The war room was silent. Not the silence of a library, but the silence of a predatory animal holding its breath before the bite.
Ainz Ooal Gown stared at the map of the Slane Theocracy spread across the table. Small wooden figurines represented armies. There were a lot of black ones (Nazarick) surrounding a shrinking cluster of white ones (Theocracy).
It looks like a game of Othello that I'm winning by cheating, Satoru Suzuki thought miserably.
"The encirclement is complete, Ainz-sama."
Demiurge tapped the map with a pointer made of polished bone.
"We have successfully herded the civilian populations from the border towns toward the capital. Approximately three million refugees are now pressing against the walls of Kami-Miyako."
Ainz nodded slowly. "I see. To strain their food supply?"
"Precisely." Demiurge's glasses flashed. "And to create a... biological cushion. The Theocracy's defensive runic artillery creates holy ground explosions. By mixing refugees with our advance units, we force them to choose: expend mana to kill their own citizens, or hold fire and let us breach the walls."
Ainz froze.
Human shields? He's using human shields? millions of them?
Internal alarms blared. The remnants of Satoru's morals kicked a mental table over. That's a war crime! That's, like, top of the list of things you don't do!
"Ah... Demiurge."
"Yes, Supreme One?" Demiurge leaned forward, eager for the wisdom that would undoubtedly refine his cruelty into art.
"Is that... strictly necessary?" Ainz asked, trying to sound detached rather than horrified. "Our undead do not require cover. The Death Knights can sustain hit after hit. Using the refugees seems... inefficient."
Demiurge blinked. Then, a look of profound realization dawned on his face.
"Brilliant," he breathed.
"It... is?"
"Of course! If we mix the refugees with the soldiers, the despair is diluted! But if we segregate them... if we force the refugees to watch the annihilation of their army from the sidelines, knowing they are next... the quality of the negative energy harvested will be significantly purer!"
Demiurge bowed. "Forgive my crudeness, Ainz-sama. I focused on tactical advantage and forgot the importance of gourmet suffering."
"Right," Ainz said, his soul withering. "Gourmet... yes. Do that. Keep the refugees... uh... watching. Safely. Watching."
"As you will."
[Emotion Suppression]
The green light washed over him, dulling the nausea. The guilt of implied mass trauma was replaced by simple logistical checklist processing.
"The attack begins at dawn," Ainz stated coldly. "Dismissed."
The Guardians filed out. As Albedo passed, she paused, offering a smile that was equal parts devotion and terrifying possession.
"Do not worry about the cleanup, Ainz-sama," she whispered. "I have my own... specialists scanning the battlefield. Nothing will slip through our fingers."
She left.
Ainz sat alone in the dark room. He looked at the Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown on his finger, then at Nishikienrai's ring on his pinky.
"Two," he muttered. "I have two."
He slumped in his chair, the imposing Overlord dissolving into a tired salaryman skeleton.
"I just saved three million people from being meat shields," he told himself. "But I'm making them watch their government burn. Is that better? Am I a hero or a monster?"
He looked at the map again. At the capital city.
"Doesn't matter," he decided, standing up and grabbing his staff. "They touched the collection. No one touches the collection."
The Grand Defense Line – "Shield of the Six"
General Kaelus stood atop the 'Wall of Saints', a fortification twenty meters high, reinforced with anti-evil wards painted in gold and blood.
Below him, the plain stretched for miles.
It was empty.
"Report," Kaelus barked, his hand gripping the pommel of his enchanted sword. "Where are they?"
"Scouts report movement in the tree line, sir!" a lieutenant yelled, voice cracking. "Massive magical signatures! Equivalent to... to catastrophe-class monsters!"
"Steady!" Kaelus shouted to the ten thousand men lining the walls. "We are the Slane Theocracy! We are the chosen of the Gods! The undead are mindless beasts! They will charge, and they will burn in the holy light!"
He believed it. He had to. The history books said undead were stupid. They swarmed. They had no tactics.
Then the drums started.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
A rhythm. A slow, synchronized marching beat.
From the treeline, they emerged.
Not a chaotic swarm of zombies. Not a shambling horde.
Lines. Perfect, geometric lines.
