The smell of burning resin was sticking to his ribs. Or where his ribs would have been, if he had flesh to hold the scent. As it stood, the acrid smoke drifting from the remains of the Elf Capital just seemed to settle directly into Ainz Ooal Gown's soul.
It was a heavy, oily smell. The smell of a vacation gone horribly wrong.
Ainz stood on the balcony of the decapitated palace—literally decapitated, as the top three floors were currently scattered across the courtyard below—and gripped the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown until the golden wood creaked. Below him, the remnants of the Elf King's army were being sorted into neat piles by Death Knights.
Live pile. Dead pile. Useful resources pile.
"Is something wrong, Ainz-sama?"
The voice came from his waist level. Mare.
Ainz turned slowly, majestic cape flaring with a movement he had practiced in the mirror hundreds of times. The Dark Elf twin looked up at him, golden eyes swimming with adoration and a hint of worry. He was fidgeting, twisting his gloved hands together.
"Wrong?" Ainz's voice was a deep, resonant baritone that projected absolute confidence. "Nothing is wrong, Mare. I was merely... contemplating."
I was contemplating how I managed to screw this up so badly, Satoru Suzuki screamed internally. This was supposed to be a paid vacation! A cultural exchange! I wanted you two to make friends! Friends, Mare! Not dismantle a monarchy!
"A-as expected!" Mare beamed, the anxiety vanishing instantly. "You're already calculating the geopolitical impact on the Roble Holy Kingdom, aren't you? Thinking about how the vacuum in the Great Forest affects the grain trade?"
"Umu. Precisely."
Ainz turned back to the ruins. He had no idea there was a grain trade. Was there? Elves lived in trees; did they even grow grain? He made a mental note to ask Demiurge later, covertly, maybe phrase it as a test.
Stress. That's all this was. He had come here to escape the mounting pressure of ruling the Sorcerer Kingdom, to get away from Albedo's intense staring and Demiurge's frighteningly efficient genocide plans. He wanted a road trip.
Instead, he'd found himself in a three-way war between the Elf Kingdom, the Slane Theocracy, and his own accidental involvement.
"The pest control is almost finished, Ainz-sama!"
Aura leaped down from a broken buttress, landing silently despite wearing boots that looked hard enough to crack stone. She dusted off her hands. "That half-breed girl put up a decent fight, though. For a native."
Zesshi Zetsumei.
The name triggered a cold spike in Ainz's consciousness. The "Extra Seat" of the Black Scripture. The woman who had captured the Elf King.
She was strong. Too strong for this world.
Ainz felt the familiar green light of [Emotion Suppression] wash over him, dampening the panic before it could take hold. His mind cleared. The terror of facing a potential Level 88 entity—according to his initial estimation—was replaced by cold, hard calculation.
She had equipment that belonged to players. She had a Talent. And she had been sent by the Slane Theocracy.
"The prisoner?" Ainz asked.
"Sedated," Aura reported, puffing out her chest. "Shalltear is... watching her. She seemed really eager to take custody. She was mumbling something about 'atonement' and 'redemption.'"
Ainz's nonexistent stomach dropped. Shalltear and a prisoner from the Slane Theocracy—the same nation that had brainwashed her with a World Item. This was a recipe for disaster. Or a recipe for a very sticky floor.
"Tell Shalltear to restrain herself," Ainz ordered. "That woman is an information mine. If she breaks before we extract the location of the other World Items, I will be... displeased."
"Yes, Lord Ainz!" Both twins saluted.
"Also," Ainz pointed the Staff toward the horizon, where black smoke curled like crooked fingers against the twilight sky. "The Theocracy forces retreated?"
"The survivors ran," Mare said, kicking a piece of rubble. It skittered across the cracked marble, the sound absurdly loud in the silence following the battle. "Should we chase them?"
Ainz paused.
The memory of the previous day was hazy. He remembered rage. Pure, white-hot rage when he realized the Theocracy had dared to interrupt his vacation—his children's vacation. He remembered shouting something. What was it? "They will pay"? Or was it "Crush them"?
"No," Ainz said finally. "Let them run. They will carry the message of fear. Terror is a far more efficient messenger than a courier."
Also, I don't have enough mana left to teleport an entire army, and I really, really just want to go home and sleep for a month.
"Brilliant," a smooth, terrifying voice slid out of the shadows behind them.
Ainz didn't jump. He froze.
A portal had opened silently in the dark corner of the ruined throne room. Stepping through it was a demon in a pinstripe suit, adjusting his round glasses with a finger that ended in a razor-sharp claw. His metal tail twitching with suppressed excitement.
Demiurge.
"I expected nothing less, Ainz-sama," the demon said, walking forward and bowing deeply. "By allowing the survivors to flee, you ensure that the Slane Theocracy's leadership gathers in one location to discuss the crisis. You are herding the sheep into the pen before the slaughter."
