The tea was cold.
Princess Renner—now the Imp Princess of the 9th Floor—didn't mind. She enjoyed the waiting. Waiting meant anticipating, and anticipating was half the flavor of love.
"Puppy," she cooed, her voice echoing in the small, soundproofed apartment Demiurge had generously provided. "Sit."
Climb, or what used to be Climb, stopped pacing. His skin was now a mottled gray, small nubs of horns poking through his golden hair. His eyes, once bright with knightly determination, were cloudy, filled with a chemically induced adoration that mirrored her own twisted affection.
He sat. He didn't ask why. He just sat on the rug, tail twitching nervously.
"Good boy." Renner smiled, a pure, innocent expression that didn't match the leathery wings currently folded against her back. "Ainz-sama has returned. The castle is buzzing. Can you feel it?"
Climb nodded sluggishly. "The... pressure. It is... heavy."
"That is the weight of a God, Climb." She walked over and pet his head. Her nails were black claws now. "He has conquered the forest. He has humbled the dragons. And soon, he will break the world outside so we can be safe here forever."
Climb leaned into her touch. "Safe. Yes. Just... us."
"Just us." Renner looked out the fake window that displayed a painted landscape of a sunny day. "And the screaming. Don't worry about the screaming, Puppy. That's just the sound of renovation."
Nazarick – 10th Floor – The Round Table
Ainz Ooal Gown sat at the head of the obsidian table. He felt sick.
The euphoria of surviving the encounter with the Platinum Dragon Lord had faded, replaced by the crushing reality of what had just happened.
I just threatened a world power, he thought, staring at the polished black stone. I just authorized the destruction of three cities. I told a Dragon Lord I was bringing 'the whole guild'.
Why did I say that? Why?
"Strategic brilliance," Demiurge said from across the table. He was reading a report, his tail wagging with a rhythm that suggested he was mentally dissecting a puppy.
"A-Ah," Ainz managed. "You think so?"
"Indisputable." Demiurge adjusted his glasses. "By claiming you will bring the 'whole guild', you have planted a seed of paranoia in the Dragon Lord's mind. He will not attack. He will hesitate. He will search for enemies that do not exist, wasting resources on shadows while we dismantle his allies in the daylight."
"Yes," Ainz said, clutching his stomach. "Paranoia. Exactly what I intended."
I was just trying to sound cool! Now I have to produce a guild?! I'm alone!
The heavy doors creaked open. Albedo entered.
She wasn't wearing her armor. She was in her white dress, looking every bit the compassionate mother of the Guardians. But Ainz noticed the faint tremor in her hands. The flush on her cheeks.
"Ainz-sama," she bowed low, offering a lacquered box. "The retrieval team has returned from the Slane Theocracy's Treasury."
Ainz sat up straight. "Did you find it? The World Items?"
"The Hanzo squad was... partially successful," Albedo murmured, walking closer. Her scent hit him—vanilla and something metallic. "The Theocracy moved the World Items to the front lines before the infiltration. However..."
She opened the box.
Inside sat a ring.
A simple band of silver, etched with a crude, jagged design of a screaming face.
The air in the room vanished.
Ainz reached out. His skeletal fingers hovered over the metal. He didn't breathe—he couldn't—but his entire body went rigid.
He knew this ring.
"If I'm going to play a Ninja, I need to be silent, Momonga-san! This ring gives a +5% bonus to silent movement! I spent three weeks grinding for the mats!"
Nishikienrai.
The stealth master of the guild. The one who had guided them through the hardest raids. The man who had laughed when he died to a trap, only to run back from the respawn point yelling "AGAIN!"
Ainz picked up the ring. It was cold.
"Nishikienrai," he whispered.
[Emotion Suppression]
The green light flared. The grief was shoved down, compacted into a dense ball of clinical observation. But it hurt. Before the suppression kicked in, the pain was sharp enough to crack his ribs.
"Where?" Ainz asked. His voice was devoid of intonation.
"The Treasury," Albedo said softly. She moved to his side, her hand hovering near his shoulder, not touching, but close. "They had it in a display case. Like a trophy."
"A trophy," Ainz repeated.
"They must have killed him," Albedo hissed. The venom in her voice was real. "They must have hunted the Supreme Being Nishikienrai, slain him in his moment of weakness, and mounted his ring like the head of a beast."
Ainz stared at the ring.
Logic tried to intervene. Maybe he just dropped it? Maybe he sold it to an NPC shop and it drifted here?
But logic was weak against the evidence. The Slane Theocracy knew about Players. They had the World Item that mind-controlled Shalltear. They had a half-elf God-kin.
Why wouldn't they kill a Player if they found one alone?
Nishikienrai wasn't like Touch Me or Ulbert. He was a glass cannon. If he was caught out of stealth... without support...
Ainz's hand closed around the ring. The metal groaned.
"They stole from my friends," Ainz said.
The room darkened. Actual shadows lengthened, stretching from the corners of the room towards the throne like grasping fingers. The despair aura was leaking out again.