First, the Death Knights. hundreds of them. Seven-foot-tall juggernauts with tower shields, marching in lockstep. Their heavy boots shook the ground in perfect unison.
Behind them, towering constructs of bone and blue fire—Soul Eaters. Dozens of them. Silent destroyers that devoured souls just by being near.
And riding atop the lead Soul Eater was a single figure in a white mask.
Pandora's Actor (as Momon). But he wasn't playing the hero today. He was playing the General of Nazarick, wearing an austere military uniform with a cape that defied physics.
"Halt," a voice projected across the battlefield.
Ten thousand undead stopped instantly. The sound of thousands of boots slamming down at once cracked like thunder.
Silence returned.
General Kaelus felt sweat trickle down his back. Undead didn't have discipline. They didn't halt.
"Humans of the Theocracy," Pandora's Actor spoke, spreading his arms theatrically. "I bring you a message from the Sorcerer King, Ainz Ooal Gown!"
He cleared his throat.
"The message is: 'Run.'"
"Fire!" Kaelus screamed. "Artillery! Open fire!"
Fifty magic casters on the wall began chanting. "Fireball!" "Holy Ray!" "Lightning!"
A barrage of destruction rained down on the front ranks. Explosions tore up the earth. Smoke obscured the army.
"Direct hits!" a soldier cheered.
The smoke cleared.
The Death Knights were still standing. Some had burn marks on their shields. None had moved.
"Is that all?" Pandora's Actor tilted his head. "How... anti-climactic. Well! My Father—er, my Master—prefers efficient warfare. I shall demonstrate!"
He pointed a finger at the gate.
"Soul Eaters. Effect range: Maximum. Passive aura: Activate."
The horses opened their mouths. They didn't roar. They inhaled.
A visible distortion wave rippled out from the undead cavalry. It washed over the plain, hit the wall, and kept going.
On the ramparts, men didn't explode. They didn't burn.
They just fell.
"W-what?" Kaelus looked to his left. His lieutenant was on the ground. Eyes open. No pulse.
He looked right. Five archers slumped over the battlements like discarded dolls.
"Instant death," Kaelus realized, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "It's an area-of-effect instant death aura!"
"Priests!" Kaelus screamed. "Mass Wards! Protection from Evil! Now!"
But the priests were already falling, clutching their chests.
Pandora's Actor sighed, amplifying his voice again.
"Oh, come now! Those were Level 1 defenses! You really shouldn't bring Level 20 soldiers to a Level 60 zone. It's bad game balance!"
He drew his greatswords.
"Charge."
The black tide surged forward.
Kaelus watched the Death Knights sprinting—actually sprinting—toward the walls. They leaped. It was impossible for heavy armor, but they leaped twenty feet into the air, plunging their flamberges into the stone, scaling the 'unassailable' wall like spiders.
The first Death Knight vaulted the parapet.
Kaelus drew his sword. "Die, monster!"
He lunged, a perfect thrust enhanced by his Martial Art [Piercing Strike].
The Death Knight caught the blade. Caught it. With its hand.
The undead creature looked at the General. Its rotted face didn't move, but a guttural growl emitted from its throat.
"Weak."
It snapped the sword. Then it backhanded General Kaelus.
The General's head rotated 180 degrees. He died before his body hit the floor.
"Secure the perimeter!" Pandora's Actor shouted from below, checking his nails. "And find the treasure room! Anything shiny belongs to Ainz-sama! No looting for yourselves!"
Kami-Miyako – The Black Scripture Command Post
The reports weren't just bad. They were apocalyptic.
"The Shield of the Six has fallen."
"Second Army decimated."
"Third Army surrendered. Then executed."
"Refugees are storming the Inner Gate."
The Captain of the Black Scripture—humanity's strongest warrior—sat on a wooden crate, sharpening his spear. He looked calm, but the wood of the spear shaft was splintering under his grip.
Opposite him sat Rufus, the First Disciple. An undead being who had known Surshana, the God of Death.
"He uses Soul Eaters as cavalry," Rufus said quietly. "In my time, a single Soul Eater destroyed a city. He has forty."
"Can we win?" the Captain asked.
Rufus laughed. It was a dry, rasping sound.
