The throne room suddenly felt quiet after the Guardians left.
Only Kurumi and I remained, perched on the twin thrones carved from starstone.
I leaned back and let out a long breath. "Kurumi, you heard all of that, right? About the continent Eryndor, the humans, the monsters, and everything else."
Kurumi turned lazily. "I heard. Why, Nii-san?"
My eyes drifted to the ceiling, still glimmering with the afterimages of constellational illusions. "If we want to survive, we need to know this world. Politics, the strength of other races—everything. Otherwise we'll be swept away without even noticing."
She smiled faintly and shrugged. "That's your job as always. I'm terrible with complicated stuff."
I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed again. "Hhh… I expected as much."
Kurumi rose from her throne. I looked up at her. "Hey — where are you going?"
She spun and giggled. "I want to go check every floor. See the Guardians. They've been standing guard so quietly—I'm curious how they behave when I'm not watching."
I frowned. "You're not afraid at all? They're monsters, Kurumi."
She looked at me, eyes shining with conviction. "Afraid? Why would I be? They're my creations. They're… my children."
The word hung in the air. I could never see them like that. Their presence made it hard to breathe. But Kurumi could grin and joke with them as if they were pets.
I leaned forward and fixed her with a serious look. "Kurumi, have you really accepted all this? Being moved to a foreign world, treated as absolute rulers, this gigantic tower — a place scarier than the game itself."
Kurumi fell silent for a moment. Her usual bright smile softened into something else; she bowed her head briefly, then looked back at me with gentle, shining eyes.
"Nii-san… remember when I once asked you if, when all our creations in Dungeon Forge were real, would you move in?"
I blinked. I remembered the vague question—her late-night ramblings in our cramped room, before sleep.
"Now it's real, Nii-san. I'm so happy. Do you know why? On Earth… my life felt like it had no future. We survived on game prizes. I dropped out of school. I was sick a lot. Going out too long felt like torture. Then Mom and Dad left us. The world was cruel."
My chest tightened. Kurumi rarely spoke like this. She usually hid pain behind jokes and smiles.
"Here, Nii-san…" She swept her hand across the grand chamber and smiled. "I feel alive. I'm free to do whatever I want. The Guardians welcome me. They don't see me as a burden—they see me as their Sovereign. And the most important thing…" She paused and met my eyes. "…you're here with me. That's enough."
Her words hit me. I hadn't realized she felt all that. I'd spent my time focused on survival—tournaments, prize money, strategies so we wouldn't starve. I'd never thought about what Kurumi felt alone in that tiny room.
I bowed my head and forced a small smile. "Kurumi… you're right. I often thought—if there was a way out of that grim life on Earth, I would have taken it long ago. Maybe… this is our chance. To start over. In Aurethys. As the Sovereigns of Ourolith."
Her face lit up again, the usual brightness returning. "That's what I wanted to hear! I want Nii-san to feel it too. You've worked so hard for the two of us back on Earth. Now it's your time to enjoy life."
I sighed and stared at the shimmering floor of the throne room. "Still… I'm not used to being treated like an absolute ruler. It's awkward."
Kurumi covered her mouth with a hand and laughed softly. "That's because you see them as monsters. To me, they're like children admiring their parents. So I just feel… happy."
I managed a wry smile. "Of course. You made them, so it makes sense you see them that way."
"Then—" She turned toward the huge throne room doors. "I'm going to visit my children. Don't worry, Nii-san. I'll be fine."
I watched her retreating back, her white dress faintly catching starlight. "Kurumi…"
She paused and glanced over her shoulder, smiling like a beam of light. "You should start believing too, Nii-san. Ourolith isn't just a dungeon. It's our home."
The great doors creaked closed behind her.
I sat back down and pressed a hand to my forehead. "Home, huh…"
I looked at the empty throne beside me. "If this is truly our home… then I have to protect it. For Kurumi. For both of us."
