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

Chapter 2 | Countdown to Doom

1

Valencia Palace in the capital of Re-Estize Kingdom.

The temperature of the chamber was elevated by the crowd within. The total number of occupants was not especially high, but the room wasn’t the most spacious, and above all, the gravity of the situation ensured that no one felt comfortable.

There was a long table in the center of the room, and Ramposa III sat at the head; at his right hand was the second prince, Zanac.

Joining them were the heads of the kingdom’s various ministries, most of them elderly, with pure white or graying locks or bare caps that reflected light.

Ordinarily, any gathering would begin with all but the monarch standing, as a formal gesture of respect—however, not only did they remain seated but also maids were filling the cups before them. A clear sign this meeting would be a long one.

Zanac looked around the room, making sure everyone was served, and then got the ball rolling.

“Court is now in session. The topic of the day is the declaration of war from the Nation of Darkness.”

Declaration of war
was a powerful phrase, but he’d used it precisely because he wanted everyone here to understand the significance.

Indeed, the ministers—all as old as his father—furrowed their white brows, looking deeply concerned.

Zanac glanced sideways at his father. The king’s judgment was his biggest concern here. It was vital he impress how serious this development was and prompt him to make the optimal choice.

Given who the King of Darkness killed, I’m sure this is hard for my father…

His father had been beside himself when he learned that Gazef Stronoff had perished. Zanac had been with him when he’d heard resurrection was impossible. He had never seen his father lose himself as waves of fury rolled over him.

Since that day, his father had aged rapidly. It seemed like he had lost all vitality, reducing him to skin and bones.

After a blow like that, could his father pass sound judgment where those responsible were concerned?

If need be, I’ll…

Zanac stifled his fears, scanning the assembled ministers.

This meeting had been called after an envoy reached the kingdom with an official missive bearing the seal of the Nation of Darkness. It simply stated that a Re-Estize Kingdom subject had forcibly seized Nation of Darkness supplies bound for the Sacred Kingdom and that this had been taken as a hostile act that impugned their honor and could lead to war.

What’s more, the message also bore the seals of other countries, decreeing that they believed the Nation of Darkness’s allegations.

The envoy had been ordered to wait within the kingdom’s capital until a reply was forthcoming. It was quite common for an official statement to take a week or two to prepare. Even that might not be enough time to put out feelers and ensure that the response had the endorsement of every stakeholder.

“Of the six seals on the document the envoy brought, two of them have taken far too long to verify. My humblest apologies.”

The speaker was the minister of foreign affairs. The Ministry of Seals lay under his purview, and they’d been investigating the seals on the Nation of Darkness’s missive.

“The recognizable ones came from the Nation of Darkness, the Empire, the Dragon Kingdom, and the Sacred Kingdom?” the minister of financial affairs asked.

“Correct.” The previous speaker nodded. “Of the remaining two, one comes from the dwarf country. The design bears their distinctive style, which allowed us to narrow it down in the first place, but our last records of it are two centuries old, and the seal we’ve been examining bears several distinct differences. We investigated with help from Re-Blumrushur and found other similar impressions, so we believe it safe to assume the design has been altered over time. Which brings us to the last seal. This is placed beside that of the Sacred Kingdom, and we’re now confident it is the seal of the individual known as the Faceless One.”

“Personal heraldry placed beside those of states?”

The minister of war looked aghast.

He was the youngest of the officials here—enough that he and Zanac were drastically lowering the average age in the room. But that was only relative, since he was over forty.

Despite his post, he had a frail build and a nervous disposition. The man looked more like an accountant than a soldier.

He and Gazef had never gotten along. Or rather, as far as anyone could tell, he loathed the former captain. As a result, Ramposa had never even given him the time of day, and he was often absent from court sessions; this general lack of contact meant Zanac had no real grasp on his abilities.

But Zanac’s former conspirator, Marquis Raeven, had sung his praises, vouching for him; putting his social skills aside, he likely knew his way around the job. It was hard to believe anyone could become a minister without some degree of competence.

“Perhaps you’re aware of the convention, but historically speaking, when the Sacred Kingdom seal is used, the high priest often places their seal—that of the temple—beside it. This is likely a nod to that.”

“So this tells us the Faceless One has either seized the temple’s influence or now possesses greater authority than them.”

“Precisely, Your Highness. The temple’s seal was used at the holy king’s coronation, meaning—well, she’s clearly grown far more powerful since then. We had never encountered the Faceless One’s seal before, so verification has proven impossible, but given its positioning next to the Sacred Kingdom seal, we have deemed that the most likely explanation.”

“So the fact that everyone but the council state and the Theocracy are rebuking the kingdom is not a ploy by the Nation of Darkness but a simple fact.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Zanac’s father let out a weary sigh.

“So the Dragon Kingdom has fallen under their influence as well.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Your Majesty. We’ve had no reports on any shake-ups within the Dragon Kingdom, so they may have been deceived or decided they had more to gain by backing the Nation of Darkness than ourselves.”

All this really conveyed was that the Dragon Kingdom approved of the Nation of Darkness’s actions as far as this incident went; it didn’t suggest they were likely to join the fray themselves.

“Understood, Minister. We applaud your work on this. Domestic Affairs, to what extent do our people
believe
the contents of this declaration?”

“Sir, I can’t speak to the kingdom as a whole, but within the palace, seven out of ten are convinced this is a conspiracy concocted by the Nation of Darkness. One out of ten believes it to be the work of bandits—commoners ignorant of politics. And the remainder suspect this to be the plot of some third party.”

“Hmm. A scheme to whittle away at our power or the Nation of Darkness’s. Someone who hopes to set us against each other. That would mean either the council state or the Theocracy.”

“Your Highness, let us not be hasty. Perhaps the Empire is searching for a way to get out of being a vassal. I’m sure imperial knights could easily take out a trade caravan.”

Zanac mulled that over. But if that was true, the kingdom was already at an impasse.

“—Out of the question,” the war minister said. “The incident happened on kingdom land. And the reports make it clear dozens were involved. Any of those three countries running a clandestine operation would send far fewer agents. Now, if they were pulling the strings from behind the scenes or hiring bandits or mercenaries within the kingdom—
that
I could see. But either way, the blame falls squarely on our heads.”

Since the war, this minister had been working overtime to maintain order within the kingdom borders. And that had required a shrewd mind. As a result, he could speak with confidence on this matter.

“Bandits are one thing, but I’d like to get those mercenaries on our payroll. If only we had the funds for it.”

“You’re blaming the treasury?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It certainly sounded like you were—”

“—Ministers, let us not argue among ourselves. This is not the time.”

At the king’s words, both men bowed their heads.

Silence followed. Eventually the war minister spoke again.

“What is clear is that
someone
must be behind this. We gathered reports from various town guards, and they all say the convoy was clearly flying Nation of Darkness flags. When they left the capital, the wagons were guarded by a company of skilled mercenaries.”

Most kingdom residents knew the Nation of Darkness had butchered their armies on the Katze Plain. No one who lived within their borders would dream of provoking a country that terrifying.

As to who this
someone
might be—one country’s name was on everyone’s mind.

Only they fit the bill.

The Nation of Darkness.

If they assumed this had all been arranged by the Nation of Darkness themselves, the facts lined up.

They could have ordered their own caravan to burn or abandon the cargo—or they might have sent out empty wagons to begin with—and then claimed a fictitious robbery had taken place. No other explanation made sense.

“Zanac, I know you’ve had little time, but how much have you investigated?”

“We’ve actually managed to pin down the culprit.”

The ministers looked surprised.

“……However, that only complicated things. The fact that we identified him so easily gave us pause—perhaps that was the plan all along. We’re hoping to dig into it further if more time can be had.”

“Of course, we must investigate thoroughly. But for now, we need all the information we can get. Tell us what you know—and are certain of.”

“Yes, Father. What we can say at the moment is that the robber is a man named Baron Phillip Didon Rile Mocharath, and he carried out the attack accompanied by residents of his domain.”

“Mocharath?” “Ever heard of him?” “A baron and his peasants?” “Revenge for the war dead?” “Without a thought for the consequences?” “Human emotions can lead to the irrational.”

A stir of mutters ran round the room.

Eventually, the justice minister took the lead, looking extremely displeased.

“Your Majesty, this
must
be a Nation of Darkness scheme. I cannot imagine a kingdom noble would voluntarily be involved with something like this.”

“True. The Nation of Darkness has no qualms about using Charm Person in their courts. It stands to reason they’d do the unthinkable and use it against their enemies. Perhaps they ensorcelled this baron and forced him to act.”

Several voices agreed with this theory. But the next suggestion left Zanac cursing his inadequacies.

“Then we must secure this baron’s personage at once. I’m no expert, but I believe once Charm Person is lifted, they still remember what they did under the spell’s influence. They may intend to silence him even as we speak.”

Zanac had no such knowledge of magic. What a basic blunder.

“Have that baron brought here at once. Ensure his safety and get to the bottom of this.”

“—Father,” Zanac started, reluctant to speak but unable to leave it unsaid. “Once the truth is uncovered, this baron’s head may ease negotiations with the Nation of Darkness.”

“What are you implying?” His father’s gaze was like daggers. Even this dried-up husk of a man had not been sitting idly on the throne all this time. Zanac had to applaud the intensity he could still muster.

He did not imagine he would ever manage to project this much gravitas. But he could ill afford to back down now.

Even if this
was
the Nation of Darkness’s plot, there was no value in fighting on their opponent’s terms. As long as they were bickering about whether this was a scheme or not, the risk of war would always be looming. It was far better to simply turn over the culprit’s head and attempt to settle the matter peacefully.

After the show of force in that war, it would be the height of folly to fight this foe head-on. If they did, the feudal lords who’d seen that tragedy firsthand would refuse to supply them with any troops.

And if they did, it would be because the threat was at their gates.

“Father, I do not believe we should fight the Nation of Darkness.”

“And for that, you would sacrifice an innocent nobleman? Are these the words of the next king, my son? Think before you speak.”

Zanac licked his lips before venturing to say, “Call me what you will, my answer is the same. When countless lives are on the line, we must choose the lesser of two evils.”

“Then each time the Nation of Darkness schemes and plots, must we offer them another man’s head? You realize the implications?”

“I do. And unlike me, you witnessed the Katze Plain tragedy with your own eyes. Do you intend to take us on a path that will lead back to war even so?”

His father let out a grunt, pursing his lips.

“I’m against that,” Zanac insisted. “I believe we have no choice but to do everything in our power to avoid war with such an enemy. Even at the cost of an innocent noble’s life.”

Perhaps he was disgracing himself, proving himself unfit for the throne. Perhaps they would claim him spineless, and he’d lose the confidence of the ministers. But Zanac firmly believed this was the only path to survival that his kingdom had.

“…Your Majesty, I agree with His Highness,” said the domestic affairs minister before taking it one step further. “Like yourself, Your Majesty, I want nothing more than to protect our citizens. Perhaps we should consider… becoming a client state.”

This provoked an outcry. “Madness!” “Have you no pride?” But the minister himself paid them no heed, keeping his gaze locked on the king’s eyes.

It was a statement that could easily invite accusations of treason, yet Ramposa III merely laughed.

“That we can never do,” he said. “It would betray all those who believed in the kingdom and died in its name. How would we face them? I’m grateful for the suggestion, Count, but I’m afraid I cannot agree.”

“Your will is my command.”

To Zanac’s eyes, far more passed between them than the content of their words.

Would he ever have a man that loyal?

His father was a benevolent man but little more than that. Yet, perhaps that was
why
he’d been blessed with good counsel. He had a knack for gathering those better than himself. Gazef Stronoff, the captain of the Royal Select, had been a prime example.

Zanac had long believed he would be a better king than his elder brother. Barbro would have ruled at the behest of the Eight Fingers and the noble faction. There was no future where that would have ended well. That was why he’d worked closely with Marquis Raeven, preparing to take the crown or at least obtain power second only to the throne.

But what did he have now? Neither his sister’s wisdom nor his father’s magnetism. He was no longer sure his reign would bring about any lasting change.

To do so, he would have to transform himself. However, at his age, there was little chance that he could remake his personality nor did he plan to. He would be the man he was until he died.

“—Military Affairs. For our reference, is it even remotely possible to win a war against the Nation of Darkness?”

“Would we be allying ourselves with anyone else or fighting all on our lonesome?”

Zanac, Ramposa III, and the foreign affairs minister exchanged glances. The prince spoke for them all.

“Negotiations with the council state are not going well. To begin with, we only approached them after that war, so there was little hope of securing an alliance on favorable terms. If they learn our relations with the Nation of Darkness are souring, odds are they’ll leave the table for good.”

“I see. Then, Your Highness, I’m afraid we must begin by defining what we mean by victory. Clash once and drive them back? Or must we kill or humble the King of Darkness himself? If the latter is required, I have no clue where we would even begin.”

“Minister, let’s take that off the table and assume we simply need to make them withdraw.”

“In that case…” The military affairs minister paused to consider the question. “First, we would need a considerable amount of luck on our side. For instance, while the Nation of Darkness is advancing on the capital, if we could skirt their forces and seize E-Rantel behind them, perhaps the outcome would change.”

“But that would require overcoming the three concentric walls.”

“Yes, Your Highness. And moving forces capable of doing so past the Nation of Darkness’s scouts undetected…would be impossible without fortune’s favor. Naturally, even if we somehow managed that, if the King of Darkness and his horrifying magic remain in E-Rantel, the entire ploy will be for naught.”

Essentially, he was saying there was no path to victory without absurd luck. Was his father getting that?

“And if the Nation of Darkness chooses not to formally declare war, we’re doomed. A surprise invasion will not give us nearly enough time to muster our forces.”

Formal declarations were an international convention but little more than a gentlemen’s agreement. Essentially just…good manners between states.

Formal declarations of war simply demonstrated that a country valued these niceties. Failing to do so would incur the scorn of upstanding states and place the perpetrator at a diplomatic disadvantage in the future.

When racial differences were involved, these conventions were often abandoned entirely. Yet, even between countries of different races, the weight placed on history or connections to neighbors could prove an influential factor in politics.

Would a land ruled by an undead king care about such things? Would a being who despised the living on principle worry about declaring war?

“Father, as I suspected, we stand little chance of victory if it comes to war. We should do all we can to minimize the sacrifices we must make.”

“Sacrifices…”

“Yes, Father. Let us summon this baron and interrogate him. Regardless of the result, we’ll pin the blame on his shoulders and offer up his head.”

“No, Zanac. You may bring him in for questioning. But if he is innocent or caught up in circumstances beyond his control, we must not debase ourselves. I have another idea.”

“You…do? May I ask what?”

His father said nothing and merely shook his head.

Zanac took that to mean he had no plan at all. Why else would he not share it? The fact that he stayed silent at this juncture had to mean he could not explain the value in preserving this baron’s life and was simply trying to cover that up.

Disappointed, Zanac considered his next move.

All signs point to a dim future for the kingdom. I may have to take drastic action.

At the very least, they had to blame the baron.

While the odds might be low, there was still a chance this noble actually
was
responsible. And if that proved to be the case, all their problems went away.

He couldn’t think of a good way to
frame
him, though. Kill him on his way to the capital and insist he was to blame afterward? That might force his father to go along with his plan.

