Albedo stood alone in her quarters, a space of silk and shadows that smelled faintly of sweet perfume and rot. The door was triple-locked. The anti-divination barriers were active.
In her hands, she held the scythe.
It was an ugly thing. A twisted piece of dark metal fashioned by a Supreme Being who had abandoned them. Bellriver. A creator. A god.
She ran a gloved finger along the jagged blade. Her lip curled.
"Trash," she whispered. The word hissed through the room like steam escaping a pipe. "Disgusting, abandoning trash."
Externally, she was the Overseer of the Floor Guardians, the picture of absolute loyalty. Internally, her programming was a tangled knot of contradiction. She loved Momonga. She loved Ainz Ooal Gown. But the guild Ainz Ooal Gown? The other forty beings who had left her beloved alone in that throne room for years?
She loathed them with a fire that could boil the Frozen Lake.
Ainz had ordered the retrieval of their items. Tear the Theocracy apart, he had said. Do not stop until I hold the legacy.
"Oh, I will find them, my beloved," Albedo cooed, hugging the scythe to her chest, the sharp edge cutting slightly into the fabric of her dress. Her golden eyes dilated, swimming with madness. "I will find every scrap of evidence that they existed. Every weapon. Every ring. Every piece of armor."
She walked to the massive wardrobe on the far wall. She touched a specific panel. The wood groaned and slid aside, revealing not dresses, but a dark void—a pocket dimension she had secretly configured.
She tossed the scythe inside. It clattered against something metallic.
"And then," she smiled, a horrific expression that exposed too many teeth, "I will ensure they can never hurt you again by returning."
Shadows pooled in the corner of the room. From the darkness, three figures emerged. They were not NPCs of Nazarick. They were Level 80 mercenaries, summoned using gold and Yggdrasil data, owing allegiance only to the one who paid for their existence.
"Lady Albedo," the center figure rasped. It was a Hanzo, a ninja-type demon with no face, only a mask of shadows.
"The script has changed," Albedo said, turning to face them. She smoothed her dress, instantly regaining her regal composure. "Ainz-sama has authorized a total assault on the Slane Theocracy. The confusion will be... useful."
"Instructions?" the Hanzo asked.
"Embed yourselves with the invasion force. While Cocytus and Demiurge play with their armies, you will infiltrate the Theocracy's Treasury."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Secure any World Class Items immediately. Bring them to Ainz-sama; he will sense those. But any Guild artifacts? Any items bearing the personal crests of the Supreme Beings?"
"Yes?"
"Bring them to me. Only me."
She turned back to the mirror, adjusting her horns.
"If the Supreme Ones are truly gone," she murmured to her reflection, "then Ainz-sama is the absolute ruler. If they are hiding in this world... well."
She picked up a small doll from her vanity. It was crudely stitched, resembling a gelatinous blob. A slime. Bukubukuchagama.
She ripped its head off.
"We can't have pretenders challenging the King, can we?"
Erygenthar – The Floating City of the Dragon Lords
The wind up here was thin and sharp enough to freeze spit before it hit the ground. Clouds flowed like rivers around the suspended peaks of Erygenthar, the seat of the Argland Council State.
Platinum Dragon Lord, Tsaindorcus Vaision, sat in his humanoid form—silver hair, bronze skin, eyes that held the weight of millennia. He was sipping tea that had gone cold twenty minutes ago.
Opposite him sat a man who looked like he had run a marathon through hell. Raymond Zarg Lauransan, the Theocracy's Cardinal of Fire.
"You are asking for suicide," Tsaindorcus said quietly. "You want me to engage a Player directly? On his terms? In open warfare?"
"He has mobilized," Raymond pleaded, his hands shaking as he gripped his knees. "Lord Dragon, please. The Magic Caster has destroyed the Elf Capital. He has captured Zesshi Zetsumei. He is coming for us next."
Tsaindorcus placed the cup down. The ceramic clicked against the stone table.
"Zesshi captured..." he mused. "That child was arrogant. Strong, yes. But arrogant. I warned her father years ago that breeding for power would only create a target."
"He calls himself Ainz Ooal Gown."
Tsaindorcus flinched. The name hung in the cold air.