"They stole from me."
"Yes," Albedo whispered, her golden eyes burning. "They are thieves. Maggots feasting on the divine."
Ainz stood up. The chair scrapped loudly against the stone.
"Demiurge."
"My Lord!" Demiurge stood instantly, his face a mask of serious anticipation.
"The plan for the Theocracy. Modify it."
"In what manner?"
"I said to leave the libraries," Ainz said, slipping Nishikienrai's ring onto his pinky finger. It resized instantly to fit the bone. "I rescind that order."
Albedo's breath hitched.
"Burn it," Ainz said. "Burn the libraries. Burn the temples. Burn the history books. If they dared to turn my friend's legacy into a museum exhibit, then I will ensure their history is forgotten."
He walked toward the exit.
"Turn their capital into ash. I want nothing left but the dirt."
"As you command!" Demiurge bowed so low his nose touched the table.
As the doors slammed shut behind the Overlord, Albedo remained standing. A slow, terrifying smile spread across her face.
She touched her pocket, where the Diary of Surshana was hidden. A diary that detailed a Player's natural death from old age. A diary that proved Nishikienrai likely wasn't murdered, but perhaps died centuries ago, or never arrived at all.
Ainz didn't need to see that.
"Burn the history," Albedo chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Yes. Let us burn the truth until only you remain, Momonga-sama."
She looked at Demiurge, who was scribbling furiously on a notepad.
"Demiurge."
"Albedo?"
"Ensure the extraction of the World Items is... absolute. The Sorcerer King is upset. We need to offer him a pile of heads to quell his sorrow."
Demiurge stopped writing. He pushed his glasses up. The light reflected off the lenses, hiding his eyes.
"Naturally. The Happy Farm has been running low on high-quality parchment anyway. The Theocracy citizens should provide excellent skin."
The Slane Theocracy – Northern Border – Sector 4
The silence was the worst part.
Usually, after a disaster, there is screaming. Wailing. Calls for help.
But looking over the edge of the First Sinkhole, Captain Nigun (posthumously replaced, but the unit name remained) saw only darkness.
The hole was perfectly cylindrical. Three kilometers wide. Infinite depth.
The city of Kalas wasn't destroyed. It had just... ceased to exist at surface level.
"Gods above," a private whispered, clutching his holy symbol. "The earth just... ate them."
A second soldier pointed to the west. "Look."
Another cloud of dust. Another pillar of displaced air.
"The second hole," the Captain muttered. "They're methodical."
The magic receiver in the Captain's helmet crackled. It was the Pontifex.
"Status report."
"City of Kalas is gone, Your Holiness. No survivors. We have confirmed visual on the hostiles. Two Dark Elves. One insectoid... thing."
"And the Tiger?"
The Captain swallowed dryly. "Destroyed, sir. In one hit. The Platinum Dragon Lord has retreated."
The line went dead for a long ten seconds.
"Retreat," the Pontifex ordered. His voice sounded like cracked glass.
"Sir? To where?"
"Kami-Miyako. The Capital. Pull every scripture back. Abandon the border towns. Abandon the forts."
"But the civilians-"
"If we spread out, we die!" The Pontifex snapped. "We cannot fight them in the field. They have a monster that creates bottomless pits for fun! Our only chance is the Citadel. The holy ground protects us against instant death magic. Fall back."
The Captain looked down at the dark abyss one last time. He spat into it.
"We're not fighting an army," he muttered to his men. "We're fighting a natural disaster."
E-Rantel – Sorcerer Kingdom – Mayor's Office
Panic was a polite word for what was happening in the corridors of the newly integrated Human territories.
Ainz—or rather, Pandora's Actor transformed into Momon the Adventurer—sat with his boots on the desk.
"So," he said, in a voice that was perfectly heroic and dashing. "The Sorcerer King has declared war on the Theocracy?"
Opposite him sat Pluton Ainzach, the Guildmaster. The man looked like he had aged twenty years in twenty minutes.
"War? Momon-dono, this isn't war!" Ainzach waved a stack of reports. "He's dissolving the landscape! We have trade agreements with the Theocracy! The economy is going to crash if he sinks the Silk Road!"
"It is a concern," Pandora's Actor nodded, theatrically stroking his chin. Ah, the pose! The grandeur! Does this light catch my profile?
"You have to speak to him!" Ainzach pleaded. "You're the only one he respects! Momon the Dark Hero serves the Sorcerer King, yes, but you represent the people! Tell him to stop the geographic restructuring!"
Pandora's Actor leaned forward.
"The Sorcerer King," he said with dramatic flair, "moves with thoughts beyond our comprehension. Perhaps the destruction of the Silk Road is to pave the way for... the Mithril Highway!"
Ainzach blinked. "The what?"
"A new road!" Pandora's Actor improvised wildly. "Built by undead labor! Free of bandits! Straighter! Flatter! The Sorcerer King destroys to rebuild!"
Ainzach paused. He looked thoughtful. "A toll-free highway guarded by Death Knights... shipping costs would drop by 40%..."