Otherwise…

He’d just have to force his way past his father’s objections. When he first heard the news, he’d thought that might be in the cards. He’d considered how he should play it and had his answer.

Usurping the crown was a grave crime.

He had been so close to gaining the throne legitimately. There was no end of downsides to this approach. The one upside was that he would be able to steer them through this current crisis.

Taking the throne by force was the act of a rash fool, but if he didn’t, what future did the kingdom have?

He at least needed to get the present ministers on his side. To do so, he’d have to ask his sister to loan him that man—Brain Unglaus. With that man by his side, he had nothing to fear if it came down to force of arms.

Argh, how infuriating. Why do I have to plot like this? If only it weren’t for the Nation of Darkness and that ludicrously powerful undead!

If the Nation of Darkness hadn’t shown up and thrown in with the Empire during that war, his brother would most likely be first in line for the throne, but the kingdom also wouldn’t be dangling on a precipice like this.

Zanac swore silently.

Then there was a knock at the door.

His heart sank.

The only reason to interrupt an important meeting was an emergency, and the knock sounded suitably urgent.

Any news like that was likely—
definitely
bad. He braced himself.

Speaking for the group, Zanac gave permission to enter, and a knight came rushing in.

“Herald from the Nation of Darkness! Prime Minister Albedo will reach the capital in little more than an hour!”

On her last visit, she’d been announced as the captain of the floor guardians, a rather confusing title. This time she was coming in a more familiar capacity. But if she was coming, his hunch was right.

Or worse.

This wasn’t just bad news. It was the
worst
news.

But what brings her here?

The envoy who’d brought the official, seal-covered missive was not present in the palace itself. They would have preferred to put them up in one of the palace wings, but they were undead, and nobody had that kind of courage. They’d wound up housing them in a home within the noble quarters.

To ensure the envoy’s safety, they had guards placed around their quarters. Not even a slime could slip past them. But that envoy had made no attempt to contact the Nation of Darkness.

Had they used some magical means? Or had this visit been planned whether the envoy returned or not?

And dispatching a herald not from the border but as she neared the capital itself was very unorthodox. What was their goal?

At the very least, this is unlikely to be an immediate declaration of war.

Once hostilities formally began, anything could happen. Even the Nation of Darkness would not risk sending someone so high-ranking deep into enemy territory.

Perhaps they were optimistic enough to assume the kingdom would not harm an envoy, but this Albedo had not struck him as someone who moved without carefully considering the risks involved.

“We shall meet her,” the king said. “Prepare the throne room.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” The knight went running out.

Foreign dignitaries were not normally granted an audience on the day of their arrival. But with tensions running so high, they could not risk making the Nation of Darkness’s prime minister wait.

“Gentlemen, if you could make haste and change into your best attire,” the king suggested.

All ministers, Zanac included, bowed their heads.

Out of the various throne rooms, the one used to welcome envoys was not especially large, but it still took quite some time to prepare it for a reception. By leisurely guiding Prime Minister Albedo to it—not quite to the point of deliberately stalling—they managed to buy enough time to prepare the chamber and for the ministers to change into their formal ceremonial garb.

The smell of fresh-cut flowers filled the room.

Zanac found it rather pungent, but when he’d said as much, Renner had accused him of having a stuffy nose.

Everyone here was wearing perfume, so what need was there for flowers? Still, even he had to admit there was a beauty to using them as decoration. He just would have preferred if they were not real. The only thing stopping that was precedent. After all, an envoy greeted with fake flowers might take that the wrong way and assume they weren’t welcome.

Each race had different standards of etiquette, and the same action could provoke wildly different responses. The council state was home to many nonhuman races, and Zanac found himself wondering how they handled such issues.

These musings were prompted by the sight of the horns and wings on the Nation of Darkness’s prime minister as she made her entrance.

She had an unearthly beauty to her, like a veil of darkness. It had not faded one whit in the time since their last meeting. This alone was enough to make one inclined to forget she represented their mortal enemies. He had no idea if she was spoken for, but her beauty was the kind that men would eagerly fight over.

That was his impression of Albedo, the Nation of Darkness’s prime minister.

He heard gasps go up around the room. He could tell these were accompanied by looks of rapt admiration.

Beauty that could capture the hearts of a crowd in an instant. She smiled like a devoted mother, an expression far more captivating than any a mere human could muster.

Zanac’s sister was herself beautiful, but he was certain Albedo outclassed her.

But her dress was another matter.

She wore a dark-pink gown—perfect for a ball but hardly fit for this occasion.

Clearly, she had not worn this on accident. The choice was intentional. But what signal did it send?

Zanac had no clue what significance women’s gowns carried. Perhaps his sister read volumes into it, but she was far removed from the typical court lady. He liked that about her—that distinct lack of interest in fancy dress meant she was highly affordable.

He stole a glance at Renner.

She had changed from her usual dress to a ceremonial one. He was fairly certain it was the same one she’d worn on Albedo’s prior visit.

He felt an urge to scold her for it. What would people
think
? But it was still a better choice than Albedo’s.

Judging by the faces of the ministers around Renner, several of them were well aware she was wearing the exact same dress and found it embarrassing.

“It has been far too long, Lady Albedo,” Ramposa intoned.

Many a nobleman started at the sound of his voice, tearing their eyes away from the prime minister’s beauty.

“I entirely agree, Your Majesty.”

A voice as beautiful as the woman herself. She kept her back bolt upright and her head perfectly still; her voice was soft, but her demeanor made it clear she would never deign to bow her head to a mere human.

“I’m glad to find you well.”

“Likewise, Your Majesty.”

The way each smiled looked positively cordial.

“We have little time, so let’s get down to business. May I ask what brings you here today?”

“Certainly. I’m here to discuss the matter of the provisions dispatched from our country, intended as aid for the Sacred Kingdom, that were stolen by a subject of your realm.”

That was not a topic discussed with a pleasant smile, yet her expression remained entirely unchanged.

In response, Zanac’s father rose from the throne.

“A matter that concerns us all. First, allow me to apologize on behalf of my subject.”

The king bowed low. Regal recognition of her complaint. As negotiation tactics went, this was less than ideal. In the cutthroat world of state diplomacy, there was no benefit to ever admitting fault.

And a royal apology was especially dangerous. This was an admission that the entire country was to blame.

Now they would need to agree to any demands the Nation of Darkness made. Worse—

Perhaps this
would
help avoid outright war. But if the Nation of Darkness demands this baron’s head, will he give it up?

Given his father’s earlier speech, he highly doubted that. And if he rejected the Nation of Darkness’s request after this—well, then Zanac should have apologized in his father’s stead. There was a big difference between the words of a king and those of a prince.

But before he could consider the matter further, the king spoke again.

“Will my head be enough to forgive this matter?”

The entire room froze.

When the surprise faded, Zanac was utterly mortified.

This was clearly his father’s plan all along.

For an incident of this scale, an official apology and the head of the king would
have
to be enough to settle the matter. Anyone demanding more than that would only invite ridicule.

And his father did not hesitate to offer up his life. Not because he yearned for death but because a king’s life was always subject to the needs of his kingdom.

His father was a true king.

Zanac had seen only weakness. He had failed to see the true measure of his father.

“Naturally, the kingdom will replace the lost provisions twice over. Will you accept my head, Lady Albedo?”

“Hmm.” Albedo’s smile broadened. A beautiful smile yet nonetheless uncanny. “Heh-heh-heh. Well, that’s not…quite what we expected, Ramposa III.”

It seemed like her eyes flitted over to his sister.

“Because you lost your confidant? Or perhaps…” Her gaze turned to Zanac. “Because you recognize your children’s talent? Is that what changed you?”

“I don’t believe I’ve changed…”

“You have. This is not a choice you would have made before. Perhaps it was all those reasons together. But your core has not really changed at all, has it? No matter. My answer remains the same.”

This shift in Albedo’s manner had been so sudden it took him a moment to realize she had dropped all pretense of honoring a king. Yet, somehow, for the first time, it felt like he was seeing reality. As if the pretense that they were a king and a prime minister had always been a lie.

One was human, the other a demon.

This was how they should interact.

Perhaps that was the cause. Albedo had a palpable
something
to her, one that brooked no protests.

This passed in time. The demon put her mask back on and became a mere envoy once more.

Albedo scanned the row of ministers and raised her voice slightly.

“The Nation of Darkness declares war on your kingdom. Our troops will move out at noon one month from today! But maybe you can forestall that if your armies can reach E-Rantel or push deeper into our lands before then.”

“Wait!”

“I will not. I have done all I came to do. And so, Your Majesty—”

“All your schemes were to bring this to pass?!” a minister roared.

Albedo’s eyes narrowed. Was that anger?

“My words are the words of the King of Darkness. You dare interrupt them, human? Are you so eager for death you cannot even wait a month?”

The minister in question was turning visibly pale. Albedo had not raised her voice or even taken a step toward him. This was a man who would not have blanched even in the face of a threat from a feudal lord backed by an army, yet a single glare from a beautiful woman had transformed him.

She sighed. “Let me finish relaying my king’s words. He has no intention of using any magic on the same scale as the previous war. Let’s all try to
enjoy
this one. That is all.”

At this point, a look of confusion crossed her brow.

“I’m not sure what schemes you refer to. Honestly, this entire affair caught us off guard. I would also very much like to know how we found ourselves at this impasse.”

Her voice and expression seemed so genuine, he could not detect even the hint of a lie. Though Zanac knew full well this might all be part of the performance.

“…If you wish to conclude that we have manipulated you into this position, feel free to do so. History is written by the victors, after all. We need merely crush your accusations beneath our feet.”

The Nation of Darkness’s stance was clear.

The very notion of avoiding war had never once been feasible.

The Nation of Darkness’s goal was not to start a battle and claim a few parcels of land. They intended to shatter the kingdom and leave nothing behind. There was no backing out of this. A month from now, the armies of the undead would be upon them.

“No need to see me out. I shall take up no more of your valuable time.”

As if there was nothing more to be said, Albedo turned on her heel and swept out of the room.

Was there any benefit to just…letting her leave?

Killing their prime minister would at least disrupt the Nation of Darkness’s affairs, perhaps delaying the start of the war.

But she moved with such confidence that none dared make a move.

While Zanac hesitated, Albedo reached the doors and was gone.

As they closed behind her, Zanac turned to his father.

“What now? Do we give chase, or…?”

“There’s no point. If we stoop to killing an envoy, the blame will be inarguably ours. No country in the world would aid us.”

His father was rubbing his temples, his voice suddenly weak. He seemed to have noticeably aged over the last few minutes.

“Your Majesty, we should at least send word to all other countries, informing them that you attempted to offer your head as apology.”

“…Mm, please do so, Minister. If the worst comes to pass…”

“Let us not discuss
that
. We need merely focus on beating back the Nation of Darkness’s armies.”

“Mm, mm. Quite right.”

His father brightened visibly at this. But the smile was rather forlorn.

“Zanac, Renner, we must talk. Join me in my chambers. Gentlemen, I do apologize, but we must gather again an hour from now and discuss plans for next month.”

The ministers bowed their heads.

The grand chamberlain led his father out. Zanac joined Renner, and they left together.

Her guards, Brain and Climb, were standing by outside, but she told them to wait in her room and left them behind.

They moved down the hall together.

“Well, Sister, what do you imagine our father wishes to speak to us about?”

“I imagine you know just as well as I do.”

“Yes. He wishes to share the delicacies Lady Albedo brought with her!”

“Exactly! How right you are. I can’t imagine anything else!”

He narrowed his eyes as he regarded her, and she didn’t bat an eye. She never did.

“What will you do?”

“Hmm.”

She put a finger to her chin, head tilting just so. Zanac sighed heavily.

“Acting all adorable does you no good with me,” he said. “Save that for Climb. He’s still easily deceived.”

“How rude, Brother! I’ll definitely be doing that later. I have no intention of running, but…will you?”

“I wish I could. But that’s not an option, is it? The Nation of Darkness will just chase me down.”

“That applies to me as well, you know.”

Fine talk for a woman who’d conspired with him all for the love of a commoner. He’d half expected her to cling to life and make ready to quit the palace on the morrow. Perhaps knowing there was no escaping the Nation of Darkness had convinced her to abandon such hopes.

He glanced sideways but could read no emotions on her face.

They reached their father’s chambers, and his first words were precisely what they’d expected.

“Zanac, Renner, you must flee these lands. You are a prince and a princess. As long as you two live so does this kingdom.”

They glanced at each other and answered as one.

They would not.

Their father looked pleased yet also unspeakably sad.

“Very well,” he said. “But there is still time. Let me know if you change your minds.”

Zanac did not think he would, but…emotions were unpredictable.

He gave his father a nod.

At his side, Renner did the same.

2

When Brain got home, the children came running over.

“Pops, welcome home!”

“Pops! Pops!”

A crowd of ten kids flocked around him. Nine boys and one girl. They’d all been orphans once. He’d taken home anyone who showed potential and was teaching them how to use a sword.

They’d been through enough bad times to know the value of violence and devoted themselves to practicing day in and day out. But they were still hatchlings, none of them anywhere close to where Brain wanted them. If they kept training, they would probably manage to reach Climb’s level before long.

They all reeked of sweat. He didn’t mind. Training left him the same, and he saw it as proof of the work they’d put in.

“All right, you rascals. Everyone finished with sword practice?”

“On break—”

“We’re so—”

“Our arms—”

They were all talking at once, and it was difficult to tell what any of them was saying. He gathered they had finished practice for the day.

“Then give me some space and sit your butts down. Rest is part of practice, remember?”

That drew a chorus of
yeah
s.

“I’ll train you myself in a bit. And I don’t wanna hear that you’re too tired!”

Another round of
okay
s.

“Good! Make sure you hydrate. And with that sweat, you’ll need salt!”

Some of the kids were exasperatedly grumbling, “We know, Pops—give it a rest,” but the others were happily following his advice.

“Then get outta here. Oh, where are—?”’

Before he could finish, the eldest boy said, “Backyard.”

Brain nodded and left the pack, making his way there.

The kids ran on inside. The elderly couple would have drinks and food ready, and the kids would probably fall asleep right after.

Exercise, food, and sleep—that was the best way to build a strong body.

Brain looked pleased. As he reached the backyard, a woman’s voice called out.

“There you are.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Was with the princess, making the rounds to see the nobles and merchants. Work ran pretty late.”

There was a man with the woman. The two of them had been training the children.

She had her hair up in a topknot. A southern hairstyle apparently.

Her features were even but with a sharpness that evoked cold steel more than it did beauty. She was not especially tall, just under average compared to her peers.

Her companion was a taciturn man.

He never smiled and always looked to be in a bad mood, but he was not—he had a hand up, greeting Brain.

This man simply wasn’t comfortable speaking. Brain had heard his voice only a few times, each so quiet it could be mistaken for an insect’s buzz.

He was not simply short; his
legs
were short—especially compared to the rest of his burly build. It was no surprise people assumed he had dwarf blood in him.

Both were among the six great disciples trained by a swordsman named Vesture Kloff Di Laufen.

Brain personally had some reservations about their approach to training. He preferred real combat experience to hours on the exercise grounds. If you had time to practice a few hundred swings, you were better off actually fighting, even with a wooden sword. Once a fighter reached a baseline physique, nothing mattered more than actual experience.

But the disciples claimed that cultivating fighting techniques and building strong foundations made it far less likely for trainees to die once they got in a real fight.

