The Baharuth Empire, Imperial Palace.
Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix, the Bloody Emperor, stared at his reflection in the gold-rimmed mirror. He leaned in closer.
"It's receding," he whispered. "I swear to the gods, the hairline is retreating faster than the Re-Estize army."
"Your Majesty?"
Jircniv jumped. He spun around, smoothing his expression into one of regal calm, though his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Baziwood, the Lightning Bomber, stood at the door, looking uncomfortable.
"What is it?" Jircniv snapped. "Is it Him? Is the Sorcerer King here? Do I need to grovel? Just tell me now so I can prepare the specific kneeling cushion."
"No, Your Majesty. It's... the guests."
"Guests?"
"The refugees. From the Slane Theocracy."
Jircniv slumped into his chair. He poured a glass of wine with a trembling hand.
Three days ago, the Slane Theocracy—the oldest, strongest, most religiously fanatic human nation on the continent—had simply ceased to function. The reports were hysterical. A hole in the earth. A ghost ship falling from the sky. An undead reaper slicing the Pontifex in half on a balcony.
And then, the order: Women and children may leave.
They had flooded the border. Tens of thousands of traumatized civilians, all babbling about the "God of Death" who wore black robes and spoke with a voice that stopped time.
"How many?" Jircniv asked.
"Twelve thousand arrived at the western fort this morning," Baziwood reported. "They bring stories, sir. They say the Sorcerer King ate the Dragon Lord's soul. They say he turned the capital into a flat plain of glass."
Jircniv downed the wine.
"He ate the soul," the Emperor chuckled hysterically. "Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? It's a Tuesday."
"Also," Baziwood hesitated. "We received a missive. From the Sorcerer Kingdom's Prime Minister, Albedo."
Jircniv's blood ran cold. The woman was beautiful, yes, but standing next to her felt like putting your head inside a guillotine and waiting for the executioner to sneeze.
"Read it."
Baziwood unfolded the black parchment.
"To our Vassal and Friend, Emperor Jircniv," Baziwood read. "The Sorcerer King has kindly redirected the surplus population of the former Theocracy to your lands. We trust you will treat them well. Consider this a gift to bolster your workforce. Also, Ainz-sama apologizes for the slight tremor you may have felt last week. He was fishing. Sincerely, Albedo."
Jircniv stared at the ceiling.
"Fishing," he whimpered. "He cracked the tectonic plate... fishing."
"What do we do, sir?"
Jircniv stood up. His eyes hardened. He was the Bloody Emperor. He survived political purges. He survived the Arena. He would survive being the neighbor of an apocalypse.
"Accept them," Jircniv ordered. "Feed them. Cloth them. And make sure every single one of them knows that the only reason they are alive is because I am Ainz Ooal Gown's 'friend'."
"Sir?"
"If the world thinks I have influence over the monster," Jircniv said, grinning a broken, terrified grin, "then no one will dare attack me. I will build my throne on the fact that I am the Monster's Pet."
He grabbed the wine bottle.
"And fetch me the stomach medicine. The strong stuff."
Nazarick – 9th Floor – The Round Table
The mood was significantly different in the Great Tomb.
Ainz sat at the head of the table. He was doing his best to look imperious, steeping his fingers under his chin, primarily to hide the fact that he was frantically scrolling through his internal system console looking for a List of Guilds database that didn't exist in the New World.
On the table sat a plaster cast of a footprint.
"Explain," Ainz said, his voice deep.
Demiurge bowed. "Recovered from the Kingdom's ruins, Ainz-sama. Found near the site where the Evil Lord crystal was... tampered with."
Ainz stared at the cast.
It was a boot print. Standard greaves. But on the heel, impressed clearly into the dirt, was a logo.
A yellow circle. Two dots for eyes. A curved line for a smile. And a dagger piercing through the forehead.
Seraphim.
Satoru Suzuki felt his non-existent stomach dissolve into acid.