"Ainz Ooal Gown," the Dragon Lord repeated. "I have heard the name. The Vampire I fought... Shalltear. She spoke of him during her madness. A guild name. So, he is not just a Player. He is a remnant of a group."
"We believe he has World Items," Raymond pressed. "We confirmed at least two. But after the battle in the Elf woods... our diviners say the reading is blocked by a power density that defies logic. He might have more. Five? Maybe ten?"
"Impossible," Tsaindorcus stood up and walked to the edge of the pavilion. Below, the world was a patchwork of green and brown. "Even the Eight Greed Kings only possessed a handful. To have ten is to hold the power to reshape reality itself."
He looked at his hands. He could feel the Wild Magic coursing through him—the power of the world's soul. It was the only thing that could counter the foul "Tier Magic" the Players had polluted this world with.
"If he has Zesshi," Tsaindorcus said, his voice grim, "then he has her gear. He has the Downfall of Castle and Country?"
"We... assume so. She was wearing the dress."
Tsaindorcus closed his eyes. That item. The mind control. If an undead sorcerer gained the ability to mind-control dragons...
"This Ainz Ooal Gown," Tsaindorcus turned back. "Is he like the Leader? Like the Six Gods? Does he care for this world?"
"He slaughtered an army of 70,000 to summon goats," Raymond said bluntly. "He rules a dungeon filled with monsters that eat humans for sport. He is death incarnate."
Tsaindorcus sighed. It was a heavy, weary sound, like an old house settling.
"Very well. The Argland Council cannot officially declare war. The politics are... complex. But I, acting as the Platinum Dragon Lord, will intervene."
Raymond slumped with relief. "Thank you. By the Gods, thank you."
"Do not thank me," the Dragon Lord said, his gaze sharpening into reptilian vertical slits. "I am not doing this to save your Theocracy. You human supremacists are barely better than him. I am doing this because there is a balance to keep."
He extended a hand. A suit of platinum armor materialized from thin air, hovering beside him.
"Tell your Pontifex to open the vault. Wake the Cainable." Tsaindorcus looked at the armor—his remote puppet. "I will need a distraction if I am to strike at his heart."
"You intend to kill him?"
"Kill him?" Tsaindorcus laughed, devoid of humor. "No. Players of that level do not simply die. I intend to contain him. But first..."
The Dragon Lord looked north, toward the darkening horizon.
"I need to see just how deep the darkness goes."
Nazarick – 2nd Floor – The Chamber of Truth
It smelled of antiseptic, iron, and something floral that barely masked the scent of singed meat.
Ainz Ooal Gown floated slightly off the ground to avoid stepping in... whatever the puddle on the floor was. He really hoped it was water. Please be water. Please just be a leaky pipe.
"Ainz-sama! Ah! Welcome! Welcome to my humble studio!"
Neutronist Panepon stepped forward. Her fleshy, corpse-like body quivered with delight. Her apron was stained with fresh red. She wiped her hands on a rag that was arguably dirtier than her hands.
"I apologize for the mess!" she chirped. "The subject is quite resilient! Truly a Divine descendant! Her vocal cords have regenerated three times already! It's marvelous!"
Ainz nodded slowly, keeping his face perfectly still.
Gross. Gross, gross, gross. Why did I come down here? I should have sent Albedo. Or Pandora's Actor. Anyone but me.
[Emotion Suppression]
The nausea vanished. Ainz floated past the torturer toward the cross in the center of the room.
Zesshi Zetsumei hung there. Or what was left of her.
Her distinctive half-white, half-black hair was matted with sweat and blood. Her mismatched eyes—one silver, one black—were swollen but open. She was staring at him. Not with fear. But with confusion.
She had lost. She, the strongest existence she knew, had lost in minutes. And now, the monster who defeated her was here.
"You," she croaked. Her voice was wrecked.
Ainz stared at her. He didn't see a broken girl. He saw a data sheet.
Level estimates confirmed around 88, Ainz thought, analyzing her aura. High physical stats. Valkyrie class abilities? No, something else. A native Talent.
"I trust the hospitality has been sufficient?" Ainz asked. The words were meant to be sarcastic, a villainous quip he picked up from a manga.
Zesshi actually laughed. A bubbling, wet sound. "Hospitality. Is that what you call... peeling?"