Maybe neither of them was objectively right.

Their respective approaches to strength reflected the lives they’d led.

And Brain didn’t want these kids dying before they had a chance to bloom, so he let the disciples do their thing and gave them chances to put that experience to use. That did make the kids’ training one notch harder.

“You found a place for the kids?”

“Yeah, at long last. Putting them on a caravan bound northwest to a city near the council state.”

The woman frowned.

“Two weeks till the war begins. We’ve heard no word of military movements in the Nation of Darkness. Rumor has it they’re just making threats to force the kingdom into giving up concessions and have no intention of actually fighting. If that’s true, what you’re doing is a waste, Unglaus.”

“That ain’t how the Nation of Darkness operates.”

If he hadn’t seen their king with his own eyes, maybe he’d have bought the story about saber-rattling. But he’d participated in that nightmarish war and had his own thoughts on what the King of Darkness was really after. Perhaps all this was just an excuse to use that spell again.

She must have picked up on his nerves because she lowered her voice, asking, “I heard you came face-to-face with their king?”

“Not only that, I stood there watching him duel Gazef. Still got no clue what happened or how Gazef lost.”

Her eyes glanced at his hip.

There, he carried Razor Edge, one of the kingdom’s treasures.

It had come into his possession during the chaotic preparation for the impending war, and that fact weighed heavily on him. In his mind, he was merely taking care of it and had no intention of ever drawing the blade.

He would have loved to find someone more deserving of it, but Brain also wasn’t about to give it to anyone who wasn’t Gazef Stronoff’s equal.

“A duel with Stronoff himself. I’d—”

She choked back those words.

It was most likely because she had been about to say she wished she had gotten a chance to see the fight herself. Brain didn’t blame her. Any warrior would want to see Gazef in action.

Hell, he almost wished she
had
been there. Like he’d said, he had no clue what had actually happened. If there was someone around who could explain it, he’d love to hear from them.

“I’m dead sure the King of Darkness is up to something. I just dunno what. I’ll admit this feeling isn’t based on much. My instincts are just screaming that something bad is coming. And I trust them.”

“The instincts of a warrior like yourself should not easily be dismissed.”

“I dunno about
that
, but either way, I’m getting these kids outta here. Even if I die, the sword skill I taught—well, it ain’t
that
grand or nothing, but at least it’ll live on.”

“…Our master said much the same thing, Unglaus. He believed the forces of darkness are making moves behind the scenes, and when the children leave”—her eyes turned to her silent partner—“would you allow him to accompany them?”

“Hmm? Really?”

He glanced at the man and got a nod in return. He looked dead set against the idea but probably wasn’t.

This fellow was actually surprisingly good with the kids.

All six of the disciples had spent time here, but he was the one the kids liked best.

“Yes. Our master said that even if worse comes to worst, as long as he still lives, our swordcraft will survive.”

Exactly what Brain had been thinking.

He had to agree, then.

“If you’re down, so count me in. I should be thanking you, really. I’ll pass word on to the merchants.”

A very tiny voice whispered, “Please.” Probably.

Brain raised a hand in acknowledgment, and the man bowed low.

“All righty, then. Once the kids have napped a bit, I’ll train with ’em a spell. Thanks for teaching ’em while I was out.”

That gratitude was heartfelt. They were looking after these kids for a pittance.

Those warm feelings didn’t extend to their master, Vesture. The moment he’d realized how strong Brain was, he wasted no time introducing his disciples, but that was clearly just an attempt to win him over. Brain had easily taken all the disciples down—but when they heard he’d found potential in some kids, they’d looked interested. Seeing the value in teaching orphans skills that would help them make their way through life, they’d voluntarily stepped up to help.

Since he’d started acting like the princess’s guard, Brain had met his share of scummy aristocrats, and that only made the disciples’ strength of character shine all the brighter.

“Unglaus, your kindness humbles us all. Taking in these children and teaching them how to fight, how to fend for themselves…”

Brain winced.

This wasn’t anything that deserved such admiring eyes.

“Spare me the compliments. I ain’t a good guy. Sure, I picked these kids up from the slums. But I did so with a goal in mind. I saw a lot of little ones, but I didn’t say shit to the ones with no talent. Some of ’em looked ready to die, but I just walked right on by. Save the praise for those doing actual good deeds—like that princess.”

He caught a strange gleam in the woman’s eyes but had no clue what emotion provoked it.

“Princess Renner? I’ve heard about the orphanage she’s funding. What she’s doing is commendable. But, Unglaus, no one else is doing what
you
are, and I think you deserve your share of praise.”

“We’re gonna hafta agree to disagree. You’re free to think what you like, but don’t let me hear it. It just fans the flames of guilt.”

“That is a shame.”

“Don’t worry about it—I’m kidding. I’m way too far gone to even know what guilt is.”

She didn’t look convinced, but Brain tore his eyes away and stared up at his home—which had once been Gazef’s.

His mind was on the kids eating dinner or already fast asleep in bed.

A room on the Great Tomb of Nazarick’s ninth level, a month into the war.

Ainz and the floor guardians were gathered in a spare room that had originally been prepared back in the day in case they needed more space for additional guild members. Sitting at tables arranged along three sides of a square, everyone was poring over the meeting documents.

The floor guardians were not the only occupants. There was a regular maid behind each of them. Pestonia stood behind Ainz. They were here to take care of odd jobs and didn’t speak a word.

Ainz was not clear why they remained absolutely silent but gathered it was supposed to signify they were only here to serve. Respecting their wishes, he was steadfastly ignoring them.

“Hmm…” Ainz was diligently reading some documents. Having Pestonia standing behind him was a bit distracting, but he was doing his best to focus.

They were going to be discussing these momentarily. He was worried he might be the only one who would embarrass himself.

But these documents weren’t like the incomprehensible political, economic, and legal briefs Albedo often had him review; this was actually material he could follow.

Ainz had a mind that was thoroughly average, and that was being generous. It was a mistake to expect him to shine in politics. But that didn’t make him lazy. He was decidedly the studious type, always ready to apply himself to a task. And since he stood at the head of Nazarick and all the NPCs mistakenly believed him far more brilliant than them, he could not exactly afford to slack off.

At first, he’d believed he was trying to maintain their loyalty, but now it felt more like a father desperately trying not to disappoint his children.

That’s why he was reading self-help and business books. And giving it his best effort to improve his combat techniques, which were as close to a forte as he had.

It would be far safer to just dump everything on Albedo’s lap, but his followers were constantly seeking Ainz’s opinion. Nearly every time, he said something stupid, and they’d act on it because
Lord Ainz said so
. This could be leading to some incalculable losses. And the only solution he could think of was simply to better himself.

And that was why he was reading these documents with genuine interest and commitment.

When he was done, he checked that an appropriate time had passed and spoke.

“Well, guardians. Is everyone finished?”

“Yes, Lord Ainz,” Albedo said, her eyes quickly scanning the room.

“Very good. Then—oh, first, we began the war with the kingdom a month ago, but it seems they have not yet noticed our invasion. They seem to believe we’re holed up in E-Rantel twiddling our thumbs. Well done, Demiurge. Your success in preventing leaks is a testament to your skill.”

“Thank you.”

“On a related note, threatening specific kingdom nobility and turning them to our side was a masterstroke on Albedo’s part.”

“Thank you, Lord Ainz.”

Both of them bowed their heads low.

“Mm, this matter is of the utmost importance. We’ll have to discuss it in more detail later,” Ainz said, tapping a page nestled between several documents. When they agreed, he gave them his most regal nod and turned to the rest of the guardians. The maids were all looking at him, too, every bit as serious, but with some effort, he managed to put that out of his mind.

“With that, let’s begin the exchange of views. First, I am deeply satisfied that we were able to conquer cities with this approach. Cocytus, well done.”

“THANK YOU. HOWEVER, THIS SUCCESS IS ALL DUE TO THE UNDEAD TROOPS YOU PROVIDED, LORD AINZ. THIS VICTORY IS YOURS, AND I CAN SAFELY CLAIM TO HAVE DONE LITTLE TO NOTHING MYSELF.”

“Cocytus is right—,” Albedo began, but Ainz raised a hand, stopping her.

“—I require no flattery. Cocytus, accept praise when it is offered. The work you’ve done deserves it—as I said.”

“YES, LORD AINZ! THANK YOU!”

“Very good. Now, so far we have taken several kingdom cities without incident.”

When the Ainz Ooal Gown Nation of Darkness declared war on the kingdom, they had invaded the eastern border territories and then moved steadily north. The capital lay to the west, and they had made no moves in that direction.

The primary purpose of this approach was to prevent other countries from dispatching military assistance—at least, until they had full control of the border with the council state and could hold on to it.

That had been Cocytus’s strategy and one Ainz heartily approved of.

“That itself is a magnificent achievement. Demiurge, Albedo, about the information control. The document says odds are high this will continue to go well, but what potential failures have you foreseen? Demiurge, you may speak.”

“Yes, my lord! We have more than enough eyes on the roads and have taken the further precaution of sending shadow demons to neighboring towns. However, if there are hermits or druids who have left civilization behind and live in isolation deep in the wilderness, it is difficult for our surveillance to catch them, so there is a chance information might leak that way.”

“Then work with Albedo to strengthen our surveillance network until we can reliably detect these individuals.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Next.” Ainz paged through the document. And kept paging. “Hmm…we’ve destroyed…quite a lot of cities…”

These pages were all about what strategies had been employed to completely annihilate certain cities. The most recent city had been demolished by Cocytus himself.

“Despite the challenge posed by attacking with such small numbers, Cocytus demolished the city and killed all inhabitants successfully. I see each of you is employing all your talent and intellect on this campaign, taking out cities and towns with ease. I am very impressed.”

The Nation of Darkness was taking a particularly vicious approach, wiping out whole settlements, sparing no one. They advanced in silence, leaving only abandoned ruins and heaps of rubble in their wake.

Ainz could already imagine the kind of glare this was earning him from the person standing behind him, and that left him extremely uncomfortable.

They were not taking such a vicious approach for pleasure but with a specific purpose in mind. He rather hoped Pestonia understood that, at least.

“Thank you, Lord Ainz,” Albedo said, bowing her head. Each guardian followed suit. “We will continue to work body and soul to fulfill your expectations.”

“Uh, mm-hmm. I appreciate your resolve and loyalty. Now, then…”

The time had finally come.

Ainz cleared his throat and continued.

“But the absence of any failures concerns me,” he said. Before anyone could look puzzled, he added, “Cocytus, you tasted defeat with the lizardmen, and I believe you learned much from the experience.”

“AS YOU SAY. THE LESSONS I LEARNED STAY WITH ME TO THIS DAY.”

“Excellent. We can all learn much from failure. I believe there are things we can
only
learn from it.”

He certainly had in
Yggdrasil
. Losing had forced him to
think
.

Reworking his build, loadout, and strategy. Yet, when he just
won
, he had been convinced he was on the right path and made no effort to improve.

That never stopped Touch Me, though.

Barely ever tasting the bitterness of defeat, Touch Me had only grown stronger and stronger, driven by an insatiable greed for class combination efficiency. But that was not a feat any ordinary man could imitate.

But exceptions proved the rule, and Ainz was certain there were many things that could only be learned from defeat.

He wanted a city conquest to fail.

Defeat did not matter here. They could always fix that later. But somewhere, sometime, and somehow, there would be a fight where failure would mean the end of everything. And to avoid a loss then, they needed more experience with it now.

They were taking the lives of others. In which case, it had to be for the benefit of Nazarick. They needed to put those deaths to the best use possible.

And Ainz had received a plea from a pair of minions that led to him casting his die here.

This is the tricky part.

“Wise men…” No further words came to mind. He’d totally forgotten the rest. He had to cover hastily. “…may have no need, but fools learn from their own mistakes. I would never mistake you for fools, but experience teaches us all.”

Ainz was disappointed in himself.

Why couldn’t he remember something this important? Why was he so bad at this?

People who had a way with words could pivot at the drop of a hat, reciting poignant words they’d heard once on the fly. They never got stuck trying to remember what they meant to say. Why couldn’t he?

The answer was all too clear. His brain just wasn’t up to the task.

“
……Sigh.
……In any case, our goals here are to destroy kingdom cities and slaughter their inhabitants. That poses no challenge at all to the might of Nazarick. But this is an opportunity to gain some vital experience. Experience that will benefit us in the future when we face a much more challenging threat.”

During guild wars, Ainz often invaded enemy strongholds. He’d taken part in campaigns of conquest. But that was in
Yggdrasil
. He needed to take his game knowledge and learn how to apply those lessons to reality.

In that sense, conquering a variety of cities with a mixture of methods would definitely be of use someday.

The Great Tomb of Nazarick had to become stronger. It was absurd to assume Ainz Ooal Gown was the only guild in this world and Nazarick the only guild stronghold. He was sure there was another player guild out there—or would be one day.

And he needed his people ready for that eventuality.

Experience would be the cornerstone.

Ainz glanced at the rapt, attentive faces of his guardians.

“Currently, the burden I’m placing on each of you is growing. But it is also true that there are few I trust as much as you.”

The floor guardians, with the exception of Victim, were all level 100, every bit as strong as Ainz himself. The others—domain guardians and the like—were much weaker. Taking the domain guardians out into the world, where powerful foes might be lurking, was nerve-racking, and he often gave in and relied on the floor guardians instead.

“But allowing that situation to continue will cause problems. As the holdings of the Ainz Ooal Gown Nation of Darkness continue to grow, we will need to have the domain guardians take on more responsibilities. Perhaps even place them in charge of wars.”

“And for those who lack experience, we must prepare history,” Demiurge said.

Ainz didn’t really get it, but it
sounded
like he was on the right track, which was pretty cool.

“—Yes, exactly, Demiurge.”

He beamed, well aware it might not show because of his face. He was doing his best “magnificent overlord” voice, too.

Generally speaking, listening to recordings of his voice still gave him conniptions, but Ainz no longer dwelled on that. Thinking too hard about how he might sound would likely result in his emotions being forcibly stabilized.

But Demiurge’s “history” idea seemed appealing.

If they drew up a book about the various military stratagems employed in the kingdom invasion and distributed that among the domain guardians and other Nazarick denizens, that would effectively share their learned experience with all of them.

Naturally, seeing was believing, and experiencing things firsthand would be far more beneficial. But there were not many opportunities this enticing.

“Floor guardians, from this point forward I want to see conquest plans we have not used before. Demiurge, Albedo, you two are far too skilled. For now, we’ll have you stay silent and simply listen to the others’ plans. Personally, from the plans we’ve used so far, I found Shalltear’s particularly interesting.”

“Th-the one where I had frost dragons bombard the town?”

“Exactly. You arrived at that idea precisely because you are in charge of freight transport. We could easily use that strategy as a springboard to create a, hmm…I guess it would be an airborne division?”

Rather than use Dragon Breath and fly off, Shalltear’s plan had involved dropping soul eaters from five hundred yards up. The soul eaters quickly recovered from the fall, deployed their auras, and then massacred whoever they encountered.

Naturally, a fall from that height would damage the soul eaters. Air resistance did not seem to significantly affect falling speed in this world, so there was no cap on acceleration. Perhaps there was a terminal velocity and they simply had not reached it, but they had not put time and labor into experimenting with the limits of speed, and the details escaped Ainz.

