Chapter 3 | The Battle of Carne Village

 

1

There was so much stuff randomly lying around the dressing room adjacent to Momonga’s private quarters that there was barely anywhere to walk—from things like robes that he could equip to full suits of armor he had bought but then threw in there after discovering he had no use for them. And it wasn’t just protective gear. There were weapons from staves to great swords, too—really just all kinds of things.

In Yggdrasil, players could create infinite unique items by inlaying existing items with data-containing crystals that defeated monsters dropped. Players who preferred a certain style often stocked up on those type of items.

Which explained this room.

Momonga casually chose a great sword out of the pile of countless weapons. It wasn’t sheathed, so its silver blade gleamed in the light. The letter-like markings etched into the blade’s cheek also caught the light and were clearly visible. He moved his arm up and down, testing the large sword’s heft. It was extremely light—like a feather. Of course, it wasn’t because the sword was made out of light material. Momonga was just that strong.

As a magic user, he had high magic ability points and low physical ability points. Even so, by the time he hit level 100 he’d amassed quite a few physical ability points as well—so much so that it was a cinch for him to bludgeon lower-level monsters to death with a staff.

The moment Momonga attempted to slowly change to a fighting stance, the sound of metal hitting something hard rang throughout the room. The sword that should have been in his hands had fallen to the floor.

The maid standing by immediately picked up the great sword and offered it to him, but he didn’t take it. He just stared at his empty hands.

This.

This was confusing.

The existence of NPCs who behaved as if they were alive made him think this world wasn’t the game, but these odd physical limitations made it feel like it had to be.

In Yggdrasil, since Momonga had never learned a warrior class, it would have been normal for him to not be able to equip a great sword. But if this were a real world, common sense said he should be able to “equip” anything.

Momonga shook his head and gave up thinking about it. He didn’t have enough information, so no answer would come, no matter how hard he racked his brains now.

“Clean this up,” he ordered the maid and then turned to face the large mirror that practically took up a whole wall. In it was a skeleton wearing clothes.

If the body you were used to changed into some weird other thing, you’d think you’d be frightened. But Momonga wasn’t frightened at all. It didn’t even feel unnatural. He felt like there must be some reason for that beyond the fact that he had logged so many hours in Yggdrasil with this body.

He also felt that in addition to his looks, his mind had changed quite a bit, as well. First, there was that thing where whenever his emotions fluctuated in a big way, it was like something suppressed them to level him out. And his desire had weakened. He didn’t feel like he wanted to eat or sleep. He didn’t not feel sexual desire, but it didn’t build even when Albedo pressed her softness up against him.

Assailed by the feeling he’d lost something very important, his eyes unconsciously moved near his waist. “I lost it before I even got to use it, huh…?” The emotion went out of his extremely quiet utterance partway through.

He had the awfully levelheaded thought that perhaps especially the mental changes could be the result of an undead’s perfect resistance to psychic attacks.

Right now, I’m an undead body and mind with the vestiges of a human clinging to them. That’s why when my mood changes past a certain point, it gets suppressed. He wondered if there was any danger of going completely flat if he continued being undead.

Of course, even if I have changed, it doesn’t mean much. No matter what this world is like, or what kind of being I am, I still have my will.

Besides, there were beings like Shalltear. It might be too soon to blame everything on being undead.

“Create Greater Item.” The moment he cast the spell, full plate armor covered him from head to toe. It was rather expensive looking—the fluted type, gleaming raven black, with purple and gold accents.

He tested some movements. His whole body felt heavy, but it wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t move. He would have thought there would be gaps between his body and the armor, considering he was all bones, but it fit perfectly.

So, just like in Yggdrasil, I can equip an item if I create it using magic? Impressed, he looked through the slit in his close helmet at the mirror and saw a splendid warrior standing there—it was impossible to take him for a caster. He nodded emphatically and swallowed despite the lack of spit. He felt like a child who was about to say something he knew would make his parents mad.

“I’m going out for a bit.”

“The guard is ready for you,” the maid replied promptly, but…

This. He hated this.

The first day the honor guards trooped after him, it was a little overwhelming. The second day, perhaps because he’d gotten used to them, he’d wished he’d had someone to brag to. And the third day…

He suppressed a sigh.

It was too much—walking around with an entourage, receiving deferential bows from everyone he met. If he could just let them follow him without thinking too hard, he might have been able to endure it, but that wasn’t possible. He had to act the part of ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick and never show even a hint of weakness. For a regular guy like Momonga, it was mentally exhausting. Even if any large emotional fluctuations reversed to level out, it still felt like his brain was being simmered on low heat.