"Demiurge," Ainz said, keeping his tone level. "You are... early."
"When I heard you had engaged the Black Scripture, I could not remain idle. I have already mobilized the Third and Fifth Legions." Demiurge smiled. It was a smile that split his face too wide, a smile that promised industrial-scale suffering. "The draft for the Declaration of War is prepared. I interpreted your command—'Burn them out root and stem'—quite literally. Was I correct?"
Did I say that? Ainz wondered wildly. Root and stem? That sounds like something a gardening enthusiast would say. Or a maniac.
"Detailed. Tell me." Ainz waved his hand, a gesture of 'proceed' that also served to hide the slight tremble in his fingers.
Demiurge straightened up, his eyes gleaming. "We will not merely invade. We will dismantle. The Theocracy has stood for six hundred years as the bastion of humanity. They believe they are protected by their six dead gods."
He chuckled. It was a dry, raspy sound. Like dead leaves scraping over gravestones.
"We will prove that their gods are dead. But yours... yours is eternal." Demiurge pulled a scroll from his suit pocket. "I propose a three-pronged assault. Cocytus from the north, utilizing the frozen lakes. Sebas and the Pleiades striking their supply lines. And Mare..."
Mare perked up. "Yes?"
"You will cast [Earthquake] on their capital city. We will not siege the walls. We will sink them."
Ainz stared at the demon.
Sink the capital. Just... sink it. Millions of people.
Internal alarms blared. The human remnant of Satoru Suzuki shouted that this was too much, that this was madness. This wasn't defense; this was erasure.
But then he looked at the twins. He saw the bruises on Aura's arm from the fight with the elf king's constructs. He remembered the Theocracy soldiers he'd seen executing elf villagers in the forest just two days ago.
And he remembered Zesshi. The threat. The World Items they held. The item that had taken Shalltear from him.
Power requires a demonstration. If he hesitated now, they would think him weak. If they thought him weak, they would use those World Items again. Maybe on Albedo next time. Maybe on the twins.
The thought made his nonexistent blood run cold.
[Emotion Suppression]
The moral conflict vanished, replaced by a cold, glassy calm.
"Sink it?" Ainz mused, tapping his chin with a skeletal finger. "No, Demiurge."
Demiurge stiffened, looking terrified that he had failed. "My Lord?"
"If you sink it immediately, they will die too quickly to realize why they are dying," Ainz said. The words came out smooth, terrible, and easy. "Terror requires time. Break the walls first. Let them see the encroaching dark. Let them pray to their gods, and let them see that no answer comes. Only then do we destroy them."
The Floor Guardians gasped. A collective shimmer of awe passed through them.
"Mercy in cruelty," Mare whispered, eyes wide. "Ainz-sama gives them time to repent, even though their fate is sealed."
"Profound," Aura agreed, nodding vigorously. "Truly the Supreme One."
"Understood," Demiurge said, his pen flying across the scroll. "I will adjust the timetable. Operation 'God-Breaker' will commence in forty-eight hours."
Ainz nodded slowly, turning back to the smoking horizon. God-Breaker. Operation God-Breaker. Why did they always come up with such chuunibyou names?
"Excellent," Ainz said. "Now. Prepare the gate. We return to Nazarick."
"At once."
As the portal swirled to life, Ainz looked down at his hand. He had just ordered the systematic extermination of a major nation. Millions of lives signed away because he didn't want to admit he had made a mistake in wording.
I should probably read a book on diplomacy, he thought. Or maybe stress management. Does this world have therapy?
He walked through the portal. The darkness swallowed him whole.
The Slane Theocracy – First Holy Seat
The room was circular, lit only by candles made from the tallow of sacred beasts. The air was cold, stone-dead, and silent.
Six thrones. Five occupied.
The Pontifex Maximus sat in the center, his wrinkled hands trembling slightly as he read the parchment on his lap. He wasn't a man prone to fear. He had led humanity's greatest bastion against the beastmen tides, against the undead, against the encroaching corruption of the demi-humans for eighty years.
But this paper was different.
"Report," he rasped.
The Cardinal of Fire, Raymond Zarg Lauransan, stood up. He looked ten years older than he had yesterday.
"The expeditionary force in the Great Forest of Evsha is... gone."
"Gone?" The Cardinal of Earth frowned. "You mean they retreated?"
"I mean gone," Raymond said, slamming his fist on the stone table. The sound cracked through the sanctuary like a gunshot. "Magic casting signatures confirmed detonation on a strategic scale. Divination spells show nothing but gray fog. It's a counter-divination barrier. Tier... God knows what tier. Higher than anything we have records of."
"And Zesshi?"
Silence stretched. Thick and suffocating.