But by deploying their auras and gobbling up souls, the soul eaters healed themselves. That completely made up for any damage caused by the fall.

“You could say that plan
was
a failure, but only in the sense that it showed us where we have room for improvement. Like the ones that hit rooftops.”

Having read the report on the outcome, Aura laughed. Ainz was laughing on the inside as well. They were not mocking Shalltear’s plan. It was simply an amusing outcome. One of those
yup, that’ll happen
things.

Some of the falling soul eaters had struck pointed roofs, bounced in unexpected directions, and taken much more damage than expected. That alone was no real issue. Some had crashed right through the roofs they struck, making very dramatic entrances. But one had gotten itself wedged in tight and took quite some time to free itself.

Of the four roof crashes, only one soul eater was immobilized; an awfully high incidence rate but admittedly drawn from a very small sample size.

“That seems like an experiment worth repeating. We can get some good airborne data, Shalltear.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’ll leave that up to you. Experiment with a few more towns.”

“Absolutely. I’ll start work on a plan and put it into action right away.”

The other plans that caught his interest included one where three hundred elder liches had carpet-bombed a city with Fireball and an assault that started with the assassination of the city leaders, causing chaos within.

Records of these varied approaches to conquest would be most educational not only to the domain guardians but also when drawing up plans to fend off potential attacks on Nazarick itself.

Ainz suppressed a sigh.

Perhaps some of his guardians thought he was being too cautious.

If Nazarick was genuinely impenetrable, perhaps there was no need for any of this. But he could not be sure of that.

There was always a weakness.

“Someday, we will have to fight a guild as good as ours,” Ainz intoned.

Every guardian acknowledged this.

“And our next siege is not far off,” he said, glancing at Albedo.

Ainz had no eyeballs, so his glances often went unnoticed, forcing him to move his head. But Albedo was pretty good about catching these looks of his and was already nodding.

“LORD AINZ, OUR FORCES FOR THIS BATTLE SEEM RATHER LACKING. WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THAT?”

Ainz locked up.

This was an obvious question, but no answer came to mind. He’d expected to push right past it. Neither Demiurge nor Albedo had questioned it at all. He’d thought Cocytus and the other floor guardians would do the same.

Right, Cocytus lost the battle with the lizardmen, and I told him to think for himself!

And now that was coming back to haunt him. Why had he said anything? No, it was the right move at the time, and he was certain it was a decision that had made Nazarick stronger. That had led directly to Cocytus’s own growth.

Why was Ainz sending in forces below the threshold needed for a guaranteed victory? The reason was anything but complex. But it was also not something the floor guardians needed to hear. Doing so might lead directly to the collapse of Nazarick.

Ainz swallowed—not that he had anything to swallow.

The silence was clearly getting too long. He needed to say something, anything. It didn’t matter what, just whatever sounded even remotely convincing.

“Come to think of it, when we dropped the town nearby, you deliberately let some people escape this way. Was there a reason for that?”

“Cocytus, Aura—good questions from the both of you. I’m sure several of you were wondering the same things,” Ainz said, glancing around the room. Several guardians were nodding. “Aha. Then I suggest you watch this battle carefully. I’ll explain after.”

He was just buying time. This was future Ainz’s problem.

E-Naeurl faced the Lind Sea at the north of the kingdom.

The largest city in Count Naeura’s domain, E-Naeurl was a bustling port enriched by the sea’s bounty.

While it might be
his
largest city, just over the border lay the famous military port, Re-Uroval. That city was far larger, and far more ships graced its harbor; E-Naeurl was only ahead in number of fish caught. From a strategy standpoint, it was far from a vital target.

If anyone was asked about the true value of E-Naeurl, the answer would be culinary. Count Naeura’s family had spent decades striving to be the epitome of the kingdom’s seafood. They had a marinade with a soy sauce base and a honey top that took skill not to ruin, but the finished product was known as Naeurl Fry.

Even after the war began, the town had remained optimistic—at least, until a few days ago. Fishing boats had gone out and cast their nets; the markets had bustled with those seeking fresh fish. There were less merchants on the road, but life went on.

They had no reason to change a thing.

A messenger from the capital had arrived a month ago, warning of the war with the Nation of Darkness, but they were all the way up north. Why would the Nation of Darkness come here? The capital itself would fall long before the war reached them, and that would surely be the end of that.

There were larger cities in the domains around them, and even in this county, there were a number of towns and villages between them and the Nation of Darkness.

If anything happened, those towns would inevitably send requests for aid. That was why they never bothered to shore up their defenses. They simply prepared to dispatch troops if need ever arose.

That had all changed abruptly.

A baron from a neighboring domain had come rushing into E-Naeurl with a handful of guards and his family in tow.

His reason was simple: “The undead arrived and killed everyone in my domain.”

Undead
could
spawn naturally. And if an especially powerful one showed up, there was a chance they could wipe out a town.

But it took a lot of time for an undead that strong to appear. Outside of places like the Katze Plain, it was unlikely weaker undead would be left in place long enough for a threat to spawn.

If a domain was properly managed, it was easy enough to dispatch minor undead before things got out of hand.

Truly menacing undead didn’t just appear out of thin air. Generally, there were only two causes.

Either a malicious caster was controlling the undead, or the undead had wandered in from distant lands.

Either explanation pointed to the same person.

Ainz Ooal Gown, the King of Darkness.

The townsfolk knew their countries were at war. If these undead were the hordes of darkness, that made perfect sense. But that begged further questions.

What had happened to the towns around them?

How many undead were there and what kind?

What were the bums in the capital doing?

Count Naeura’s head spun when he tried to wrap his head around all these questions, but there were things that had to be done before answers could be sought. Piecing together the details of the baron’s story, it was clear these undead were headed to E-Naeurl next.

He sent swift horses to all the nearby villages and towns, ordering them evacuated.

He had no clue what would bring the Nation of Darkness’s armies to this remote port. The Nation of Darkness was an inland nation, so perhaps an urgent need for sea access made them target somewhere relatively undefended; perhaps this would simply be a stepping-stone on their way to attacking Re-Uroval.

Either way, bringing refugees into the city was a risk, but very few stood any chance of successfully fleeing to other domains with the Nation of Darkness’s armies hot on their heels. In the end, almost everyone wound up behind the slim defenses E-Naeurl offered.

Five days after the evacuations completed, soldiers in the watchtowers on the walls of E-Naeurl spotted the undead approaching.

Three more days passed, and a man stood at the top of one such watchtower at noon.

He was well into his forties. Tanned, well-built, but more like a sailor than a warrior. Very much a salty sea dog.

He had few hairs left at the front or top, but the sides and back displayed vestiges of the luxurious locks he’d once boasted. He did his best to arrange these in a manner that could hide the bare skin up top.

He looked every part a mariner, but the clothes he wore were top tier, proving he was of high birth.

“Damn, that sure is a
lot
.”

The way he spoke suggested otherwise. But this ill-mannered ruffian was, in fact, Count Naeura, ruler of this land.

His eyes were locked on a swarm of zombies. They easily doubled the number of forces guarding E-Naeurl. They’d paused their advance to wait for their forces to gather, but fewer and fewer stragglers were catching up; this was probably close to their total. It was safe to assume that battle would soon be upon them.

“Still, they’re just zombies,” asserted the woman next to him. “Not that big a deal.”

The wind played with her white hair.

It was not white from age—she had dyed it that color.

Her hair had originally been the golden hue so typical of kingdom nobility, and until a year before, she had dyed it black.

This wasn’t for fashion or style. She was an adventurer, and a striking appearance helped promote her party. Plenty of other adventurers took the same approach—one even famously sported
pink
hair.

And Scarma Herbelot had good reason to change up her dye of choice.

Specifically, the kingdom’s adamantite adventurers had added a black team to the existing blue and red. In their business, anyone who said “black” meant Momon. Hardly anyone had even seen Momon’s face, so she’d considered sticking with black and benefiting by association, but then she’d heard Momon’s partner was a raven-haired beauty and promptly abandoned the idea.

That was why they’d changed their team color from black to white, and she was secretly relieved they’d never added a color to their name. Her crew kept it basic: the Four Armaments.

“They’re clearly not natural spawns. I’m seeing a lot of farmer clothes out there, so the Nation of Darkness clearly didn’t march ’em all this way, either. They’ve been hitting villages and turning their victims into undead. Makes me sick,” Scarma spat.

There were a few zombies with slightly better gear, usually leather armor or mail. Those had probably been guards once. But the vast majority were just wearing ordinary clothes of simple make.

“They can do that?”

“I dunno about this quantity, but there are spells that create undead, so…probably?”

“Holy,” Count Naeura said, clearly impressed.

The total lack of tension in his tone, despite the dire circumstances, would definitely have rubbed some people the wrong way, but Scarma didn’t bat an eye.

“So we could rustle up our own undead forces and throw those at ’em?”

“If we had a dozen high-level mages who’d gone out of their way to specialize in necromancy instead of literally any other type of magic, sure. Sadly, we don’t.”

There was a reason she was so certain.

Count Naeura had called upon every caster in the city—from the guild wizards to temple priests and adventurers or whatever else—to aid in the city’s defenses, and they’d all been gathered in one unit.

The vast majority of these casters were adventurers, and since they had the most combat experience, the highest-ranking adventurer team—Scarma’s Four Armaments—had been put in charge. That meant she was intimately familiar with what magic their side could cast.

“Oh yeah. So, uh…is this gonna work out? For one hundred twenty years—since the first village was founded here—we’ve never been besieged. Honestly, I got no clue what I’m doing.”

Definitely not what the man in charge was supposed to say.

But once again, Scarma showed no signs of frustration. Nor did her tone show any respect.

“Not really a matter of working out or not, Count. If we don’t
make
it work, we’ll all wind up worse than dead. Gotta admit that does seem to have everyone pretty motivated.”

“It sure does. Man, why did this have to happen on my watch? Another five years and I’d have foisted it off on my oldest!”

“Just rotten luck. But well, that applies to all of us. Why’d this have to happen while we were in town? We would’ve probably moved on in a month or two—gone somewhere bigger!”

“Oy, d-don’t talk like that! Our town needs you!”

“If you’re gonna run, better do it now! I mean…look!”

Scarma pointed at a pair of undead at the head of the zombie army.

They were both two heads higher than the average zombie, which was already plenty noteworthy, but they were radiating power in a way that made your very skin crawl. It was clear these were a major threat.

And there was a flag fluttering next to them.

“The Nation of Darkness.”

“Yeah… You weren’t at the Katze Plain battle?”

“Mm? I gave a trusted aide some troops and sent him, but my family and I weren’t directly involved. And no one I sent came back.”

“Well…let’s hope they’re resting peacefully with the gods. That King of Darkness slaughtered two hundred thousand, and he just sent us two
obviously
special undead—you think they’re gonna be pushovers?”

“I don’t. This is gonna be a nightmare.”

“Exactly. They basically decided these two could take this city on their own. That don’t piss you off at all?”

“Not really, no. I’m more worried about how to get out of this alive.”

Not exactly what you wanted in a leader but also a sign he fully understood the gravity of the situation.

“I’d send a messenger offering to surrender, but I don’t think they’ll say yes.”

“You could always hop on a ship. You’ve got one ready, yeah?”

Everyone in the meeting earlier had been thinking this and left it unsaid.

The count winced but didn’t say a word. Less trying to hide things than decipher what Scarma meant by the question.

The two of them weren’t particularly close, but they had worked together several times. She knew he was no fool.

Sadly, the count’s son was…passable. Hardly a match for his father. Though there were plenty of people who thought he might surpass that legacy with a bit more experience.

“Hmm, of course? But we don’t have enough boats for everyone. We could ferry ’em to a nearby shore with the boats going back and forth, but then how do we eat? Where do we go?”

“You and yours could probably work something out.”

He gave that another moment’s thought.

“True. But that’s a last resort. ‘Good people, evacuate to the safety of these walls! While my people get the heck outta here.’ That would feel a mite shitty!”

Generally, sacking a city invariably led to the killing of the ruling class or forcing them to obey. The regular populace was usually left mostly unharmed—minus a bit of pillaging—since killing all the inhabitants meant strangling the golden goose.

Unless there was a specific advantage to leveling the city, nobody would let it happen.

However—

“This is the King of Darkness. You heard what that baron and the survivors from my villages said, right? Didn’t give me much hope.”

“You think more oughtta have made it out?”

The count nodded.

Those who ran early had made it here. But it was a fraction of the people who lived in the area. What had happened to anyone who didn’t flee in time? Who got left behind?

Maybe the Nation of Darkness’s rule was so merciful and flawless, nobody even wanted to flee. It was also possible the surveillance was so airtight nobody could leave even if they wanted to. Or perhaps they’d all simply been hauled off to the Nation of Darkness proper. If you were trying to be optimistic, you might go with one of those three choices.

But since a great deal of villagers had clearly been turned into zombies, it was hard to believe the Nation of Darkness was treating anyone
well
.

“He might be ruling E-Rantel all right, but he’s still a monster. Ain’t gonna have much mercy for humans or anything else living.”

“And the goal might be turning their victims, expanding their undead armies. They don’t need supply trains or rest, feel no fear, and obey all orders without question. And who among us has mercy for our enemies?”

“Enemies, sure. But if you were planning on occupying a city and making the people work for you, that wouldn’t make any sense! At this rate, they might seriously be planning on killing every last human in the kingdom. In which case, there ain’t nowhere we can run that’ll be safe.”

Did he want sympathy? Agreement?

Probably both.

She was the top adventurer in town. If she fled, they’d lose their one shot at winning. Good enough reason to suggest escape was not an option.

Scarma was about to say something when a commotion broke out around them.

They hadn’t exactly been speaking in private—it had merely been a brief respite, as everyone else was off preparing defenses.

The rest of Scarma’s team came running up to her. Like the name suggested, the Four Armaments had four members and was made up of two men and two women. Scarma was the warrior, and they had a thief, priest, and an arcane magic caster. A well-balanced party.

They were followed by the group of mages they’d recruited from all over town.

The total number was less than fifty. But that was a good number of casters for any army.

They’d only hit this number by neatly skirting the guild’s unwritten rules against getting involved in wars.

If the Nation of Darkness had brought in human troops, this would never have been possible. But against undead hordes—and ones clearly made from slain civilians—exceptions were made.

They were acting like an undead army just
happened
to be carrying Nation of Darkness flags.

And that facade had worked because everyone knew deep down they couldn’t exactly stay out of a fight with someone turning innocents into undead fodder, knocking at their gates.

With this many mages working together, if they all cast something like Magic Arrow (not every caster could use that spell, of course), they could theoretically down a dragon.

Unlike actual arrows, Magic Arrow would hit its target unerringly. Moreover, the number of shots and the power of those shots went up with each tier available to the caster. But the force between each hit wasn’t that great, so it was rare for them to lay anything low in one shot.

And the damage done didn’t vary by where it hit—which could be seen as an upside or a downside.

The consensus was that the spell was fairly useful, and if a whole army could cast it together, the results would be damned impressive. Yet, historically speaking, no such force had ever existed.

This was because learning even a basic first-tier spell required aptitude, and training to become a caster was extremely time-consuming. A hundred archers could be trained and start making themselves useful in the time it took for a single mage to be ready for battle.

