True Scale

"Why are you doing this?!" Kingsley's voice cracked as he shouted at the heavens, his hands clenched into fists.

Tears streamed down his face, unbidden and unstoppable.

He didn't care about how pitiful or weak he looked. Pride was meaningless in the face of death, and right now, survival was his only concern.

The system—his one hope for navigating this strange, dangerous world—was no longer accessible. It was as if the universe itself was conspiring against him.

"Hahahaha!!" His laughter echoed through the empty chamber, manic and bitter.

Kingsley slumped back into the cold, unyielding embrace of the throne behind him. There was a cruel irony in sitting on something meant to symbolize power and authority while feeling utterly powerless.

"It doesn't matter what kind of twisted game this is," he muttered under his breath.

"It doesn't matter because I'm already doomed."

For a moment, despair threatened to consume him entirely. But Kingsley wasn't the type to wallow for long.

He took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to focus on what little he had left. If the system wasn't going to help him, he'd have to figure things out on his own.

"How exactly do I use the abilities I have left?" he asked himself, his voice low and uncertain. The silence around him offered no answers.

---

Mapping out all territories.

Granting barracks and troops.

---

Lord [Kingsley] is exempt due to certain circumstances

---

"What?!" Kingsley roared, the words on the invisible screen filling him with rage.

"Why?!!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the empty hall.

His frustration boiled over, and he found himself standing, shaking his fist at the unseen forces tormenting him.

"If I don't get any troops, then how the fuck am I supposed to survive?!"

The weight of his situation crashed down on him. He was in a land of unknown dangers, and now it was confirmed that others would be granted soldiers and barracks while he was left with nothing.

Nothing to defend himself, nothing to expand his territory, and nothing to compete with.

"You know what? Screw you!" he yelled, flipping both middle fingers toward the sky, his defiance a futile but satisfying gesture.

---

Event Announcement!

All lords are given a grace period of one week. During this time, lords and their territories will be in a state of absolute safety.

Utilize this period to strengthen yourself and your troops. After the grace period, all lords will face the next event: a beast tide.

The beast tide will last for five (5) days. Survivors will be rewarded.

Those under the age of 10 and over the age of 65 will receive preferential treatment and a grace period of two months.

Good luck to you all.

---

Kingsley read the announcement carefully, his rage slowly giving way to clarity.

"So, it is just like those light novels," he said, exhaling heavily. His suspicions had been confirmed.

This world operated under the rules of some bizarre survival game, and he was a participant, whether he liked it or not.

However, knowing didn't change the fact that he was at a severe disadvantage. Without troops or a barracks, he had no way to defend himself when the grace period ended.

Even so, the knowledge brought a flicker of hope. If the scenario was as predictable as the ones in those novels, there might still be a way out.

"I need to figure out how to use what I do have," he murmured, his mind racing. His only remaining system functions were [Chat] and [Lord's Eye]. If there was a chance to survive, he had to master them quickly.

"How do I use this [Chat] function?" he asked aloud.

As soon as the words left his mouth, a small holographic screen appeared before him. Messages flooded the display, one after another, in a chaotic stream.

---

{Hello, is anyone here?}

{What is this?}

{What is happening?!}

{Why am I here?}

{Mommy?!}...

---

The sheer volume of messages was overwhelming. Words scrolled by faster than he could read them, each one filled with confusion, fear, or desperation.

Kingsley's eyes scanned the chat, trying to make sense of it all. A single, unnerving thought crept into his mind as he noticed the sheer number of messages appearing every second.

"Was everyone transferred?" he asked aloud, the implications sending chills down his spine.

If this wasn't an isolated event, if everyone on Earth had been brought here, then the scale of this game was far beyond anything he'd imagined.

Millions—perhaps even billions—of people might be in the same predicament, each one struggling to survive.

Kingsley swallowed hard. He didn't have time to dwell on the enormity of it all. The grace period was ticking away, and if he wanted to make it through this, he had to act fast. He needed a plan—and he needed it now.