The lights in the hall dimmed.
A soft chime echoed beneath the high ceiling.
"Dear guests, please proceed to the main auditorium and take your seats."
The audience moved toward the doors. Journalists, clan leaders, players of the new era, veterans, developers.
Inside, a massive curved screen dominated the stage.
The lights went out.
The world of Life Without End ignited across the screen.
Golden skies above Pelegon.
Massive PvP battles.
The fall of the Demon Lord Grey Moll.
Clan banners collapsing.
And then — the avatar.
Chin raised.
A faint smirk.
A downward gaze.
Words appeared:
"Five years ago, the world changed."
The screen faded to black.
A man in a tailored dark suit stepped onto the stage.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Zig Ackerman, and tonight I will be hosting what many are already calling a historic interview."
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Light applause.
"Today, in this hall, we have developers, champions, representatives of the new era, former top players and leaders of the five clans — those who personally became part of that era. And that is no coincidence."
The screen lit up again.
Scenes of war.
The citadel of Pelegon.
The collapse of the old order.
"Tonight, the stage welcomes the only player who left a mark so deep in this game's history that even five years of absence could not erase his name."
The spotlight shifted.
"Angelo Fool."
Silence.
"The Bloody Emperor."
"Please… step onto the stage."
Footsteps.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
Black suit.
A jester's mask.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Kael muttered.
"I expected something more… majestic," Raven scoffed.
"It's in his nature," Oliver said quietly.
The figure approached the chair opposite Zig and sat down.
A few seconds passed.
"Hello, everyone."
Zig hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"Welcome—"
The masked figure raised a hand.
"Before we begin."
He removed the mask and placed it on the table.
A young man sat before them.
Bright crimson hair.
Amber eyes — sharp, steady.
A faint trace of irony at the corner of his lips.
Relaxed posture. Assured.
As if nothing in this hall required effort.
The leaders of the five clans froze.
It was the same face.
Rosalia narrowed her eyes.
Brad's fist tightened.
Oliver adjusted his glasses.
Daric's jaw hardened.
John smiled.
"So it was him," Rosalia said quietly. "No wonder I wanted to kill him back then."
"He calculated us from the first second," Oliver added.
"Impressive," John murmured.
On stage, the young man spoke calmly.
"My name is Angelo Nobell."
Pause.
"I am seventeen."
Silence.
"A chess prodigy who won the five-hundred-thousand-dollar tournament in Zurich. Formerly known as Angelo Fool. The Bloody Emperor."
A murmur spread.
"Seventeen?"
"Five years ago he was twelve…"
"Impossible."
Kael stared at him.
"Twelve…" he repeated under his breath.
Maria watched from the audience, hands folded.
Zig leaned forward slightly.
"Are you telling us that when you conquered Pelegon… you were only twelve years old?"
"Yes."
The silence that followed carried weight.