"Win? No. Ainz Ooal Gown is a Player. But unlike the Six Great Gods, he did not come to save us. He came to rule."
"So we die."
"Perhaps." Rufus stood up. "But we have the Downfall. And we have the Allies."
The door opened. A figure stepped in.
It wasn't human. It was barely solid. A being cloaked in shadows that seemed to drink the torchlight.
The Deep Darkness Dragon Lord (Remote Body).
"The lizard is waiting," the Shadow dragon hissed. "Platinum wants to ambush the King when he breaches the Citadel."
"Ambush?" The Captain scoffed. "With what?"
"With the ultimate Wild Magic," the Dragon Lord replied. "While you humans die to distract his minions, the Council will erase his soul. We will trap him in a pocket dimension cut off from his resurrection system."
"You want us to be bait," the Captain stated.
"You are bait," the dragon retorted. "That is your purpose, little flesh-things. Distract the Monster. We will handle the kill."
The Captain stood up. He walked to the window. Smoke was rising from the outer walls. The screams of three million refugees were audible even here.
"Fine," the Captain said. "We will deploy the Black Scripture. All seats."
He turned to a young girl in the corner. The Fifth Seat. "Get the dress. The World Item. If Ainz shows his face... we capture him."
"And if we can't capture him?" Rufus asked.
The Captain picked up his spear.
"Then we pray Surshana forgives us for what we're about to do to his world."
Nazarick – Treasury – Access Corridor
Albedo walked briskly, her heels clicking on the gold-inlaid floor. Behind her was PA (Pandora's Actor's main body).
"You are certain?" Albedo asked.
"Ja! Certain!" PA struck a pose, flinging a hand to his forehead. "When I used the Discern Enemy skill on the border treasury... I sensed residues. Not just items. Data signatures."
Albedo stopped. She turned to face the Doppelganger.
"What kind of signatures?"
"Construct data," PA dropped the accent, his face becoming a blank oval. "Specifically... Goelm data. High tier."
"Luci★Fer," Albedo hissed. The name of the Supreme Being who specialized in Golems. The prankster. The one she hated almost as much as Peroroncino.
"Is the Golem active?"
"No. Dormant. But... Albedo-sama. The signature was faint. It was being suppressed."
Albedo smiled. "By World Class Items?"
"Most likely."
"Good." Albedo resumed walking. "That means they have him. Or parts of him. The Slane Theocracy didn't just find items. They have been salvaging corpses."
She clenched her fist.
"I will liquefy them. Slowly."
"Ainz-sama explicitly ordered us to capture the capital intact," PA reminded her.
"And we will," Albedo said sweetly. "Intact enough to search. Afterwards? Accidents happen in war, Pandora. Fires start. Structural integrity fails."
She reached the door to her quarters and paused.
"Tell the Hit Squad to move to Phase Two. Penetrate the Cathedral during the chaotic melee. If they find Ruination of the World or Downfall of Castle and Country... secure them. If they find anything relating to the other Supreme Beings..."
"Secure it?"
"Destroy it," Albedo corrected. "Unless it's useful to Ainz-sama directly. We don't need ghosts coming back to haunt us."
PA watched her enter her room. He tilted his featureless head.
Internal Thought: Does she know that Father monitors the logistics reports? If she destroys items, the resource ledger will show a discrepancy. This behavior... it is perilous.
PA shrugged. Ah, love! It drives even the smartest women to treason! Such melodrama!
He transformed into a cat and trotted away to report to Ainz. Not about the treason—he wasn't suicidal—but about the "logistical difficulties" of looting. Ainz would interpret it as standard looting issues. Probably.
Kami-Miyako – The Siege Begins
Three days later.
The city was burning.
It wasn't a total blaze yet, but the outer districts were gone. The "Army of Darkness"—Death Knights, Skeleton Warriors, Elder Liches—had breached the outer perimeter.
The three million refugees were huddled in the second ring, starving and terrified.
Above the city, Ainz Ooal Gown floated.
He wasn't wearing armor this time. He was wearing his grandest robes, radiating a divine aura of gold and violet. He wanted them to see a God.
