The sun had not yet fully broken through the canopy of the Jura Forest, but for Sirzechs Gremory, the day already felt like it had lasted an eternity. He sat behind an immense ebony desk, manifested via [Visionary] in the center of what would become the royal office. Before him stood no armed enemies, no dragons, and no orc armies, but something far more terrifying: piles upon piles of scrolls made of magical wood fiber.
Grayfia Lucifuge, impeccable as ever, placed yet another report on the desk. The sound of paper hitting wood echoed like a death sentence. Sirzechs let out a deep sigh, running his hands through his crimson hair and messing up the noble image he tried so hard to maintain. He had discovered that possessing the Power of Destruction and infinite mana meant absolutely nothing when the problem was deciding the zoning for bakeries and the sewage system for Avalon's southern district.
Grayfia adjusted her reading glasses—an aesthetic detail she had adopted to accentuate her administrative authority—and began to dictate the pending points with surgical precision. She explained that as the Hollows gained individuality, territorial disputes over "workspace" had begun. The Hollow managing the forge wanted more space for magical charcoal, while the baker complained that the smithy's smoke was tainting the aroma of his bread. Sirzechs stared at the ceiling, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to simply erase both problems from existence. Grayfia, sensing her lord's dark thoughts through her ability [Gabriel], merely cleared her throat suggestively, reminding him that a King does not resolve neighborhood squabbles with the Power of Destruction, but with mediation and signed regulations.
The reincarnated human picked up the quill and began to sign documents, feeling his hand grow heavier than if he were wielding a holy sword. He remarked that in his previous life, he thought being a King was just about giving orders and watching things happen, but the reality of Avalon was a test of patience. Grayfia replied, without looking up from her analytical spreadsheets, that a nation's glory was not written on the battlefield, but in the maintenance of daily order. She reminded Sirzechs that he was the one who desired the Hollows to have free will, and free will came with the necessity of laws. Sirzechs gave a lopsided smile, realizing that despite her rigidity, Grayfia was secretly relishing the absolute control this paperwork system gave her over the city's growth.
To ease the tension, Sirzechs decided to take a break and head down to the streets to see his subjects' progress firsthand. He walked alongside Grayfia, who carried a scroll of "urgent pending matters." They stopped in front of the bakery belonging to the former Number 07. The Hollow now wore a spotless white apron and handled the dough with a dexterity that bordered on the artistic. He had not evolved into a higher form; he was still a low-class Hollow with a bone mask, but his aura was dense and stable. When he saw Sirzechs, he bowed his head in respect and offered a small, star-shaped bread. Sirzechs accepted and took a bite, noting that the flavor had improved drastically. The Hollow emitted a sound of satisfaction—a small click coming from his mask. Sirzechs realized that this being didn't need a physical transformation to be "someone"; excellence in his craft was filling the void of his existence more solidly than any name or title could.
However, the moment of peace was interrupted by Grayfia, who pointed toward a group of Hollows arguing near the central fountain. They were the new "administrative assistants" she was trying to train. They seemed confused by the concept of filing and alphabetical order—something Sirzechs had introduced out of pure nostalgia for Earth. Grayfia explained that the Hollows' cognition was still developing and that abstract concepts like "bureaucracy" were difficult for beings who, until a few days ago, were pure instinct. Sirzechs sat on the edge of the fountain and called the Hollows over. He didn't scold them. Instead, he used [Visionary] to project a visual representation of how Avalon would function if everyone did their part: food reaching tables, security at the borders, and the city expanding. He showed them that the paper they held was the "memory" of the nation.
The Hollows' reaction was fascinating. Instead of a combat evolution, their magicules began to stabilize into a pattern of order. They started organizing the scrolls with almost sacred care, understanding that they were guardians of their master's legacy. Grayfia watched it all, adjusting her notes. She admitted to Sirzechs that his pedagogical approach, though slow, was creating a foundation of loyalty that no system of rules could impose alone. Sirzechs stood up, brushing breadcrumbs off his coat, and remarked that building Avalon was like baking bread: if you turn the heat up too high, it burns on the outside and stays raw on the inside. Grayfia merely replied that, even so, the bread still needed a delivery schedule, making Sirzechs laugh at her persistence.
Upon returning to the office, Sirzechs was met with a new mountain of papers that Grayfia had "organized" in his absence. There were requests for new construction materials, petitions for the establishment of an artisans' guild, and a security report regarding forest creatures that were becoming far too curious about the city's new lighting. Sirzechs sat down again, picking up the pen with a dramatic sigh. He looked at Grayfia and asked if she ever grew tired of the routine. She simply answered that order was the highest form of beauty and that as long as Avalon was growing impeccably, she would be satisfied. Sirzechs realized then that the true battle wasn't against what lay outside the borders, but against the chaos of development. And with Grayfia by his side, he knew that even if he had to sign a thousand scrolls a day, Avalon would become the most perfect nation this world had ever seen.