"We are pressed for time," Ainz said, abandoning the villain persona for efficiency. He needed answers before he chickened out and left. "My subordinate, Albedo, found an item on you. A scythe."
Zesshi blinked. "The... useless toy?"
"Where did you get it?"
"My mother left it," Zesshi rasped. "She got it from... the gods. The ones who came before."
Ainz felt a twinge of disappointment. So Bellriver hadn't been here recently. It was a legacy item passed down. A dead end.
"I see." Ainz turned to leave. "Neutronist. Finish up. Extract the location of the World Items and then... disposal."
"Wait."
Zesshi's voice was barely a whisper.
Ainz stopped.
"You're... lonely," she said.
The room went dead silent. Neutronist froze, scalpel halfway to the tray.
Ainz turned back slowly. The red points in his eye sockets flared. "Explain."
"You didn't ask about my strength," Zesshi whispered, a strange, delirious smile touching her lips. "You didn't ask about the Theocracy's defenses. You asked about a toy." She coughed, blood spattering the floor. "You're looking for them. Your kind."
Ainz floated closer. He loomed over her, his shadow swallowing the light.
"And if I am?"
"They're dead," Zesshi said, her eyes gleaming with malice. "The Eight Greed Kings killed the Surshana. The Dragon Lords killed the Greed Kings. They all die. You will too."
Ainz stared at her. The words should have angered him. But they didn't. They just felt empty.
She doesn't know anything, he realized. She's just trying to hurt me because she has no other weapon left.
"Death is the natural state of Nazarick," Ainz said softly. He reached out a skeletal hand. Zesshi flinched, expecting pain.
He placed a finger on her forehead.
Control Amnesia.
It wasn't a torture spell. It was a manipulation of memory. It cost a massive amount of MP, but he needed to confirm her knowledge directly. He delved into her mind.
Images flashed.
A childhood of abuse.
"You are a weapon, nothing more."
The Captain of the Black Scripture sparring with her.
A meeting with the Pontifex.
Then, a memory from a few years ago.
Reports of a Vampire in the forest.
"Use the Dress. Capture the Vampire. We need a weapon against the Dragon Lord."
"We lost her. She self-destructed? No, someone killed her. The skeleton."
Ainz pulled back. His nonexistent heart pounded against his ribs.
They knew.
They knew about Shalltear. They hadn't just attacked her randomly; they had targeted her. And Zesshi knew about the item used—Downfall of Castle and Country. It was currently in the capital, heavily guarded in the inner sanctum.
And there was something else in her memory. A vague impression of a vault beneath the capital. Something large. Something... alive. The Tiger.
Ainz withdrew his hand.
Zesshi gasped, her eyes rolling back as the memory spell disoriented her.
"Neutronist," Ainz said. His voice was different now. Cold. devoid of the nervous improvisation from earlier.
"Yes, Supreme One?"
"Do not kill her," Ainz ordered. "She has... compatible biology. Zesshi Zetsumei is a descendant of Players. A God-kin."
"Oh?" Neutronist wiggled with excitement.
"Take her to the breeding room," Ainz said, turning his back. "If she is the strongest the New World has to offer, perhaps she can serve a purpose other than information. Let us see if her 'talent' can be harvested for the Twins' future retinues."
Zesshi's eyes went wide with true horror for the first time. "No... wait! Kill me! Just kill me!"
"You denied my children a peaceful vacation," Ainz said as he floated toward the door, the heavy oak swinging open. "You dragged me into a war I did not want. You threatened my family."
He paused at the threshold.
"In Nazarick, death is a mercy you have not yet earned."
The door slammed shut, cutting off her screams.
Outside in the hallway, Ainz leaned against the wall and put his head in his hands.
That sounded so evil! I sound like a comic book villain! 'Breeding room'? I meant the talent-extraction lab! Why did I say breeding room?! Now Neutronist is going to interpret that weirdly! Ugh, I can't go back in there to correct it. It's too awkward.
He sighed, straightening his robe.
Focus, Satoru. Focus. The Theocracy capital. The item. The 'Tiger'.
He tapped his Message collar.
"Mare?"
"Y-yes, Ainz-sama!" The voice was bright and cheerful.
"Are you in position?"
