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The noise in the tavern dropped off sharply.
She ignored the stares—blank, curious, some even tinged with ill intent—and walked straight to an empty table before sitting down. A waitress who had been staring in a daze finally snapped out of it and hurried over, clearly flustered.
"W-What would you like to order, miss?" the girl asked, stammering slightly as she took in Illya's expensive clothes and otherworldly beauty.
Illya didn't even glance at the crude menu—if it could be called that. She spoke directly, her voice cool and clear, yet her words plunged the tavern back into silence.
"Everything on the menu. Ten servings of each, to start."
"…"
The waitress froze.
A burly mercenary with a scarred face let out a snort. "Kid, you know one plate of roast meat here can fill a grown man, right? Ten of everything? You messing with us?"
Illya didn't even blink. With a faint flick of her will, a gold coin—finer and heavier than the one she'd given the guards earlier—landed on the table with a crisp cling. Its pure golden sheen dazzled everyone present.
A collective gasp swept through the tavern. That single coin could easily buy most of the food in the place.
"Go," Illya said calmly.
The waitress and the tavern owner, who had rushed over, immediately turned pale with a mix of awe and panic. They scrambled toward the kitchen as if their lives depended on it.
Soon, dishes began pouring out.
Rough black bread. Huge slabs of roasted beast meat. Rich stews. Simple grilled fish. Local vegetable mash… Plates piled up until the table was completely covered.
Then, under everyone's horrified gaze, Illya picked up her utensils.
Her table manners were impeccable—graceful, almost textbook-perfect. Every motion, from cutting to lifting to chewing, was elegant.
But—
She was far too fast.
The mountain of food vanished at a speed visible to the naked eye. It was as if her stomach connected to another dimension. Plate after plate was emptied and taken away, only to be replaced immediately with more.
The cooks in the kitchen were on the verge of collapse. Aside from the crackling of the stove and the soft, rapid sounds of Illya eating, the tavern was dead silent. Everyone watched with their mouths hanging open, like they were witnessing something impossible.
"More," Illya said quietly without looking up, dropping another gold coin onto the table.
By the time the fifth coin appeared, the tavern's entire stock of ingredients had been completely exhausted. Illya finished the last bowl of stew in front of her.
She set the spoon down gently and dabbed her lips with a napkin, as if she had just finished afternoon tea. Her stomach remained perfectly flat, unchanged.
[Analysis complete: Local base ingredients are structurally simple. Flavoring methods are crude. Energy density is extremely low. Edible, but not very satisfying.]
Within her mind, Divine Domain Insight had already analyzed everything she'd consumed.
She stood and looked at the petrified owner and patrons, their eyes filled with awe and fear.
"Not bad," she said flatly.
Then she turned and left, her white skirt disappearing through the doorway, leaving behind a suffocating silence.
Only after a long moment did the tavern erupt.
"M-Monster!"
"How much did she just eat? That's a month's worth of food!"
"Was that magic… or something else…?"
"She has to be some noble lady traveling incognito! No—maybe even royalty!"
"Quick! Tell the town chief!"
—
Illya walked down the street, fully aware of the chaos behind her, but unconcerned.
Her goal had been achieved. She had sampled this world's food—disappointing—and more importantly, she knew the information she wanted would soon come to her on its own.
A "foreigner" like her appearing in a border town wouldn't go unnoticed by the local authorities.
She lifted her gaze toward the distance, as if seeing beyond space itself.
"The Re-Estize Kingdom… Then the Baharuth Empire, and the Slane Theocracy… none of them should be far."
"Before meeting this world's 'players'… I'll start by tasting its cuisine."
A faint, anticipatory smile curved her lips.
—
After leaving the now-empty tavern, Illya wandered through the town. She soon stopped at a street stall and bought a few skewers of grilled meatballs—likely made from some kind of poultry. They were charred and fragrant, brushed with a simple sauce. Rough, but flavorful in their own way.
She ate slowly as she walked, while Divine Domain Insight spread out like an invisible radar, scanning the town's flow of information.
The loudest hub of activity came from a building marked with a crossed sword and shield.
"Adventurers' Guild… a hub for information."
She stepped inside.
Compared to the tavern, it was more orderly, though still filled with the smells of sweat, leather, and metal. The notice board was packed with quests—from clearing sewer rats to hunting nearby monsters. Low-rank adventurers clustered in groups, chatting, boasting, or trading tasks.
Her arrival caused another stir.
Her beauty and bearing clashed completely with the surroundings. Curious, amazed, even lewd glances came her way, but no one dared approach—perhaps rumors from the tavern had already begun to spread.
She walked straight to the counter. The receptionist, seeing the girl holding a skewer and looking unrealistically beautiful, hesitated.
"M-Miss, are you here to post a request… or register as an adventurer?"
Illya swallowed the last meatball. The wooden skewer in her hand silently crumbled into fine powder.
"I want information," she said calmly. "History. Myths. Or… beings of exceptional power."
The receptionist blinked, clearly not used to such a question.
A scarred, older silver-ranked adventurer nearby overheard and spoke up. "You're interested in that, kid? Those aren't just fairy tales. A lot of it's real. And dangerous."
"Oh?" Illya turned her blue eyes toward him, just enough curiosity showing. "Like what?"
