Overlord, Vol. 14: The Witch of the Doomed Kingdom

Chapter 1 | An Unexpected Move

1

He knocked back the brimming mug of ale, savoring the feel of it going down.

Top-rate stuff like this was never an option in his own domain, but he’d developed a taste for it.

He let out a hoppy burp and set the half-emptied mug down on the table. Back home, everyone drank from wooden tankards and were prone to raucously slamming them down, but this was porcelain and required a more delicate touch.

Naturally, even if he did break it, he would not have to pay. He was drinking in a space provided by his patron, Hilma Shugneus, while surrounded by noblemen of his faction—or those brought here by them—and he need not pay for a single thing.

All this was an investment in his future as Baron Phillip Didon Rile Mocharath, aristocrat at large.

Everything could be paid back later—until then he felt free to run up the tab.

Hilma might have far more money than Phillip could ever dream of, but she was merely a commoner. She could only bow her head before true power. That was obviously why she was so desperate to get a nobleman like himself in her pocket and so enthusiastic in her efforts to establish his faction.

It was the clearest distinction this world had to offer.

Birthright above all.

But he did owe her rather a lot.

Phillip prided himself on paying his debts, which made him eager to obtain a higher rank. Hilma surely wanted that as well; as a mere baron, there was only so much he could do.

And he was more than ready to clear this slate.

Until his debt was settled, he had to defer to her at times and obtain her permission to act, even when it was obviously in her best interest.

He was itching for more freedom. To flaunt his power.

That was all Phillip wanted.

And yet—

“It was supposed to be easy!”

He’d accidentally said that out loud and hastily glanced around.

This was no commoner’s pub but a room in one of Hilma’s mansions, remodeled to look like a bar. The boisterous clamor normally heard in plebeian watering holes was unacceptable here. As a result, while his grumble had not been that loud…if someone had been standing close, there was a considerable chance they would have overheard him.

He was relieved to find no one looking his way.

There was no benefit in anyone learning of his failures.

And failing he was.

All these fools should be put to death!

Phillip drained the rest of the mug, trying to douse the flames of frustration.

He chugged it a bit too fast, and a trickle of ale escaped his lips, running down his neck and soiling his clothes.

Now the fabric clung to his skin, and the unpleasant sensation made his mood that much fouler.

Nothing was going right.

Phillip’s face twisted in anger.

He originally expected his domain to increase productivity several-fold and be overflowing with citizens grateful for their new ruler. The nobility around were supposed to have been taking note of his success and gossiping about his brilliance by now.

But what had actually happened?

Not only was the food production steadily declining but the villagers looked at him with contempt in their eyes whenever he ventured outside.

The audacity!

He was from the storied house of Mocharath. No mere villager had any right to treat him with anything less than the utmost respect. Perhaps these villagers were actively plotting his downfall!

That made sense.

Many envied true talent. Unable to accept their own mediocrity, they invariably grew jealous, bitter, and delusional.

But not everyone was like that. There was a great deal of villagers. Some other factor had to be at play. Perhaps they were in the pay of a neighboring domain and were actively trying to undermine Phillip’s authority.

He couldn’t rule it out.

It was a simple fact that if they focused on lucrative cash crops, the profits would come rolling in eventually. The logic was so simple, a child could understand it. That was how their fields should be used; any food they needed could just be purchased from merchants.

And yet, the complaints would not stop coming in.

Scum! I should have Hilma punish them all. Maybe then they’d buckle down and do their jobs! We need to investigate and make sure they haven’t betrayed their loyalties. No, wait…perhaps I can just punish them all on my own?

He could whip them. Like cattle.

Yes, there’s no need to consult Hilma. No need to indebt myself any further. She’s done more than enough for me. It’s high time I started paying her back.

He was destined to be a great nobleman, while Hilma was a mere commoner. It would be a trifle to cancel the debt he owed her, to bleed her dry. But that approach was little better than theft, and a proud aristocrat like himself was honor bound to shun such moral turpitude. He should repay when he could.

Besides, a debt too great could become a shackle on him in the future. He might one day find himself forced to heed her every word.

The question is how to best clear this debt.

His original plan had been to grow the profits of his holdings by a tremendous amount and pay her back with a large sum of money, but that was clearly imposs— Difficult. Very difficult.

Instead, he decided to take the initiative and show Hilma what this new faction could do for her.

Regrettably, the faction isn’t exactly mine to command…

By joining this faction, Phillip had formed and strengthened all manner of connections.

There were plenty of voices calling for him to become the group’s representative, but many nobles remained unconvinced he was fit for the job.

Hilma was backing him, but the barriers of age and rank were steep. If he looked at it from their perspective, their reluctance was understandable.

Words simply carried more weight coming from an elderly count than a young baron. But Phillip was convinced that would make them no different from the old, conservative factions.

The whole point of a
new
faction was to avoid being shackled to antiquated ways and breathe new life into the aristocracy. It should be led by a man like Phillip, someone willing to try new things.

Why don’t these imbeciles understand?

He angrily raised his mug only to find it empty.

There was a servant of some kind passing nearby, so he barked, “Bring me another!”

“Certainly, sir.” She bowed. She strode away, hips swaying—a gait that caught the eye and held it. She was not wearing many layers, giving anyone who stared a tantalizing hint as to the shape of her hindquarters.

“Hmph.”

A fine backside was certainly appreciated, but her prompt obedience was even more appealing; this was how the people
should
treat their lord and master.

Phillip was borrowing two such maids.

He could do anything he liked with them and didn’t even have to pay their wages. They were handling all the housework. Hilma had also provided him with a butler and purveyor.

He would have preferred to dismiss all the old servants and fill the house with his own people, but his father had insisted, and Phillip eventually conceded the point. He could tolerate his father’s demands
because
Hilma was paying for everything—if this has been coming out of his coin purse, he would have insisted the expense was too great and fired them long ago.

Phillip’s mind was dragged away from these thoughts by a voice at his side.

“Oh, Baron Mocharath. Is there something wrong? You seem quite out of sorts.”

He turned to find two noblemen standing nearby.

They had both entered the peerage and acceded to their domains around the same time as he had and were members of the same faction. The two of them had mugs in one hand and bowls of nuts in the other.

“Oh, Baron Delvie! Baron Loquillen!”

Baron Delvie was a thin, unassuming man, terribly lacking in noble bearing or refinement. Only his clothes suggested he was of high birth; if he was dressed in commoner’s garb, no one would ever mistake him for an aristocrat. Even in a venue like this, if he was introduced as an actor playing the part of a noble on stage, no one would even question it.

Baron Loquillen, on the other hand, was magnificently built. Broad in all directions, vertically, horizontally, and back to front. He cut an imposing figure yet struggled to assert himself; Phillip had swiftly deemed him the type that was easy to take advantage of.

Their respective domains shared a border, so they were often seen together. Phillip distinctly remembered dismissing them for this; it was most efficient to act and move alone, as he did.

“Mind if we join you?”

“Not at all! Please sit down.”

Baron Delvie took the offered chair, and Baron Loquillen bobbed his head, taking a seat beside him. And almost as if she’d timed it perfectly, the girl returned with his ale.

“Let’s have a toast!”

“Gladly!”

Knocking their full cups together mixed their drinks and was a gesture that proved there was no poison in them. Well aware of this custom, Phillip deliberately used quite a bit of force.

A splatter of ale hit the table.

“Oh dear!”

And a few drops got on Baron Delvie’s clothing.

While the clothes suited his status, they were hardly impeccable by aristocratic standards. Perhaps one could say they had history? They reminded Phillip of what he’d once worn himself—hand-me-downs.

A brief burst of pity swept through him.

Phillip’s current wardrobe was all the latest finery, custom-tailored for him at Hilma’s expense. Meanwhile, the state of
their
clothes meant she’d deemed them unworthy of similar investment.

Such palpable gulfs in their potential. The world was an unfair place indeed.

“You’ve come to drink?” he asked.

“—Yes, we have. We have indeed. A drink was what we were originally after, but then we spotted yourself here and thought we’d take the measure of your mood. Isn’t that right?”

“’Tis true, Baron Mocharath.”

“No need to stand by on pretense! We share the same rank and status. We are companions, are we not?”

“Oh! Kind words from an esteemed man such as yourself. You honor us both, and I am glad to hear it. Isn’t that right?”

“So it is. Please help yourself to these.”

The man held up some refreshments, something dried that paired well with their drinks.

“Why thank you, Baron Loquillen.”

“My, Baron Mocharath. No need for formal titles here. Please call me Vianney, and my friend here is Yg.”

“Very well! And by all means, call me Phillip.”

Grinning broadly, all three took a quaff of ale.

“But, my dear Phillip, what ails you? You seemed most out of sorts when we arrived.”

“Did I?” The alcohol slowed the wheels in his mind, and it took him a moment to gather his thoughts. “Oh, just frustrated by all the fools in this world. Specifically, the peasants in my domain.”

“Ah, ah, I share your suffering! A man of your brilliance must constantly find himself beset by those incapable of understanding new ideas. Would that we shared that burden, eh?”

“Indeed. A vexation befitting your wisdom, Lord Phillip.”

Their praise was music to his ears.

True aristocrats simply understood. They, too, must be constantly fighting the stupidity of the masses.

“You know how I feel?”

“But of course! Of course we do. We face the same problems—although naturally, not on your scale. Right?”

“Very much so. Oh, your mug is empty. You there—fetch Phillip a fresh drink at once!”

The girl soon placed a new ale in front of him, practically overflowing. He held it high.

“Another toast?” he said, and their crockery clashed once more.

Phillip poured the ale down his throat.

Delicious.

It had never tasted so good before. This was the joy of drinking with compatriots who shared his hardships.

Since Phillip was something of a faction leader, the other members often kept their distance, reluctant to befriend him. He was delighted to have company for once. He even found himself throwing his arms over their shoulders before long.

“My, Lord Phillip! I appreciate the overture, of course! However, it does make it rather easy to spill. Perhaps once you’ve sipped a bit more— Oh!”

His drink sloshed over again. The ale was free, but wasting so much was rude to Hilma.

He removed his arms from their shoulders and chugged the rest in his cup.

“You certainly can put it away! Right?”

“Indeed. A magnificent display, Lord Phillip.”

“Pwahhh! Oh, this is nothing. But I must say, ale enjoyed with two such fine fellows certainly does taste better!”

“My, oh my! What a delightful thing to say. I’m afraid I cannot hold my liquor, but it warms the soul to see you put it away so heartily.”

“Oh? Neither of you drinks much?”

They
were
still nursing their original drinks.

“I’m afraid so. It shames me to admit it, but my tongue simply finds little pleasure in the taste. You agree, yes?”

“I do. But in a venue like this, drinking is a must to fit in. And I always end up taking little sips.”

“And that’s why we envy your fortitude! Please, our drinks are yours. Chug away!”

Phillip happily took them up on that offer.

His head was starting to spin, and he could feel his cheeks burning.

“Good, good. Lord Phillip, you mentioned troubles with the fools in your domain, but what exactly is the issue at hand?”

“Mm? Uh, what? Were we talking about that?”

“Yes, you mentioned it yourself, in fact. Perhaps you’ve had a bit too much? Should we get you something nonalcoholic? Mm?”

“Indeed, Lord Phillip. Water might clear your head. The water here has no mossy aftertaste to it at all!”

“Oh no, I’m fine, I’m fine.” But even without a mirror, he could tell his face must be very red. “…Um, yes, the troubles I’m having. They’re all about money, really.”

His companions glanced at each other.

“Isn’t that always the case?”

“Indeed. Our domains simply aren’t very fruitful.”

“No, no, that’s not it! If they’d simply do as I say, we’d be raking it in! But instead of doing what they’re told, they slack off or find ways to circumvent my orders. Every last one a fool!”

“Right you are, Lord Phillip. I know only too well the burden of dealing with fools. Incidentally, what is it your domain is known for?”

“Nothing but crops, I’m afraid.”

He was trying all sorts of other things but to no avail.

“Crops… Well, if you have a specialty, those can make money, but without one…”

“Ordinary crops don’t fetch high prices. Everyone knows that.”

Both sounded equally frustrated.

That was his point exactly. That was why you had to grow something of value. It might not be immediately profitable, but it was vital to investigate what would grow and what would not. This was an investment in the future. But every time he gave such an order, the response was that they didn’t have the manpower for it.

“All we can do is hope for crop failures elsewhere in the kingdom. That would certainly drive the price up!”

“In my do—,” Yg began, but Vianney elbowed him in the ribs.

Then he leaned in, speaking low in Phillip’s ear.

“You are absolutely correct. But even with a bad harvest, the price might stay steady. Have you heard? Our kingdom’s warehouses are filled to the rafters with cheap provisions shipped in from the Nation of Darkness. Those will prevent any major upheaval in the market. Without some unique…added value, your crops will sell for a pittance.”

“Really?!”

“Whoa, Lord Phillip. Keep your voice down.”

Phillip hastily glanced around, then asked quietly, “You’re sure of this?”

“Yes, it comes from a trusted source. Well, really, here in the capital, quite a few merchants are buzzing about it. These stockpiles of foodstuffs are occupying a substantial amount of their storage. And they’ve been told they can sell off as much as they like—though naturally, the Nation of Darkness’s interests are given priority.”

“Mm? So the Nation of Darkness is just leaving it in their care? The merchants aren’t buying food from the Nation of Darkness to sell here?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. I’m unsure of the details, but the food is merely in their care. They receive a payment for storing it—essentially a warehouse fee. Hardly a significant amount but enough to turn a profit.”

“…Are warehouses something a trader can afford to just…rent out like that?”

“Ordinarily, it would take a lot of persuasion. But that demon attacked the warehouse district of the capital, remember? That left quite a few of them empty, so their owners were only too happy to put them to use. But until that stockpile is turned over or depleted, the merchants won’t be raising any prices. If we try to press them on the matter, they’ll simply say,
Any higher than that and we’re better off selling the Nation of Darkness provisions
. Do you know anything about E-Rantel’s largest food depot?”

“N-no, I’m afraid not.”