My hand clenched. "I need to learn more about this world—Aurethys, Eryndor… humans, monsters, other races. Everything. Otherwise I don't deserve to sit here."
Kurumi's smile lingered in my mind—the smile of a girl who finally felt alive. I wouldn't let it fade.
The throne room felt unnaturally quiet after Kurumi left. Quiet, yes—but my mind refused to follow.
"Kurumi adapts too fast," I muttered to myself. "And I… I waste time thinking about questions that might not even have answers."
My eyes traced the carved stars on the ceiling, those constellational runes still drifting like afterimages. I inhaled slowly.
Why—something that should have been only a game—has become a world like this?
My thoughts drifted back to that old life: Dungeon Forge. That insane game that, until its last breath, was the only thing keeping Kurumi and me afloat.
Dungeon Forge… The World of Dungeon Forge.
"A game where you are both architect and ruler," I murmured. "You build your dungeon block by block, trap by trap. You summon monsters by gacha, fuse them, spend blood and sweat and every scrap of resource you pillaged from other dungeons."
I curled my hand into a fist.
I remember how precious every NPC we managed to create felt. They could only speak through dialogue boxes, loop idle animations, or shuffle in place. They were puppets.
But now—those Guardians… they are alive. They answer me. They laugh. They look at me with what feels like respect. They are not programs anymore. They have souls. They are truly alive.
So who—or what—could have turned them into this?
I tried to think logically.
If this were simply a server shutdown, there's no system that could move us—especially not with the entire Grand Tower of Ourolith intact, with Guardians, traps, and every detail Kurumi and I crafted together. That's not data teleportation. That's… world-creation.
A power like that… even Lysaris and Astraea had no answers. The gods of the game themselves seemed clueless.
I rose and walked slowly down the throne steps.
If that's the case, then there's something—or someone—on this planet, Aurethys, with power beyond measure. The question is: why move us here?
I let out a heavy breath.
And one more thing—Aurethys isn't part of Dungeon Forge at all. This world is foreign. Which means the game's rules don't necessarily apply.
I ran through the game's base systems in my head.
Build a dungeon, develop guardians, raid other dungeons, seize resources—that's the gist. In the game, everything is countable, everything has formulas. But here? No HUD, no resource meters, no save/load. If you die—maybe you really die.
A chill crept up my spine.
If the people of Aurethys are strong enough, they could be a threat to Ourolith. I built this dungeon from nothing: endless traps, absolute architectural designs, layered defenses. But if a united force across this continent were to attack, would that be enough?
I stared at the dark marble floor beneath me.
Are the Guardians Kurumi and I raised powerful enough to repel the armies of Aurethys?
I bit my lip.
Maybe—they might be. Even a single Ultivate could wipe out a large army. But power isn't the only factor.
I sat on a lower step.
The problem is I don't understand how this world works. I don't know its politics, who rules where, who hates whom, or who will come looking for trouble. I'm blind.
Relying on brute force alone would make me no better than a monster. If I truly want to keep Ourolith, I must understand this world—how it functions, its problems, who holds which power. I must be a ruler who knows the terrain, not just a player who sits upon a throne.
I exhaled at length.
…Meanwhile Kurumi—she left all of that to me, as always.
I laughed dryly.
Kurumi always says she just wants to enjoy her creations, to treat the Guardians like her children. I know she's happy. But I have to be the one to think of strategy, of the future, of our next moves.
I looked toward the great doors of the throne room—the same doors Kurumi had closed behind her.
"Kurumi," I whispered to the empty hall, "you said this world is home. For you, home means being alive. For me, home means safety. If I want this place to be a home… I have to make sure nothing can destroy it."
My hand tightened on my knee, the resolve in my chest growing sharp.
I must learn this world. I must learn Aurethys: the continent Eryndor, its humans, its monsters, every race and every force. I must know where we stand. Because if I don't—
I lowered my head further.
—if I don't, I will lose the only home Kurumi has left.
And I will not let that happen.