The Kingdom Is Dead

And because of problems like this, the plan that had begun with a user named Durian's proposal twisted sideways in every way imaginable.

Originally, the idea had been to bribe the countless clan leaders and hub village heads who had taken the Alliance's bait, then use those people's "authority" to gaslight ordinary users—or quietly agitate them—into falling in line with the Alliance's opinions. In the end, they would even gaslight Icarus himself and force the creation of a clan exclusive to the Central Zone all over again.

But while the number of hubs had managed to form a majority, when it came to the actual population of docked users, they weren't even close. And with every new clan forming inside the kingdom, they found themselves reduced to an outright minority.

The Central Hub Alliance concluded that their political operation had failed.

Of course, that judgment only applied to the plan they were running right now.

Just like Antares's Humanity, currently suffering under every kind of check imaginable, the Central Hub Alliance's ultimate goal was still "winning the game." ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Taking a hard lesson from Humanity—who had paid for their crude, open wars of conquest by drawing vicious countermeasures from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what were presumed to be the admins—the Alliance began working in the shadows again, moving carefully so as not to be seen by the operators or other players, all for the sake of claiming victory.

And while that kind of underhanded, murky, thoroughly bizarre conspiracy was unfolding with the Central Hub Alliance tangled up in it—

It had barely been the New Year, and I had already been put through the wringer by trolls and fetishists operating at full power from day one, not to mention the mental hard labor of watching fanfic posts that shipped me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with the Kraken. So when I heard on the gallery that every kind of clan was springing up like weeds inside that damn "Icarus Kingdom," my genuine reaction was basically, Yeah, sure, whatever.

"Commander, your milk tea."

"Ah, thanks."

"By the way, every sort of clan has been forming inside our territory lately. What do you plan to do about it?"

"Clans, you mean?"

Even after hearing that from Jessica, who had brought me milk tea (delicious), my thoughts didn't change. Looking at her rabbit ears twitching as she voiced her question, I set the mug—after taking a sip—on the armrest of the command seat, laced my fingers together, and opened my mouth with the most solemn expression I could muster.

"I don't care either way. Tell them to form as many as they want."

"…That's just you saying you can't be bothered to think about it, isn't it?"

"Busted."

Jessica looked briefly speechless at that attitude of mine—but this wasn't like before, when people had tried to forcibly install me as the leader of some giant clan. They were just going to bustle around among themselves. As far as I was concerned, the only reaction that made any sense was: Yeah, sure, they can do that. As long as they don't dump the annoying parts on me, fine!

That said, a separate question did occur to me—So who was making these clans, how, and how many?—so I opened the chat window then and there to get a handle on the situation.

And the moment I opened it—

What the hell is this.

Seeing the title of my territory's unofficial-slash-official chat room set to something that absurd, I immediately concluded that while I'd been busy scrubbing the gallery clean, our user friends had gone fully into brainrot mode.

Still, it was the kind of brainrot you could laugh off, so I pressed my throbbing temples, took a few deep breaths, and—

—ruthlessly swapped out both the room title and the notice, cleaning up the royalists' nonsense first thing.

Of course, that move set off a stream of out-of-season royalist wailing in the chat room, and then—