If there was a race of beings out there that naturally acquired Magic Arrow, they could well assemble an intimidating magical host, but otherwise—well, a company of casters was little more than a pipe dream.

Standing behind that pipe dream was a group of the count’s soldiers and adventurers who had a knack for bows or other projectile weapons.

Those gathered on the city walls would be the first to take aim at the Nation of Darkness’s armies.

Count Naeura turned toward them, yelling, “Well met, good people. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”

All trace of the frivolous tone he’d used with Scarma was gone; he was projecting the resolute confidence a leader
should
have.

He sounded like a born nobleman, and Scarma was impressed despite herself.

“We take tips!” said the Four Armaments caster, rubbing his fingers together. That got a laugh. The count took his comment in stride, grinning broadly.

“You got it! While everyone’s watching, I’ll place a purse in your hand so large everyone you know’ll be like, ‘You’re picking up the tab, right?’”

That drew a shudder.

“The same goes for my own men. The purses may not be as large as whatever these adventurers get, but you’ll have enough to make your wives and kids worry.” Then he winked at them. “I sincerely hope that doesn’t go to your heads.”

His soldiers had arrived looking very tense indeed, but it seemed their nerves were somewhat calmer now.

“I’d rather claim a different reward,” said a woman so sexy you could almost
smell
it. “Count, your family heirlooms include some magic items, don’t they? Your house has history?”

No robe could hope to fully contain those breasts, and the way she dangled the earth god’s sigil between them was downright blasphemous.

This was Lilynette Piani, another of Scarma’s companions. Absolutely not a courtesan dressing in holy vestments at the behest of a client.

“Oh-ho. After my precious treasures, are you? Bold! That’s right. My family has passed a magic item down through the generations. Many have heard the name: the Five-Hue Holy Sword.”

This was a long sword inhabited by the powers of flame, lightning, acid, sound, and frost. Striking with it would do damage in each of those five elements.

But this “sword” had no edge, much like a practice weapon. It could only deal blunt damage. No one knew why it had been made this way. And if you were being really nitpicky, you might ask why it was called a holy sword when it didn’t do holy damage, but on that point, everyone agreed that some idiot must have changed the name way back when.

“I would love to own that!”

A weapon of that caliber was far too grand a prize for any adventure.

“Would you now? Well, I’d consider it—on one condition.” The count waited for the murmur to die down. “Become my son’s concubine.”

Scarma made a face. The count was making a huge mistake.

Half the adventurers gathered were glaring at him now—all of them people who nursed a flame for Lilynette. As for the woman herself, her eyes looked like a hawk that had found its prey.

Count Naeura decided he’d taken the joke a hair too far and made to offer an apology, but before he could—

“You have four children, Count,” Lilynette said. “Your wife bore your eldest boy and your third son. Your concubine, a second son and your eldest girl. I assume she’s not on the table, so which one are we talking about?”

Her whole attitude had shifted. Her famous alluring growl had been replaced with the pointed tones of a true adventurer. The real Lilynette.

She
wasn’t joking around.

Scarma’s scowl deepened. She glanced at the men in her party for help, but they were busy avoiding her gaze.

Useless.

“…My third son.”

“Him? He’s still
twelve
. His next birthday’s not that far off, but still…you want to pair me with
him
?”

The count almost nodded, then stopped short.

“…Yes, but why do you know my sons’ ages? Who makes it a priority to know the ages of a regional lord’s younger children? Is this a top-tier adventurer practice?”

“Nope.” “Definitely not.” The other adventurers were all shaking their heads.

Lilynette ignored them, running a hand through her hair.

“Well, fine. I’ll do it. You’ve left me no choice. For the Five-Hue Holy Sword, I’ll become that child’s concubine.”

The count gave her a long, searching look, then turned to Scarma. Like he had a burning question on his mind.

She knew what that question would be. All too well.

“I know it was my idea, but, um… Is she visibly drooling? Has she been after my boy the whole time? Or just my magic item?”

“The first one,” Scarma said—but even as the words left her mouth, a mighty roar drowned them out.

“Fools! There’s no fruit more tantalizing than an unripened one!”

A silence settled over the crowd, and when it sank in just
who
had spoken, many an adventurer sank to the ground. Their illusions had been shattered, leaving only the harsh reality remaining.

Scarma felt nothing but pity for them.

Inside, she was apologizing profusely. But at least the men who’d been after her now knew why she’d never accepted any of their advances.

They were too old.

“…I figured you’d say,
Why a concubine?
” Count Naeura murmured.

“Nay, Father.” Apparently, she was already calling him her in-law. “He may be a third son, but he is of noble birth and the son of your first bride. Pull the right strings, and you should be able to secure him a small domain and a baron’s title. But an adventurer bride would get in the way of that, no matter how talented she was. True, I do have some temple connections that might be attractive, but those wouldn’t be enough. And you know you planned to dangle that over my head if this fight goes well—and take the sword off the table if I looked remotely tempted. The third son’s wife owning the family treasure could only lead to endless infighting.”

“I…clearly underestimated you. If you’d arrived earlier, I could have hitched you to my eldest.”

“Oh, if he’s over fif—seventeen, I wouldn’t be tempted, Father.”

The count was looking hard at Scarma again, but she pointedly ignored him. This seemed to come as a blow. His eyes were begging for pity, but she had none.

“Um. This is important so—you realize my youngest will, in time, reach that age?”

“That
is
a shame. Perhaps I should go for one of those long-lived races? But that would mean only I age—so I’ll make do!”

“Not only are you weirdly proud of that, but it’s also by far the most enthusiastic thing you’ve said yet!”

“Come now, Father. You’re ruining your carefully cultivated image.”

“…And you aren’t?!”

Personally, Scarma thought Lilynette had her heart in the right place and knew how to look after people. This kid could definitely do worse for a partner. She was not going to voice her support for this, though.

Letting this go on much longer would only bring shame on her whole team and possibly ruin their reputations. She didn’t want her white hair associated with any of
this
.

“Well, Count, laughter can certainly ease the stress of battle, but we do have actual preparations to make. What say you go back to the command tent?”

With no combat skills himself, there was not much he could do here. His talents were needed elsewhere. Her suggestion left Count Naeura nodding vigorously, only too glad to escape Lilynette’s clutches.

“Excellent point!” he said. “Brave souls, I leave this post in your capable hands.”

Seen from the wall, the enemy forces had formed no ranks or files. It was simply an unorganized mass of zombies clumped together. Scarma’s team were mythril rank—they could easily deal with this rabble. Were it not for the
real
monsters.

“Looks like they ain’t budging. Also, anyone know what kinda undead we’re dealing with?”

Scarma pointed at the pair in question.

One carried a giant shield and a giant sword. The other had a sword in each hand.

The casters around her all shook their heads. Scarma looked at Lilynette.

Priests knew more about undead than anyone else. They were familiar with all the usual types and a bunch of ones you would never expect to encounter. But even she was forced to shrug here.

That left two possibilities.

They were an extremely rare type of undead. Or they were a
new
type—if that was the right phrase for it.

Either possibility was extremely bad news, and if this were an adventure, she’d be seriously considering retreat.

Everyone feared skills that could kill in a single hit, but ordinary attacks could prove just as fatal.

Especially when they had
no
information to go on.

For example, ghouls were a low-ranking undead. But they had claws laced with a paralytic poison—a single scratch could do you in.

If you went up against them unaware of that, the first hit would down a fully grown man—and that could quickly spiral into a party wipe. What would happen if they didn’t know wraiths drained life force from their victims? Or that werewolves resisted the attacks of nearly all weapons unless they were made from specific types of metal? There were even some monsters that regenerated indefinitely unless hit with fire or acid.

Knowledge like that was both a weapon and a shield. And that just proved how dangerous it was to fight without it.

“…We could be in real trouble. We’ll just have to keep trying till we find something effective. Unless anyone’s got a better idea?”

No one suggested anything.

“Right, then. Specialists, time to confer. Work out who’s gonna hit ’em with what kinda magic and when. Let’s start by discussing what abilities their appearance suggests they might have. At the least, they both look like undead that prefer to go at it in close combat.”

The look of a monster was not often all that deceptive. There certainly were tricksters out there, but Scarma had never seen one.

These might be some new breed created by the Nation of Darkness, but they didn’t look like they’d hang out in the rear and sling spells.

“They’ve clearly got high defense, so closing in is too risky. Theoretically, we’re better off trying to down them with ranged attacks—but I bet regular missiles are just gonna bounce off. This fight’s gonna boil down to how much damage we can do before they can reach us and force us into close combat. Keep enough strength on hand to cast support spells on the front lines for when they do breach the walls. And keep casting offensive spells even after that.”

It would never do to be
too
conservative, either.

“If no one’s got anything to add, let’s get started.”

The casters formed groups, brainstorming ideas.

Scarma moved a few steps back, with two of her party in tow.

“So, leader. What do
we
do?” the thief asked.

“What do you mean?”

He knew the battle was about to start and should’ve already known what their plan was. He was clearly talking about something
else
.

But the question was far too broad.

“How far do we push ourselves for this city? These zombies haven’t exactly got the city surrounded. If we wanna run, we could easily slip away. Stealing a ship ain’t the worst idea, is it? I’ve got some food ready, just like you said.”

“Listen, brainiac.” Lilynette sighed. “We’re up against the undead! They might have troops stationed underwater for all we know.”

Since the city was a port, it was bordered on one side by the water—there were no walls on that side. If their enemy had an ounce of intelligence, these troops would be a decoy, and the real forces would be closing in from the waterfront.

“Oh, right. That’s, uh…bad. Did you tell the count that?”

“Nope. There ain’t a damn thing he could do about it even if he knew. Make barricades? Too much ground to cover. All it would do is plunge the city into chaos. And maybe they haven’t surrounded us on purpose. Classic trap. Leave one hole open, and when you run that way—they getcha.”

“So what do we do?”

“If we run, we go through them,” Scarma said, pointing at the horde. “It’s all zombies, so breaking through should be easy enough. Worse comes to worst, we punch a hole in their formation. But before we try that, we’ll need to use Fly and make sure there aren’t more enemies behind ’em.”

“Good idea. You really thought this through.”

No, you just haven’t thought enough.

Both women thought the same thing, but the thief didn’t notice.

“So if we do run, how far? The next city? The capital?”

“We leave the kingdom.”

“What the hell?”

“Keep your voice down.” Scarma quickly glanced around. “But yeah, I mean it.”

She couldn’t see them leading happy lives under a nation that purposefully turned that many people into undead, enemies or not.

The only question was
where
to run.

A team of adventurers could easily run for the hills, but she was the leader and had to plan for every eventuality.

Since the Nation of Darkness was not an option, that left them with three neighboring countries. The council state, the Sacred Kingdom, and the Empire.

Simple process of elimination suggested the first was their only option. The Sacred Kingdom was friendly with the Nation of Darkness, and the Empire was a vassal state. The council state’s proximity was also a plus. If not there, they’d have to aim for the Theocracy or the city-state alliance. She’d heard unsavory rumors about the Dragon Kingdom, and everywhere else humans were a minority. Admittedly, that was also true in the council state and the city-state alliance.

Given the diminished human population, maybe the council state was a bad choice. She’d heard humans made up less than 10 percent of the citizens there.

Ignoring distance, the city-state alliance might be best. They had cities that were at least half human.

“Uh, are we running, Scarma? For the sake of my future happiness, we should at least try.”

“…None of that was an act, huh?”

Scarma was entirely unsure if she wanted to help Lilynette or not on that front. But before she had to choose, the casters finished conferring among themselves.

“Leader, we’re ready!”

“Cool! Let’s go. Stick to the plan. If it doesn’t work…we jump off this wall and kick the zombies out of our way.”

Scarma was wearing armor, and a fall from the city walls would normally hurt quite a bit, but her team’s caster would take care of that. He could use Falling Control.

The Four Armaments took their post, waiting for the enemy to move.

Fortunately—probably—the enemy didn’t wait for night.

The battle began without warning.

No arrows flew, and no messages were exchanged. The horde of zombies simply started shuffling toward the walls. That was certainly one way to do things.

Perhaps ordinary folk would be scared if a shambling corpse approached them. But these were just jokes to adventurers. If they’d had nonhuman zombies mixed in—giants, dragons, and so on—perhaps they’d have been slightly alarmed, but the only adventurers afraid of human zombies hadn’t even joined the guild yet. There was no way zombies could ever get through these walls.

Zombies might have more strength, endurance, and durability than the average human, but it didn’t take much for an adventurer to outclass them—and zombies had
no
brains at all.

The archers had their bows slung, but everyone else was focused on the real threat.

The pair of powerful undead didn’t move. Were they waiting for something? Or just planning to watch?

Eventually, once Scarma was sure the zombies were just inside range—the soldiers let loose a flurry of arrows.

Ordinarily, they’d have waited a bit longer to be sure everything hit. But since these were zombies, quantity mattered more than accuracy.

These soldiers were well trained, and most of them hit their targets even from this range. Maybe two out of ten missed. A very respectable hit rate.

But few zombies went down from a single arrow. Still, each hit was definitely chipping away at their false imitation of life.

A second and third volley went out, and the swarm’s numbers started thinning.

Zombie after zombie hit the dirt, but neither adventurers nor soldiers cheered. All this was expected—the routine stage of the battle.

The real threat was the two in back.

A single powerful monster could turn the tide.

“—Incoming!”

The undead with the sword and shield charged forward, running right through the zombie horde and toward the gates. Shield held in front of it, knocking away any zombies in its path.

Bowled over by the sheer speed, Scarma yelled, “Attack!”

Spells came flying from every caster.

The most destructive of these was definitely the Fireball cast by her party’s mage.

It hit right at the mysterious undead. Flames billowed out, searing any nearby zombies. Even with a shield preventing a direct hit, the flames reached around and burned everything they touched.

A wide variety of other spells followed, peppering the shield bearer.

Yet, it charged on undaunted, as if it had taken no damage at all. The soldiers shuddered.

“Stand fast!” an adventurer yelled.

Every adventurer knew perfectly well damage didn’t give the undead pause. No matter how many wounds they sustained, injuries that would put a living thing on the brink of death wouldn’t stop an undead until the last dregs of their false life faded away.

And Fireball might be famous, but it was hardly all-powerful. An adventurer of any decent skill level could take one or two no problem. A strong specimen could endure several hits.

Anyone who actually thought that would be enough to take down the shield bearer had no business being an adventurer.

There was just one problem.

They had no way to tell if it was actually taking damage or not.

That’s why Scarma was watching it so closely.

The effects of normal magic couldn’t be reduced by evasion, defending, or physical armor. Magic completely ignored armor—or thick hides—because it was pure energy. But some types of monsters had natural resistance against magic or particular elements.

To choose an undead example, the infamously dangerous skeletal dragon completely resisted all magic. Other monsters resisted fire or were even healed by it.

There was no guarantee this undead wasn’t one of those special cases.

If magic attacks weren’t effective, they’d have to change the whole battle plan.

“Don’t worry! It’s working!” shouted the mage who’d cast Fireball.

His instincts told him this. Caster after caster chimed in. “It’s working!” “It’s doing damage!”

“Scarma! Nearly all kinds of magic work on it!”

That was the best news she’d heard all day. Maybe they had a chance after all. Hope welled up within her.

“Got it! All right, then—keep it up!”