Seraphim. The Guild ranked 2nd in Yggdrasil. The Angel-only guild. The strict "Roleplay as Good Guys" fanatics who declared holy wars on "evil" guilds like Ainz Ooal Gown every other weekend.
They were strong. Insanely strong. Their Guild Master possessed the World Champion class for the divine path. They had numbers. They had money.
And they hated us.
"Is it..." Albedo leaned in, her eyes narrowed. "A sign of another Supreme Being?"
"No," Ainz said, forgetting to act wise for a second. "That isn't us. That is the enemy."
The room went still. The air turned brittle.
"Enemy?" Cocytus reached for his blade. "A. THREAT?"
"In Yggdrasil," Ainz explained, careful not to say 'the game', "The Guild Seraphim were our rivals. They specialized in holy magic, aerial combat, and anti-undead tactics. If they are here..."
He trailed off.
If Seraphim is here, and they see what I did to the Holy Kingdom? What I did to the Theocracy? They won't just raid. They will launch a crusade.
And Ainz Ooal Gown, alone, couldn't fight an entire top-tier guild. Even with the NPCs.
"How old is the print?" Ainz asked.
"Two months," Demiurge replied. "Roughly around the time of the Kingdom's fall."
Panic Analysis: Two months ago? They were watching Jaldabaoth? Why didn't they intervene? Seraphim players would never let a demon ravage a city. Unless...
"Unless they are cautious," Ainz muttered. "Or weak."
"Weak?" Aura perked up.
"If it was a full guild," Ainz reasoned aloud, slipping back into his strategy persona, "they would have announced themselves. The Seraphim I knew were arrogant. They loved grand entrances. Lights, trumpets, the works. Silence isn't their style."
He looked at Demiurge.
"Increase surveillance. But do not—I repeat, do not—engage. If you see a being with white feathered wings who isn't one of ours, you run. You report. Do you understand?"
"Understood!" The Guardians bowed.
"Albedo," Ainz turned to the Overseer.
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Check the Treasury defenses. If Seraphim is active, they will try to steal our World Items. It's what they do."
"I will personally ensure," Albedo smiled, a dark, heavy thing, "that if any pigeon flies into this Tomb, it leaves as fried chicken."
Ainz dismissed them.
As they left, he sat back in his throne. He felt small.
First Dragons. Now Angels. Is the game trying to balance the server because I'm winning too much?
He looked at his hand. The Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown.
"Guys," he whispered to the empty room. "I could really use a tank right now. Yamaiko? Bukubukuchagama? Anyone?"
Only the silence of the tomb answered.
Albedo's Quarters – The Secret Room
Albedo did not go to the Treasury.
She went to her room, dismissing her maids with a sharp gesture. She bolted the door.
She sat at her vanity, pulling a locked chest from under the floorboards. Inside sat two items.
The Surshana Log Volume 2.
The Rubik's Cube of Lucifer.
"Seraphim," Albedo tested the word. She tasted bile. "Another obstacle."
She picked up the Rubik's Cube.
Ainz-sama had feared the symbol. She saw the tension in his shoulders. The fear in the Supreme One caused her pain.
"I need weapons," Albedo whispered. "Not armies. Weapons."
She looked at the cube. Lucifer was a genius, if an annoying one. He built golems. He built traps.
She began to turn the sides. Click. Click. Click.
She had been working on it for three days. She was close. The patterns of the puzzle matched the constellations of the New World's night sky—something Lucifer must have programmed.
Blue side aligned.
Red side aligned.
Click.
The cube shuddered. It didn't explode this time. instead, it floated up, projecting a hologram.
A voice, distorted and staticky, filled the room.
"Yo! Congratulations! You solved the 'Stupidity Test' 2.0! If you're hearing this, either the guild is dead, or Peroroncino finally snapped and killed us all. Either way—surprise loot!"
Albedo watched coldly.