“It’s a simply massive building dedicated to stockpiling foodstuffs—and they’ve got a magic item maintaining Preservation on the interior at all times so that nothing within can go bad. Previously, its main purpose was preparing for the annual campaign against the Empire, gradually accumulating enough rations to feed a hundred thousand soldiers. But normally if you gather food over long periods of time, some of it inevitably rots, and depending on the time of year, there may be nothing to purchase. This storage facility was built to solve both problems. The magic item itself can’t be moved, so they had no choice but to let the Nation of Darkness seize it. Which means if the Nation of Darkness can’t move the provisions stored there right away, they can just keep storing them
indefinitely
until they do.”

“No matter how long they can store supplies, the Nation of Darkness only has the one city, E-Rantel. I can’t imagine they have the capacity to grow that many crops.”

Even if some of their produce flowed into the kingdom, given their relative populations, the price deflation would be minimal.

“See, that’s the thing. Rumor has it—and I trust these rumors—the Nation of Darkness is using undead labor to work a vast expanse of farmland. Their output is extremely high—that tiny development is producing as much as the entire kingdom. If you think about it, undead need no rest—although I certainly wouldn’t want to eat anything they grew.”

“You must be joking! That’s so unfair!”

Phillip was shouting again. He could not abide this King of Darkness easily pulling off everything he’d tried and failed to make happen in his own domain. If he was struggling, so should that king!

Or—should he bring in undead to work his fields?

“It may be a tad exaggerated. Just because the undead work tirelessly doesn’t mean they can equal the output of a far larger realm…but it
is
true their crop yields are rather high, enough that the Nation of Darkness can afford to provide the Sacred Kingdom foreign aid.”

“They can?”

“Yes, that Jaldabaoth demon laid waste to the Sacred Kingdom—the same demon that attacked our capital. And his rampage was so devastating, it outright caused a famine or at least pushed them to the brink of one. The Nation of Darkness is using the provisions stored here to cover their shortfalls. Convoys laden with foodstuffs have been rolling through my domain regularly, so this much is true.”

“If they’re sending enough food to stave off a famine, is there anything left in the merchant’s warehouses?”

“At first glance, anyone would be tempted to think the answer is no. But in case of bad harvests, they need to keep the stockpile above a certain threshold for emergencies. It’s safe to assume they have held some back.”

That was convincing. If Phillip were in the Nation of Darkness’s position, he would simply use foreign aid as an excuse to rid himself of old excess provisions.

“Indeed. Well, not like a bad harvest comes—ugh!”

“—So we can’t exactly put our faith in the weather. We need something better. Something that will rid us of the Nation of Darkness’s food—only then will the crops you’re growing sell for a profit, Lord Phillip. But no matter how vexing the Nation of Darkness’s stores are, we can’t exactly start a war over them.”

A flash of inspiration hit Phillip.

Crop prices could only go so high. Even if there was a bad harvest, the profit would be minimal. But this was because the Nation of Darkness’s stores existed. What would happen if they didn’t?

The answer was clear.

The price of crops would rise.

Which begged the question—how could they rid themselves of the Nation of Darkness’s stockpile?

Vianney himself had offered up a clue.

They need merely lower the Nation of Darkness’s yield. This was easier said than done. Phillip couldn’t exactly march into Nation of Darkness territory and set fire to the fields on his own.

But could he steal the crops?

When that thought crossed his mind, it felt like a bolt of lightning.

Steal from another country. Common sense dictated that the risk was hardly worth it. However grand his future might be, Phillip was not yet equipped to contend with a foreign realm. But the kingdom and the Nation of Darkness were enemies. With all the citizens the King of Darkness had killed in that war, where else could they stand? And stealing food from an enemy country was an act of outstanding valor.

In which case, the kingdom leadership would naturally take Phillip’s side. They might even grant him a title to reward him for striking boldly at their enemy.

…I like it. This is a very good idea.

If he stole from the Nation of Darkness, it wouldn’t be long before merchants were lining up to buy Mocharath crops. And if he also sold them the crops he’d stolen…

That’s three birds with one stone! It’s perfect. But how do I steal them? Consult with Hilma and hire some mercenaries? No, that would never do. You can’t trust anyone hired with money. Exposing oneself to blackmail is the act of a fool.

He would have to use his domain’s levies. They were just ordinary villagers, but Phillip had long dreamed of creating a standing army. Rather than drag villagers out of their fields, it would be far better to have fully trained soldiers. And using the stolen crops to pay these soldiers only made sense.

Still, venturing into Nation of Darkness territory is a risk.

Phillip’s domain was rather far from the Nation of Darkness. The price of moving troops over such a distance was prohibitive.

No, wait… Someone mentioned it a moment ago. The Nation of Darkness’s convoys move through his domain. If we attack those…

Could he pull off that attack? There was a limit to how many villagers he could levy. And given the resistance the convoy would put up, he needed a clear advantage of numbers to ensure his victory.

“I have an idea, if you care to listen.”

“An idea, you say?”

“Yes. A very good one.”

Phillip leaned in and began proudly laying out his scheme.

“—Tsk. Not even a word of apology,” Vianney spat. They had just parted ways with Phillip.

Phillip’s drink had splattered clothes that had once been his father’s; both fabric and design betrayed their age. The outfit in and of itself was an unusual sight. Clothes were something you ordered anew as you made your forays into society in earnest.

Nobility lived and died on such vainglory. Clothing was but one aspect of it, and dressing like this earned him nothing but scorn. But Vianney’s position
was
at the very bottom of aristocratic society; coming to events dressed to impress would earn him next to nothing.

Rather, looking like he did was a silent testament to his insignificance, a distinct advantage when trying to place himself under the wing of a greater power. His garb was a costume, one that allowed him to play the role of a weak noble on the stage of society. And it would help him to secure a better part in the future.

He couldn’t let such an important piece of his arsenal to become soiled.

“Right you are,” the man next to him said.

Vianney glared at him. “…You can stop doing that now.”

His tone was bleak. If Phillip heard him speak like this, his eyes would have popped out of his head; the difference in bearing was that remarkable.

Vianney was neither prone to good cheer nor raucous conversation. He had piled on layers of pretense, doing his damnedest to sell the role of a loose-lipped comrade.

His friend Yg was only too aware of his true nature.

“Whoops, sorry. Ain’t never been no good at flattery, so I had to dump it all on you.”

Yg’s mannerisms were also a dramatic departure from his earlier performance. The rough words did not even
sound
like they came from a nobleman.

“If you were even a tiny bit sorry, you’d put in the effort to learn. Minor nobles like us thrive only if our betters like us.”

“It’s a shite world. I thought getting this title would be my ticket to the good life. But it’s nothing but brownnosing and ass-kissing.”

“Bah. Don’t be absurd. Commoners do the same. I don’t know who has it worse, but knowing when to kiss an ass or two is the mark of a grown-up.”

“Then I wish I’d never grown up. Wish I was still swinging a stick around and dreaming about being a dragon slayer.”

“There’s no turning back, and you know it. Learn to brownnose a little. It’s all you need to control a man with no brain. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s no skin off our teeth.”

If they were dealing with a high-ranked nobleman or one with experience—someone accustomed to flattery—they would need to be far better at it to get anywhere. And that meant they needed practice and experience.

“Mm…well, if we meet him again, I’ll try and do better.”

“Don’t try—just do. Everyone loves flattery. If they look annoyed by it, that just means you’re bad at it. I know it’s not your forte, Yg. I help cover your weaknesses, and you help cover mine. That’s our deal. But giving up on improving yourself is a death sentence. There’s no guarantee we can always stick together.”

Vianney was smarter than average but hardly athletic. Yg was the other way around.

If they’d been the same type, perhaps the two of them would have seen each other as rivals, but both considered it a stroke of luck things hadn’t turned out that way. Lords of neighboring domains rarely got on well, but since both had been third or fourth sons originally, they’d been raised ignorant of past grudges and any friction that shared history might have caused.

Perhaps most importantly, they’d just clicked from the moment they met.

“Fair…but what’d you make of him?”

“Scum,” Vianney snapped.

The thought of allowing a man like that to take the reins of their faction was horrifying.

“But even a half-wit has his uses if you can lead him the right way.”

“True.”

Their faction was basically a refuse pile.

Those with no interest in managing their domains, nobles only in name. Those spinning out of control, drunk on power beyond their means to control, like a child handed a sword. Those who had accomplished nothing yet were absolutely certain they were destined for greatness. Most of the faction was beyond help, lacking even the sense Vianney had to recognize that they were nothing but another mediocre aristocrat.

And that put their entire faction in a serious predicament.

“Leaving the Nation of Darkness’s stockpile sitting in the capital is bad news. They can control food prices as they please. The moment the kingdom’s harvests fail, they’ll jack everything way up. Worst-case scenario, some lords will ignore that obvious trap and start converting their fields to only grow cash crops. I’m sure more than a few of them are totally convinced that even if prices go up a bit, we can simply buy food from the Nation of Darkness and avoid any risk of starvation.”

Vianney could think of a number of nobles in his faction who believed exactly like that. He’d tried indirectly explaining just how horrifying that outcome would be, but they all seemed dead certain they alone would come out ahead. Nothing he said could dissuade them.

“…We lost too much labor in that war. When considering how to divide up the remaining manpower…well, I get why they’d want to chase an immediate profit.”

Anyone—especially someone in charge—naturally wanted to grow their income.

“But only a madman would consider stealing from the Nation of Darkness’s convoys. Even a complete idiot knows that attacking a wagon flying their flag is tantamount to an act of war, and the retribution will be swift and merciless. Yet, that fool—wait, unless he played
us
?”

Perhaps he’d tricked them. But Vianney had no idea what that man could possibly be after. And that meant the suggestion they’d taken was their best move.

“Don’t overthink it,” Yg assured him. “I guarantee he’s just too dumb to realize anything.”

“Come, now,” Vianney said with a chuckle. “Do you really think
anyone’s
so dumb they’ll waylay a convoy without considering the consequences?”

“Well…it
is
hard to believe.”

Phillip might be woefully ignorant of things any nobleman should know, but if he was genuinely
that
stupid, his father would never have ceded the title to him. Phillip must have had an angle. Except…what could it be?

“Maybe we should run it by Shugneus?”

“—No, better not.”

—Hilma Shugneus.

The woman who’d been instrumental in creating this faction. There’d been rumors she was the mistress of a count, but the establishment of this faction wasn’t of any obvious benefit to him. It was only natural to wonder where all these funds and connections were coming from.

That woman was most likely backed by an organization rather than an individual. And there was only one in the kingdom with this kind of reach.

The Eight Fingers.

A criminal society operating in the shadows of the Re-Estize Kingdom.

Was Hilma merely a pawn in their schemes?

Vianney was confident that wasn’t the case.

He’d spoken with her a few times, and she did not seem like an expendable stooge.

She likely occupied a prominent position within the syndicate. For someone like that to be deeply involved in their faction was alarming, to say the least. There were nobles out there who had gained substantial power through ties to the underworld, but Vianney preferred to keep his distance from any criminal enterprise.

Neither he nor Yg was conceited enough to think they’d come out ahead in such a risky deal.

“What, you think it’s a bad idea? You’re getting all cooped up in your thoughts again, aren’t you? Time to start sharing, man. Even I can tell his plan puts us in danger. Phillip wants to attack a convoy in your domain! Boneface ain’t gonna take that lying down. That guy’s gonna want Phillip’s head
and
yours!”

He would. Yg was absolutely right. But Vianney had good reason to go along with this harebrained scheme, even with the risks it entailed.

“That’s probably the bumbling idiot’s goal. Pin the crimes on us and make a clean getaway with all the goods in the ensuing chaos. So why not turn the tables on him? Say we’re patrolling our domains and just so happen to come across some bandits attacking one of the Nation of Darkness’s convoys. Then we simply drive them off. And it’s vital they die by our hands.”

If a trade caravan was attacked on their land, no noble would consider the matter concluded simply because they’d slain all the bandits. Especially if a foreign power was involved. Swift and fierce retribution was to be expected. They needed to eliminate any evidence of their involvement and prove beyond a doubt they’d attempted to address the crimes occurring in their jurisdiction.

“What do you think? Good opportunity to curry favor with the Nation of Darkness, isn’t it? Even if they suspect our involvement, we can demonstrate we did our best to protect their interests. We just need to make sure the culprits perish. Dead men tell no tales.”

“I can tell you exactly how that’ll end. They’re gonna find some godly priest to resurrect the dead. No use trying to hide anything from
them
.”

“You think the Nation of Darkness has a priest skilled enough to bring back the dead? In a place where undead stalk the streets and all living beings tread lightly?”

“Probably not, no,” Yg admitted.

Vianney chuckled. “Whatever that man is planning, we’ll turn his ambush to our advantage. Whether his plan succeeds or fails—and I can’t imagine it will—the Nation of Darkness will have to take precautions against future attacks. They might even completely abandon the idea of asking the kingdom’s merchants to manage their food inventory. If that happens, our faction’s half-wits will finally wake up from their daydreaming and start managing their lands with a bit of common sense. Besides…” Vianney’s grin broadened. “Either way, we can rid ourselves of
him
.”

“Is that worth going this far? We’re putting ourselves in a lot of danger for his ass.”

“He might not be, but that Shugneus woman is backing him, and we need to knock her down a peg. Her goal is to definitely prop up that numbskull as a figurehead and keep the rest of us under her thumb. It’s all to bring her syndicate out from the shadows so they have a respectable front that’ll let them move in broad daylight. I can’t see any other reason why she’d drop so much cash on us.”

Neither the royal family nor the long-standing noble faction retained much of their old power. Anyone who could control a new power bloc would be able to wield a genuinely terrifying amount of influence over the kingdom as a whole. That kind of influence would put the Eight Fingers in charge of the kingdom by day and by night.

“I never thought of this faction as much more than a rest stop on the way to something better, but you’ve been planning real far ahead.”

Yg’s comment rang true. This wasn’t something any one noble, let alone a lowly baron, should be worrying about. Naturally, the baron title covered a wide range of nobles, and there were those with domains rich enough to be the equal of a higher title. But Vianney and Yg had domains all too typical for someone of their status and didn’t stand out whatsoever from the crowd of minor barons.

With no connections to either the royal or noble factions, the only thing motivating Vianney was a genuine desire to make his own domain a better place. And that would be difficult if the kingdom itself did not make strides.

It had nothing to do with being a nobleman. It was just his personal goal.

He wanted to be richer. To be happier.

And he was willing to put in the work.

“If we want to join a better faction, we need clear-cut achievements to our name and connections. Right?”

