The massive gates, seemingly forged from blackened iron and scarred by countless battles, swung inward without a whisper of resistance. Lucy led John and his companions through, her stride confident, her mere presence negating any need for inspection. It was immediately clear she commanded considerable influence within these walls.
"Remember your manners," she instructed, her voice a low, firm murmur as they stepped onto a bustling street. "You will show respect to my lord. If he addresses you, you will respond promptly and appropriately."
The street itself was a vibrant, chaotic tapestry. Small stands, some laden with goods spilled across rough wooden tables, others simply displaying their wares on woven mats, lined the thoroughfare. The air hummed with the chatter of merchants, the clatter of wares and the distant, rhythmic clang of a smithy. Yet, an undercurrent of desperation lurked beneath the surface vibrancy.
A haggard, blonde woman, her tattered top barely concealing her breasts and dirty, torn shorts barely covering her legs, emerged from the throng, her eyes locking onto John. "Hey, good-looking," she slurred, her voice hoarse, a predatory glint in her eyes despite her weakened state. "I wouldn't mind giving you a ride for some good food. Meat would be preferred, or four packs of noodles. Five tins of food would also work."
Aria, her expression instantly hardening, gripped one of John's arms protectively. "Our master is far from interested," she retorted, her voice cutting through the noise. "Go find someone else to peddle your filth."
On John's other side, Angel, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a flash of righteous indignation, clutched John's arm with equal fervor. "Indeed. This one will not allow an unclean such as yourself to sully this one's master."
The woman's gaze flickered between the two, a calculating hunger replacing her initial leer. "Well, if I'm not your type, I have some young ones," she offered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The youngest are still around after the change, untouched and utterly pure. But they cost four times as much! And I can promise you; they'd be far better than these two possessive brats." She sneered at Aria and Angel, clearly trying to needle them.
"Not interested," John stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion and continued walking. He ignored her frantic calls and increasingly desperate offers, his attention drawn instead to a grim sight unfolding further down the road. A procession of cages, some containing people, others strange, unfamiliar creatures, was being led along, their occupants appearing defeated and despondent. A deep frown creased John's brow.
"What happens to them?" John asked Lucy, gesturing subtly towards the cages. "The people and creatures?"
Lucy glanced over, a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug of her shoulders dismissive of the suffering. "Hmm? Depends. The useful ones get conscripted or recruited. The ones who aren't... well, they get traded. Simple as that." She spoke as if articulating the most natural law of the world. "Only the strong get to decide things, after all. The weak truly have no place in this world except to be useful, in some way, to the strong." A chilling smile, utterly devoid of warmth, blossomed on her lips as they approached a colossal metal edifice. Its front entrance was a grotesque sculpture resembling a snarling demon, its massive twin doors forming its jagged, gaping teeth.
"Quite the place, huh? Especially the entrance," John remarked, a hint of dry amusement in his tone, though his eyes remained serious.
"Indeed," Lucy purred, her pride evident. "The lord truly has impeccable taste. He trusted us to construct a place fitting for one such as himself. It's truly awe-inspiring, isn't it?" She paused at the threshold, her eyes gleaming with zealous devotion. "Now, let's go. I shall introduce you to my lord and I know you will join him after seeing his majesty and basking in his presence."
Stepping through the demonic maw, John's gaze swept across the interior. The vast hall was a testament to dark grandeur. Ornate, grotesque artwork depicting scenes of conquest and suffering lined the walls, illuminated by an unseen, oppressive light. A grand, sweeping staircase ascended into shadowed heights, mirroring another that descended into an unseen abyss. Several heavy, wooden doors punctuated the walls, leading to unknown chambers. Directly ahead, a towering pair of double doors dominated the space, intricately carved to resemble a fallen angel with her arms spread wide, an eerie, false welcome etched into her stony features.
As Lucy approached the fallen angel doors, they groaned open with a deep, resonant rumble, revealing the chamber beyond. There, enthroned amidst an air of palpable, oppressive power, sat a massive figure. He was clad in armor that seemed less crafted and more grown, a visible, almost tangible black glow emanating from its surface. This was no ordinary plate; it mimicked skeletal structures. Layers of bone formed his arms and legs, a menacing skull served as his helmet and his torso was encased within what appeared to be a cage of ribs, each plate meticulously shaped to resemble a calcified bone.