"Precisely!" Pandora's Actor slammed his hand on the desk. "A grand economic stimulus package disguised as a horrifying invasion! Sasuga Ainz-sama!"
"I... suppose?" Ainzach rubbed his temples. "Gods, you undead are insane. But... if it lowers tariff rates..."
"I will convey your concerns," Momon stood up, his cape flowing. "But know this, Ainzach. When the Sorcerer King moves, the world changes shape. Adapt, or fall into the sinkhole."
As he strode out of the office to find a private place to call his father, Pandora's Actor preened.
Father will be so proud of my economic improvisation! I must practice the 'Mithril Highway' speech in German! It sounds more authoritative!
The Great Tomb of Nazarick – 5th Floor – The Glacier
Cocytus knelt in the snow.
Before him stood the frozen statues of the captured Theocracy soldiers. He called them his "Collection."
He wasn't torture-minded like Neutronist. He wasn't cruel like Solution. He was a warrior.
But Ainz-sama was angry.
He felt the tremors through the tomb's link. The master's rage was a cold, silent thing that made Cocytus's carapace ache.
"They. Stole. The. Ring," Cocytus puffed a cloud of mist.
He looked at the frozen Captain of the unit he had captured near the border.
"Wake," Cocytus commanded.
The ice around the human's head thawed slightly. The man gasped, his skin blue, his eyes rolling.
"Where. Is. The. Rest?" Cocytus asked.
"W-what?" the man chattered. "Rest of w-what?"
"The. Treasures. Of. The. Supreme. Beings." Cocytus grabbed the man's frozen shoulder. The ice cracked. "Do. Not. Lie. To. Me. Or. I. Will. Ask. My. Sister. Pestonya. To. Heal. You. So. I. Can. Freeze. You. Again."
"I d-don't know!" the soldier wailed. "We just guard the border! The Black Scripture... the Black Scripture has the artifacts! The Pontifex keeps them in the Cathedral of Six!"
"The. Black. Scripture." Cocytus dropped the man.
He stood up, looking toward the ceiling of the cavern.
"Guardians," Cocytus projected his voice through the [Message] network.
Yes, Cocytus? Shalltear's voice answered, bubbly and terrifying.
We are listening, Aura chimed in.
"I. Have. Confirmed. Target. Location. The. Capital. Cathedral."
Cocytus drew his katana. The steel sang in the cold air.
"I. Request. Permission. To. Lead. The. Vanguard. I. Wish. To. Secure. The. Items. For. Ainz-sama. Before. The. Buildings. Burn."
Oh no you don't! Albedo's voice cut in, sharp and commanding. The Cathedral is mine. The interior is mine. You handle the army outside, Cocytus. Anyone who tries to escape... freeze them.
"Understood," Cocytus exhaled.
He looked down at the soldier.
"You. Were. Helpful."
The soldier sobbed with relief. "So... you'll let me go?"
"No."
Cocytus raised his hand.
Iceberg Smash.
The statue shattered into a thousand glittering diamonds of red and blue.
"I. Said. Helpful. Not. Innocent."
Cocytus turned and walked into the blizzard. The invasion was no longer political. It was a raid. And Nazarick did not fail raids.
Cliffhanger: The Deepest Shadow
While the armies mobilized and the politicians panicked, something ancient woke up in the far south.
Deep beneath the ruined castle of the Eight Greed Kings, in the city of Erygenthar, Tsaindorcus Vaision returned to his true body.
The great dragon uncoiled. Platinum scales shifted like liquid metal.
He was tired. The link to the armor had been severed forcefully by fear.
"He is coming," Tsaindorcus rumbled, his voice shaking the mountain roots. "And he is bringing hell with him."
He looked at the gathered council—four other True Dragon Lords, old monsters who remembered the world before the Players.
The Brightness Dragon Lord.
The Deep Darkness Dragon Lord.
The Swordmaster Dragon Lord.
The Vampiric Dragon Lord.
They looked at Tsaindorcus with mix of arrogance and curiosity.
"You ran, Platinum," The Deep Darkness Dragon Lord hissed from a corner of shadows. "You faced the filth and ran."
"I survived," Tsaindorcus countered. "And I confirmed it. He has World Items. Multiple."
"Then we strike together," The Swordmaster said, sharpening a claw that was essentially a naturally formed divine-class blade. "We use the Wild Magic. We rip his soul out before he can cast his Tier trash."
"No," Tsaindorcus said. "If we group up, he will use Longinus or Ouroboros. He is waiting for us to group up."
He looked at the map of the continent.
"We need the Alliance. Humans. Elves. Beastmen. Throw them all into the meat grinder."
"You would sacrifice the lesser races?"
"To kill a God," Tsaindorcus said, his eyes burning with cold resolve, "I would burn this world down to the bedrock myself."
He spread his wings.
"Call the Black Scripture. Tell them I accept the alliance. We make our stand at Kami-Miyako."
"Let the Sorcerer King come. Let him find that this world has teeth."