“Ain’t wrong.”

The two of them had joined this new faction hoping there would be opportunity in a group that had not yet fully cemented its place in the annals of power. But perhaps it had been a mistake joining a faction led by a complete birdbrain and so transparently backed by the Eight Fingers to boot.

“But are we sure this won’t start a war with the Nation of Darkness?”

Vianney considered that for a moment, then shook his head.

“I doubt it. That fool’s plan will never succeed, and I can’t imagine a war starting over something so trivial. The Nation of Darkness has only one city to their name. They won’t have the numbers needed to seize and occupy the entire kingdom’s territory. They may have undead to bolster their numbers, but those aren’t good for anything beyond basic manual labor. They can’t run the place. Even if war does break out, I’m sure it’ll be settled by peeling off a few more border provinces…and that means nothing for those of us on the other end of the country. So…”

He held up a fist. Yg did the same, and they bumped them together.

“Let’s do this!”

“Hell yeah!”

2

The road through Baron Delvie’s domain.

Phillip and his forces had set out the day before, camped for the night just inside these lands, and had at last reached their destination—the site of the ambush. Word was the Nation of Darkness convoy would pass through here at noon.

From horseback, Phillip glanced down at the row of soldiers.

The troops under his command were all villagers.

He’d mustered fifty in all.

Despite the call going out to every corner of his domain, he had gotten barely anyone. Every village had the same answer—they’d already done their share.

Phillip was not pleased.

This plan was for the sake of his domain’s future, to ensure the happiness and prosperity of everyone who lived there. The benefits of this battle would be tremendous, and he planned to share the bulk with them. He had even said as much. Yet, they offered no help.

What simpletons.

And such ignorance. No clue where profit lay. That was exactly why they needed his wisdom and guidance.

He had tried to be understanding and magnanimous, but his anger was winning out. He had considered forcibly conscripting more men, but that would just infuriate his half-dead father.

So he was forced to offer payment in advance from the funds Hilma had loaned him.

That had barely managed to get him fifty, but most who had agreed to go were well past prime working age, obviously infirm, or uncooperative boors who kept picking fights with people from other hometowns.

The villages had sent him their deadweight. Not a single one of them seemed worth the money. But it did feel good to see them all assembled before him.

Phillip was sure this was where his legend began. The bards would sing of his deeds this day.

He was only getting started.

He would expand his domain, earn greater titles, and bask in a shower of glory.

He would strike the first blow against the Nation of Darkness, when no one else dared. The royal family would sing his praises and reward him with a rank befitting his achievements. Perhaps he would even be offered the hand of that beautiful princess!

“You’re sure it’s fine to attack?”

Phillip glared at the soldier who’d dared to interrupt his fantasies.

A plain-looking man, maybe thirty. Dressed in filthy clothes and inexplicably carrying a wooden hoe. It seemed so pitiful that even a basic club would probably be more useful—and if one wasn’t available, then at least he could’ve grabbed a random stick. But Phillip had merely ordered them to bring a weapon, and this was what he’d got.

There had been several villagers who didn’t even have clubs, and it had been a real headache. Even ignoring that, the overall impression of his band was definitely
starving bandits
, which Phillip had to admit
would
help deceive their targets.

The man’s inopportune question drew a series of nods. Clearly many of his men were wondering the same thing.

“No need to be concerned. Our actions today will help save our country.”

“We ain’t talking anything that grand a scale here,” another man said. “We just wanna know if our necks are on the hangman’s block.”

That drew a chorus of
yeah
s.

Phillip shook his head. How shortsighted could they be? Still…

That’s just how most people are. That’s precisely why they need the leadership of a brilliant mind like myself. It’s this dim-witted thinking that prevents them from following my plans to cultivate new land…

“And I’m saying that’s not a concern. Or didn’t you hear me the first time?”

“…No, we did.”

He was clearly not satisfied.

Phillip wondered if making an example of one would inspire the survivors—but reconsidered when he realized that would seem like an admission that he lacked motivational skills and was unable to convince anyone the risks were worth it.

As he considered his options, he heard hooves pounding the dirt and turned to find two mounted knights coming his way. Each had a mask on their head, leaving only their eyes visible. But their identities were clear enough.

They stopped a short distance off and beckoned to him.

He wondered why they didn’t come to him—they
should
come to him! But then he realized they probably had news they didn’t want anyone to overhear.

“Hmm, very well.”

That sounded suitably dignified. Patting himself on the back for it, Phillip allowed himself a sneer.

He rode over to them. He’d been practicing and could make a horse walk easily enough.

“Baron. Everything set?”

The speaker’s face might be hidden, but from the build and his voice, this was clearly Baron Delvie—Vianney.

Dressed so shabbily it was hard to believe he held that title.

Filthy leather armor, an ordinary sword at his hip. The horse had no sheen and was clearly more used to pulling a plow than carrying a warrior. Baron Loquillen—Yg—was no better. Dressed almost exactly the same and riding a very similar horse.

Phillip had a patron who kept him well equipped, but clearly neither of these men had any money. He’d seen how shabbily they were dressed before and had to repress the urge to let his smug superiority show.

I can’t allow myself to be irritated by my men’s dismal morale in front of these two poor saps.

Leaders must always demonstrate how superior they were in the presence of their lessers. Phillip had to set the standard. And those beneath him had to obey his commands. That was how the world was supposed to work.

“Just the two of you? Are your troops ready?”

“Naturally, they’re in position. Right?”

“Indeed they are. Our troops are deployed on either side of yours, Lord Phillip. An inverted wedge.”

“Oh! An inverted wedge formation!”

Phillip had read about this. He was pleased to be taking part in such a storied battle formation. It felt like being a hero from a war story.

“If you find yourself in any danger, divide your men in two and flee to either side. If everyone runs the same way, you can’t divide the enemy forces, so make sure you split up.”

“Excellent. Although there’s no need to belabor—”

“—Best to decide who will go in which direction before we begin. I doubt anyone will be able to follow complex orders in the heat of battle. Same for yourself, Lord Phillip. Which direction will you run?”

This all sounded as if defeat was inevitable and was most aggravating.

“You think my men will lose?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort, Lord Phillip! This is a classic strategy. Pretend you’re retreating, then turn and wipe out your pursuers. I’m sure you’ve heard of it before.”

“O-oh, yes. Of course I have.”

That was convincing. Phillip was not about to admit he’d never heard of such a thing before, so he simply pretended he had.

“I was certain you had! But there you have it. A clever ploy. Retreat is all part of the plan.”

In that case…

As he considered which way to run himself, Phillip realized he was missing a key piece of information.

“One question before I answer—you haven’t mentioned the size of your forces. How many men have you brought?”

“Seventy-five each.”

If the numbers matched, it didn’t matter which way he ran—but before that thought crossed his mind, he was shocked that these two had mustered more troops than he had. Then he realized it was hardly remarkable. Gathering men was easy enough. The true problem lay elsewhere. Had this been his own domain, Phillip could have easily mustered twice as many.

“…With that many troops, wouldn’t it be better for us all to attack at once? I mean, we have two hundred in all!”

“That could work, yes. But if your men keep them pinned down, our forces can swoop in from the flanks. That’s the whole point of the inverted wedge!”

“Oh, right you are.”

He’d completely forgotten that.

Vianney let out a sigh, but with that mask of his, his expression remained unreadable.

“I’m glad you understand. Now, which way will you be retreating?”

“Hmm… I think I’ll be heading in Yg’s direction.”

“Then you’ll be retreating to the left wing. Very well! Please relay this to your men. Oh, and do watch out for archers. It’s all too common for a stray arrow to knock a man off his horse, and if he was to get trampled— Well, it’s a sad end.”

“With my armor, no horse hooves could ever lay me low. We hired a skilled smith and had the Wizards Guild enchant it.”

The full plate Phillip currently wore had been a gift from Hilma. The enchantment improved the defense, and it was a far finer piece than the armor his family had treasured for generations. He’d received it ages ago but never had a chance to wear it until now. He was thrilled to show it off.

These two minor barons had almost certainly never seen the like. Phillip did his best to keep from sounding
too
smug.

“Still, you can’t be too careful. If the caravan guards kill you, this whole thing will end in failure.”

“Very true. You’re our general, Lord Phillip.”

“Even with armor as grand as that, one blow to the wrong spot can still be very deadly. And no matter how much metal armor is enhanced, it will still be powerless before magic. Stay vigilant, please. We need our general.”

They were being most insistent, but he could see why. It was a fact that the death of a general would ruin everything.

And knowing how important he was to them made Phillip unable to suppress a smile.

“I am aware.”

“……So where will you be deploying your troops? Leading the charge is obviously dangerous, so I imagine you’ll be taking up the rear, but if it looks like you might not have time to retreat, I will need to know where you’ll be so we can rush to your rescue.”

Mm-hmm
, Phillip thought.

If a general was in trouble, it was his subordinates’ job to come to his aid. It was a natural question, and one he should have considered himself.

I’m sure I would have, normally. Perhaps I’m a bit too worked up. It is my first time commanding a battle of this scale, after all.

Phillip swallowed and took a few deep breaths.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Oh, just trying to calm my nerves. What with the coming battle and all.”

“……Oh, I see. So that’s what it was? Um, so where are you planning on waiting at the start?”

“Let me see…”

Phillip looked around.

The road was paved and rather wide. Two wagons could pass each other with room to spare. This road must be an important source of revenue for Baron Delvie.

Dense forest lay on either side. But the area directly adjacent to the road was just a scattering of bushes, a measure against bandit ambushes. Anything you could hide in had been pruned away.

This was a closely managed forest, possibly planted to allow pigs to forage for acorns or the like. And that meant they need not be concerned about monsters or wild animals.

In which case…

“Hiding in the woods seems appropriate.”

“I agree. I know just the place. A path where the shrubs and low branches have been cleared so one might flee on horseback. How does that sound?”

“You made a path?”

“I did! I thought one might be necessary, so when you selected this location, I made sure it was ready.”

There had been a number of locations considered for the ambush, but Phillip had ultimately chosen this one. He had asked Vianney and Yg for their opinions, but both had said it was entirely up to him. They must have put in a considerable amount of work once his choice was made.

“Why, thank you.”

“Not at all. You’re striking the first blow and assuming all the risk that entails. We should be thanking
you
.”

“And we are!”

The two gentlemen led him to a clearing. It was just as Vianney had described. From here, they could easily ride out.

After a few more words, they split up, and Phillip headed back to his men.

The full plate armor was very heavy, and he was already starting to sweat. Given the locale, he was constantly in danger of tripping and falling, especially with his helmet on.

As his breathing became more labored, he removed the helmet to carry it under one arm. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brow.

Perhaps this had been a poor choice. Having strong armor was obviously vital for defense, but he should have made it more mobile. Enchantments that made armor lighter did exist. He’d have to ask for those next time. And if possible, something that would prevent him from sweating every time he moved.

He made a mental note to talk to Hilma the next time he was in the capital.

When he reached his men, he saw they were all awkwardly standing around.

“I have returned.”

“Sir, who were those masked men? They looked like bandits! Are you sure this isn’t a trick?”

“Rest assured, it is not. Both of them are true aristocrats. Please don’t mention their appearance. Not all nobility can afford full plate.”

Many families that had lost their scions on the Katze Plain also lost their ancestral arms and armor at that battle. If a house of Phillip’s standing lost their household equipment, they would certainly struggle to replace it.

His soldiers seemed unconvinced, but he didn’t see a need to reassure them.

“Listen up! Stand by till the convoy’s in sight. When they arrive, attack!”

There was no response, so Phillip raised his voice.

“Understood?!”

“Aye-aye, sir…,” a few muttered. Far from enthusiastic.

Phillip was less than satisfied but decided not to press the point. It was his first battle, too. There was no use asking for too much.

He need merely point the way forward and wait for them to become fine soldiers.

With that thought, Phillip sat down heavily, obeying his body’s demands for rest.

The Eight Fingers were a massive crime syndicate lurking in the shadows of the Re-Estize Kingdom.

As the name implied, they had eight divisions. Kristoffer Olsson worked in one of these—the smuggling division. Officially, he was a merchant, with a few trade routes running from the capital to the western side of the kingdom. Like so many similar merchants, his warehouses had been cleaned out during the Jaldabaoth disaster.

The losses had not outright killed his business but had been substantial enough that it would take a tremendous amount of time and effort to recover. And to do so, he’d been forced to borrow some money from the Eight Fingers.

In business, the greater the investment, the greater the profit. There was always the possibility of incurring greater losses, but a smart merchant knew how to minimize that risk.

But a loan from a place like the Eight Fingers was much like a ravenous wolf. They were known for forcing struggling merchants into a life of crime to repay their debts—often by smuggling or dealing drugs.

Many a merchant had been corrupted that way.

But Kristoffer had been corrupt already. What was his fate?

Securing the loan had led directly to a meeting with the Eight Fingers chiefs. This had been quite a shock. He’d already worked for the smuggling division and had assumed the loan would come through his superiors there—he’d never imagined he would meet with leadership from
another
division.

Yet, there he was, meeting with them all. Did they have a high opinion of his work? Or was this due to some reason beyond his fathoming? Even after their meeting ended, he’d had no idea. Feared throughout the underworld, the shadowy council had been unsettlingly
nice
, which only baffled him.

Of course, any display of goodwill from criminal masterminds likely had some ulterior purpose.

His other main takeaway had been that people in their position clearly took their health seriously. He’d actually felt they were almost a little
too
thin, but that didn’t seem worse than his own corpulence.

And they’d given him a job to do.

Was this job based on the size of his loan, his value as an individual, or merely the profit the Eight Fingers stood to gain? Just thinking about it made his head spin. If they thought highly of him, the work they assigned would be safe. If not, then it could be very risky indeed.

But the job itself…

“Transporting provisions for the Nation of Darkness? Who could possibly tell how dangerous that really is?”

“Mm? Did you say something, governor?”

“Oh, never mind. Just thinking out loud.”

The man with him was a mercenary.

Rippling with muscle.

Kristoffer was well into his forties and had a solid layer of fat around his torso, but this mercenary was all youth and vigor.

He’d said he was in his mid-twenties.

He wore a steel breastplate with mail beneath it. There was a full-face helmet resting nearby, alongside a sword that showed signs of frequent use.