Their foe’s astonishing speed hadn’t decreased even slightly. Ideally, they’d defeat it before it reached the gates. If an undead with no resistances made it through their bombardment, that would just prove how dangerous it really was.

And I don’t want to fight
that
thing up close!

As if in agreement, another salvo of spells flew forth.

Scores of zombies died, but the shield bearer kept advancing.

Dozens of spells hit it again and again. Any ordinary undead would have gone down by now.

Cold sweat ran down Scarma’s back.

Tougher than I imagined… This thing’s too strong. Do we stand any chance?

And the shield bearer wasn’t their only foe. There was another undead behind it, probably just as bad. She wasn’t sure why it hadn’t started moving yet…

Are these the Nation of Darkness’s finest? Is that why there’s only two? Or do they think two is all it’ll take to topple this city?

A shudder ran down her spine.

What if the Nation of Darkness had intel on the town’s adventurers, the Four Armaments included? What if it had only sent enough forces to beat them? And if those troops weren’t the zombie hordes, but this shield bearer…

Desperate for proof her fears were unwarranted, Scarma nearly yelled,
Hurry!
She just barely stopped herself in time.

Everyone was taking this seriously, giving it all they had. She was the top-ranking adventurer here, and it would be shameful to lose her head.

Yelling in a panic wouldn’t help anyone.

She bit her lip and said a prayer to the god of fire, but her god did not smile on her today.

The shield bearer reached the gate.

It was out of their sight. Spells couldn’t reach it anymore.

Scarma’s mind raced through the possibilities. Was it time to jump off these walls and run?

But then her eyes caught the second undead still standing there, and she thought better of it.

Assuming that thing was as fast as the shield bearer, it would easily catch them.

That didn’t mean escape was impossible. She’d had a mage investigate with Fly, and they’d seen no signs of anything behind the force currently sieging the city.

They could combine Fly and Floating Board to outmaneuver them or draw their foe deeper into the city, giving them time to get away. Without reinforcements, there’d be nothing to cut off their retreat.

But if she went with the second option, they’d still have to find a way to bait them inside, and abandoning the city after that would likely leave her with a lifetime of guilt.

As Scarma ground her teeth, she heard a huge
boom
come from the gates. It sounded like a battering ram.

She was out of time.

Scarma made up her mind.

She looked at her party.

“Let’s go!” she said. Then she turned to the archers and mages. “You all keep one eye on the undead at the rear and the other below the walls. We’ll be leading them around, so attack whenever you have line of sight!”

Then she ran toward the stairs. Her friend flew up beside her.

“That thing is insanely sturdy. But we’ve hurt it a lot!”

Really? Is that just wishful thinking? Still…

Scarma winced.

Given how many spells that undead had already weathered, she couldn’t imagine them fending off its blows long enough for the mages above to finish the job.

But if they wanted to survive, they had to try.

The gate was a single swinging door, a simple thing fashioned from logs. The kind of rustic gate a fishing village should have but definitely doing them very little good now.

A hit from a battering ram would quickly bust the hinges, and there was nothing to replace it, so all they’d been able to do was hammer more planks across it, sealing the entrance tight. As a result, the gate was twice as thick as usual.

And she could hear the thud of thunderous blows raining down on the other side.

“How strong—?”

There was a
crack
. It was the sound of wood splintering.

Given the time between the blows, she deduced the shield bearer was backing off a bit before tackling the gate again.

“What next? Lightning should pass through the gate and hurt it. Worth a shot?”

Structures like this gate could probably weather a lightning attack or two, but it wasn’t impervious.

She had to weigh the beating the gate might take against the damage they might deal to the undead. And the mana cost of casting Lightning now versus the spells they could use once it broke through—trying to figure which was more efficient.

Was there any point?

Their best bet was to avoid any contact with it. Downing it without ever getting close.

Scarma nodded, and her friend started casting.

“Lightning!”

A bolt shot through the gate and struck the shield bearer.

It roared. Had they irritated it? The sheer volume of its bellow made her forget to breathe.

A bead of sweat ran down her brow.

That wasn’t even a howl skill, but it had left her shaking. This was simply the gap in their strengths at work. Her instincts were screaming that she was no match for this foe.

We’re screwed. Totally screwed. No point even thinking about how we can win or if. The King of Darkness controls this thing. That’s right. The monster who slaughtered hundreds of thousands at once!

She doubted that he controlled many undead this strong. This was likely the most powerful undead the Nation of Darkness could field.

Did this city have anything valuable enough to justify that?

Why did they have to be in the worst possible place? Scarma cursed their luck.

Another
thud
shook the gates, and several more planks snapped.

“Lightning!”

Another burst of jagged white light shot forth, but the blunt impacts continued unabated.

Only the gate was changing. The logs were splintering. The reinforcing planks bent harrowingly. In some places, only nails were left.

“Enough magic. Buff me?”

“…Sure.”

She took a step back, dodging a shower of wood chips. Two of her companions started casting fortifying faith and arcane spells on her.

They used tier-one Evil Protection; tier-two Lesser Strength, Lesser Agility, and Negative Energy Protection; tier-three Haste; and so on—they were less wary about defending against specific abilities and focused more on general physical enhancements, trying to make up the difference.

Just as most of the buffs were done, the gate reached its limit and fell inward with a crash.

Massive plumes of dust rose from the ground. A pair of red eyes gleamed from within. Seeing those two ominous orbs staring out at her sent a wave of fear washing over her.

Her teeth chattered. Her hands shook. It took a dizzying amount of courage to get that under control before anyone noticed.

When she had been on the wall, it wasn’t as obvious. This was a fear that came with proximity.

“Whoa,” a companion muttered. “A single undead smashing through that fortified gate…and this thing’s under the control of the King of Darkness?”

Scarma swallowed hard and managed, “Sure makes you think that going up against him was a big mistake.”

She’d heard he’d slaughtered hundreds of thousands with a single spell, but that had not been concrete enough to inspire true fear. Seeing this thing right here, in front of her—
that
was more than enough to make her terrified of anything that could
control
an undead this powerful.

She desperately wanted to do anything but fight this creature. She wanted to turn around and run away.

But this undead’s loathing for all living things was palpable, and she didn’t see it
letting
her run.

The only chance she had of surviving was doing something about it.

Death personified shook the dust off its shield and stepped over the shattered remnants of the gate.

It was inside the city walls.

No zombies followed. They must have been too focused on the living atop the walls to notice the gate was open.

The shield bearer had sent all zombies in its path flying, which was a small consolation, but Scarma didn’t see that lasting long, either.

She raised her weapon—a tomahawk. The way her foe moved, she must have already been in its range.

Activating the tomahawk’s ability made a translucent copy of the weapon appear beside it. This was a weapon-specific ability—Doppel. An extra weapon floating near the wielder, automatically attacking her foes with speed and dexterity that matched her own movements.

Physical blows alone could not destroy this translucent weapon—it required a weapon break skill and might even outlast Scarma herself.

It was really an ability with no drawbacks—although strictly speaking, its damage output was only half what the actual weapon could do.

“Grahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

A bellow shook the air.

A roar of delight at the carnage to ensue maybe? The undead raised its shield high, then smashed it down on the wreckage of the gate.

Bits of wood shot out in all directions. They were fast, but not so fast that Scarma couldn’t bat them aside with her tomahawk.

But doing so caught the shield bearer’s attention. For the first time, it registered her as an enemy.

Its shield turned toward her, flamberge out to one side.

I am so screwed… All that magic aimed at this thing, and it’s still not dead? That’s just cheating!

In no way had she
easily
batted aside those fast-flying splinters of wood. She had only barely managed it with the aid of all these buffs currently boosting her physical abilities.

“Okay, keep it—”

The shield bearer charged. The distance between them was
gone
. It was like a wall had hurtled toward her. The shield was about to flatten her.

Still—

She didn’t know Impenetrable Fortress, but she used Staunch Fortress, catching the shield with her tomahawk. The shield bearer twisted the shield, deflecting the tomahawk and trying to knock Scarma off-balance. That motion was so smooth, it felt like her weapon had gotten stuck to the shield itself. Unable to resist, she rolled with it, using the momentum to right herself.

The translucent tomahawk attacked from above, but the enemy parried that with its flamberge before continuing to charge at Scarma.

Without a single moment to catch her breath, she found herself on the defensive once again. This time she managed to deflect the following attack before trying to slip past the shield and get in close.

With bigger foes, sometimes it was best to be right up against them.

“Sunlight!”

A burst of blinding light appeared behind her.

A tier-three faith spell.

It generated a bright light, blinding foes and doing damage to the undead. The same tier had a spell called Holy Light, which did damage to all foes with the evil attribute. But since that had no blind effect, this spell choice was less for damage than support.

Her party’s caster was now floating above the fray and shot off Magic Arrow—three bolts of light hit the undead.

But even with both of them aiding her, the towering shield barred her way, refusing to let her pass. She struck it with her tomahawk, but it was easily parried.

Tch! This thing’s got skills. It wasn’t nearly this good with the sword—but it sure knows how to use a shield. Is it primarily a defender? Really? When it attacks that hard? That can’t be true.

Her own thoughts were spooking her. Scarma started backing away. Her ultimate goal was to get this thing back in sight of the casters on the wall. But if she backed off too much and left it wide open, it might forget her and charge deeper into the city. She would prefer to avoid
that
. Given its speed, once it charged off, they’d never catch up.

And that would mean a
lot
of defenseless civilian deaths.

As a precaution, the Four Armaments thief was staying out of the fight and on standby so he could give chase if it came to it.

If the shield bearer tried to break away, he was supposed to stop it—but given the massive differences in physical ability, it would likely swat him down.

Paying close attention to each move the undead made, Scarma slowly egged it on. Keeping close enough that it wouldn’t realize.

She almost had it in the casters’ line of sight when a shriek went up from her flying companion.

“Shit! The other one’s charging in! Everyone on the wall’s pounding away at it!”

The meaning of that sank in.
Ah, crap
, she thought.
We’re doomed.

If the shield bearer and dual wielder were even slightly comparable, there was no way her team could take them both on at once. Even getting close would prove fatal.

“Scarma, what do we do?”

“…Finish this one!”

The panic in her comrade’s voice actually cleared her head a bit. If they didn’t defeat this undead, they stood no chance of getting away. With all the spells that had hit it already, she had to believe its life was like a candle in the wind.

Scarma stopped backing away and closed the distance until she was right up next to the shield bearer.

The shield easily caught her tomahawk. And the translucent one. Her attacks weren’t enough to pierce this thing’s defenses.

She’d expected it to block both blows. Hoped it would.

The real damage would come from Magic Arrow—and Shock Wave.

Two attack spells struck—and at the same time, the party’s thief threw a bottle that landed at the shield bearer’s feet.

As the bottle shattered, its contents were released—an adhesive made by an alchemist. A strategy they could use here on paving stones.

However skilled a defender the shield bearer might be, it was hard to dodge a bottle thrown at your feet.

And the adhesive left its soles glued to the stones.

That might not keep its feet pinned down for long, but it gave them a momentary advantage. A key tactic when fighting a stronger foe.

Scarma stepped away from its shield hand toward the flamberge, attacking with everything she had.

But it swung that big blade, parrying every strike. Even with its feet stuck fast to the ground, even with her using every martial art she knew combined together, not one strike got through.

This thing’s a brick wall!

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it tear a foot free. Two more spells landed, but it refused to go down.

Is it immortal?! Or one of those monsters that heal over time?!

Hydras and trolls were notorious for their regenerative powers. Minor wounds did absolutely nothing to them. Nothing short of a fatal blow would work—something that would do massive, irrevocable damage in a single strike.

Scarma was starting to panic. Attacking like this was useless.

She wasn’t even hitting it in the first place.

Damn it!

“—It’s here!”

The thief’s cry made her look. The other undead was at the gate.

The dual wielder.

Her stomach heaved. The sheer tension made her want to hurl.

Is this where we die?!

The thief had been flanking the shield bearer but faltered and moved around to stand beside Scarma. The dual wielder was already headed their way, ready to join forces.

“…Not attacking yet, which means…nothing good. They’re
thinking
.”

She thought she saw a smile on the dual wielder’s face. Perhaps the reason the shield bearer’s offensive capabilities were no match for its defensive skills was tactical—when the dual wielder caught up, the defenders would lose that much more hope.

Their foes had joined forces. A good target for wide area-of-effect spells. But no spells were being cast. Who would dare?

Scarma didn’t need to ask why. The spells would likely do some damage—but it would also
start
the fight.

And that would seal their fates.

If they made no move, eventually the undead would. But no one here was brave enough to voluntarily shorten their own life.

Scarma bit her lip, then made up her mind.

“You two run!” she said, slapping the thief’s butt. “I’ll buy you time.”

“Er, you mean that? Me too? No, me at all?” the thief yelped.

She ignored him. She had two foes. She could buy a
little
—

There was a strange noise.

“—Huh?”

It looked like a long needle had pierced the shield bearer’s head.

But that was no needle.

It was thicker and shorter, like an index finger. Shot right through the undead’s head and stuck itself in the paving stones.

And the bolt had been going so fast even Scarma’s eyes couldn’t make it out—she’d only seen the streak it left behind and mistaken it for an impossibly long needle.

The shield bearer staggered. But it got its feet under it and managed to stay upright. Only an undead could keep going with a hole in its head.

Scarma couldn’t stop herself. She tore her eyes off the foe and toward the source of the attack, exposing herself to the undead—but they were both turned the same way.

Another shot pierced the shield bearer’s head—and this time it crumpled to the ground.

Just
two
hits. Maybe a feat only possible after all the magic damage it had sustained, but—who had done it?

Her eyes found a figure on the skyline.

“Wh-what the—?”

Who’d said that?

Was that her voice? One of her party members’? The shock was too great for her to even be sure.

Above them was an armored giant.

Well over three yards tall and a startling shade of crimson. In the giant’s hands was a long pipelike object, held like a crossbow. The fingerlike thing must have been fired from that somehow.

If it was attacking the undead, then…it might not be on their side, but she could at least
hope
it wasn’t an enemy.

Scarma’s team began slowly backing away from the dual wielder. Getting stuck at the center of this fight definitely seemed like it would prove fatal.

The surviving undead had clearly lost all interest in them. If nothing else, it seemed well aware the flying armor demanded its full attention. It made no effort to cut off their retreat.

And then the fight began.

The dual wielder moved first—by throwing its swords.

It was a hard throw. Scarma could never have dodged the swords, and blocking them wrong probably would have killed her. But the armor didn’t dodge at all. It let the blows land. It wasn’t clear if it couldn’t dodge or just didn’t feel the need.

With a loud
clang
, the swords bounced off and dissolved into thin air. When she looked back at the dual wielder, it was still holding swords. But not the same ones.

It had generated
new
weapons.

The flying armor swiftly turned the pipe toward the dual wielder. Like the thrown swords had not injured the occupant at
all
.

That long pipe spit fire and light again.

The previous shots had been one at a time, but now it fired too fast to count. A violent, mechanical
rat-a-tat
echoed over the city.

The dual wielder swung its swords at the projectiles, and everyone heard a
schiing
of metal on metal. This did not last.

Two swords were simply not enough to block dozens—hundreds?—of projectiles. Those tiny things riddled the enemy with holes at terrifying speeds. The dual wielder’s body shook and then, like the shield bearer before it, went down.

