The knowledge Corvus brought back changed everything.
The Lich was not alone.
It was not an isolated calamity, nor a rogue intelligence clawing for relevance in a dying city. It served something higher. Something patient. Something that did not rush its conquests, but instead embedded itself like rot and waited for the world to weaken.
Aldwin did not attack the undead immediately.
He chose dominance instead.
If the head could not yet be severed, then the body would be starved.
That decision defined the next several months.
Rather than marching straight toward the corrupted city, Aldwin expanded outward. Roads were reclaimed. Forests were burned clean of invaders. Rifts were sealed or controlled. Where chaos once reigned, borders formed.
The province changed.
At first, the expansion was subtle. Demons patrolled the roads instead of monsters. Dark elf scouts replaced desperate human lookouts. Convoys of survivors moved under armed escort instead of fleeing blindly through wilderness crawling with horrors.
Then it became undeniable.
Every town that fell under Aldwin's protection stayed under it.
He did not rule from a throne.
He ruled through presence.
Wherever resistance formed, Aldwin appeared. Sometimes with demons at his side. Sometimes alone, staff glowing as water bent to his will. There were no speeches. No proclamations. Only outcomes.
Bandit enclaves were erased in a single night. Rogue awakeners who preyed on refugees were crushed publicly and without hesitation. Invader strongholds were dismantled methodically, their leaders slain and their blood fueling further summoning rituals.
Humans learned quickly.
Obeying Aldwin meant survival.
Opposing him meant extinction.
The Dark Elves flourished under the alliance.
Farid proved to be exactly what Aldwin needed. A leader who understood long wars. A strategist who valued stability over glory. Dark elf healers worked alongside human medics, combining magic and medicine to save lives that would have been lost weeks earlier. Their mages reinforced towns with layered wards. Their scouts extended Aldwin's awareness across entire regions.
What began as a temporary alliance became infrastructure.
The Goliaths came next.
They did not approach diplomatically.
They tested him.
Three separate times, goliath champions confronted Aldwin at the edge of contested territory. Each duel ended the same way. The ground shattered. The champion fell. Aldwin stood unbroken.
Strength was the only language the goliaths respected.
Their leaders knelt not in submission, but acknowledgment.
From that point onward, goliath warriors guarded mountain passes and acted as shock troops against rift incursions. They did not worship Aldwin. They followed him because he was strong enough to be followed.
Mutated beasts still emerged from rifts. Aberrations twisted by unstable mana and alien laws roamed the wilds. But now, those creatures rarely reached human settlements.
Demons hunted them.
Onis crushed them.
Water magic drowned them.
For the first time since the apocalypse began, humanity in this province slept without constant fear.
Refugees poured in.
Families who had fled cities now destroyed found safety behind walls reinforced with magic and demon steel. Children learned again. Food production stabilized. Trade routes reopened, guarded by beings that no monster dared challenge.
Seven months.
That was how long it had been since the world ended.
Seven months since Aldwin Everett had been a tired man living alone in a small apartment.
Now he stood atop a watchtower overlooking a city reborn.
The system chimed softly.
Rankings updated.
He did not need to check to know.
But he did anyway.
Worldwide Ranking Update
Rank 4
Aldwin Everett
Gift: Past Life Embodiment
Top ten.
Top five.
Top four.
The gap between Aldwin and the beings above him was shrinking rapidly.
Mulligan's voice stirred faintly in his mind.
"Do you understand what they are calling you now?"
Aldwin exhaled slowly.
"I have heard the rumors."
"Say it," Mulligan urged.
"They call me the Demon King of the Tides."
Mulligan was silent for a moment.
"That title is dangerous," he finally said. "It paints a target."
Aldwin nodded.
"I know."
From below, demons moved through the streets openly. Hatch laughed as he sparred with goliath warriors. Flambe rested coiled near a mana furnace, his heat fueling entire districts. Pietrov's constructs worked tirelessly, repairing walls and clearing rubble with unsettling efficiency.
Marrang stood at Aldwin's side, silent as always.
"You are thinking of the undead," the demon swordsman said.
"Yes," Aldwin replied.
"The Lich will not remain idle forever."
"No," Aldwin agreed. "Neither will what it serves."
Aldwin's gaze turned toward the horizon.
Somewhere beyond reclaimed roads and fortified towns lay the ruined city of his past. Somewhere within it, a Lich watched and waited. Somewhere beyond that, something greater observed Aldwin's rise with growing interest.
Let them watch.
He had not rushed the apocalypse.
He had mastered it.
And when he finally marched on the undead, it would not be as a desperate survivor.
It would be as a conqueror.
A Demon King of the Tides.