"Okay, serious talk time. If this cube is open, it means the fail-safe is active. Listen close. The Golems I made? The Sentinels? They aren't just for defense."
The hologram changed to a blueprint. It showed a massive construct. Not humanoid. A titan.
"I built 'Gargantua' as a siege weapon, yeah. But I hid the core codes for 'Project: Morningstar' inside the network. It's a subroutine. If you upload this code into a caloric stone..."
Albedo leaned forward. A caloric stone? One of the rarest items in Yggdrasil. Nazarick had two.
"...you can bypass the NPC capacity limit. You can print a Level 100 entity. But warning! It won't have loyalty settings. It's pure combat AI. Point and shoot. Do not, I repeat, do not turn it on inside the base. It hates everything. Okay, bye!"
The hologram vanished. The cube opened, revealing a data crystal chip.
Albedo picked up the chip. Her hands were shaking.
"A Level 100 entity," she whispered. "With no loyalty settings."
To Ainz, this would be a threat. A loose cannon.
To Albedo?
"A weapon that can kill Supreme Beings," she realized. "A weapon that doesn't hesitate because of 'friendship'."
She looked at the banner of Ainz Ooal Gown.
"If the Seraphim are here... or if the others return..."
She pressed the chip to her chest.
"I will activate Project Morningstar. And I will make sure the only Supreme Being left standing is the one who stayed."
Erygenthar – The Floating City – High Council Chamber
The Platinum Dragon Lord, Tsaindorcus Vaision, was not having a good week.
He had lost the Theocracy. He had been humiliated in the border skirmish. The Sea Dragon Lord had essentially told him to get bent.
And now, he stood before The Sleeper.
The Sleeper wasn't a monster.
It was an old woman.
She sat in a wheelchair in the center of the Council Chamber, staring vacantly at a patch of sunlight. She looked frail. A strong breeze could knock her over.
But the other Dragon Lords kept their distance.
"She is awake?" The Swordmaster Dragon Lord asked, whispering as if afraid to wake a baby.
"Barely," Tsaindorcus said. He knelt beside the wheelchair.
"Rigrit?" he asked softly. (Note: Not Rigrit the Necromancer. This is the older entity, a remnant of the Leader of the 13 Heroes' era).
"Rigrit is gone, Platinum," the old woman croaked. Her eyes slowly focused. They were startlingly bright. "I am... what remains."
She looked at Tsaindorcus.
"You smell of fear, little dragon."
"A Player has arisen," Tsaindorcus said directly. "An Undead. Ainz Ooal Gown."
The old woman's hand spasmed on her armrest.
"Gown," she wheezed. "Gown... the Sorcerers. The 41."
"You know them?"
"I know... the stories," she rasped. "My predecessor... the Leader... he spoke of them. The 'Villains' of the Great War in the other world. The ones who hunted Gods."
She laughed. It was a dry, awful sound.
"If Ainz Ooal Gown is here... then the game is over. You cannot win, Platinum."
"I have to try," Tsaindorcus insisted. "He will consume the world. I need the weapon. The one you guard."
"The Hammer?" she asked.
"The Guild Weapon of the Eight Greed Kings," Tsaindorcus nodded. "The Nameless Book of Spells. We have their city. But only a Player can wield their Guild Weapon. You are the only descendent of a Player capable of holding it without your soul burning."
The old woman looked at her withered hands.
"I am a God-kin," she muttered. "Half-player. Half-dirt."
She looked at the Dragon.
"If I use the Book... I die."
"If you don't," Tsaindorcus said, "everyone dies."
The old woman closed her eyes.
"Very well."
"But I have a condition."
"Name it."
"There is a rumor," she said. "Of a Golden Princess in the north. A demon. She works for him."
"Renner Theiere Chardelon Ryle Vaiself."
"Yes," the woman's eyes snapped open. "Bring her to me. She... she carries the blood of my sister, tangled in that royal line. I want to see what my family became before I burn my soul."