This was the head guard for this seven-wagon caravan hauling food from the Nation of Darkness.

There were twenty-four guards in all. Every last one was on the Eight Fingers payroll and, like Kristoffer himself, part of the smuggling division.

Same division or not, using Eight Fingers guards still required payment—and cost more than the market price for mercenaries of their skill. But there was no need to ensure their silence after a clandestine job, and their loyalty was assured.

If they ran into danger beyond their skills, ordinary mercenaries might turn tail and flee, but these men would risk their lives to guard the rear. They knew full well that abandoning their client would ruin their employer’s name, meaning it could only end with their eventual capture and subsequent murder.

Kristoffer had no personal connections to trustworthy independent mercenaries, so he was definitely better off using Eight Fingers employees whatever the fee. More importantly, he was never given a choice in the first place.

His orders specified that he should use these guards.

In return, their services were paid for. He could have put the money saved into hiring extra guards, but that would make it seem like he didn’t trust the ones he already had, and they’d been handpicked by someone upstairs. Bringing anyone else along might well look like he was up to no good.

For that reason, Kristoffer had stuck with the specified mercenaries.

And the guards he’d received were supposed to be reliable indeed. He had no combat abilities himself and no way of personally gauging their strength. All he needed to know was that someone more important than him had given their stamp of approval. It was always risky going against a superior’s decision, no matter the reason.

But were there enough of them to make this a safe journey? Deep down, he would have liked to hire someone even better.

Ideally, someone as good as the old Six Arms, who’d once led the Eight Fingers security division and had been responsible for all the violent needs of the organization. But he was well aware that was little more than a pipe dream.

The Six Arms—including Zero, the strongest member of the Eight Fingers—had perished in the conflict with the royal family just before Jaldabaoth’s attack.

According to reliable sources, they’d been slain by a warrior named Brain Unglaus, who served the Golden Princess.

One man felling all six of them was clearly suspect, but the adamantite adventurer team known as the Blue Roses had also taken part, and Kristoffer was certain the battle had been six on six.

A lot of other security division personnel had died in the fighting, and now each division of the Eight Fingers was amassing their own guards, trying to rebuild their shattered forces. To the point where people from the assassination division were moving around in public.

But the upside was that the mood within the Eight Fingers was far more communal than before Jaldabaoth’s arrival.

There had been a time when constant internal conflict defined the syndicate, with each division always undermining one another’s interests. Kristoffer knew of cases where merchants moving contraband for the smuggling division had been caught because a different division tipped off the authorities.

But now the chiefs were almost disturbingly cooperative.

That had broadened the scope of their operations and increased their (illegal) profit margins.

The guard leader next to him yawned and farted at the same time. Biological functions, to be sure, but no apology offered.

No class at all.

Kristoffer’s brow furrowed. The worst sound to be dragged back to earth by.

He considered complaining, but they would be traveling back and forth to the western port town Re-Robel, and it was more important to keep relations cordial.

From Re-Robel, the provisions would be carried by ship, so that was the job of a seafaring merchant. Kristoffer knew him well—he was a big deal in this line of work, and it had been a shock to learn he was also involved with the Eight Fingers. He insisted they were simply working together because doing so had proved mutually advantageous.

Still, that flatulence was concerning for a different reason.

“You seem relaxed,” he said. “Not worried someone might attack?”

“Mm? Yeah, not feeling it on my skin, so— Oh, you mean to say,
Don’t trust a hunch
, don’cha? I get that. But I bet you’ve had deals where you could just tell
this one’s gonna pay out!
And when it was the other way around, you played it safe.”

“…I suppose I have.”

“See? Experience gives you
instincts
.”

The way this man spoke was far more relaxed than his appearance suggested.

“Is it really that simple?”

“That simple. Plus, we’re flying Nation of Darkness flags. Anyone who’d attack us is so ignorant, they don’t even know what that means, so it’s gonna be some starving villagers turned bandits at best. My crew could easily wipe out a hundred of those.”

“But if it isn’t villagers?”

“You’re thinking washed-up mercs? And assuming they don’t recognize the Nation of Darkness’s flags by now?” The man shrugged that off. “Mercs who’ve been in the game a spell tend to know things. Anyone so clueless they can’t even recognize their neighbors’ flags is frankly not gonna be much of a threat. Not convinced? Think about it, though. If you don’t know what nobleman you’re picking a fight with, you could be in for a world of hurt.”

“That’s certainly true. Out of idle curiosity, which noblemen are you loath to pick a fight with?”

“Well, top of my head, Raeven and Beauleurope. They’ve got powerful armies of their own. Maybe not as scary as they used to be but…definitely not worth the risk. Blumrush has deep pockets, so best to stay on his good side…but basically, you don’t want any of the big names pissed at you.”

“Even though you’ve got a crime syndicate backing you?”

“That goes for both of us! But yeah, if I start a fight with those big shots, our bosses would cut me loose in a second. Same goes for you.”

“Fair.”

They fell into a silence. A rather gloomy one at that.

Kristoffer was well aware of the leadership’s mercilessness, but he had taken this deal after deciding the profit was worth the danger. Perhaps he could have led a life without any such ties, but he never would have grown his business to its current size. Most likely, he’d still be stuck doing insignificant trades for chump change.

There was no shortage of what-ifs but no means of turning back the clock. All he could do was accept the path he’d chosen.

“…So you’ve got good reason not to worry, then. Fair enough. What would be the worst-case scenario?”

“Someone with flaming arrows lighting up our cargo. If they’re trying to destroy, not steal, that means there’s a bigger plot—and it means we’re getting mixed up in geopolitics. Or at least some rival syndicate’s scheme.”

“A rival to the Eight Fingers? Are there any?”

“I dunno. Even if there are, I dunno why they’d wanna burn the Nation of Darkness’s stuff. They’d have to be pretty dang certain they’d leave no evidence. Personally, I think we’d more likely be dealing with the kingdom itself or some neighboring country’s conspiracy.”

“And there’s no use worrying about something of that scale.”

“Right? For now, the journey’s going fine. Kick back and relax.”

The convoy was entering a forest.

That told him their approximate location.

Kristoffer unfurled a map in his mind, checking it over. He was relieved to find they were right on schedule. Who knew what terrors awaited anyone who screwed up a job from the Nation of Darkness?

It was noonish, and they’d be taking a rest once they cleared the forest. This wood was not primordial but man-made. It would not take that long to reach the other side.

As the wagons rattled onward, he heard the clatter of horses’ hooves. The wagon he was riding in began to slow.

He glanced at the guard beside him and found the man looking suddenly grim.

“Sorry. Work to do.”

Two men popped their heads in through the wagon’s flap. Both were mercenaries.

“Sorry, boss! This guy said he saw a bunch of villagers hiding in the woods up ahead.”

The leader explained that he’d sent one of his men ahead to scout.

“…Not bandits but villagers? What gave that away?”

“Uh, their gear mostly. No decent weapons, not even a speck of armor. Several of them were carrying hoes. Not even clubs, if you can believe it.”

“Even a rock can be a weapon but a hoe? Ridiculous. Are they at least iron?”

“Not like either of us got a good look, so hard to say, but…probably wood.”

To Kristoffer’s ears, this just sounded like farmers on their way home from the fields. What else could it be?

“Hoes? Is this a joke?”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“Send a few men in to scatter them?” the head guard muttered. “Maybe that’s overdoing it, but…”

He probably meant for that to be overheard. Sharing his thoughts.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but may I offer an opinion?”

“Go right ahead. We’re all in favor of constructive opinions.”

“Thank you. First, these woods are well maintained. Forests like these are often used for pig grazing. Perhaps that’s why these villagers are here? If we mistakenly try to run them off, we could be mistaken for pig thieves. We’re currently flying Nation of Darkness flags, which complicates things. If our actions start rumors that the Nation of Darkness is stealing pigs…well, we wouldn’t want word getting back to
them
, would we?”

The head guard swore under his breath.

These flags had all but guaranteed their safety thus far. Each city they passed gave their little procession top priority and were nothing but courteous. But that blessing tied their hands here. Anything they did wrong would reflect poorly on the Nation of Darkness and bring disaster down on their heads.

That was why Kristoffer had elected not to bring any additional—which was to say, illegal—merchandise on this trip.

“You said ‘a bunch,’ but exactly how many?”

“Uh, rough estimate? Looked like maybe fifty.”

“Sounds like a lot for simple farmwork, but what do you reckon?”

Kristoffer’s parents had been merchants, too, so he knew nothing about raising pigs.

“Well, honestly, I have no idea if that’s a lot or not or how many people it takes to catch pigs. And they could be here to plant or prune trees instead. I’ve even heard there’s valuable forage that pigs can sniff out for you.”

Considering how they had hoes, that seemed more likely than anything else.

“What’s the latest on the local noble? He starving his people?” the guard asked.

Kristoffer tugged the roll of fat around his neck.

“Hmm, I’ve met him before. Young but has his wits about him. Manages his lands with a steady hand. If he learns a little more and gets used to playing politics, he might have a decent future ahead of him.”

They’d exchanged a few words while Kristoffer was restocking an Eight Fingers–connected bar.

The noble in question was no purveyor, so he hadn’t sold anything directly to the man while passing through his domain, but he’d sensed enough potential in the young ruler that he almost regretted not having the chance. He was certainly not the type to mobilize villagers and attack a convoy. And Kristoffer’s impression of him as a ruler suggested he was managing his holdings well enough that there’d never be this many starving villagers so desperate they’d attack passing merchants.

He was far better than that man Hilma Shugneus (another Eight Fingers chief) had introduced one time. It would be hard to find anyone
worse
.

Remembering that near torture he’d endured, Kristoffer rubbed his temples.

“Boss, even if they do attack, we can easily drive off fifty barely armed villagers.”

“What are the odds they’re bait, and there are more soldiers hidden around?”

The two other guards glanced at each other.

“High enough. Should we look around? It might take a bit…”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“My only concern is that if it takes too long, it’ll throw off our schedule. We can make up some ground, but I don’t want to end up in a forced march.”

“Fair. You heard him, boys. Make it quick. Go!”

The scouts nodded and ran off.

They came back in ten minutes, reporting no sightings of any troops other than the original fifty.

Concluding that this must be actual farmwork, the convoy starting moving again—only to stop less than five minutes later.

“Sorry, governor. Better come take a look. The villagers are blocking the road. If they showed any sign of being hostile, we’d just charge on through, but they look spooked. None of them is exactly fixing for a fight. Which means…well, I dunno what to make of it. Could use your opinion. Of course, we’ll make sure you’re safe. Got a man with a shield, so you stay behind that.”

He would have loved to refuse if he could. He was of no use in a fight and had lived a life entirely free of violence.

But the situation demanded it. If they got in a pointless conflict here and had to avoid this road in the future, it would affect not only him but also whatever progeny of his who would inherit the trading company one day.

“…I suppose we’d better.”

Kristoffer and the head guard stepped out of the wagon and moved to the front of the convoy. A guard carrying a tower shield joined them; these negotiations were best held from behind the shield’s cover.

A mercenary carrying a menacing halberd was also accompanying them. Not to mention several archers hidden in the trees on either side. And the head guard was right at his side. If anything did happen, Kristoffer would be following the head guard’s orders to the letter.

He spied the villagers up ahead on the road that wound through the forest.

All looked like they were on their way home from the fields.

But if that was the case, why were they blocking the road?

That doubt must have shown on his face.

The head guard muttered, “See what I mean? If they’re planning to attack, they’d be better off hiding in the woods off the road. No need to stand out here in front of us. Even if their leader’s a total idiot, he’d know that much.”

“Perhaps it’s a protest?”

“A protest? Dressed like that? With these numbers? And frankly, we’re not dumb enough to believe that. I sincerely hope you haven’t been hiring buffoons who’d fall for something like that up until now.”

Kristoffer had to admit he had a point.

In lieu of further debate, he faced the villagers. From a safe distance, of course, with guards standing before him.

“I’m a simple merchant hauling this merchandise I’ve been entrusted with. If you’re blocking this road to send a message to some noble, that’s not our problem. Please clear the way. Otherwise, we’ll be forced to defend ourselves.”

As he spoke, a man emerged from the forest.

He wore magnificent full plate. No helmet, though, so his face was clearly visible.

As it turned out, Kristoffer had seen him before.

“For the sake of the kingdom, we cannot let you pass!”

“…Huh?”

Kristoffer was not the only one gaping. All the guards around were just as stunned.

“……Um, you seem to be confused. All we’re carrying is food. The Nation of Darkness is sending aid to those in need in the Sacred Kingdom.”

“I know that! Hmph! Obviously! That’s the point!”

What was he going on about? What was he thinking? How was this even happening?

Kristoffer was completely lost.

No—

There’s no point in trying to understand this imbecile. His lands aren’t even anywhere near here! What does he think he’s doing?! Is he in cahoots with—? Actually, would this domain’s lord agree to this in the first place?

Kristoffer quickly decided it didn’t matter. The man himself had just admitted his intent to disrupt Nation of Darkness business. They could kill him, and neither the kingdom nor the Nation of Darkness would raise a single word of protest. He was about to order the mercenaries to do just that, but something felt out of place.

Phillip was backed by Hilma Shugneus. When he’d been arrogant and insulting, Kristoffer had been forced to hide his fury behind an appeasing smile—and Hilma herself had said the bumbling noble was useful
because
he was so very stupid.

If he was a pawn of the Eight Fingers, killing him might be a bad idea.

Common sense dictated that no sane nobleman would attack a convoy bearing the Nation of Darkness’s flags. Doing that could only infuriate the Nation of Darkness, and anyone would know that could start a war. Even the most mindless aristocrat could think that far ahead.

In other words, there
had
to be some reason why he was doing this.

I mean, first of all, if he’s pretending to be a bandit who’s just after the cargo, why isn’t he hiding his face?

Even the dumbest man alive knew to keep his face hidden while committing a crime. There was no way his set of full plate didn’t come with a helmet. Which meant…

The goal here is for us to see his face? To know this is Phillip’s doing? Then that means… Oh!

At this point, Kristoff remembered that the Illusion spell existed.

That’s it! This is an illusion! He’s using magic on his face to make us think Phillip is behind this! That’s why he’s not wearing a helmet. And these villagers may not be what they seem, either.

Flawless logic. No margin for error.

In which case—

“S-so you want to steal food from the Nation of Darkness?”