No trace of either undead had been left behind.

Scarma was literally struck speechless.

She could not
begin
to grasp what had happened.

One thing for sure—that armor was incredibly strong. Stronger than anyone she’d ever seen.

She was left blinking up at it.

It didn’t seem real. The armor has saved her, but she couldn’t process that fact. The desperation still had its teeth sunk in her, and her brain couldn’t let it go.

“Wh-what is that thing?”

“…Uh, is that an Adventurers Guild tag?” the thief asked.

“Mm?”

Scarma squinted. Dangling—somewhat awkwardly—from the armor’s chest was a necklace with an embedded plate. The same size as the tags they carried, but the armor was so massive that it looked tiny. Anyone else would have overlooked it, but their thief had sharp eyes.

But the plate was an unusual color.

She’d seen orichalcum before. That left only one other option.

“An adamantite adventurer?”

There were three teams with that rank within the kingdom—and the armor’s hue told her which.

“That makes this someone from the Drops of Red team, right?” Lilynette asked.

“Probably,” Scarma answered. If they were on the Blue Roses or the Dark Hero’s team, you’d want to know why they dyed their armor this color.

The armor turned away.

“W-wait!”

It glanced back their way.

Then it raised a hand, index and middle fingers extended—and tapped them to its helmet. As if that was good-bye, it flew away.

It was soon out of sight.

Everyone stood gaping after it.

“…What even
was
that?” the thief asked.

“Beats the hell outta me…”

She genuinely had no clue. All she’d gathered was that the Drops of Red had saved them.

“But, uh…I guess I can say this. If they’re that strong—the Nation of Darkness won’t get much farther. At least—if the guild keeps breaking their rules and joining in the war.”

3

He thought someone let out a little gasp of surprise. It might well have been Ainz himself—the sight they just witnessed was certainly that shocking.

A death knight and a death warrior. Both undead easily defeated by a foe wearing a power suit from
Yggdrasil
.

Two threads stretched far into the distance—he’d made far too many, so they got a bit muddled—had snapped, and that was enough to tell Ainz what had happened was real.

A silence settled over the room.

He could feel every guardian—and probably the maids—looking at him.

Ainz himself had planned this siege, so you could easily say this loss was
his
.

This had been deeply unexpected, but he had deliberately sent a small force, not caring if they lost or not—so he hoped his minions would not come down
too
hard on him.

But if he said here that he didn’t care about the defeat, it would make him sound like a sore loser. Someone who made excuses after the fact.

And this uncomfortable silence would only become grimmer.

This forced Ainz to keep up his usual act. A performance he’d rehearsed in the mirrors when the regular maids weren’t watching.

“Hmm. Just as I expected.”

Like it was all in the palm of his hand.

He spoke with all the confident aplomb of an evil mastermind swirling a glass of wine—red wine, of course.

The key here was not to speak too loud. Yelling and shouting didn’t sound
cool
. It was vital that he sound like he was talking to himself.

The result of his desperate performance was a buzz that rippled across the room.

Ainz swallowed spit he didn’t have.

The success of this gambit would be determined once Demiurge spoke.

“AHA! I GET IT NOW.”

What?! Cocytus?!

Before Ainz could recover from his shock, Shalltear squealed, “Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!” She had both hands up, like she was doing the wave. She was openly crying out for attention. Once all eyes were on her, she smirked. “I’ve figured it out! Lord Ainz predicted that thing would appear! That’s why he only sent a paltry force!”

This was not how things usually played out.

Ainz was unsure if that counted as a success or not. He gave Demiurge a sidelong glance.

The demon nodded, smiling.

“Well done. Both of you,” he said, sounding effusive.

Cocytus and Shalltear looked extremely proud of themselves. Demiurge had likely arrived at the same conclusion and allowed them to speak first.

That was a relief.

Ainz had pulled it off again.

“Sebas, Demiurge, and our collaborator in the capital,” Albedo said. “From each source, we learned that the Drops of Red were operating in the kingdom’s northern region. This mission’s parameters were designed to lure them out. A force the individual stationed there could easily defeat but one which would raze the city to the ground if left unchecked. Brilliant, Lord Ainz.”

“A FISH TAKES THE BAIT. NOW THEY ARE HOOKED.”

Mm? That was the Drops of Red? Can I take that as confirmed intel? What are the odds of that being a player?

If a
Yggdrasil
power suit was flying around the battlefield, player involvement seemed rather likely.

Or did their info make it clear this had to be that adventurer? If that was true, why hadn’t that information come his way?

No—it was far more likely it had, and he’d overlooked it. Ainz settled for letting out a low chuckle, as if this had all been his intent.

He had also practiced laughing like this over and over.

“Heh. Truth is, I didn’t favor the odds of drawing them out. I’m surprised it actually worked. I thought they might stay above the fray until the capital itself was threatened.”

“You’re always thinking so far ahead, Lord Ainz!” Aura exclaimed.

He heard Mare whisper, “Amazing!”

Both of them gave him looks of such unabashed respect that his heart shattered like a fragile glass.

I’m not!

But he couldn’t admit the truth.

This was not something he’d ever expected. But it was also true that he had no interest in whether the battle ended in defeat or victory. He’d been after something else entirely.

The reason he’d taken command of this siege—was a conversation he’d had the other day.

“Yes, Sebas? What brings you here?”

Ainz had returned to Nazarick to find Sebas waiting for him. Since the butler was posted to E-Rantel, this seemed a natural question.

He had no memory of summoning Sebas, nor of giving him any recent orders that might require his direct involvement. His presence here was likely of his own volition—which was no problem at all, of course.

Wherever his post might be, Sebas was given reasonable freedoms and was allowed to return to Nazarick whenever the urge struck him.

But he could easily have asked for an audience with Ainz back in E-Rantel. Did that mean this was something critical or urgent?

“I do apologize, Lord Ainz. Could I beg a moment—? No, this may take longer than that.”

Not liking the sound of that one bit, Ainz glanced at the regular maid, the one on Ainz duty, and asked to be left alone with Sebas. She and the maid on room duty bowed and promptly left together.

He looked up at the eight-edged assassins on the ceiling.

“You too.”

Without a word, they scuttled off as if gravity did not exist.

If Ainz ordered them to keep this secret, they would likely die before telling anyone, but this was a world of magic. It was possible to rob them of free will and pry the information out of them. Naturally, Ainz would never allow it to come to that if it was within his power, but one could never be too careful.

“My thanks, Lord Ainz.”

Had Sebas suggested this himself, it would have sounded like he did not trust the maids—his own colleagues.

Ainz had foreseen that issue and decisively sidestepped it entirely, which was why Sebas seemed so grateful.

But Ainz shook this off and once again voiced the question on his mind.

“So what’s this about? It seems important. Urgent?”

“Yes, sir. Well…the importance is not for me to determine. But certain individuals wished to speak to you in private and asked me to arrange it.”

“…And we’re going to them? They don’t wish to visit my room, then?” This was rather unusual within Nazarick, where Ainz was owed the greatest deference. “…Is this that human?”

“No, not Tsuare. These individuals have not been given permission to leave their domains, so while begging your utmost pardon, they must ask you to trouble yourself.”

Sebas looked genuinely apologetic. He awaited his master’s response.

“Ah, that explains it,” Ainz said.

This was not unheard of with domain guardians.

Naturally, if Ainz ordered them to come to him, they would likely leave their posts to do so. There were a few who would insist their creators—the NPCs called them the Forty-One Supreme Beings—had ordered them to remain put and refuse to budge, but the majority would do as Ainz said.

But some of them really
shouldn’t
.

Crimson—a domain guardian on the seventh level—was a prime example.

The aura it possessed was always active and simply moving about the ninth level would do untold amounts of damage. Carpets catching fire in its presence was one thing, but if it even approached a regular maid, they would sustain serious damage.

In light of that, it was occasionally best if Ainz went to meet them. His butt wasn’t rooted to his throne. And he had nothing on his plate right now that he couldn’t put off until later—at least, in his mind.

“Very well. Then I shall go to them. But who exactly is calling for me?”

“Mistress Nigredo and Pestonia.”

Sebas generally used titles with everyone, so Pestonia must count as one of his people.

“Ah…,” Ainz said, struggling to conceal his hesitation. His bony face showed little emotion, but he felt a number of guardians could always
tell
. Albedo certainly could. Demiurge tended to wildly misinterpret his responses.

Possibly on purpose.

But despite his efforts to conceal it, his voice must have betrayed a hint of reluctance. Sebas looked even more apologetic.

Poor man. But honestly, I’d rather not.

Nothing good could come of this.

He was absolutely sure of that.

It was just like work. If someone came over to you looking sorrowful and said, “The so-and-so department wants to speak to you. Not on the phone. In person,” it would be nothing but trouble.

But Ainz had little choice here. If he neglected the problem, it could snowball into bigger problems, and he would ultimately bear the blame regardless.

Ainz was Nazarick’s supreme ruler but not foolish enough to think he could sit around doing nothing.

And the Nazarick NPCs were like children to him. He would rather be on their good side if at all possible.

“…Let’s go. My schedule…”

He took out his planner and checked it over. Ainz was definitely in favor of putting unpleasant things off. But another side of him knew it was best to get them over with sooner than later.

“…appears to be open at the moment. Do you mind if we go now?”

Nigredo and Pestonia. Both were domain guardians, but in light of Sebas’s earlier comments, he could imagine which domain they were headed to. Though he had omitted the question, Sebas understood his intent.

“I’ll tell Pestonia to head there. Can we meet in one hour?”

“…Fair enough. Bringing Albedo and Demiurge…is probably a bad idea.”

“Indeed. I do beg your pardon, but this is best handled on your own.”

Ainz stifled a sigh and nodded.

“What about the doll?”

“Pestonia will prepare one, so please don’t concern yourself.”

“Good. Then an hour from now—mm? Sebas, will you be joining us?”

“Yes, sir, I thought I should. If you approve?”

Ainz granted his permission, and Sebas bowed his white head low.

An hour later, Ainz used the ring’s power to move to the fifth level, outside the Ice Prison.

He brought no retinue with him. He’d left the regular maid behind, simply telling her he had urgent business and that she should tell no one.

She’d said, “I’d like to come. I’ll see nothing, and you can treat me as if I’m not there.” And he knew that every word she said was true. In fact, the maids seemed all too pleased to be treated that way.

Apparently, being treated like props made them feel like they were fulfilling their duties as maids, and they found the prospect immensely appealing. Or at least…that was what he had heard from exactly
one
of them, so perhaps she just
happened
to have that kind of interest, but he couldn’t rule it out.

But regardless of the maid’s feelings, Ainz wanted to eliminate even the tiniest chance of future trouble, so he’d insisted on leaving her behind.

But once I get back, I should do something to please her. Give her a hard or demanding task? I’m still not convinced that would actually make anyone happy…

There were far too many denizens like that in Nazarick, which was why his efforts to implement paid time off or sabbaticals weren’t going well. At this rate, those policies would be little more than empty dreams.

Ainz pushed open the frozen doors of a two-story building that appeared to have been snatched right out of a fairy tale. A gust of cold air rushed out. Ainz was undead and had complete immunity to cold, so this did nothing to him.

He strode alone down the dark and silent corridor. On the way, he glanced upward once, ensuring there were no holes in the rafters, but otherwise his pace remained steady until he reached a wall covered in a large fresco with a door at the center.

As always, the fresco itself was peeling in many places and generally looked quite dilapidated.

He gave the door a push, and it swung open without a sound. He found three minions waiting for him within.

The room’s occupant, Nigredo.

The canine-headed maid, Pestonia.

And Sebas himself.

“Thank you for coming, Lord Ainz,” Nigredo said. All three rose to their feet, and she bade him to take a seat at the table.

On his last visit, this room had contained nothing but cradles; now it contained none. There was only a table and four chairs.

She must have brought them here from some other Ice Prison room. The floors aboveground were all Nigredo’s domain—everything below the surface was guarded by Neuronist.

When Ainz was seated, Pestonia swiftly began readying tea. A steaming cup was placed before him, and the scent of it caught him by surprise. Sebas slid some cookies across the table.

Naturally, Ainz could neither eat nor drink, but he appreciated the hospitality. He waved a hand, urging them to join him at the table.

The cookies in front of Ainz were not quite square shaped and their presentation less than flawless—a rare sight within the walls of Nazarick.

Was someone experimenting with baking? He looked at Sebas, who quickly picked up on the unspoken question.

“These are not made within Nazarick. I purchased them back in E-Rantel. Cheap, fresh ingredients are flowing into the city now, and the culinary arts are blossoming. These cookies are but one such example. They were once quite…crunchy, but chewy cookies like these are growing increasingly common.”

“I sampled one myself and believe they meet our standards, woof.”

“Hmm.”

Ainz picked up a cookie and bit into it. It was definitely on the soft side.

It broke apart easily, and he caught the inside half as it fell, placing it on his saucer.

This body could identify textures but not flavors—a real shame.

But Ainz soon reconsidered that perspective. This body’s lack of lusts, appetites, or need for sleep was what allowed him to rule Nazarick.

If any of those biological functions existed, he’d have long since destroyed himself.

“Lord Ainz, if you lend out more of your undead to work the fields, I’m sure they’ll breed better crops and advance the state of our cuisine even further. Perhaps one day they’ll even rival the foodstuffs we enjoy within these halls.”

“That would be splendid. Given the nature of my body, I haven’t done much research into the buffs provided by local foods. Perhaps greater emphasis upon it will make Nazarick even stronger. But—would that not lead to those without the cook class being unable to cook?”

“That is a concern. Perhaps best we ensure the original strains are not entirely abandoned,” Nigredo said.

Ainz nodded. He remembered hearing stories about how choosing which strains should be preserved by European archeologists had led to all manner of disputes. Not a subject he’d had any interest in at the time, but Blue Planet had been quite worked up about it.

Enough that he’d remembered—and it seemed wise to be mindful that this practice could lead to conflict here, as well.

“Yes, best we do that. We’ll have to form a team to manage such matters.” He’d have to run that idea by Albedo later. “But for now, let’s get down to business. What have you called me here to discuss?”

Nigredo took the lead.

“Certainly, Lord Ainz. We are here to implore you to stop any further slaughter of the kingdom’s populace.”

“That’s a no,” Ainz said. “For one thing, this proposal should not be coming to me. It should be addressed to the floor guardian immediately above you.”

Those within Nazarick—including the domain guardians—were aware of what Ainz and the floor guardians were after. Documents summarizing their intentions had been circulated to all.

If they had opinions on the subject, they were welcome to discuss them with the floor guardian they reported to. The goal was to collect a variety of viewpoints and ensure the will of all Nazarick was represented, as well as to stimulate the curiosity and interest of all its denizens.

Nigredo forming her own opinions like this was exactly what he’d been after, but she reported to the fifth-level guardian, Cocytus. If Ainz accepted her proposal directly, it could be interpreted as a lack of respect for Cocytus’s authority.

And that simply wasn’t how adults did things.

If their superior could not be convinced, there was certainly the option of going over their head and making their case to the leader of another division while fully aware of the potential consequences.

You could argue that excused the attempt at going straight to the top—Ainz was in charge, after all—but he was not interested in presiding over an organization where his employees were constantly at one another’s throats.