"Yes! Aura is here too! We're at the edge of the border. We can see the first city, E-Lantier... wait, no, Kami-Miyako's outer trade city!"
"Is the populace evacuated?" Ainz asked. He hoped they were. He had authorized dropping leaflets. Had they dropped the leaflets?
"Uhh..." Mare hesitated. "Demiurge sent the warnings! But... um... they didn't believe them. The guards burned the papers."
Ainz closed his eyes. Idiots. Why does everyone in this world assume warnings are bluffs?
"Proceed," Ainz said, feeling the weight of the order. "Begin Phase One."
"Okay! Going now!"
Border of the Slane Theocracy – Northern Trade City "Kalas"
The city walls were forty feet high, reinforced with holy magic. Five thousand guards patrolled the ramparts. It was a fortress designed to hold back demi-human invasions.
Above it, on a cliff overlooking the valley, a small Dark Elf stood holding a twisted wooden staff. Beside him, a girl in a red vest was swinging her legs off the edge, munching on a sandwich.
"Do a big one, Mare," Aura mumbled with her mouth full. "Like, really big. Ainz-sama is watching."
"I-I know," Mare stammered. He adjusted his skirt. "I just... I don't want to mess up the shape. Demiurge said the sinkhole needs to be a perfect circle for the ritual significance."
"Just smash it."
Mare took a deep breath. He gripped the staff Shadow of Yggdrasil.
He didn't chant. He didn't need to chant for this level of magic against this level of opponent. He simply poured his mana into the earth.
Deep below the city of Kalas, the bedrock groaned.
Inside the city, a merchant selling apples felt his cart vibrate. He frowned. "Earthquake?"
The guard at the gate felt the vibration through his boots. He looked at his water flask. The water was rippling in concentric circles.
"EARTHQUAKE!" someone screamed.
But it wasn't a shake. It was a drop.
A loud CRACK echoed like a thunderclap from the ground up.
The center of the city—the temple district, the market, the garrison—simply fell.
It wasn't a gradual slide. The earth opened its maw. A perfect cylinder of land, three kilometers wide, plummeted two hundred meters instantly.
Dust geysered up, a choking white cloud that obliterated the sun. The sound hit the surrounding farms seconds later—a dull, heavy THUD that shook teeth loose three towns over.
On the cliff, Mare peered through the dust.
"Did... did I get it?"
Aura stood up, squinting. She activated a Ranger skill [Far Sight].
The city of Kalas was gone. In its place was a perfectly circular pit. The walls on the rim were clean, as if cut by a cookie cutter. Screams echoed up from the dark depths, faint and tinny.
"Center mass," Aura nodded, dusting crumbs off her vest. "Nice."
"Oh, good." Mare smiled, an expression of pure, adorable innocence. "Should we do the next one?"
A low hum filled the air behind them.
Aura spun around, her whip already in hand.
A tear in space opened. But it wasn't a Gate. It was... sloppy. Like someone had torn wet paper.
From the rift, a massive claw emerged. Not bone. Metal. Or... crystal?
"Hostiles!" Aura shouted. "Mare, behind me!"
The rift widened. A suit of armor hovered out. It was empty, yet filled with an overwhelming presence. Four weapons floated behind it—a greatsword, a spear, a hammer, and a katana.
Platinum Dragon Lord's armor.
"Dark Elves," a voice echoed from the empty helmet. "Children of Nazarick."
Aura's eyes narrowed. "I know you. You're the trash that fought Cocytus's decoy."
"I am the protector of this world," the armor stated, the greatsword slowly pointing at them. The pressure coming off it was immense—heavy, ancient wild magic pressing down against their World Item immunities. "Your master has gone too far. Leave now, and I will spare you."
Mare stepped out from behind his sister. He wasn't stuttering anymore. He looked at the pit he had just made, then at the armor.
"Spare us?" Mare tilted his head. He gripped his staff tighter. "But... Ainz-sama told us to make three holes."
"And," Aura grinned, her eyes flashing dangerously, "we haven't met our quota yet."
"So die," Mare finished.
"Twin Maximize Magic: [Petit Catastrophe]!"
"Breath of the Dragon!"
Energy exploded on the cliffside, turning the rock to glass instantly.
The War for the World had begun.