“Um, what? Sir?”

The head guard looked confused. Understandably. They’d assumed he would order the man dead, which made his current indecision look like he’d gone mad.

“Exactly! We’ll put those provisions to better use.”

Phillip sounded immensely proud of himself.

That’s so dumb! He must know how stupid that sounds. But…

Someone must have scripted this. All he could think of was an Eight Fingers’ rival syndicate, like the head guard had mentioned earlier. Or one of the Eight Fingers chiefs?

If the former, they had to do whatever it took to get out of this. The Eight Fingers reserved their harshest penalties for traitors and the second harshest for failures. But if this really was some competitor’s scheme, then they would have brought enough soldiers to make this attack a success; fake or not, it made no sense to involve hoe-wielding farmers.

Then perhaps it was the latter. That would be bad news. Very bad news. Were the heads of his organization starting to work against one another again? Was this more of the typical interference that had been all too common once before? The worst-case scenario was that all the chiefs were in on some plot that was unfolding right before Kristoffer’s eyes.

Have I been betrayed? Am I being forced to kill Phillip, a noble of the kingdom? The real one is likely already dead.

So what was his best move?

“Uh, boss? What’s got you so spooked? We can scatter these clowns no problem. That noble-looking chap has some pretty good armor on, but he clearly can’t fight.”

All this was said in a low whisper. But Kristoffer was far too preoccupied to hear any of it. He needed to focus.

“Wait—give me a second!”

If they were trying to force him to kill Phillip, then why not give him that order in advance? That puzzled him. If they’d simply told him, he would have happily given the order without a moment’s hesitation.

But if a convoy ostensibly serving the Nation of Darkness’s interests killed a kingdom noble…was the goal to provoke a war between the two countries? That notion baffled him further.

At its core, this would just be seen as a kingdom merchant killing a kingdom nobleman in self-defense.

That seemed like an extremely thin justification for war. Kristoffer had enough underworld ties to know there were people out there who would start something for the flimsiest reason, people who had no compunctions about taking a life. But it was hard to picture countries operating like that.

…It must be something else. Is there a chance he got approval from above, but they neglected to tell me, or he’s just assuming they did? Or is he certain he can kill everyone here to prevent word about this from getting out? Argh, there are too many possibilities.

This wasn’t the kind of thing people screwed up lightly, but Kristoffer couldn’t be sure that the whole encounter was due to some random person’s oversight. Given all the possibilities, what was his best move?

If he acted out of line, it wouldn’t be strange to be eliminated. He needed an excuse, a justification.
Something
he could pin on a scapegoat if need be.

Killing this “Phillip” is the worst option. Once he’s dead, there’s no turning back. It might earn me Shugneus’s wrath, too…

“…If we leave our cargo and…simply walk away, do you promise not to chase us down?”

“Huh?”

The head guard was rattled, but Kristoffer ignored him.

“Of course! I have no intentions of harming a kingdom merchant.”

He
was
actually doing exactly that, just indirectly. But Kristoffer kept that thought to himself.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, are you serious? You can’t be! Why? What’s going on? Did he cast a spell on you? Is there some army hanging around here that I can’t see?”

“Orders from your client. Get ready to run.”

The head guard gaped at him for a long moment. Probably considering the possibility this
was
the work of some spell or how this would impact his own future. Not looking remotely convinced, he finally nodded.

Kristoffer promptly retreated with his guards.

The provisions would be stolen. But he knew exactly what his cargo was. Worst-case scenario, he could buy more and ship that to the Sacred Kingdom instead. There was no need for it to be the exact same food he was currently hauling.

He would owe the seafaring merchant a profuse apology, but for now it was best that he return to the capital and speak to Shugneus about this.

Kristoffer could only imagine what a nightmare that would be.

The merchant clearly knew who was in the right and retreated without a fight.

That just left several wagons’ worth of spoils.

Phillip peered inside and found them stuffed with barrels and crates, all filled with food. As the contents had been chosen for longevity, there was nothing fresh here, but it was perfectly edible.

Sadly, despite the size of the trade caravan, there was nothing
but
provisions.

Phillip had been hoping for a memento to commemorate his feat, but he couldn’t exactly keep
crops
.

If there was armor or a sword or some other prize…? Perhaps I should have demanded those men leave their weapons behind.

The only valuable-looking things were the wagons themselves.

Unfortunately, the caravan runners had taken the horses. There was no way to move the wagons now. Naturally, he’d insisted they leave the horses, but the leader of the guards had refused.

And an arrow had hit the tree next to Phillip to punctuate the refusal.

He’d been forced to reluctantly cede the point.

I might be safe in my full plate, but my soldiers aren’t. Heh. What a merciful soul I am. No profits are worth the loss of my men. A flawless victory. Not a soul injured, no blood spilled. Let’s keep it that way.

Phillip looked his prizes over, and one of the Nation of Darkness flags caught his eye.

Let’s call that my trophy. I’m sure I’m the first man to steal a flag from the nation that defeated a two hundred thousand–strong kingdom host on the Katze Plain.

He nodded to himself, pleased with the idea.

A rush of joy surged through him, and he could not repress a grin.

The perfect prize for a perfect plan. Just as he’d always known, he was a brilliant tactician.

No one could deny his genius now.

There were a number of flags, but one would be plenty. He lowered the flag to the dirt, grinding it beneath his feet.

Seeing the Nation of Darkness flag covered in dirt was a real thrill. No one else in the kingdom had been up to the task.

Phillip had done what no one else could.

See? I am no failure! I’m better than my brother, my father, anyone in this kingdom! I’m better than all of them!

At this point, one of the villagers turned away from the wagons, asking, “Er, um, sir? Can we really just take all this? And should we really be lingering here?”

His elation dissipated. Not even trying to hide his annoyance, Phillip demanded, “What are you talking about?”

“Just, you know, uh…they might come back with more soldiers.”

“What? You think we should have killed them all, then?”

“N-no! Not at all. Best not to kill anyone.”

“Then what?”

“Um, sir, how should we handle all this stuff?” another villager chimed in. “Are we just going to carry whatever we can back home with us?”

Phillip had been considering this, too. “Hmm…”

Even if all fifty of them cradled as much as they could in their arms, they’d be forced to leave most of the spoils. And the wagons themselves were well-built, covered in fine sailcloth. They’d fetch a good price, or Phillip could make use of them himself.

But it would be extremely hard work for ordinary villagers to pull them away.

As Phillip pondered the question, he heard something approaching through the grass. He looked up to find two masked men.

“Lord Phillip!”

The voice was Vianney’s, but the gear was nothing like before. In place of that filthy leather armor from earlier, he wore a solid cuirass and had a sword at his hip. Phillip briefly wondered why he’d changed but was far more interested in boasting about his feat.

“Oh, gentlemen! Come look! See what I have procured!”

“My word…what on earth happened…?”

Vianney stood where he was, glancing around. He seemed utterly baffled by the wagons just sitting there. Or perhaps it was because of the bloodless victory—at this point, Phillip was sure he knew where the doubt lay.

And Yg’s next words confirmed it.

“…Indeed. It would appear not one of your men has sustained any injuries. And there’s no blood on the ground. What strategy brought this about? Did you have some remarkable magic item with you?”

His means had certainly been magical, but not the way Yg meant.

“Nothing like that, no. Our foes were simply reluctant to risk their lives in the face of such overwhelming odds. Or perhaps that merchant secretly loathed serving at the Nation of Darkness’s beck and call.”

The two men glanced at each other. Their faces were covered, so he could not see their immediate reactions.

“Well, then… How shall we divvy things up?”

By rights, these spoils should all go to Phillip, and it galled him to share any of them with two men who’d just watched from the sidelines. But if he kept them all to himself, they would likely be displeased. They
had
mobilized their own villagers, so…he could probably live with an eighty-twenty split.

They’re each getting a tenth of the spoils for simply showing up. Surely that’s enough.

“Oh, no need for that. We did nothing, after all. It would pain me to steal away the fruits of your valor. Lord Phillip, these spoils are yours and yours alone. You don’t object, I’m sure?”

“Certainly not. Lord Phillip, take all this back with you, wagons and all.”

They were so obsequious, he felt a bit guilty. The village nearby had been too small for his men to quarter there, but they’d pitched some tents in the woods not too far away and offered to feed his band. He owed them
something
.

“No, no, we all worked together here. I’m happy to leave a few scraps if they’ll prove useful.”

“We really don’t need a thing, Lord Phillip.”

Vianney seemed quite firm on this point. Like the offer was not remotely tempting.

“This is all your doing, Lord Phillip. We are nobles like yourself and have our pride. We cannot accept a thing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” both said together.

It seemed there was no persuading them. Fair enough! The spoils were all his, and he was dancing on the inside in celebration.

“Well, if you insist, I’m happy to take it all. But I’m afraid I do have one additional request. Would you mind lending me some horses to pull these wagons?”

“Horses…?”

“……What should we do?”

“We should discuss this in private. We’ll be back momentarily!”

The two of them stepped away to consider the matter. They’d moved far enough away that Phillip couldn’t even tell if they were talking or not! But eventually they seemed to reach an agreement and came back.

“We can arrange horses soon enough. They’ll be farm horses, not warhorses, so if you could arrange for their swift return, that would be most appreciated.”

“I thank you.”

“Oh, and this is very important—make sure you remove all the Nation of Darkness flags. And until the horses get here, we wouldn’t want any travelers seeing them, so could you move the wagons into the woods? I’m sure that won’t be easy, but…”

“No, it makes sense. I’ll set them to it.”

With that, the two gentlemen promptly took their leave.

They were soon back inside the woods. Phillip turned to his wagons.

Proof of his victory.

Of his glorious future.

The filthy flag with his footprints on it seemed to symbolize the bright future of the kingdom.

3

Ainz was walking boldly down the streets of E-Rantel.

Momon at his side.

Naturally, played by Pandora’s Actor.

Being Momon required full plate and two large swords on his back.

There was a confidence to his stride, a dignified bearing worthy of his reputation. He was far more heroic than Momon was when Ainz played him. He almost wished Pandora’s Actor would tone it down a bit for fear the citizens would notice something amiss the next time he donned the armor.

But he didn’t dare say that aloud. He settled for watching how this Momon walked out of the corner of his eye, trying to imitate it. Fortunately, it seemed Pandora’s Actor had not noticed this attention.

Walking quietly behind them was Narberal Gamma, who was currently acting as the adventurer Nabe, watching their surroundings like a hawk. At a glance, it seemed like they had no other guards, but the Hanzos were hidden nearby, and since Narberal was lower level than them, her efforts served no real purpose.

But when he thought about it, Ainz realized any time he had visited E-Rantel as Momon, she’d pretty much always done this, so it seemed pointless to stop her now.

The three of them weren’t walking through the city with any goal in mind.

It was just a routine stroll.

Walking with Momon and Nabe had several purposes. And that was why the maid on Ainz duty wasn’t with them.

While he had several goals here, the main one was to sell the idea that Ainz and Momon were working closely together.

And that required Narberal’s presence. Momon himself always wore full plate, so no one had ever seen his face. If Narberal was absent, there was a risk people might say the King of Darkness killed Momon and some undead was wearing his armor. Some
had
actually said as much, and this was really to prevent that rumor spreading further.

Anyone who saw them coming quickly stepped to the side of the road. Like the parting of the sea.

Clearly, this was because the King of Darkness walked with them. This didn’t happen when Ainz was walking around dressed as Momon. It had been a while since the Nation of Darkness had been founded, but the masses were still afraid of Ainz himself.

And it wasn’t just the humans who feared him. Plenty of subhumans also nervously kept their distance—just not quite as many.

E-Rantel was no longer a purely human city; the subhuman population was growing by the day.

A quick scan of his surroundings turned up several nonhuman races. It would’ve been a stretch to call them numerous, mind you. Some were working, others just shopping. There was even one shop where the owner was a subhuman.

Ainz had taken the old slum and had it converted into dwellings for other races. Subhuman sightings were much more common there, but he was currently walking down one of the city’s main thoroughfares, on the opposite end of town.

Their presence here spoke to the advances subhumans had made within E-Rantel.

He hadn’t really done anything—Albedo had been in charge of everything—but it was still something Ainz was proud of. All these races living in harmony.

I’d like to do something to help promote that cause…

He did have one idea about how to do that. Ainz had long been thinking about holding some sort of major festival.

That kind of event would also bring in tourists and their money. But more importantly, he felt like this world was depressingly lacking in festivals or special occasions of any kind. And that was dreadfully dull.

His time in the arena in the Empire had been fun enough, but there was already one of those—he wanted something new.

It should excite and inspire everyone. And if a sports team or something with subhuman members did well, that would be yet another step on the road to overcoming the barriers between races. And it would give people a topic they could bond over. It could become a source of infinite shared enthusiasm.

Maybe some sort of sport. Baseball or soccer? Or would something else be more popular?

Wondering what would help him decide, Ainz took a good look at the orc running the subhuman shop.

As far as he could tell, the shopkeeper was talking earnestly to a human customer.

This was most likely one of the orcs he’d met in the Sacred Kingdom or one he’d rounded up in the wilderness after supposedly losing to the Evil Lord Wrath. He had no memories of inviting any other orcs to E-Rantel.

But he couldn’t begin to say who this orc actually was.

For one thing, there were a
lot
of orcs under his control, but more importantly, he still went by rather human standards, and he found it quite hard to tell orcs apart.

This wasn’t unique to orcs, of course. For example, zerun females were distinguished only by their luster, which made Ainz incredibly curious about how their eyes worked. To him, they all looked exactly the same.

But apparently, people of other races had just as much trouble as he did.

Orcs struggled to tell humans apart.

They tended to fixate on details like hair length or eye color, but that could easily lead to quite a few errors. It was common for orcs to confuse one person for another, despite them looking nothing alike to Ainz, and hand over a parcel meant for someone else.

But the Nation of Darkness was largely crime-free. Even minor crimes were rare, and almost no major crimes ever happened. The laws themselves were not particularly strict; people were just deeply afraid of having their corpses repurposed as undead.

So even when these sorts of mistakes happened, both parties forgave each other, and the matter was generally resolved peacefully. It was this atmosphere that allowed orcs to do business with humans.

“Subhumans are now allowed to join the Adventurers Guild, and in the future, we’ll see them contribute to all kinds of fields,” he murmured.