Lucy, without a moment's hesitation, dropped to one knee, her head bowed in profound deference. "My lord," she intoned, her voice brimming with reverence, "I bring before you an old companion of mine. He has proven his strength time and again, even claiming the kill on the Goliath and, in doing so, drawing the ire of the ones above. He wished to seek an audience with you, my lord."
A pair of blood-red eyes, glowing like embers in the skull-helmet's depths, turned slowly towards John and his group. The gaze felt heavy, ancient, as though it effortlessly pierced through their very beings, assessing and weighing each of them. "Is that so?" the armored figure rumbled, his voice deep and resonant, yet tinged with an almost weary note. "And why would you want an audience with me? Have you, like so many others, come to swear loyalty?"
"No," John replied, his voice calm and steady, utterly devoid of the fear Lucy's lord expected. His chains, which typically lay dormant, began to stir around him, rattling softly, like angry snakes awakening. "Rather, I came to see what kind of person you are. And to inform you that I've been systematically killing members of one of your groups. I plan to kill many more until I wipe them out completely." He raised a hand, making a circle with his fingers and thumb around his left eye, a unique appraisal technique. His gaze sharpened, delving into the Overlord's essence. "You as well, if need be. Even with how strong you are, Chris." He finished, addressing the warlord by his first name with deliberate familiarity, a subtle provocation.
A ripple of shock went through the chamber. Lucy, her face contorted in disbelief and fury, sprang to her feet, drawing a gleaming dagger. "How dare you address him with such disrespect!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "I will spill your blood as repentance for such an act!"
Beside John, Sieg grinned, a wild, eager light in his eyes, as he effortlessly drew a massive axe, positioning himself protectively in front of his master. Aria and Angel, their expressions grim, began to gather their arcane energies, faint glows surrounding their hands.
Before a blow could be struck or a spell cast, a voice, deep and powerful, boomed through the hall, silencing every other sound. "Enough! Lucy, stand down. I am rather interested now in this person you have brought before me. I wish to speak with him, alone."
"But, my lord," Lucy protested, her dagger still aimed at John, "he has clearly shown himself to be an enemy! I admit my fault for bringing him before you, but allow me to correct that by killing him!"
"Do not question me, Lucy!" the warlord commanded, his voice hardening, each word a hammer blow. He then turned his full attention back to John. "I feel a conversation between the two of us would be beneficial. Lucy, guide them to the dining hall. I am sure they must be hungry and thirsty after their journey and guests should always be treated properly."
"But, my lord—" she began again, her voice pleading.
"Now, Lucy, that is an order!" he cut her off, his authority absolute.
Lucy's shoulders slumped. "Very well," she said through gritted teeth, sheathing her dagger and turning towards the door. "Kindly follow me, as my lord wishes to speak with your master on his own and does not want others around." She narrowed her eyes at John's group, who remained stubbornly in place, not moving to follow her.
"It's okay, go with her for now," John instructed, his gaze never leaving the Overlord. "If something happens, I promise to make enough noise to draw you all over. So go with her for now, but keep safe."
"Very well, Master," Aria said, reluctantly taking a step back. "But we will destroy anything in our path should we feel you are in trouble or danger." She cast a searing look at Lucy. "That includes this succubus knockoff." With that final, defiant jab, the group slowly began to follow Lucy out, the heavy doors closing behind them with a resounding thud.
Left alone in the cavernous hall, Christopher Paterson, the Overlord, chuckled, a dry, raspy sound that seemed to grate against the silence. "I would offer you a seat," he said, gesturing around the vacant room, "but they didn't make this throne room with the idea of allowing others to sit, unfortunately."
"Yeah, they don't normally have seats for others," John replied, unmoved. "Mind just getting to the point why you wanted to speak with me alone, Mister 'Overlord'?" He emphasized the title, a subtle challenge.
Christopher sighed, a hint of genuine frustration in the exhalation. "Because I hardly ever get people with any real strength around here who don't fall over themselves due to the damned curse that bastard god put on me." He said as John brought a hand up and used appraisal.
Name: Christopher Paterson
Class: Overlord
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Rank: Human
God: The Lord of War and Battle
Nature: Careful, Thinker, Level-headed
Description: A stroke of luck allowed him to become the chosen of the Lord of War and Battle, being the only one left alive after a free-for-all involving all those having chosen the Overlord class. The god who blessed him, impressed with his performance, gifted him charisma to form his army in hopes of sweeping through all obstacles as a form of extra entertainment for himself. Told to do as he pleases, as one way or another, his influence will spread even without his own participation.