Encouraged, the man lowered his voice, both showing off and warning her. "Let's start with something recent. Ever heard of the Sorcerer King—Ainz Ooal Gown?"
Illya tilted her head slightly, signaling she hadn't. She pulled out a small pack of honeyed dried fruit—disguised as if from her pouch—and continued listening like she was snacking.
Seeing her relaxed, clueless demeanor, the man grew more serious.
"He's a god walking among men. A ruler of death from another world. Every one of his subordinates can destroy a nation. And he himself… his magic is beyond imagination. They say he wiped out hundreds of thousands of soldiers with a single attack. His Sorcerous Kingdom stands near what used to be E-Rantel—now it's a paradise for the undead. The living aren't allowed in."
Others gathered around, chiming in, their faces full of fear.
"Yeah, the Katze Plains battle—one move and…"
"And those demons under him… terrifying…"
"They say he can even control souls…"
They tried their best to convey just how terrifying Ainz Ooal Gown was.
Illya listened, popped another piece of dried fruit into her mouth, and remained completely unmoved.
One attack wiping out hundreds of thousands?Hm. "Heavenly Strike" or "Final Judgment" could probably do that. Decent AoE.
Power to destroy nations?Super-tier magic, or the aftershock of a World Item?
Undead ruler… high resistance to necromancy, likely. But "Holy Covenant: Longinus" should bypass most resistances.
In her internal scale, this so-called apocalyptic Sorcerer King rated as… something that required a bit of attention. Maybe an elite enemy. Or a well-equipped dungeon boss.
Seeing her unfazed, the old adventurer frowned. "Miss! Do you understand? He's a demon god! Humans are nothing to him!"
"Mm, I heard you," Illya replied casually, like commenting on the weather. "What about earlier history? The Six Great Gods? The Eight Greed Kings?"
She casually dropped the names she'd picked up from scattered information streams.
Everyone froze again.
Those weren't things ordinary people knew.
The man's expression turned solemn. "You know of them? The Six Great Gods descended centuries ago and founded the Slane Theocracy. As for the Eight Greed Kings… they came later. Said to be from another world, wielding unmatched power. Their legacy still causes conflict today. Some even say the Sorcerer King's strength comes from inheriting their power…"
Earlier groups of players? Illya noted mentally. So this world has a history of 'summoning.' The level cap doesn't seem that high.
She had what she needed:
Ainz Ooal Gown: likely a player or otherworldly NPC, with an established faction. Evidence of earlier player groups. Overall low power level in the native system.
To her, it was all background noise.
The only thing mildly interesting was Ainz himself. And even that was just a maybe.
She popped the last piece of fruit into her mouth and brushed off imaginary crumbs.
"Thanks for the information."
She flicked a silver coin to the old adventurer as payment—casual, almost dismissive.
Then she turned to leave.
At the doorway, she paused, as if remembering something. Tilting her head slightly, she asked:
"By the way… which nearby city is famous for its food? Preferably desserts."
Everyone stared at her, stunned.
We're talking about world-ending threats, and you're thinking about sweets?
The old adventurer answered reflexively, "The… the Baharuth Empire's capital is said to have the best honey and dairy products…"
"The imperial capital, then. Got it. Thanks."
Illya nodded and stepped out.
Silence lingered in the guild.
After a while, someone muttered, "Who… was she?"
"She didn't even take the Sorcerer King seriously…"
"Could she be… even stronger than…"
No one had an answer.
All they knew was this: a girl who treated terrifying legends like background chatter and cared only about food might be a far greater mystery—and danger—than anything they'd just discussed.
—
Illya had already decided her next destination.
"The Baharuth Empire's capital… hopefully their desserts make up for this world's low energy density."
She stepped out of the guild, considering whether to teleport there instantly or take her time and "eat" her way across the land.
Then—
The atmosphere of the entire street changed.
The bustling noise was cut off as if sliced away, replaced by a heavy, rhythmic rumble drawing closer.
Boom—boom—boom—
Something massive marched in perfect unison. The clash of metal armor rang coldly through the air. An invisible pressure spread like a rising tide, thick with the chill of death.
"M-Martial law! It's the Sorcerer King's procession!"
"Quick! Kneel! Heads down!"
"Long live His Majesty the Sorcerer King! Long live Lady Albedo!"
Civilians, adventurers—everyone dropped to the ground in terror, pressing their foreheads to the dirt, not daring to breathe.
The street fell silent.
Except for the marching.
Illya remained standing, a lone figure out of place. She raised a brow and looked toward the source.
First came eight knights riding nightmare steeds, clad in heavy armor burning with ghostly blue flames, wielding massive blades. Their hollow eye sockets glowed with cold soul-fire. No life, only overwhelming, despair-inducing power.
Death Knights.
Behind them rolled a massive black carriage, drawn by more undead, covered in eerie symbols.
Two figures sat atop it.
One was a woman in a black gothic dress, her beauty flawless, her figure devilishly perfect. Twisted black horns curled from her head, and dark wings rested behind her—unmistakably inhuman.
Her smile was perfect.
And utterly cold.
Her gaze swept over the kneeling masses like they were nothing more than insects.
Albedo.
"..."
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