" Captured," Raymond whispered. "The Captain of the Black Scripture managed to send a [Message] before the barrier went up. He said... he said she engaged the Sorcerer King."
"And?"
"And she lost. In less than ten minutes."
The room erupted. The Cardinal of Wind was shouting about impossibility. The Cardinal of Water was praying.
"Quiet!" The Pontifex slammed his staff down. "Panic solves nothing!"
He looked around the table, seeing the fear in the eyes of the most powerful men in the nation. This was it. The nightmare scenario the scriptures had warned about. The return of the Great Enemy.
Or worse. A new player.
"The Sorcerer King," the Pontifex muttered. "An undead magic caster who claims the title of Ainz Ooal Gown. We suspected he was dangerous. We suspected he was a God-kin equivalent. We were wrong."
He stood up, walking to the large tapestry that depicted the Six Great Gods descending from the heavens.
"He isn't a God-kin," the Pontifex said, feeling the weight of six centuries of history pressing down on his spine. "He is one of Them. A Player. And we just poked him with a stick."
"He will come for us," Raymond said. "If Zesshi is captured, he will tear the secrets of the Scripture from her mind. He will learn about the downfall of the Vampire. He will know we were the ones who targeted his subordinate."
"Then we fight," said the Cardinal of Fire. "We mobilize every Scripture. We activate the Relics. We wake the-"
"He slaughtered seventy thousand men on the Katze Plains with a single spell," the Pontifex cut him off. "Our armies are paper to him. Our walls are mist."
"So we surrender?"
"No," the Pontifex turned back to them. His eyes were hard, flinty shards of determination. "Surrender means slavery to the dead. We are the guardians of humanity. We do not kneel."
He reached into his robe and pulled out a key. It was old, rusted, and pulsed with a faint, unsettling heartbeat.
"The Sorcerer King has awakened the Dragon," he said softly. "So we must wake the Tiger. Open the deepest vault. Authorize the release of 'Cainable.'"
The Cardinals went pale.
"Your Holiness," the Cardinal of Water gasped. "That thing... it cannot be controlled. It attacks indiscriminately."
"The Sorcerer King is undead," the Pontifex stated. "Cainable was forged to kill the living, yes. But we have something else for the undead. Contact the Council State. Contact the Platinum Dragon Lord."
"He hates us," Raymond argued. "He views us as usurpers."
"He hates Players more," the Pontifex smiled, a grim, mirthless expression. "Tell the Dragon Lord that a Player has begun to aggressively expand, utilizing Super-Tier magic. Tell him this Player intends to consume the world. Tsaindorcus Vaision will not sit idly by. He has been waiting for a reason to descend from his castle."
The Pontifex looked back at the map spread on the table. The Sorcerer Kingdom was a black stain spreading from the center.
"If we are to die," the Pontifex Maximus said, "we will make sure we take this monster down with us. Or at least... ensure the world that remains is too broken for him to rule."
Nazarick – 10th Floor – Throne Room
The atmosphere in the Throne Room was electric. It hummed with a fanaticism so potent you could taste it—like copper and ozone.
Ainz sat on the Throne of Kings. He had managed to change out of his travel gear and into his full regalia, mostly to buy himself five minutes to hyperventilate in private.
Below him, the Floor Guardians were kneeling. All of them.
Albedo was at the front, her wings trembling, her golden eyes fixed on him with a lustrous intensity that made him want to verify his robe was buttoned properly. To her right, Demiurge. To her left, Shalltear, looking guilty but eager.
The twins were recounting their "glorious victory."
"...and then Ainz-sama told the King that true power doesn't reside in levels, but in bonds!" Mare stammered, clearly paraphrasing something Ainz had mumbled while looking for his item box.
"Poetic," Cocytus breathed, mist steaming from his mandibles. "A. Warrior's. Soul."
"Silence," Albedo commanded. The room froze instantly.
She looked up at Ainz. "Ainz-sama. The prisoner, Zesshi Zetsumei, is secured in the Chamber of Truth. Neutronist is currently... warming up the instruments."
Ainz nodded. "Good."
"However," Albedo continued, her smile twisting into something predatory. "We found something on her person. Something... disturbing."
She motioned to Sebas, who stepped forward holding a small velvet cushion. On it sat a weapon.
It was a scythe. But not just any scythe. The metal was dark, drinking the light around it, and the handle was wrapped in what looked like bandages made of shadow.
Ainz leaned forward. The world seemed to narrow down to that object.
He knew that scythe.
It wasn't a Divine-class item. It was trash compared to his gear. But the design... the sigil etched into the blade...
It was a chaotic mess of jagged lines.
"Ainz-sama?" Albedo asked softly. "Do you recognize this low-tier trash?"
Ainz didn't answer. His mind was reeling back ten years. Back to a late night in Yggdrasil.
