No! I don't want to be a Super Necromancer!

"Our greatest warriors," Blackie began, her voice calm but heavy with memory, "arrogant and proud, rose to challenge him. They believed strength meant something. That if they struck first, they might stand a chance."

She paused, breathing in slowly, her gaze still distant.

"But they never even reached him. There was no flame. No impact. No clash of power.

They simply stopped moving, like their very will had been unmade, and then, without a word, they turned and stood at his side. Not as warriors. Not as themselves. They became his... extensions. Puppets of something far beyond our understanding."

Damien said nothing, his breath caught somewhere between thought and recognition.

Blackie met his gaze again, her voice steadier now, but lower. "And when he looked at the rest of us, when that presence touched our souls, we knelt. Not because he commanded us. Not because we were afraid. But because something old and primal inside us understood the truth. We could kneel as dragons with our minds intact, or we could kneel as husks under his will. Either way, we would kneel."

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle.

"And it wasn't just us," she continued, softer now. "Not just the Black Claw Clan. Every one of the Chromatic Clans, Red, Blue, Green, and White, we all felt it. We all submitted. Not because we were defeated… but because resistance didn't exist in his presence."

She folded her arms, expression unreadable.

"But he didn't leave us empty-handed. He returned the Matriarchs of each clan, still themselves… but marked. Changed. And they've ruled ever since. Bound to his will in ways none of us could truly explain."

Damien felt something cold bloom in his chest, not from fear, but from the slow, creeping clarity of realization.

The Sovereigns didn't rule with armies. They didn't negotiate for loyalty or bargain for power.

They already had worlds under their command.

They didn't need followers.

They simply chose who would act in their name.

And when they did, reality adjusted accordingly.

And then, a realization struck Damien with quiet force. It didn't come with a rush of fear or adrenaline, but with a crushing awareness that settled deep into his bones.

His fight had just exploded in scale.

This wasn't about defeating beasts anymore. It wasn't just about pushing back the European S-Rankers or surviving the political games of generals and warzones. Those were the surface battles. Distractions.

Because he wasn't just an awakened human. He wasn't even just a necromancer.

He was a Sovereign now.

And Sovereigns did not stay in the shadows. They ruled, or they perished.

It was probably what happened to the Sovereign of Death.

He perished, and somehow… He became the next Sovereign.

If what Blackie said was true, if these beings already commanded worlds and dragons knelt before them without question, then the path ahead was no longer just steep. It was interdimensional. Cosmic.

Damien looked down at his own hand, where dark mana flickered quietly, barely held together. Sovereign of Death. And yet… he felt so small. So unfinished.

How far was he from truly reaching their level?

A strange dichotomy bloomed in his heart.

One half of him burned… Hungry for vengeance.

He could already see it.

Beasts would die.

Europe would fall.

The families who called themselves Sovereigns would be broken, root and bone.

That part of him was certain. Unquestionable.

But the other half understood something more brutal.

He was weak. He was less than a bug compared to the other Sovereigns.

Reaching SSS rank wasn't enough. Even Earth's so-called "ceiling" would eventually become irrelevant. He needed to go beyond it. He needed to tear through the limits not just of humanity, not just of dragons, but of the very structure of mana-bound reality.

He needed a path.

Blackie, standing nearby, had been watching him silently. And as if sensing the storm within him, she spoke.

"There are ways," she said, her voice low, almost cautious. "Inheritances left behind. Legacies sealed in temples and vaults.."

Damien's eyes snapped to hers.

"Portals," she continued. "Hidden across the realms. Anchored by ancient marks. Some lead to tests, trials left behind by warriors stronger than dragons. Lords of war, reapers of realms. Their power is buried, but not lost."

His breath hitched. "On Earth?"

She nodded. "A few. Well hidden. Most dormant, but still intact."

"And in the Dragon World?"

Her gaze deepened. "One. Only one remains unclaimed. Older than our clans. Older than the Dragon World itself. The Matriarchs say it was built before the Sovereign of Death walked through our skies. No dragon has passed its trial. No beast has returned. Even the Sovereign's mark cannot unlock it without the right vessel."

Damien's hands clenched.

This was the path. Not the only one. But one of the few that led beyond the chains of this world.

And now he knew where to begin.

Damien's mind sharpened like a blade against stone.

"There are unclaimed inheritances on Earth," he said aloud, more to himself than to Blackie.

She nodded. "Three. That we know of."

"Where?"

"The first lies in the western continent. What you call the United States. Hidden deep beneath the salt flats, protected by ancient seals. The entrance shifts locations subtly, but the core remains intact—waiting for someone strong enough to endure its trial."

Damien narrowed his eyes. "So you don't need to be chosen by a Sovereign to enter?"

"No," Blackie replied. "Anyone can attempt it. But very few survive. These inheritances are not for the lucky. They are for the worthy."

He nodded slowly.

"And the second?"

"Europe. Beneath the frozen spine of the Alps. An ancient vault buried in ice and time. The old families have known about it for generations. That's why they began gathering relics. Why they awakened so quickly when the mana beam struck. They were preparing to breach it."

Damien's jaw tightened. So that was it. They hadn't just been strengthening themselves. They were trying to carve open a path toward power that predated every living empire.

"And the third?"

Blackie hesitated just for a moment.

"Mongolia," she said softly. "Beneath the Gobi Desert. A structure built from black jade, nearly invisible to mana detection. It is older than the Dragon World itself. Silent. Dormant. Undisturbed."

Damien tilted his head. "You've seen it?"

"No dragon has dared approach. We can sense it. Something inside that vault sleeps. Not in peace but in patience."

And then the pieces clicked into place.

The invasion. The sudden aggression. The timing.

"They didn't come just to test us," Damien murmured. "They didn't come to conquer. They came to claim."

Blackie said nothing, but the look in her eyes confirmed it.

The Europeans weren't after dominance. They were after the Mongolian inheritance.

That was their real goal. Not military victory. Not political power.

Ascension.