“Right you are, Lord Ainz,” Pandora’s Actor said. “The subhumans took one look at the undead you created; realized they would have little chance of working as soldiers; and knew they’d have to put their skills, culture, handicrafts, and research into other enterprises.”

Currently, the Nation of Darkness was generally handling division of labor by roughly saying something along the lines of
Your race is suited to these things, so get a job doing that
. But as humans and nonhumans alike came into contact with a variety of races and cultures, the experience broadened their horizons and planted the seeds of desire to do things that they had never done before. At the moment, these desires were little more than budding sprouts, but they were slowly starting to grow.

The fact that undead workers handled all the basic manual labor only contributed to this trend.

“Albedo is watching over that carefully. It would be troublesome if any of them develop techniques we can’t handle, after all.”

Ainz and the Nazarick denizens were powerful, but they were already at their peak. They had to take steps to ensure they would not be defeated by those who were weak now but had potential to grow.

And naturally, part of that meant keeping those advances from progressing too far. The weak had to be kept weak. Of course, that came with a major caveat—their advances had to stay ahead of the countries
around
them. Only Albedo could toe that line.

That’s why we need an intelligence arm, gathering information on our neighbors and industrial secrets… We’re still not great on that front.

To create monsters that didn’t spawn within Nazarick required two things: data on the creature in question and a corresponding amount of
Yggdrasil
gold.

The library in Nazarick had data on all manner of monsters in book form, but it was far from a complete
Yggdrasil
bestiary, and this data was limited in quantity. For instance, he’d already used nearly all the Hanzo data, and the library no longer contained any data on eight-edged assassins.

And creating high-ranking minions required vast amounts of gold.

That made weaker minions a tempting proposition, but that increased the odds of them getting detected during clandestine missions.

And around here, only the Nation of Darkness relied on monsters. Detection meant exposure. From a political standpoint, it was better to use high-level monsters that wouldn’t be caught, even if that meant keeping operations small in scope. Otherwise—

“—Human spies.”

He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but Narberal caught it.

“Lord Ainz,” she said. “How goes the spy training? Should I earmark them?”

“Nabe,” Ainz said, lowering his voice. “You currently are the companion of the hero Momon. Do not forget your position.”

Officially, Momon and Nabe were reluctantly cooperating with Ainz Ooal Gown, since he effectively held the city’s citizens hostage. But enough time had passed now; perhaps they could change up the role-play and begin acting like they respected the King of Darkness. But that decision could only be made after consulting Albedo and carefully scripting it. Until then, it was better they not volunteer anything potentially sensitive out in the open, reserving those comments for within Nazarick itself.

“—My deepest apologies.”

He couldn’t very well say,
You are forgiven
here, though. Ainz quickly glanced around.

Too many eyes were on them. All the faces he saw were plastered with fear. He could only pray this wasn’t because they’d overheard what Narberal said. If he killed a slew of civilians because they
might
have seen through the ruse, that would instantly shatter the reputation he’d built as a surprisingly reasonable undead.

But if he ignored her question entirely, Narberal would remain dejected, and that would be a shame. He didn’t want to turn her into someone who never offered suggestions. He settled for keeping his voice low enough so those around them couldn’t hear.

“…I’ve loaned out the Hanzos, and Tira is heading the training program. Honestly, a single eight-edged assassin is far superior, but…well, it’s an investment.”

Odds were high the results would not be worth the labor, money, and time. But you never knew. Million to one odds paid off sometimes. The success with runes and other magical techniques had set a precedent.

There was no telling what would be a waste of resources and what would turn out to be a rare opportunity, so it was best to make at least a minimal investment.

As their conversation reached a lull, they walked in silence for a while.

They occasionally passed patrols composed of a death knight, a death wizard, a death warrior, a death priest, and a death assassin. Even in town, they maintained formation, with the death assassin at the fore, ever vigilant. Not because there was danger in town but because they were undead and were rigidly obeying the orders he’d given them to remain in formation at all times.

Incidentally, death assassins were not good at clandestine work despite what their names implied. They were just offensive units with a high crit rate. The type of foes that would seem like they weren’t doing much damage and then hit extremely hard when you least expected it. Undead like that weren’t much use in intelligence work.

They had ended up on patrol squads simply because he had plenty to spare.

We are exporting undead, but it’s all skeletons and other weak ones.

Naturally, weaker undead were cheaper than strong ones, and most were being used for simple manual labor. That meant they were almost exclusively renting out the cheapest types. Skeletons were the Ainz Corporation’s best-selling product by far.

Consequently, he had rather a lot of death knight–level undead just standing around.

But it seemed a waste to let a day pass and not use up his undead creation limit, so he kept on making them. Naturally, he didn’t mention to anyone how he was starting to worry about what to do with all these extra undead.

If we lower the rental fees, then no one will rent them when they’re not on sale; I don’t want to just slash the prices for no reason. Maybe I could make a point card system? The Empire is borrowing death cavaliers often enough, so if we focus sales on country leadership… But even then…

Ainz’s gaze turned toward Pandora’s Actor.

Walking in silence is awkward. But I don’t really have anything I want to ask…

But if they looked unfriendly, it would defeat the purpose of this exercise.

“Uh, Nabe.”

He was still reluctant to converse with Pandora’s Actor and ultimately went with Narberal instead.

“Yes?!”

See, he
didn’t
want these overly enthusiastic responses…but he let it pass. Her behavior wasn’t that odd, all things considered. Momon was technically working under him, after all.

“Um, so. How is Yuri’s orphanage going? Have you been to see it?”

“No, I have not.” Her answer was pointedly apathetic.

The issue wasn’t Yuri; she simply had no interest. Still…

Isn’t it normal to be interested in where your family is working? Then again, this does feel very in character for Narberal.

If Shizu or Entoma were working there, perhaps it would be different. Pondering that, he shrugged.

“Should we go look?”

Ainz had left the orphanage’s management entirely in Yuri’s hands and didn’t know much about the details. He’d seen the documents and skimmed them, but not a fragment of them remained within his empty skull.

There were likely regular reports on the orphanage expenses, but he’d been leaving that all up to Albedo and merely pretended to read them.

He’d extolled the virtues of education but wasn’t mad enough to consider educating all the commoners in the Nation of Darkness. Education could lead to major advances in culture and technology. But that could also strengthen the weak. Forgoing universal education might mean letting skills go undetected and wasting undetected potential on a life of farmwork, but peace in Nazarick was his top priority.

“Not a bad idea,” Pandora’s Actor agreed. Narberal made the turn, leading them onward.

But less than two minutes later, Ainz received a Message.

“—Lord Ainz.”

“Entoma? What is it?”

He answered as they walked, fully expecting the worst.

It had been a year since anyone Messaged him like this. Odds were high this was an emergency of some kind.

The thought made him grin.

After the stomach-churning stress of the Sacred Kingdom, this would be a simple matter.

I survived that hell. Whatever this is should be a piece of cake!

Entoma requested that he return to Nazarick at once, and he told her he’d be right there. Then he told Narberal to escort his maid back home, bid them adieu, and opened a Gate. This bought enough time to collect the Hanzos on lookout around him.

One step brought him back into Nazarick.

The Hanzos came through the Gate after him and promptly took their leave. Solution was already there waiting for him, offering the Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown. He accepted it and used it to instantaneously shift to the tenth floor. He then walked the rest of the way.

Rooms within Nazarick that were particularly important or unique were tagged, and the ring’s power allowed him to teleport directly there. But other rooms—rooms that had once been unremarkable spaces—had no such tags and could only be accessed on foot.

It was the only real downside to a ring that otherwise granted unrestricted movement around the tomb. Moreover, it was no longer possible to change this functionality. Perhaps it was doable with the
Yggdrasil
creation tools, but Ainz didn’t have any, and there were none to be found in Nazarick itself.

Albedo was standing outside his destination, clearly waiting for him. He didn’t ask how long it had been and simply praised her for the effort.

“Thank you.”

“Of course!”

She bowed low, and Ainz sighed inside.

He’d said he was on his way but not how long it would take. He’d likely made her wait unnecessarily and felt sorry. But he didn’t let that show. Couldn’t.

Similar situations had arisen before, and he’d told Albedo there was no need to wait on him, but she refused to be dissuaded. She always insisted it was a servant’s duty to await the return of her master.

He’d polled the other floor guardians on the topic—and included the domain guardians and the maids in the mix—but all he got was the same answer. Ainz could still see the maids’ eyes gleaming with the light of fanaticism. It had been so alarming that he’d barely stopped himself from taking a step back and apologizing out of instinct.

If everyone but him agreed, then it was his job as their leader to swallow his personal misgivings.

Albedo opened the door, ushering him in.

He didn’t deserve so much pomp and ceremony. That thought brought on another pang of guilt. But he roused himself and acted like it was only natural before stepping through the entryway.

Shalltear.

Cocytus.

Aura and Mare.

And Demiurge.

The floor guardians were already assembled, down on bended knee and heads bowed toward the dark, gleaming throne.

Behind that flew the flag of the Ainz Ooal Gown Nation of Darkness.

All the attendees had already assembled. Gatherings like these were organized so Ainz would arrive last. He was kept waiting only under the most exceptional of circumstances.

He glanced at the busy guardians.

Each of them had packed schedules to begin with, and lately he’d been forced to spoon even more work onto their plates.

Shalltear was managing a communication network, using dragons and other flying monsters as aerial couriers among the Nation of Darkness, the Empire, the dwarf country, and the subhuman dwellings in the wilderness to the east of the Sacred Kingdom. She was already taking what she’d learned from that to secure ground-based trade routes.

Mare was in charge of weather control in all their territory and the new dungeon near E-Rantel. That meant he also worked closely with the newly restructured Adventurers Guild.

Cocytus was in charge of managing and training the Nation of Darkness’s armies—primarily undead but a small number of humans and various subhuman races, too.

Aura had originally been handling land management with just the beasts under her control, but as the Nation of Darkness’s territories expanded, it quickly outstripped the numbers she could muster. She was now establishing an entire office dedicated to overseeing those vast holdings.

Demiurge was working on Nazarick’s seventh level, building up an intelligence department for their espionage needs.

Each guardian’s workload was only getting more daunting by the day.

As a result, the minions once dedicated to Nazarick internal security were now being delegated new tasks. And as captain of the floor guardians, Albedo was busy checking everyone else’s progress, offering suggestions for improvement, and generally supervising all aspects of the Nation of Darkness’s operations.

If Ainz was being honest, he had the least to do out of everyone.

It was almost like his main job was just polishing his acting skills, getting better at playing the role of a great leader. And that was inherently uncomfortable for him.

But whatever this meeting was about, it was apparently important enough for
all
of them to take time out of their busy schedules.

Ainz strode down the center aisle. Albedo closed the doors and followed on his heels.

Once Ainz lowered himself on the only seat in the room, Albedo kneeled before him.

“Lord Ainz,” she began. “The floor guardians have assembled before you.”

Well, yeah, they were here before I even walked in the room!
He kept that observation to himself, though. Some things were best left unsaid.

“Mm. Guardians, well met. Raise your heads.”

“Yes, Lord Ainz!”

Their sharp responses rang out, and the guardians’ heads came up as one. They moved in perfect unison.

Albedo would have preferred to be the one to address the assembly, but he’d managed to put a stop to that, at least. She’d argued that a supreme leader shouldn’t let his subjects hear his voice for every little thing, but he didn’t want to put that kind of distance between himself and everyone else.

All eyes were now on Ainz, radiating absolute loyalty. There was a time he would’ve found that nearly unbearable, but he’d built a healthy tolerance since then.

Still…is it my imagination? I feel like they’re even more devoted than before. That can’t be right… Right?

Ainz had no memory of doing anything that should’ve inspired such faith. Their gazes weren’t exactly uncomfortable, but he did suddenly feel compelled to briefly break eye contact and quickly scan the rest of the room.

There were doors on either side of him—separate from the ones he’d entered through—but the interior itself was not all that large. The decor, however, was resplendent. Majestic even.

This was an audience chamber they’d made inside the Great Tomb of Nazarick. There was a similar room back in E-Rantel.

Nazarick already had an official Throne Room, but it was a bit
too
large and felt rather drafty with only a handful of guardians in it. They could always fill the space if need be, but it seemed unwise to carelessly display one of Nazarick’s greatest treasures—the throne itself was a World Item. That was why he had ordered the construction of an alternate audience chamber.

Everything within the Great Tomb of Nazarick was made by the members of the guild he’d once belonged to. But this audience chamber was an exception. The guardians had remodeled an empty chamber, and he could only assume they had agonized over every detail.

And that was itself a delightful development.

The NPCs he and his fellow guild members had made were stepping outside their original roles to become their own entities.

Children eventually leave the nest behind.

Ainz smiled inside.

He was proud of them all.

Satoru Suzuki had no children. Not many of the guild members did. That’s why he wasn’t entirely sure if these feelings were paternal. He was pretty sure they weren’t
maternal
.

Perhaps he’d dwelled on his idle thoughts for too long. These meetings never started until he initiated proceedings. He was hardly a master of ceremonies, but it was high time he spoke.

“Well, Albedo. Inform me of the reason for this assembly. I imagine it is vital to the future of Nazarick…and the Nation of Darkness?”

“Yes, Lord Ainz. I’ll get straight to the point. Four days ago, a convoy of provisions bound for the Sacred Kingdom…was stolen.”

“Oh? By whom?”

“A nobleman of the Re-Estize Kingdom.”

The fires in Ainz’s eye sockets flared. It was rare for Albedo to mince words like this. She would ordinarily have given the man’s name, the size of his forces, and his motives. There had to be a reason why she was holding that back.

“The merchant in charge of those shipments is associated with the Eight Fingers. Did he not have guards? And these convoys fly our flags. In other words, does this mean the Re-Estize Kingdom has decided to openly challenge the Nation of Darkness?”

So far, the Re-Estize Kingdom had shown no indication of wanting another fight, but Ainz wondered if he had misread things. Was there a chance this was evidence of a grander conspiracy? That brought another thought to mind.

“Or have the Eight Fingers betrayed us?”

“No, um…”

Albedo hesitated and kept her eyes on the ground. Then she glanced up, as if trying to gauge his mood.

He had almost never seen her act like this. It was possibly the first time ever. She was acting like a little girl afraid of a scolding. No trace of the collected floor guardian captain he knew.