Behind him floated the Floor Guardians. Shalltear, Cocytus, Demiurge, Mare, Aura.
"Beautiful," Shalltear licked her lips. "The despair is exquisite."
"It's messy," Ainz muttered. "The roads are clogged. Logistical nightmare."
"Ainz-sama is critiquing their urban planning!" Demiurge nodded, writing in his notebook. "Indeed, their fleeing efficiency is sub-optimal."
Ainz raised his staff.
"Demiurge."
"Yes?"
"The Pontifex is in the central spire. Correct?"
"According to the captured Captain's interrogation—before he broke—yes."
"Then let us knock."
Ainz pointed the staff at the massive holy barrier protecting the Inner Sanctum. It was a 9th Tier barrier, strengthened by centuries of faith.
"Maximize Magic: [Black Hole]."
A dot of absolute nothingness appeared on the barrier's surface.
There was no sound. The light just bent. The barrier didn't crack; it screamed as it was sucked into the singularity.
The dome of holy light distorted, twisted, and then popped.
Silence fell over the city. The protection of the gods was gone.
Ainz amplified his voice.
"PEOPLE OF THE THEOCRACY."
Millions of faces looked up.
"YOU HAVE STOLEN FROM ME. YOU HAVE HURT MY CHILDREN. I CAME HERE TO ASK 'WHY'."
He lowered the staff, pointing it directly at the Cathedral.
"HAND OVER THE PONTIFEX. HAND OVER THE ITEMS. AND PERHAPS... PERHAPS I WILL LEAVE ONE STONE STANDING UPON ANOTHER."
A silence stretched.
Then, from the Cathedral spire, a single figure walked out onto the balcony.
It was the Pontifex Maximus. He looked tiny from this distance.
He held up a crystal.
Ainz squinted. What is that? A weapon?
"WE DO NOT KNEEL!" the Pontifex's voice boomed, magically amplified. "ATTACK!"
The roofs of the inner city exploded.
From the concealed positions, six figures launched into the air. The Black Scripture's elite. But they weren't attacking Ainz.
They were attacking the Guardians.
And behind them, rising from the Cathedral floor, a massive golden dragon emerged. Not the Platinum Dragon Lord. A summoned spectral construct of the Brightness Dragon Lord.
"A trap!" Albedo screeched, summoning her bardiche. "Protective formation around Ainz-sama!"
"No," Ainz said calmly.
[Emotion Suppression]
He saw the formation. He saw the gleam of a specific item on one of the attackers—a dress. The Dress.
They were trying to use Downfall of Castle and Country again.
"They aren't attacking," Ainz realized, his eyes flaring red. "They're trying to target Mare."
Mare was isolated on the left flank, looking surprised.
"Shalltear! Block the Dress holder!" Ainz ordered. "Albedo, kill the Dragon!"
"Ainz-sama?"
"I," Ainz pulled a scroll from his inventory, a cash shop item radiating raw ominous power, "will deal with the Pope."
Time Stop.
The world went grey. Color drained away. Sound vanished.
Ainz floated toward the balcony. He couldn't attack in stopped time. But he could position.
He flew right up to the Pontifex, staring into the frozen man's defiant eyes.
"You really should have knelt," Ainz whispered to the statue-still human.
He cast [Delay Magic: True Death].
He cast [Delay Magic: Widened Fireball].
He cast [Delay Magic: Summon High-Tier Undead: Grim Reaper Thanatos].
He moved back.
"Time Start."
Color rushed back.
SNAP.
The Pontifex's heart stopped instantly (True Death).
His body exploded into flames (Fireball).
And from his ashes, a massive, cloaked reaper materialized, swinging a scythe that made the air bleed.
The Cathedral spire disintegrated.
The war for the capital had officially transitioned from a siege to a massacre.
But Ainz wasn't watching the destruction. He was watching the smoke.
I know you're here, Platinum, he thought, scanning the chaos. Where are you hiding?
As if to answer, a beam of pure Wild Magic, white and blinding, shot up from the sewers, aiming not at Ainz, but at the sky above him—shattering the anti-teleportation barrier he had set up.
An escape route? Or an invitation?
"Into the fire," Ainz sighed.
"Albedo. Push the attack. We end this today."