"Hey, Momonga-san! Check it out! I tried to make a weapon that looks like the grim reaper's dick! It's funny, right?"
Bellriver.
It was a mock weapon made by Bellriver. A joke item. It had zero stats, purely cosmetic.
Why was it here? Why did a half-elf in the New World have Bellriver's joke item?
"Ainz-sama!"
The shout snapped him back. He realized he had stood up. The aura of despair was leaking out of him, covering the floor in black ice. The Guardians were looking at him with intense concern.
"I... know this item," Ainz said, his voice hollow.
"Is it a threat?" Cocytus reached for his katana. "Shall. I. Destroy. It?"
"NO!"
The shout echoed off the high ceiling.
Ainz froze. He had yelled. He never yelled. He quickly activated his [Emotion Suppression], but the damage was done. The Guardians were looking at him not with fear, but with absolute, terrifying focus. They waited for the explanation that would redefine their existence.
"It is not a threat," Ainz said, sitting back down slowly, clutching the staff until his knuckles would have whitened. "It is... a clue."
"A clue to the Supreme Ones?" Albedo's voice was low, dangerous. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Yes," Ainz lied. He had to lie. If he told them it was just a joke item, they wouldn't understand the sentimental value. "It belonged to Bellriver. My friend."
Albedo's head snapped up. "Bellriver-sama?"
"This woman," Ainz pointed toward the dungeon levels below. "She didn't just take it. She likely took it from someone who took it from him."
Logic gaps everywhere. Bellriver never came to this world. He died in the real world. Or did he? Did he come here? No, the timeline... Ainz's thoughts spiraled.
He needed to be alone. He needed to think. But there was a room full of monsters waiting for orders.
"Albedo," Ainz said.
"Yes, my love- I mean, my Lord!"
"The Theocracy war is secondary now."
Gasps. Demiurge looked like he had been slapped with a fish. "Secondary, my Lord? But Operation God-Breaker..."
"Proceed with the operation," Ainz waved a hand dismissively. "Destroy them. Burn them. Whatever. But your primary objective has changed."
He leaned forward, the red lights in his sockets flaring brighter.
"The Theocracy has been hoarding items belonging to my guildmates. They are scavengers picking at the bones of my friends."
The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. Albedo's wings flared wide, knocking over a candelabra. The sound of crashing gold was ignored. Her expression shifted from beauty to something primal, something that would make demons check under their beds.
"Scavengers?" she hissed. "Touching... their belongings?"
"Find every single item," Ainz commanded. "I want them back. If they have hidden a spoon that Peroroncino used once, I want it retrieved. If they have a rag that BubblingTeapot used to wipe her shield, I want it."
He stood up again, majestic, terrifying, and completely panicked inside.
"Tear the Slane Theocracy apart. Brick by brick. Bone by bone. Do not stop until I hold the legacy of Ainz Ooal Gown in my hands."
The shout that rose from the Guardians shook the tomb.
"BY YOUR WILL!"
Ainz watched them. They were rabid now. He had given them a holy crusade. The invasion wouldn't be a war anymore; it would be a retrieval mission conducted with extreme prejudice.
I just wanted to know how she got the scythe, Ainz thought as the Guardians scrambled to organize the deployment. I didn't mean... oh, forget it. At least this keeps Albedo busy.
He glanced at Albedo. She was coordinating with Demiurge, her face flushed with ecstasy.
"Scavengers," he heard her mutter to herself. "Yes. We must collect the filth left behind by the other Supreme Beings. We must... collect it all."
Ainz felt a shiver that had nothing to do with cold.
For a second, just a fraction of a second, Albedo didn't look like a loyal guardian. She looked like a hoarder. A predator guarding a kill.
Ainz shook his head. Paranoia. It was just paranoia. She was Albedo. She loved him.
"Demiurge," Ainz called out.
"Yes, Ainz-sama?"
"When we attack the capital..." Ainz hesitated. He looked at the Bellriver scythe on the velvet cushion. It looked so out of place here. A toy in a tomb. "Make sure you save the libraries."
"The... libraries?"
"Knowledge," Ainz spouted the first excuse that came to mind. "They have survived six hundred years. Perhaps they know why we are here."
"Ah!" Demiurge bowed low. "Incredible. You are already looking past the destruction to the truth of the world's origin. I, Demiurge, am humbled by your foresight."
"Go," Ainz said. "Commence the operation."
As the Guardians filed out, leaving Ainz alone in the massive, echoing hall, he slumped back onto the throne.
One of the skeletal dragons hanging from the ceiling creaked.
Ainz looked at the scythe again.
"Bellriver," he whispered to the empty air. "Did you have to make such weird crap? You're getting a lot of people killed."
He waited for an answer.
There was only silence, and the distant, muffled sound of armies marching to war.