Now, if she was a domain guardian on the fourth level, Ainz wouldn’t have minded acting in Gargantua’s stead.

“Lord Ainz, we are well aware of your position, woof. That is why I have joined her in making this request, woof.”

One could argue that Sebas was Pestonia’s direct supervisor.

If they were to officially designate floor guardians for the ninth and tenth levels, Sebas would likely be in charge of the former and Albedo the latter.

And since Sebas had brought him here, they were technically following chain of command.

“—Point taken. I understand your feelings on this matter. But let me ask something in return. This strategy includes a phase of experimentation designed to strengthen our home—the Great Tomb of Nazarick. We cannot alter these plans simply out of mercy. Do you speak while acknowledging that?”

It was a critical point. The Great Tomb of Nazarick and the Ainz Ooal Gown Nation of Darkness were hardly invincible. If other guilds had been transported here, base and all, someone capable of defeating them could be out there right now.

And Ainz was not optimistic enough to believe they were alone.

They had already run across what he believed to be a confirmed World Item. It seemed likely another guild was already active in this world.

To ensure victory once that fight began, it was his responsibility to help Nazarick grow even stronger.

“What if it’s not
just
mercy, woof?”

“Oh? In what way? If you have a clear merit in mind, let’s hear it. But I should remind you that you’ll get nowhere arguing that the more we save, the more likely talented individuals will emerge in the future. Kingdom history has never once produced anyone stronger than an adamantite adventurer. We can conclude that that is the upper limit for human abilities—at least, as far as pure strength goes. We are better off prioritizing stronger species like dragons.”

“Babies
do
have potential, Lord Ainz.”

Pestonia shot Nigredo what was probably a baleful glare.

“Not
just
babies, woof.”

Nigredo had a soft spot for infants. Possibly an even greater one than Pestonia’s. But this side of her applied
only
to babies. The moment they turned two, her love
died
. They simply became more meat in need of processing.

Thus, the babies saved during the attack on the capital were taken away from her at that age and given to Pestonia.

They were now in the orphanage Yuri was managing.

“Yes, fair enough. But…that must also be true for dragons.”

“Earlier, we mentioned the potential for breeding better strains of stable crops. Could we not breed a better strain of human? Strengthening them with the resources available at Nazarick could result in more powerful variants. And strength alone is not the only value a species can provide. Humans are known for ingenuity and innovating new things. Cultural advancements, if you will. I believe those could be beneficial, but if we thin their numbers too much, that could potentially impact Nazarick’s growth.”

Was this why they’d brought the cookies? In that case, things were going exactly as they’d planned. Which was fine. If they managed to convince him, Ainz was more than happy to let them do what they wanted.

“An angle worth considering. However, I do not wish to see many of this world’s residents grow
too
powerful, and I can already foresee potential dangers in allowing civilization itself to advance too far.” Ainz clenched a fist. “We are strong but cannot get stronger. Yet, those who are now weak may one day outclass us. We must ensure they cannot surpass our power. If we see the potential for that to happen, then we must prevent it no matter the cost. For the future of Nazarick. Understood?”

Both fell silent. Ainz turned his gaze to Sebas.

Sebas had yet to say a word.

“Lord Ainz, I am grateful for your presence here and your willingness to hear their words. That is all that I asked for, and I have no intention of asking for more.”

“Hmm.”

Ainz stroked his chin, turning back to the others.

“But I suppose there are also major downsides to forcing humans to the brink. The more trouble they’re in, the harder they’ll try to improve. But in that case, we need merely kill everyone with the experience and know-how. And treasure anyone with no such experience—and, more importantly, no desire to get stronger.” He looked each of them over in turn. “Are we done? Then I’ll be going.”

“Not just yet, woof!”

Pestonia’s voice was a bit too loud, and she blushed. “My apologies,” she said, bowing her head.

“No offense taken. Let me hear what you think.”

“Certainly. Lord Ainz…the goal here is the carrot and the stick. Demonstrating the difference in how we treat our vassal state, the Empire, and our enemy, the kingdom. I’m told that is the ultimate goal behind this slaughter, woof.” When Ainz nodded, she continued. “In which case, the more people who barely manage to flee with their lives intact, the more people learn the folly of going against your wishes—and the Nation of Darkness. Uh, woof.”

“So you suggest we
allow
more survivors to escape?”

“That’s correct, woof.”

That certainly sounded like a valid reason to let some refugees go.

On the other hand…

He was certain Albedo and Demiurge had considered that. They had made their plans after doing so. That would mean he was implementing a plan they had already discarded.

Both were inexplicably certain that Ainz was brilliant. How would they react?

Just thinking about it made his stomach hurt.

No, he’d already established that he planned to intentionally make mistakes. Maybe he could get away with this much. The real problem lay further ahead—with the people who would claim black was white if Ainz so much as implied it.

If this plan was abandoned because of a fatal flaw, then my proposing it will cause untold losses.

Nobody could stop the boss’s pet project even if it was clearly a disaster.

And I lack the skill to help recover from those losses. If I can’t fix my own mistakes, I can’t afford to take risks.

Did that mean he should reject the idea? That would require him to point out the flaw in it—which escaped him.

Could he really dismiss something on that flimsy a basis?

Maybe I should have insisted Albedo and Demiurge join us. Still…

That had never been an option. Frankly, the moment he’d heard who asked for this meeting, Ainz had known it would be something like this.

That was the problem.

He had already imprisoned these two once before. Albedo had even proposed they be eliminated permanently. If anything similar happened again, she would be even more insistent, and he feared the schism would widen beyond repair.

Cultures resistant to the outside world were sometimes shattered from within.

It was his responsibility to prevent that.

So where did that leave him?

Rejecting their idea seemed the most sensible response. But that left him concerned about the future.

Only a small number of outsiders were ever likely to enter the Great Tomb of Nazarick, but there were already quite a few in the Ainz Ooal Gown Nation of Darkness. They were not placed in any important positions, but that might yet change.

And if outsiders filled vital roles within the state apparatus, they would bring a wider variety of opinions to the table. Some likely merciful enough that Albedo would deem them weak.

It might well fall to these two to manage those perspectives.

Which meant it would set poor precedent to discard their proposal out of hand here.

Their opinions might be the minority within Nazarick, but that actually made them all the more valuable.

And—

I’ve paid the debt I owed Touch Me. It’s high time I did right by Ankoro and Tabula. If I look at it that way, the decision is simple.

“…I believe you’re fully aware, but let me clarify. Our plans do not include the wholesale slaughter of all humans in the kingdom. We’ve already recruited several nobles to our side. We only plan to kill…ninety percent.”

“But those chosen survivors will lead lives under Nazarick’s control, woof. From a propaganda perspective, those
not
chosen and forced to flee will be far more effective in spreading the word, woof.”

Pestonia made it clear her goal was to save
them
.

“I understand your perspective. You speak not just of mercy but for the future good of Nazarick. In light of which, I will bear it in mind. It may not be many, but I will consider ways to let a few escape.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, woof.”

Sebas bowed his head in silence.

But despite what he’d said, Ainz was uncertain about what he should actually do.

Clearly, he had to do something. Save a few hundred people and demonstrate that he had granted their request.

Surprises aside, he
had
spared quite a lot of that city’s populace. If they chose to flee, Nigredo and Pestonia’s goal would be accomplished. But this didn’t exactly count as a
narrow
escape.

Perhaps he should send in some stronger undead.

No, he should check first.

“Ahem. So, Albedo. You mentioned the Drops of Red before. Can I assume this is verified intel?”

“My apologies, Lord Ainz,” Albedo said, rising to her feet and bowing low. “That information is not properly vetted. That was hasty conjecture based on the adamantite plate and the color of the armor itself.”

“Raise your head. I merely wondered if you had information I was not privy to. I am not upset.”

Her loyalty pleased him, but getting this response every time was not very amusing. Ainz made mistakes all the time, so he could ill afford to be upset about something like this.

“Thank you, Lord Ainz.”

“Hmm. So was that the Drops of Red or merely someone who wants us to make that assumption? What do we think? Opinions, floor guardians?”

A quick poll showed most were in the former camp. Ainz agreed.

“Then next…let me ask if anyone has intel on the specs of that power suit. If not, I’ll share what I know.”

Once he’d confirmed his guardians were not well versed in their capabilities, he proceeded to explain everything he remembered.

Yggdrasil
had not launched with power suits. They’d been added later in an attempt to boost player counts by attracting new users.

And with the hopes of adding to the player base, robot battles had become the hot new trend.

And for
some
reason, the power suits were incredibly high spec.

First—as they’d just seen demonstrated—they could zip around the skies faster than the Fly spell. They could also last over an hour underwater without significant performance degradation, and they shut out nearly all environmental damage.

The right and left shoulders and the torso—depending on the power suit type, the legs or arms as well—had attack spells built in that could be activated at will by the operator.

Since they had humanlike hands, they could hold weapons. Unless the hands had been outright replaced with swords, of course.

Owners were free to change up these magical loadouts in the power suit settings, but the data crystals required had to be obtained with either real money or very extensive adventuring. These modifications could be done anytime outside of battle, but there were limits.

The spells attached to the power suit could range all the way up to tier ten in strength, but there was a set number of uses per hour, and the stronger the spell, the fewer uses that were allowed. While these limits did recover over time, you could only change out an attack spell if the stock was fully recovered.

The armor’s physical and magical stats were not dependent on the operator’s and were generally quite high level. Same went for defense and evasion.

This armor could instantly make a weak player strong.

That said, these suits had two minor drawbacks.

First, since the power suits were classified as full plate, you couldn’t wear any other armor with them. Necklaces or other accessories were fine.

Second, the spells equipped on the suit could not be boosted by skills. But they
could
be boosted by your accessories, so this barely counted as a disadvantage.

However—there was one
major
flaw for weaker players.

HP and MP.

While the attack stats themselves would override the operator’s, those two crucial stats stayed the same.

If a weak player wore the suit, they’d have high defense but still be a glass cannon. Naturally, that assumed they were hit by attacks strong enough to punch
through
that defense stat, and this was hardly a weakness against anyone else.

But for Nazarick, the power suits would not pose much threat to floor guardians.

NPCs who weren’t that strong—the Pleiades, for instance—could be in trouble, and retreat was likely their best option if they encountered someone in a suit.

At this point, they transitioned to a Q and A.

Albedo was first.

“So this poses no threat to us?”

“Yes, the best power suits were the equivalent of a level eighty. But that’s assuming my knowledge is accurate. That might not apply to a unique model or an artifact of some kind. Those could potentially have higher specs.”

“And we can’t tell that just by looking at them?”

“Hmm, sorry, Aura. I’m not exactly an expert on them myself. Based on looks alone, I can’t say what to expect. If I recall correctly, you could make
some
adjustments to the appearance but nothing dramatic.”

Power suits had specs that were highly appealing to low-level players but not that useful for anyone near the level cap.

At higher levels, even if you didn’t have god-tier armor, you’d still be better off wearing legendary full plate that matched your build. Ainz had already been level 100 when the power suits were added to the game, so he’d never taken much interest in them.

And since they were classified as full plate, wearing one would have stopped him from using the bulk of his spells.

“I believe we have two or three power suits stored in Nazarick somewhere. Let’s swing by the Treasury later. Perhaps trying them out will teach us a few things.”

He remembered Amanomahitotsu grabbing some after hearing they let even crafter classes fight. He was also playing an aerial combat game at the time and had seemed pretty confident, but during his mock battle with Peroroncino, he had been easily shot down. Those suits had never seen the light of day again after that.

NishikiEnrai had summed it up nicely by saying, “Go back to
Aberage
.”

This brief trip down memory lane brought a realization back with it.

If the Drops of Red had a
Yggdrasil
power suit—then that black blade wielded by the Blue Roses leader might have a similar history. They were both adamantite teams, after all.

Their kingdom collaborator had told them that weapon had the power to level an entire city. The source had marked that information “dubious,” but it had come directly from a member of the Blue Roses.

Ainz had believed the Blue Roses leader was lying to her own teammates or possibly just bluffing.

But in light of this new development, perhaps that claim was true.

He’d heard the leaders of the two teams were relatives.

That connection made it more likely they possessed equivalent gear.

Naturally, Ainz did not for a moment believe that they were capable of taking out a floor guardian in a single blow, but neither could he rule out the possibility. This world could contain unique weapons so good they could slip past even a guardian’s defense.

And he didn’t fancy finding out how much it would hurt if the leader of the Blue Roses sacrificed herself to unleash that sword’s full strength.

If they had to face the Blue Roses, he would summon monsters to throw at them, hopefully tricking her into releasing that power prematurely, and then finish her off afterward.

Assuming it had a cooldown.

This was definitely a “let sleeping dogs lie” scenario.

Their goal was to destroy the kingdom, not slaughter the Blue Roses. They would only die if they attempted to frustrate Nazarick’s plan. It was best they kept their distance until they were sure what her sword could do. He’d have to convince Entoma and apologize.

Ainz shook these thoughts off, back to the point at hand.

He had bigger fish to fry.

“Anything else?”

He looked around, but no further questions emerged.

“Then that’s enough about the power suits. Demiurge, how shall we handle this city? It has served
my
purpose.”

“We don’t want them believing they have defeated the Nation of Darkness. We should send in stronger enemies and burn the city to the ground.”

“Hmm. Very well.”

Not great.

If they did that, he’d have to find another city to keep his promise
and
find a way to save some people. He’d managed to avoid getting caught this time, but each additional attempt would only become riskier.

Pestonia was right behind him, listening. For her sake, he wanted to save this city’s populace and keep his word.

“No, Demiurge. Let’s not. What happened here will lay the groundwork for similar efforts in the future. Let us first fell the capital and draw curtains on the kingdom’s demise. We can always raze the remaining cities afterward. What say you?”

This would give the cities’ residents ample time to flee. If they did not, then even his most merciful minions would not object to their deaths.

“If you say so, Lord Ainz. I am at your command.”

This sounded sarcastic, but…Demiurge would never speak to him like that.

Assuming the worst behind a speaker’s intent was proof you had guilt in your heart. As Ainz did now.

“Now, now, Demiurge. I am always open to good ideas.”

“Excellent, Lord Ainz. Your generosity never fails to humble us all.”

Demiurge bowed low, and Ainz felt even more uncomfortable.

He had simply been stating the obvious—it was hardly worth flattery.

He enjoyed a compliment as much as the next person, but getting one for nothing made him feel like he was being coddled.

But of course, that feeling stemmed from his own inadequacies.

“…Any other guardians have an opinion?” Certain no one did, he turned to Shalltear. “Then use a Gate and order that the undead retreat. We’ll have all forces assemble at E-Rantel and march on the capital.”

“It shall be done.”

“BY ‘ALL FORCES,’ DO WE MEAN THOSE STATIONED WITHIN THE GREAT TOMB OF NAZARICK AS WELL?”

“Some of the Nazarick Old Guarders, yes. They aren’t terribly strong, but they
look
impressive enough.”

“UNDERSTOOD.”

“Good. Conquer the cities in our path, then finish the war at the capital. After that, we can destroy any unneeded cities and citizens. Teach the world what becomes of a city that defies Nazarick.”

His guardians cheered, and Ainz nodded.

“Excellent. Guardians—,” he began. But mindful of the future, he thought better of it. “No, some of you remain here. Let’s see what you can do.”