“What’s wrong, Albedo? What happened?”

Careful to maintain his authority, he felt a bead of sweat run down his back. Of course, Ainz was not capable of actually sweating.

Was this the result of an error on his part? That would explain Albedo’s behavior.

This definitely seemed like the attitude of an employee forced to point out their boss’s thoughtless blunder.

I can’t think of any noble of the kingdom who’s a likely suspect, though… Did I do anything particularly dumb the last few months? Am I still doing it?

Ainz couldn’t even recall documents he’d stamped a few weeks ago, so the more he thought about it, the more certain he was this
had
to be his fault.

No, wait! I can use my fallback! Like that excuse I gave Albedo and Demiurge during the Sacred Kingdom mess! I got everyone together when I returned and made sure they all knew I planned to deliberately mess up sometimes! Man, that was a good idea. Yeah, it might be the time to make that claim.

He’d known from the start that he could never maintain the illusion of a flawless leader. It was time to drop the facade.

Ainz gave her a gentle smile.

“Come, Albedo. No holding back. Speak your mind.”

“Yes, Lord Ainz. I’m sure you remember our plans to bring the Re-Estize Kingdom under our control hinged on making use of a particularly foolish nobleman…”

Hmm?
Ainz thought. This didn’t sound like what he’d expected. But it was enough of a hint that even he saw where it was headed.

“And this foolish nobleman is involved in this robbery?”

Albedo nodded.

“Yes, that fool is personally responsible for this incident. However…I’m sure you’ve noticed already, Lord Ainz, but there is a chance this is all part of a scheme orchestrated by the Re-Estize Kingdom’s top minds.”

She was clearly overestimating his analytical abilities, but Ainz nodded sagely, mulling it over. The deeper implications escaped him, but if a Nazarick-connected noble was the culprit, that might serve the Re-Estize Kingdom’s interests in some way. And be a real thorn in the Nation of Darkness’s side.

“I am well aware, but…are we sure this fool is involved? Could it not be a deception on their part? Wait…Albedo, you must’ve already looked into the possibility. Forgive the question.”

“No, it’s a natural one, Lord Ainz. However, I have someone here who can speak directly to the matter. Shalltear.”

“At once.”

Shalltear bowed her head, rose to her feet, and moved to the door on the left.

She soon returned with a woman flanked by death knights.

She was sickly thin and had dark circles beneath her eyes. No signs of makeup. Her hair was a wreck. The veins in her eyes stood out, and the trails of tears marred her cheeks. She kept looking this way and that like a terrified animal.

Ainz was sure he’d met her before but could not remember her name or occupation.

As he racked his brain, the hands holding her up let go.

She slid onto her hands and knees in one motion.

It was magnificent.

So smooth, it was downright graceful.

You could not manage that without extensive training—Ainz almost respected her for it.

“Y-Your Majesty,” she said in a shaky voice. Words failed her for a moment before she worked up the courage to speak again. “It is an honor to be in your presence, Your Majesty.”

There was a long silence. Eventually, Ainz realized it was his turn.

“Woman, I permit you to speak your name.”

“Whatever you desire! My name is Hilma Shugneus, Your Majesty!”

He finally unearthed the memory.

This was one of the chiefs of the Eight Fingers, a crime syndicate based in the Re-Estize Kingdom.

“Oh,” he let slip.

However she interpreted that, she planted her face firmly on the floor—not that it had risen off the ground even once.

“I knew nothing! I swear! I would never dream of acting against your interests! I have nothing to do with the stolen provisions!”

Ainz glanced at Albedo’s back.

Was this woman telling the truth or not? It would be easy enough to investigate. So Albedo must have already done so. But why had she not told him the results?

He wasn’t sure where her intentions lay, but this wasn’t an attempt to trip up Ainz—quite the opposite. Her opinion of him was too high, for reasons beyond his comprehension. And that meant he could ill afford to just…ask.

But by continuing to not ask, I’m digging myself into an even deeper hole… Should I just tell her I’m lost? If it was just Albedo, maybe I’d be willing, but with the others here…

Ainz glanced at Aura and Mare.

No, best save it for another time.

“Hmm, then allow me to determine if your words are true. Dominate.”

Once she was under the thrall of his spell, he began questioning her.

“Did you have anything to do with this nobleman’s theft?”

“I did not.”

The target of Dominate couldn’t lie to the spell’s caster. As she had claimed, Shugneus was not directly involved. There might be some roundabout involvement, but it would be on a level she could not be blamed for. If her words were false, that would mean her memory had been rewritten…which was unlikely.

Other possibilities included…

“Have you ever been told you have multiple personalities?”

“I have not.”

“Hmm. Do you have any plans to work against us?”

“Absolutely, positively none!”

That was the most intense response yet. Ainz released her from the spell.

“Even if she was indirectly connected to this crime, holding her responsible for that is beneath us. Shugneus is innocent.”

Her head came up a bit, and she looked at Ainz, eyes gleaming. It was slightly disconcerting.

“But, Lord Ainz,” Albedo interjected. “Are a subordinate’s failings not the responsibility of their superior? This woman was supposed to be keeping that fool in line.”

She had a point.

“Th-that much is true!” Shugneus admitted in a desperate cry. “I told him repeatedly not to take any actions on his own! Insisted he should talk to me before doing anything! And I placed one of our people at his side so he could easily do so!”

Albedo disputed none of this. It had to be true. She had done her level best, and it would be cruel to blame her for the outcome.

Albedo had recruited a fool and foisted him off on an unsuspecting local manager. The new hire then screwed up spectacularly. Perhaps there were issues with how her department was being run, but Ainz could appreciate the struggles of managing personnel.

His own work experience put him firmly in Shugneus’s camp

If he left the resolution of all this to the guardians, her punishment would no doubt be rather severe. In which case—

“—a subordinate’s failings are the responsibility of their superior. I agree with that sentiment.”

All color drained from Shugneus’s face. Ainz didn’t fail to notice as he kept talking.

“But those words are meant to encourage leaders to protect their followers—not to push the blame on anyone else. And there is always the question of how rigidly we should follow that principle. Albedo, tell me, if Shugneus was in charge of monitoring this imbecilic nobleman, who was in charge of monitoring Shugneus?”

“That—would be me, I believe.”

“Hmm. And likewise, I am
your
master. In that sense, this failure is ultimately
my
responsibility.”

“N-n-not at all! You are not to blame here, Lord Ainz!”

It was rare to see Albedo this flustered.

Shugneus’s eyes had gone from dead to sparkling once more. She really was
very
expressive.

“Shugneus was this man’s direct superior, and perhaps there were some errors in her oversight. But one look at her proves it was not due to lack of effort. In which case, we can forgive her this once. A first mistake is something we all do. A second one is careless. A third mistake is a priority to correct. And a fourth mistake is proof of incompetence. Shugneus!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Her head went down again. He heard a distinct
thunk
as it hit the floor. It sounded painful.

“Make sure this does not happen again. Propose several policy changes and deliver them to Albedo for evaluation. That will be your punishment.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

She was now rubbing her forehead on the floor. Almost like she was trying to find a way to lower her head still farther.

Ainz genuinely thought she was taking this too far but didn’t let it show. Instead, he looked around at his guardians.

“Those are my thoughts on this matter. Does anyone have anything to add? I will not chastise you for it. Speak freely.”

No signs of any dissent. But the guardians frequently claimed that any decision he made was inherently correct. It was possible they were just keeping their objections to themselves. Probably best to be sure.

“Albedo.”

“I have nothing.”

“Demiurge.”

“Same as Albedo.”

“Aura.”

“Not a thing.”

“Mare.”

“Oh, er, um…I don’t have anything, either.”

“Cocytus.”

“NOTHING TO ADD.”

“Shalltear.”

“Nothing from me.”

Was it really fine, or were they all holding back? Ainz couldn’t tell, but they’d made their answers clear.

He nodded and passed judgment.

“…Very well. Then, Shugneus, prepare your new plans shortly…say, in two days’ time.”

Shugneus’s head snapped up.

“Of course, Your Majesty! Thank you for your mercy! I am forever in your debt! I, Hilma Shugneus, will forever serve the King of Darkness!”

“Good…”

She was starting to remind him of that girl, the one with the scary eyes. The fervor was a bit unsettling.

“I look forward to your demonstration of that loyalty. Shalltear, escort Shugneus out.”

“Right away.”

Shalltear led Hilma out and used the ring. That moved her to the top layer, from where they could activate a Gate. He assumed this would not take long and waited; Shalltear was soon back, alone.

“Well, then. I imagine I was not summoned here to pass judgment on her.”

He would be glad if he was, so perhaps there was some wishful thinking couched in that comment, but Albedo instantly shattered that hope.

“As you so astutely discerned, no.”

Ainz shot her a slightly resentful glare. She couldn’t have given him a moment to dream?

“Ah? Is there something on your mind? If it has to do with the earlier matter—”

“No, never mind,” Ainz said, cutting Albedo off before she could continue. “Pray, tell me why I am here—and with all the floor guardians assembled to boot.”

He saw Albedo and Demiurge exchange a look.

“First, we believe it important to determine what motivated the imbecile or who might have been attempting to manipulate him for their own gain. We believe this question might dramatically change how the Nation of Darkness approaches our conquest of the kingdom, so please forgive our desire to know your thoughts on the matter.”

“Hmm. The current kingdom conquest plan is the Carrot and the Stick. Aura, Mare, Cocytus, Shalltear. Have the four of you been briefed?”

“That operation is run by myself and Demiurge, so the others have not heard the details.”

“Ah. Well, Albedo, it’s time to share information. Their opinions and ideas may prove valuable here.”

“Understood.”

Albedo launched into an explanation.

The Carrot and the Stick—a name Ainz himself had come up with and one that had been praised as an elegant encapsulation of the concept—was a plan to bring the Re-Estize Kingdom under their control by instigating a civil war, creating a justification for the Nation of Darkness to step in and restore peace at the behest of the populace.

Demiurge’s involvement might be the reason that the plan bore a striking resemblance to the one they had executed in the Sacred Kingdom: Start a war; then kill a whole lot of people. Was it a demon thing to prefer inciting civil wars over straightforward invasions? Cocytus or Shalltear would likely have proposed much more direct means—conquest by overwhelming force.

But apparently, this proposal had originated from someone who hailed from the kingdom. Albedo and Demiurge had merely made a few adjustments to their plan.

And at the heart of the plan was a stupid nobleman.

It would start when he raised the flag of rebellion. Driven by lack of food, he would instigate a war and ask the Nation of Darkness for aid. There were many other uses for him, but the ultimate goal was always the same—fabricate a reason for the Nation of Darkness to join the fray.

From Ainz’s perspective, this played right into that plan. So there must be some problem here that Ainz hadn’t figured out.

Once Albedo’s briefing was over, Ainz asked the obvious question.

“So, Albedo. We should put the obvious question in words. Do we have clear proof this nobleman has caused an issue? Are we sure this isn’t the kingdom’s own scheme at work? If memory serves…you sent this nobleman a letter designed to ensnare him?”

She had repeatedly complained about having to send a loathsome nobleman a letter, frequently using the phrase
a mere human
, and had demanded he review the contents of it. Several times.

He knew a thing or two about business correspondence but had no knowledge of postal censorship or, indeed, proofreading. He would have preferred to stay out of it, but he could not very well turn down Albedo’s request.

Some time had passed since their arrival in this world, but Ainz remained unable to read the local writing. He could write his name and Momon’s and had learned the numbers. Meanwhile, Albedo and Demiurge had mastered the languages of multiple countries—as had Pandora’s Actor—and were clearly far brighter than he was. He’d been forced to resort to a magic item.

Honestly, he’d seen absolutely no room for improvement and often said as much.

“You showed me his response as well, and I got the impression he was entirely in your thrall. I find it hard to believe he would act against the Nation of Darkness.”

But he did remember hearing that if someone you doted on betrayed you, that affection could turn into a nasty grudge. He glanced at Shalltear, seeing a vision of his former friend over her shoulder. He was crying tears of blood over the news that a favorite voice actress had a
boyfriend
.

Meanwhile, his older sister stood behind Aura and Mare, ruthlessly mocking him for it.

“Yes, we verified the matter exhaustively. There is no doubt he was the one who was responsible for this incident and the one who made off with the food. While we can’t rule out the possibility that he was charmed or brainwashed, there’s no question that it was the man himself.”

“My concern is the possibility of someone outwitting us,” Demiurge said gravely. “That would mean any careless move on our part could be turned against us.”

Ainz was at a loss. Was there really someone out there who could outsmart the two of them? Or…

“Are we sure this nobleman didn’t just act without thinking at all?”

That made far more sense to him.

“Lord Ainz, I find that hard to believe,” Albedo said, looking very sorry as she raised her doubts.

This was genuinely refreshing. He might never have seen her act like this.

“No, let’s think this through, Albedo,” Demiurge said. “We have the means to outwit a wise opponent, but Lord Ainz can even predict the self-destructive acts of a complete nitwit. Maybe that
is
a possibility. Maybe that is, in fact, the most likely possibility.”

“B-but…it’s
so
stupid… Can anyone
be
that dumb? But if Lord Ainz says so…”

“Lord Ainz has spoken. It
must
be true, Albedo.”

“I—I think the same thing!”

Aura and Mare were already voicing their support. Ainz had just thrown the idea out there without much thought and was rather taken aback by the sudden insistence that he was right.

“In which case…”

“Yes, that means…”

Albedo and Demiurge were frowning, exploring the possibility.

“W-wait, this is where I’d like to inquire what the other floor guardians think about this plan. I’m sure you have questions, so let’s get some answers. Anyone ready to ask, raise your hand, and Albedo and Demiurge will answer.”

Please don’t ask
me
anything.
Ainz was waving a white flag inside.

“Um, okay,” Aura said, hand up. “Why didn’t we start by bringing a bunch of nobles on board? If we had, then when something like this went wrong, we could just kill the man responsible without affecting the plan.”

Demiurge fielded that question.

“Originally, that was considered. But after thorough examination, we rejected the idea. Bringing talented noblemen on board is one thing but fools? The more you gather, the more problems arise, and the more leaks occur. We ultimately decided to focus on one man, form a faction around him, and then control it through him.”