Tsaindorcus frowned. "You want me to kidnap a Princess from the heart of the Sorcerer Kingdom?"
"Ainz Ooal Gown protects his subordinates," the woman smiled toothlessly. "If you take her... he will come to you. You won't have to hunt him."
Tsaindorcus considered this.
It was suicide. Infiltration of the Tomb? Or the Castle in E-Rantel?
But it was also bait.
"Done," Tsaindorcus decided. "I will deploy the Shadows. But when he comes... be ready to fire."
The Slane Theocracy Ruins – Ground Zero
The wind howled over the blackened glass that used to be a capital city.
Scavengers—goblins and stray dogs—picked through the edges.
But in the center, near the crater of the Cathedral, a figure walked.
It was cloaked in grey rags. It walked with a heavy limp.
It stopped at the spot where Ainz had killed the Pontifex. It knelt down.
The figure reached into the ash and pulled out a fragment of bone. Not human bone.
A shard from the Grim Reaper Thanatos. The summon had left residue when it vanished.
The figure pulled back its hood.
It was a man. But his eyes were... burning. Pure white flame instead of irises. And on his back, hidden by the cloak, two stumps twitched where wings used to be.
He wasn't Seraphim.
He was an NPC. A loose NPC from a fallen guild base, wandering the world for two hundred years.
"Death," the man whispered. The voice was distorted, sounding like a choir played backward.
He crushed the bone shard.
"The Signal... received."
He looked North.
"Father... is that you?"
The man smiled. It was the Seraphim logo smile. A smiley face.
But this smile was carved into his cheek with a knife.
"I'm coming home, Father."
He stood up. A flash of light.
And in the dirt, he left a single footprint.
Nazarick – 6th Floor – The Amphitheater
Aura and Mare were playing tag.
Well, "tag" involved jumping three hundred meters into the air and using trees as baseball bats, but it was affectionate.
Suddenly, Mare stopped.
His long elven ears twitched.
"Sis?"
"What, you tired?" Aura grinned, landing on a hydra's head.
"No," Mare looked at the sky. The artificial sky of the 6th floor. "Someone... knocked."
"Knocked? At the entrance?"
"No," Mare pointed up. "At the ceiling."
CRACK.
The sky tore.
It wasn't a spell. It was a physical breach. Someone had Tunneled from the surface down to the 6th Floor.
Debris rained down.
Standing on a piece of falling rock was a girl.
She wore a red-and-white Shrine Maiden outfit. She held a massive spear. Her hair was black and white.
Zesshi Zetsumei? No, she was in the dungeon.
This girl looked exactly like her. But... cleaner. Newer.
"Target Located," the girl said. Her voice was robotic.
She looked at Aura and Mare.
"I am Unit 02. Antilene Heran Fouche. Seeking: The one called Ainz."
Aura cracked her whip.
"Another intruder?" She sighed. "This is getting annoying. Mare! Left flank!"
"Y-yes!"
As the Twins prepared to engage the new threat, Ainz was in his bedroom, practicing a pose in the mirror.
Ring Ring.
His [Message] spell activated.
"Ainz-sama!" Albedo's voice. Panic. Real panic.
"What is it?"
"We have a breach! 6th Floor! And... and the 1st Floor!"
"A dual breach?"
"No! Ainz-sama! The breach on the 1st Floor... Shalltear reports the intruder... she says the intruder looks like You!"
Ainz froze.
"Me?"
"She says it's a skeleton in magnificent robes! It's shouting that it is Ainz Ooal Gown and that you are the imposter!"
Ainz dropped his staff.
A Doppleganger? An illusion? Or...
Satoru Suzuki Logic: Is it Momonga? The real Momonga? Am I just a copy?
The existential dread hit him harder than any spell.
"Contain them both!" Ainz shouted. "I'm coming down!"