Primaiius

He was nothing special on Earth. A sick orphan who spent his life in hospital beds and gaming chairs, building what he couldn't have in real life, a kingdom. An empire. Something that would last. He became the greatest player the game had ever seen. The only one who united every race under one banner. The one they called Zenith. Then he died. Quietly. The way sick people do. He woke up cold. Confused. Alive in a body that actually worked for the first time. And on his knees in front of him, an army. Millions of soldiers. Every race. Every class. Every general he had ever commanded. Waiting. He didn't ask for this world. He doesn't know the rules yet. But he knows one thing better than anyone alive. How to build something that lasts. The North is frozen, unclaimed, and forgotten by everyone who matters.