At no point had any of them imagined they’d lose control of their incompetent figurehead.

Cocytus raised a limb next.

“WHY NOT A SMART NOBLEMAN?”

“That might have worked. We are actually bringing some on board. Threats against beloved children have proven highly motivating. But for our later plans, we wanted to leave a fair number of skilled noblemen in place. This plan is better served by someone expendable. We want the kingdom to be worthy of Lord Ainz’s dominion, so the more fools we purge, the better. That’s why we gathered the inadequate and the insufferable into a single faction. A wastebasket to put all the trash in. Naturally, we’re receiving personnel data from several sources, but we wanted to gather information directly as well.”

“The Nation of Darkness only needs a handful of talented vassals. The rest should be a rabble of unambitious nobles we can herd like cattle.”

“Right,” Shalltear said, languidly raising a hand. “I am confused. Whether this stupid nobleman was manipulated or not, he has brazenly attacked the Nation of Darkness. Why should we not raise our banners and invade the kingdom? If this is someone’s trap, then we need only crush it.”

“That is true, especially if someone is plotting something. It’s just…well…”

Albedo glanced at Demiurge, who nodded and looked at Ainz. Then Demiurge faced the other floor guardians to address the group.

“It’s tricky to find the right move here. As Ainz discerningly pointed out, this nobleman was likely acting without any forethought. But if we let him off too lightly, then the Nation of Darkness’s standing will be diminished. This man attacked a convoy bearing the mark of Lord Ainz. He dragged Lord Ainz’s face through the dirt. What punishment do you think that deserves?”

“We should kill him.”

“Mm-hmm. I agree with my sister.”

“Yes. Exactly. Which begs the question…do we just kill this underling and be done?”

“Of course not,” Shalltear snapped. “Whoever they call master is equally responsible.”

Cocytus nodded impassively.

Ainz was rather shocked.

It was partly because of how furious they all seemed, but that was par for the course given their personalities. What really shook him was how everyone was taking the idea that this nobleman had simply been acting moronically—something he’d just suggested off the cuff—and was treating it as gospel.

That was genuinely alarming.

“Exactly, Shalltear. I feel exactly the same way. If anyone has insulted Lord Ainz, then their country must pay the price! It’s just…” Albedo trailed off.

“Lord Ainz once said a ruined country is a blot upon his name. And he has said he takes little pleasure in standing upon a heap of rubble. Thus, we are endeavoring to respect those wishes as much as possible.”

Albedo nodded in agreement when Demiurge finished talking.

Ainz had several questions.

First…had he actually said those things?

If he surveyed the residents of Nazarick with a question like
Who is right, Ainz or Demiurge?
the vast majority would immediately declare that it must be Ainz. The only exception would likely be Ainz Ooal Gown himself.

How could he trust himself when he barely remembered what had happened a week ago?

So it was entirely possible he
had
told Demiurge these things and simply no longer remembered. In which case there was only one possible reaction.

“I’m impressed you remembered those words, Demiurge. Impressed and pleased.”

“I—I also remember them!”

“Same here, Lord Ainz.”

“Mm-hmm. Thank you, Shalltear, Aura—I am grateful to you both.”

Did they actually remember? Or had they forgotten like him and were just playing along with Demiurge? He couldn’t be sure.

Why was it none of them could tell how incompetent he was? Was he really
that
good an actor?

Quite a lot of time had passed since he appeared in this world as the ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. He’d spent that whole time playing the part of a Supreme Being. That mask should have long since fallen off, revealing Satoru Suzuki’s incompetent face beneath it.

But even as he wrestled with that idea, the discussion moved onward.

“And in accordance with Lord Ainz’s wishes, we must refrain from laying waste to the entire kingdom. That said, we cannot let the punishment be
mild
. Our plans will have to be paused or abandoned completely. At the very least, they will need major revisions.”

Ainz felt rather guilty that his words were becoming such a detriment to their efforts.

“…Hmm. But, Demiurge, has our plan really
failed
?”

Demiurge, Albedo, and their kingdom collaborator. Three geniuses Ainz could not possibly hope to comprehend. Could their carefully wrought plan really fail this easily? If so, he would have to watch his words even more carefully than before. Perhaps he would be better off never speaking again. With that thought in mind, he gave the current matter his undivided attention.

“Are we really abandoning the Carrot and Stick plan?”

“…………”

Demiurge was looking at Ainz, brow furrowed. He’d seen this look before. It was the look he got when trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind the cryptic words of what he considered to be a vastly superior being.

No, Demiurge. I’m just double-checking! There’s no deeper meaning! Take a long shower and clear your head!

Those words rose up within Ainz but died before they reached his lips.

Just as his dread peaked, Demiurge’s expression changed to one of surprise, like he had just worked something out.

“…No, wait…Lord Ainz! Is
this
why you quietly brought the Empire under your influence?”

I knew it. This can’t be good.

The hell was he talking about?

Ainz was screaming inside. What possible leaps of logic could have brought Demiurge to
that
conclusion?

Would it be best to just come out and ask him? Was he even allowed to do that?

“
That’s right.”

After deep deliberation, that was the answer he had reached. Now Albedo looked just as shocked as Demiurge.

Equally terrifying.

“I see… That’s why you kept asking! It all makes sense now. I should have picked up on that immediately! I am sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, Demiurge, we lowly minions could not possibly compete with the depth of Lord Ainz’s wisdom. Perhaps our greatest failing is forgetting that Lord Ainz always has several interwoven schemes in play.”

“—Point taken. I never would have thought the Carrot and Stick was operating on an international scale. Brilliant, Lord Ainz. No wonder you were the Supreme Beings’ mastermind.”

Ainz let out a chuckle.

He had no clue what these two were talking about.

And that brought a moment of clarity. Perhaps they
knew
he was a fool and were hamming it up to conceal that fact?

They’re both smart enough to realize it. Intelligent beyond my comprehension. Would anyone that bright really think I know what I’m doing? Of course not!

“ONCE AGAIN, LORD AINZ PROVES HIMSELF THE SAGEST MIND OF NAZARICK.”

“Yes, indeed, Cocytus. Lord Ainz is constantly peering a thousand—nay, ten thousand years into the future, and a plan that won’t even span a decade is but a trifle to him.”

“Er, r-really? Wow, Lord Ainz.”

“A thousand years… That’s amazing, Lord Ainz.”

What was Demiurge even
talking
about?

Who said I’m thinking that far ahead? When? Don’t just make things up!

Ainz was ready to scream. Having those two innocent children buying this wholesale was one more nail in his coffin. But since he spent the bulk of his time just agreeing with whatever Demiurge said, he had no clue how else to react. If he denied this claim, it might cause problems down the line.

Should he just do what he always did?

If he’d had a flesh-and-blood body, his face would have been plastered with an extremely awkward smile. After some thought, he found words that neither confirmed nor denied Demiurge’s assertation.

“Y-you flatter me.”

“There is no cause for modesty, Your Greatness,” Shalltear said.

“YOU SEE SO FAR AHEAD. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE TO LEAD THE SUPREME BEINGS OTHERWISE.”

It was no use. Best to just give up.

Ainz simply left it up to fate.

“Well, now that Lord Ainz has given his permission, we can make the kingdom’s punishment far more grandiose.”

“Huh?”

He had no clue how this conversation naturally led to “grandiose” punishments.

But Albedo had her hands cutely clasped together, smiling brightly.

“The Empire swiftly knelt before Lord Ainz, so they get the carrot. The kingdom failed to do so, so they get the stick. These two facts will be a message to the rest of the world. Every leader will be forced to ask themselves which they’d rather have. This is going to be
delightful
, Lord Ainz.”

“…………Mmmm.”

Hilma was thrown out of the Gate. She looked back just in time to see it disappear.

She’d banged her arm, so she rubbed it as she got up and looked around. She was in a large hall.

The chief of the gambling division, Noah Zwedane, had purchased a large plot of land in the capital fully intending to open an illegal casino. They’d built a manor large enough for their future plans, but that’s when their fortunes took a sharp turn for the worse.

This had left them with an empty building filled with large rooms meant to house various games—and this hall was the largest of them.

Hilma let out a sigh of relief.

A wave of joy rushed through her, and she found herself shaking like a leaf.

“Hilma!”

Her people came rushing over to her. Three were present, but one of them, Oscas, grabbed a bell from the desk and rang it.

There were tears in every eye.

They must have been worried about her. Every face was ashen.

“You’re safe? Unharmed? How’s your stomach holding up?”

“I’ve got some fruit liquor here if you need to wash the taste out.”

“The others are on their way!”

“Noah, Endio, Oscas…” Her voice quieted them down. “I appreciate your concern.”

“This is no time for manners!” Noah said, wiping his tears. “It must have been horrible. You should get some rest.”

He clearly had one very particular thing in mind and was assuming that was what had happened to her. She’d better explain.

“They didn’t do
that
. They did nothing to me.”

A stir ran through the room. Astonishment was plain on every face.
Is that even possible?
they wondered.

“I met His Majesty, the King of Darkness.”

The tears welling up in her eyes spilled over, drop after drop rolling down her cheeks.

“The King of Darkness…”

The simple act of whispering that name induced a wave of unimaginable fear. Endio even made the sign of a god he placed no faith in. The others’ eyes darted nervously in all directions. Probably searching for whatever monster lurked here watching them. Hilma had never once caught sight of it, but all here were certain it existed.

“You met… You were granted an audience and…survived?”

“Heh-heh…” Hilma smiled through her tears.

Everyone here had met the King of Darkness once but obviously with their heads down. They’d barely caught a glimpse of his face.

But those glimpses and the stories they’d heard had been more than enough for Hilma and the other Eight Fingers to conclude that he was evil personified. The vicious torture they’d endured, the brutal devastation unleashed upon the kingdom’s armies—that was what they associated with that undead king, the enemy of all living things.

“His Majesty…was a very intellectual man. Generous. And merciful.”

It was like time itself had stopped.

Noah gasped and bowed his head, his face twisting up. He looked like he had just laid eyes on something heartbreaking.

Mere minutes ago, if anyone else had said this to her, Hilma would have reacted the same way. The only explanation was that their mind had snapped.

The others’ eyes were red. “Hilma…I almost envy you.” “If only I could be where you are…”

“No, wait. Perhaps someone cast a mind-control spell on her. Is that what happened, Hilma?”

Noah was clutching at straws. Hilma knew full well there was no malevolent magic at work, but it was also true that she could offer no persuasive evidence to disprove the idea. Best to pretend she knew nothing and tell him whatever she could. It was up to them to decide if they wanted to believe it.

“I never imagined I would return at all. The only reason I am back unharmed is entirely thanks to His Majesty’s mercy. The King of Darkness is a man worthy of the throne. If he had not been there…”

She would have paid a terrible price. It was far too possible—no, without a doubt—she would have been put through the same hell now awaiting that imbecile. She was certain the Nation of Darkness’s prime minister, Albedo, had planned such a fate for her.

What would Hilma herself have done?
Someone
had to be held responsible for this brazen transgression. Even if she spared their life, she would certainly have chosen to inflict a toe-curling punishment. Yet, the King of Darkness had chosen mercy.

“…Hilma, I hate to interrupt these tears. But the King of Darkness’s generosity is just a part of the Carrot and the Stick doctrine.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps it is,” Hilma said aloud—but she did not believe it for a second.

She weighed each person she encountered by the tone of their voice, their facial expressions, their tics, their habits.

This was hardly an unusual power, merely one acquired through experience. But she had polished it to an unusual degree, and her senses were telling her that neither the King of Darkness nor Albedo was acting.

But it was hard to get a read on the king, as he lacked human facial expressions, and she could not say for certain her measure of him was accurate. Perhaps what her comrades said had more merit than she first thought.

“Yes, I’ve used that technique myself. I know it well. But…I had no idea the carrot could seem this sweet to those who know the pain of the stick all too well. It’s possible he has me fooled. Perhaps the King of Darkness is a being of pure fear, unable to understand the hearts of men, barely kept in check by his retinue. But I felt I could trust him. No…I
wanted
to trust him.”

She has seen any number of ladies of the night duped by men like that and ruined because of it. She knew full well she might be sinking into the same mire that had doomed those women. But she couldn’t tear herself away from the king’s pull.

“……Hilma, you know better than anyone what men are like. You are the best judge of character we’ve ever known, especially where men are concerned. What are your instincts telling you about the King of Darkness?”

A high-class courtesan saw all manner of men. Far too many of them highborn.

And a comparative analysis suggested—

“First and foremost, he is very broad-minded. He has his own thoughts and values, but if he deems a subordinate’s words worthy, he is flexible enough to acknowledge them. And he does not take pleasure in the suffering of others. How should I put it? He simply doesn’t have a taste for it. However, if a harsh sentence is required, he seemed fully capable of doing what is required without remorse.”

“A high opinion indeed.”

Cheeks still stained with tears lifted in a smile.

“Yes.” She laughed. “His Majesty may be undead, but he is both impartial and magnanimous. He is neither cruel nor heartless. He could easily have punished me and used that as a tool to control all of you, yet he chose a different path.”

She heard them swallow. The sound echoed loudly in the chamber.

“I found myself hoping that his reign would last forever. As long as he remains in charge, then…”

The silence was crushing.

But in due time, someone let out a bated breath. Like a disciple hearing the words of an oracle, witnessing a miracle with their own eyes.

They had lived through hell, and then they lived in fear of its return. This was the first hint of salvation.

“I see. Then we must demonstrate our loyalty anew.”

“Yes, Noah. That we should. The other thing I learned is that the Nation of Darkness’s prime minister, Albedo—she is
truly
terrifying. I don’t believe for a second her words were spoken on His Majesty’s behalf.”

This last line was mostly directed toward Hilma herself but overheard by all. They seemed unsure what to make of it.

Albedo was a demon, and her intent was naturally difficult to predict, but in that instant, Hilma’s every instinct had screamed aloud.

Perhaps the stress of the moment had pushed her mind into overdrive.

She
knew
.

The King of Darkness had a warmth to him, but Albedo saw humans as little more than
toys
.

She fervently hoped she and hers could find a place for themselves working directly under the king himself. His Majesty would reward them justly for their labors. Hilma was certain his demands would not be beyond reason.

“We must do all we can for the King of Darkness,” she firmly declared.

The other three present could feel her drive as she asked for their help in completing the task the king had given her.