Rimuru,"Veldora muttered, closing his manga."I… don’t like this presence."

  The moment he said it, a bck pulse rippled through the cosmos itself, as if reality itself was gasping for air.Rimuru put his gaze on Veldora in suprise as Shion and Benimaru’s hands immediately went to their weapons. Diablo, who never seemed fazed by anything, narrowed his eyes in deep contemption.Then, Ciel spoke again.

  《Analyzing Power Level…》

  《Processing…》

  《…》

  《…》

  《…》

  Rimuru’s fingers clenched into fists as he felt a drop of cold sweat run down his back.Ciel was… struggling?

  《Threat Level: EXTREME》

  《Demon Lord-Css Entity: Kessel》

  《Known Titles: The Demon Lord of Carnage. The Tyrant of Endless Conquest.》

  《Fighting Style: Unpredictable – High-Offense Berserker.》

  《Caution: Combat approach does not follow logic. Prioritizes overwhelming destruction.》

  Rimuru’s pupils shrunk slightly. He could handle strategy, he could analyze patterns—but an enemy that didn’t follow logic? That was a problem.

  "Everyone... prepare for the worst."his voice was sharper now, all traces of pyfulness gone.

  Benimaru’s expression hardened, already moving to stand beside Shion."Understood!"

  Rimuru turned to Diablo, their eyes locking with unspoken intensity."Stay close. If things spiral, we respond instantly."

  Diablo’s smirk was gone. Instead, his red eyes gleamed with deadly intent."You assume I would allow him to harm you, Rimuru-sama?"

  Shuna’s usually gentle face was unreadable. She lightly touched the sleeve of Rimuru’s robe, a silent but urgent plea woven into her gaze."Rimuru-sama… This presence… it feels… wrong."

  Her voice was soft, but ced with something rare—

  Fear.

  A surge of bck energy erupted in the sky. The portal expanded, and Rimuru’s instincts screamed.

  Then, Kessel arrived.

  Rimuru clenched his fists, forcing himself to remain calm. The Demon Lord of Carnage had arrived, and Tempest was his new battlefield.The sky above Jura Tempest screamed with dark fire, Kessel’s descent leaving its mark. The air pressed down, suffocating the city itself..At the entrance to Tempest, where pathways stretched into the heart of the city, two guards stood stationed—elite warriors, handpicked for their combat ability. They were not simple sentries but trained Tempest soldiers who had seen their fair share of danger.

  Yet as Kessel stepped forward, their bodies tensed instinctively.He wasn’t running. He wasn’t charging.He was walking.

  Slow, casual steps—yet each one sent a faint ripple through the air, like the ground itself struggled to bear his presence. His bck fmes curling zily around his body, flickering against the wind.A disappointed expression crossed his face as he surveyed the entrance to the so-called Jura Tempest Federation.

  "…No walls?"

  He scoffed, his golden eyes narrowing as he dragged his gaze across the open streets beyond the gates.

  "No walls. No defenses. This kingdom... already belongs to me."

  Kessel lifted one foot—

  "Halt!"The two guards instantly unsheathed their weapons.They weren’t fools. The energy radiating from this man was suffocating, but their loyalty to Tempest held firm. They stepped forward, pcing themselves between Kessel and the entrance, their weapons aimed directly at him."State your identity and your business in the Jura Tempest Federation!"

  One of them demanded, his voice steady but his grip on his weapon visibly tight.

  Kessel tilted his head, his lips curling into a smirk—a promise of carnage. Then, with the flick of his wrist—

  —BOOOOM.

  The moment Kessel flicked his wrist, the world convulsed. A bck inferno roared into existence, swallowing the entrance of Jura Tempest. Stone disintegrated, buildings crumbled into dust, and for an instant, the air itself felt like it was screaming in agony.Where there had once been life and ughter, there was now only absence and cries. The ground split apart, swallowing entire streets as fire and shadow coil together—a storm of annihition. Then—

  When the dust settled, half the city was gone—

  devoured not by fire, but by the will of a being who considers genocide a conversation starter.

  And with that, the Game of Conquest begins.

  LibraArchives