"Lord Momonga… is something the matter?"
Accidents always arrive without warning.
Momonga stared at the breathtaking succubus before him—the one gazing up with concern—and felt his mind go blank.
Since when… could NPCs show expressions like that?!
At the final shutdown of Yggdrasil, the last remaining member of the guild Ainz Ooal Gown, the supreme magic caster and Overlord of Death—Momonga—sat alone upon the throne in the Throne Room of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, Tenth Floor, holding the guild weapon.
Within the hollow skull, two crimson flames flickered.
Below the staircase stood dozens of towering pillars. Hanging upon them were banners—each one the indelible memory and achievement of a former guildmate.
"In the end… I'm the only one left. A guild built piece by piece by everyone… and now it's just me…"
He released the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown.
The staff floated beside him automatically, its crimson-black aura wavering. Sometimes, within the light, distorted faces of agony flickered before collapsing into nothingness.
Faint wails of suffering echoed.
The staff stood nearly two meters tall, wrapped in seven serpents. In pure destructive power, it rivaled World-Class Items.
Each serpent clenched a different-colored jewel of divine grade within its jaws.
The handle gleamed like translucent crystal, radiating a soft blue-white light.
Momonga gazed at the ornate staff crafted specifically for him by his guildmates. Memories flooded his mind.
Some had logged in after exhausting overtime shifts.
Some had sacrificed precious holidays with family.
All to help forge this weapon.
And when forty-nine of them stood against fifteen hundred players in a joint guild raid—and won—that memory had reached its peak.
"If only… just at the very end… everyone could log in one last time. Even just to say goodbye…"
Momonga leaned back against the World-Class Item, The Throne of Kings, feeling the weight of solitude press against him.
His eyes shifted to the Guardian Overseer kneeling on one knee at the side—
Albedo.
She wore a pure white gown traced with golden embroidery. Her smiling face was as flawless as a goddess. Her long black hair flowed smoothly to her waist.
At her lower back extended a pair of jet-black angelic wings.
Originally designed as a highest-tier angel.
Yet, by her creator's mischievous intent, she had been reconfigured into a cruel, cunning archdemon who delighted in bringing pain and death to enemies.
And—
"…a slut."
Out of curiosity, Momonga had once opened her character settings.
It was as long as an academic thesis.
He scrolled all the way down.
And froze.
That word.
"While one shouldn't criticize personal… tastes… she is the highest-ranking NPC of Nazarick. That setting is…"
After a moment of hesitation, he remembered his privilege as Guildmaster and edited her description.
He erased that final line.
And replaced it with:
"Deeply in love with Momonga."
Staring at the final sentence, a powerful wave of embarrassment surged within him.
As an overworked salaryman in the real world, being loved was never something he dared fantasize about.
Only in the bizarre and radiant world of games—where effort meant power—did he find belonging.
Aside from essential living expenses, every spare yen had been poured into Yggdrasil.
Ainz Ooal Gown was the crystallization of countless sacrifices.
"This isn't desecration… just a minor adjustment."
"Yes. For the glory of Ainz Ooal Gown."
Muttering to himself, he withdrew his gaze from Albedo.
There was no lust in his eyes.
Every NPC in Nazarick was a masterpiece painstakingly crafted by his friends.
To think otherwise would be a stain upon those memories.
"It's almost time."
He checked the in-game clock. Midnight approached.
His eyes lingered on the friend list.
Maybe—just maybe—someone would log in at the last second.
The countdown began.
Hope slowly turned into disappointment.
At the final second, Momonga closed his eyes.
"What is this?!"
When he opened them again—
He was not in his small apartment.
He was still seated within the dazzling, resplendent Throne Room.
Three grand chandeliers made of seven-colored gemstones hung from the ceiling, casting dreamlike radiance.
Reality and illusion blurred.
Albedo's gentle voice called him back.
He stared at her.
At the concern.
The subtle anxiety.
The lifelike micro-expressions.
NPCs in Yggdrasil had limited AI—pre-programmed dialogue trees.
They did not worry.
They did not react like this.
Something was wrong.
He opened the system interface.
There was no logout button.
The changing world forced vigilance upon him. His salaryman instincts activated—maintain composure, assume authority, hide uncertainty.
No matter the world, a corporate slave adapts quickly.
He mocked himself internally.
Under the undead's enforced emotional suppression, he began testing this new reality.
The Great Tomb—
Had become real.
At the same time—
Uchiha Soren arrived in the Free City on the Kaz Plains.
After hearing the full report from the combat shinobi, he did not immediately proceed to the Great Tomb.
Without deploying his true body, attempting to conquer it would be unrealistic.
Countless World-Class Items.
Multiple level-100 NPCs.
For reference, even Uzumaki Minako—at Super-Kage level—had barely defeated the sub-100 Destruction Dragon King.
The Great Tomb was an extremely tough bone to chew.
Moreover, they possessed self-destruction measures and anti-spatial-teleportation restrictions.
One misstep—and the shrine maiden Momiji's prophecy could repeat itself.
Uchiha Soren had no intention of dying alongside the Skeleton King, Momonga.
So—
Should he establish diplomatic relations with the Overlord?
Or openly declare hostility?
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