You spawn on the server thinking, “Okay… just another Minecraft world, let’s grab some wood and explore.” And then… you see it.

A castle. Or… whatever Sultan Coach calls a castle. The thing looks like a Tank sneezed on cobblestone and wood, towers leaning at impossible angles, random slabs sticking out at angles that defy physics, and gold blocks just… floating because why not? This is clearly the home of a delusional Sultan.

Before you can get closer, you notice the villagers. Over a hundred of them, corralled behind fences like livestock, wandering aimlessly or bumping into each other. Some of them are farming under tripwire farms, while others just stare at walls, probably questioning all their life choices. You feel a weird mix of awe and horror.

Then you hear it: a booming voice, Cake-Empire Volume.

“HRMMM! Who dares approach Almudarib Sultan, Antrenör Sultan, Marbi Saltan’s palace? Stay back, peasants! Slimes are HARAM!”

You freeze. And that’s when you see him: Sultan Coach, strutting along a crooked balcony, cake in one hand, emeralds spilling from the other, yelling at a slime that has bounced too close. He doesn’t even glance at you. Villagers quiver at his presence, but he doesn’t notice them either. He is busy flexing.

You explore the “courtyard” (more like a slab graveyard of mismatched blocks) and see the beginnings of a massive cobblestone wall, slowly encircling the kingdom. Every block placed radiates Sultan energy—and chaos. You swear a villager falls into the cobblestone generator and gets catapulted like a Jockey while Sultan Coach just mutters, “HRMMM… strategic placement.”

The dining hall… ohhh boy. Cakes stacked like pyramids, emerald blocks decorating random tables, and Sultan Coach sitting at the head like some overweight, overcaffeinated sultan from your worst nightmares. He waves his loaf of bread at you like it was a scepter:

“HRMMM! You want cake? You earn it! Or get out. Slimes don’t pay for it!”

You back away slowly, glancing at the enslaved villagers in the back. Over a hundred of them, doing tasks they don’t understand, occasionally bumping into fences, all under the Sultan’s watchful, intimidating glare. Anyone else would be shocked by the scene.

The air smells like cobblestone dust, cake crumbs, and chaos. Every slime outside bounces hopelessly off the growing wall, earning more shouts of “HARAM!” from the Sultan. It is cruel, ridiculous, and, honestly… kind of impressive. Sultan Coach has built a working empire of absurdity, wealth, and authoritarian nonsense, all without cheats.