The room was silent.
Not the kind of silence that soothed the mind, but the kind that pressed against it—heavy, absolute, and unnerving.
No background music.
No system hum.
No faint mechanical echoes that always lingered inside the world of Monster Legion.
Just silence.
A silence so complete that it felt… wrong.
I remained still in the center of the throne room, my gelatinous body faintly shimmering under the glow of floating mana crystals. For the first time since the shutdown countdown ended, the weight of confusion truly settled in.
Something was different.
Something was missing.
I tried to focus.
Instinctively, I searched for the familiar transparent interface that had followed me for fourteen years—the control panel. The floating menus. The skill trees. The status bars.
Nothing appeared.
No blue holograms.
No blinking icons.
No system notifications.
My heart—if I could still call it that—tightened.
Where is it…?
As a slime, my sensory perception had always been limited by default. During gameplay, vision itself was a skill. Without it, everything beyond a short radius blurred into obscurity.
That was why I always activated Surroundings Eye the moment I logged in.
Yet now…
Even without activating anything, I could see.
Perfectly.
Every corner of the throne room was clear and vivid. The marble floor beneath me reflected light with microscopic precision. The faint cracks in the pillars told stories of battles long past. Dust particles drifted through the air, each one visible as it passed through the glow of magic.
This wasn't how the game looked.
Not even at maximum settings.
The world felt real.
Too real.
I attempted to communicate, relying on habit.
"Hello."
My voice echoed through the hall—not as sound, but as intent, transmitted through the system's old message function. For fourteen years, that single word had always produced a response. A guildmate. An NPC. Even the system itself.
This time…
Nothing answered.
No confirmation.
No reply.
No error message.
Just silence.
I tried again.
"Hello. Anyone online?"
Still nothing.
The silence deepened.
It felt as though the world itself was holding its breath.
A faint unease crept into my thoughts. The kind that crawled slowly, whispering doubts without raising its voice.
Am I… truly alone?
Just as the thought began to settle, a voice cut through the quiet.
Deep.
Measured.
Resonant.
It sounded like it belonged to a man well past his prime—steady, calm, and heavy with authority earned through decades of experience.
"Supreme One… you summoned me?"
I froze.
The words echoed not through the air, but directly into my awareness.
I knew that voice.
Not immediately—but something about it tugged at my memory.
Slowly, cautiously, I replied.
My tone shifted instinctively into the voice I had used for years while role-playing—cold, distant, and devoid of unnecessary emotion.
"Who are you?"
There was no hesitation in the response.
"It is I, your butler—Alfred Veyron."
Recognition struck like lightning.
Alfred.
The very first NPC ever created within the guild.
Back when our numbers were growing rapidly, the original Guild Master had designed him—not as a combat unit, but as an administrator. Someone to manage resources, oversee NPC coordination, and maintain guild operations even when all players were offline.
A contingency.
A brilliant one.
And over time, Alfred had evolved—his AI refined through countless updates, his personality shaped by years of interaction.
Monster Legion was unique in that way.
Every NPC had a distinct voice, tone, and behavioral pattern.
I could never forget his.
"You're… still active?" I asked.
"Yes, Supreme One," Alfred replied smoothly. "I remain bound to the guild's core authority. As long as the guild exists, so do I."
That answer sent a chill through me.
The guild still exists.
I gave another command, my thoughts racing.
"Come to the throne room. Immediately."
"Yes, Supreme One."
A pause.
"And summon the Grand Marshal as well. I wish to see her."
"Understood."
The connection ended.
Silence returned—but it felt different now.
Heavier.
Charged.
I remained alone in the throne room, my thoughts spiraling.
If I can still use the message function…
Then something important followed.
This isn't a normal shutdown.
I tested the idea carefully.
If message-based interaction works… then perhaps…
I focused inward.
Perhaps skills don't require the control panel anymore.
Without speaking aloud, without gestures or commands, I thought a single phrase.
Surroundings Eye.
The world exploded into clarity.
No—exploded wasn't enough.
Reality unfolded.
Every magical current became visible, flowing like luminous veins through the castle walls. The mana density fluctuated with temperature and structural stress. Hidden enchantments layered the stonework, each one intricate beyond imagination.
The castle wasn't just detailed.
It was alive.
This wasn't rendered.
This wasn't coded.
This was real.
I could see reflections within reflections—light bouncing naturally, shadows bending subtly around magical constructs. Even imperfections existed—tiny inconsistencies no game engine would waste resources to simulate.
My castle…
No—my domain—felt tangible.
This means…
I steadied my thoughts.
I can activate skills without menus.
Without permissions.
Without limits.
The realization was terrifying.
And exhilarating.
If the control panel was gone… then whatever laws governed this world had changed.
Footsteps echoed.
Heavy.
Measured.
The massive doors of the throne room opened.
First entered Alfred Veyron.
He was tall, dignified, dressed in immaculate black attire trimmed with silver runes. His posture was perfect, his expression calm, and his eyes carried the quiet intelligence of someone who had observed centuries of conflict without participating directly.
Behind him walked the Grand Marshal.
She was breathtaking.
Tall and regal, her pale skin contrasted sharply with her long crimson hair. Two elegant black horns curved upward from her head, marking her as vampire royalty. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly, sharp and observant.
Her armor was form-fitting yet battle-ready, crafted from enchanted obsidian and silver. A long cape flowed behind her, embroidered with the insignia of the guild.
She knelt instantly.
"Supreme One," she said, her voice smooth and commanding. "You summoned me."
I studied her silently.
She had been created as a combat commander—the strongest NPC general in our guild's army. Designed to lead during large-scale wars when players were offline.
A Queen.
And she stood before me now.
Alive.
Aware.
The silence that followed wasn't empty anymore.
It was waiting.
Author's Note
Chapter 2 establishes that the shutdown was not normal. The control panel is gone, but skills still function through intent alone. NPCs remain active, aware, and responsive—suggesting the world has transformed into something real. The introduction of Butler Alfred Veyron and the Grand Marshal sets the foundation for power, hierarchy, and mystery moving forward.