And then there were the beautiful (you could probably say “super beautiful”) women who waited on him constantly, practically never leaving his side. He would have thought that as a man that would make him happy, but he ended up feeling more like his personal space was being invaded.

This mental fatigue must be another vestige of my humanity.

In any case, it was no good for the ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick to be so mentally burdened in this crisis. There was the danger he might commit an error in some critical situation.

I need to recharge. Having reached that conclusion, Momonga opened his eyes wide. Of course, his face didn’t move at all—the flames in his eyes just burned brighter. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m going to go make some rounds on my own.”

“P-please wait, my lord. If something should happen to you while you are out alone, we would not be able to die as your shields.”

Faced with someone who had resolved to give up her life if she could protect her master, he felt heartless for trying to go on a solo walk just to relax.

Still, it had been a little over three days since they’d found themselves in this strange situation, about seventy-three hours. After presenting himself with the dignity of the master of the Great Tomb of Nazarick for that long, his entire being was begging for a rest. So, although he felt bad, he racked his brains for an excuse.

“There is…something I must do in utmost secrecy. I will not allow any escorts.”

A brief silence.

After what felt like an awfully long time to Momonga, the maid answered, “Understood. Be careful, Lord Momonga.”

Her buying his excuse felt like a stab in the chest, but he dismissed it. There’s nothing wrong with taking a little break. I’ll go see what it’s like outside. Yes. It’s crucial for me to see where we’ve been teleported to with my own eyes.

The more he thought about it, the more excuses he came up with, probably because he was aware that what he was doing was wrong. Shaking off the nagging guilt (which manifested almost like someone was holding him back by his hair, not that he had a scalp), he used his guild ring.

He’d teleported to a large room. There were long, narrow stone platforms for laying out corpses (not that there were any now) on either side. The floor was made out of some kind of polished white stone. Behind him was a staircase that descended until it reached a large double door: the entrance to the Great Tomb of Nazarick’s first level. The torches in the sconces built into the walls were unlit; the only light was the pale glow of the moon coming in through the main entrance. This was the part of the Tomb closest to the surface, the Central Mausoleum.

Even though just walking across the spacious room would take him outside, Momonga couldn’t move his feet—he’d encountered something that unexpected.

Across the room he saw a crowd of grotesques. There were three types of monsters—four each for a total of twelve.

One of these types had hideous demonic faces with fangs. Their bodies were covered in scales and their strong arms were equipped with sharp claws. They had long snakelike tails and blazing wings of flame. They fit the image of a demon very well.

The second type of monster had female bodies sporting black leather bondage gear and crow heads.

The final type was a demon that wore armor open wide in front to display their magnificent abs. If it weren’t for their bat wings and the horns sprouting from either temple, they wouldn’t even look like monsters. Although their faces were those of beautiful men, their eyes glimmered with a desire that could never be fulfilled.

Their names were Evil Lord Wrath, Evil Lord Envy, and Evil Lord Greed.

All of their eyes turned at once to focus on Momonga, but none of the monsters made a move. It was a gaze worthy of the word—their eyes exerted an almost physical pressure.

All these monsters were a level somewhere between 80 and 90 and had been positioned as guards around Demiurge’s residence, the Red-Hot Shrine where the gate to the eighth level was. Normally, undead mobs under Shalltear’s control would be stationed this close to the surface, so why were Demiurge’s bodyguards here?

With the appearance of a demon—who had probably been there behind them from the beginning, but difficult to make out in the shadows—that mystery was solved.

“Demiurge…”

When his name was spoken, a puzzled look appeared on his face. It could have been either that he wondered why his lord and master was in such a place or that he was surprised by the appearance of an unfamiliar monster.

Momonga bet on the smaller chance and continued walking. Even if his true identity hadn’t been revealed by him standing there, it was too suspicious to remain. He decided to walk along the wall and try to slip past the demons without paying them any attention.

He knew painfully well that their gaze was following him. He wanted to look at his feet, but he willed his weak spirit into submission and walked proudly, chest out.

When the distance between them had closed, the demons, as if by previous arrangement, all got down on one knee and bowed their heads. Bowing at the front of the line, naturally, was Demiurge. His movements were so smooth and refined he reminded Momonga of a nobleman out of a story.

“Lord Momonga, what in the world are you doing here without your guards? And what are you wearing?”

They’d seen through him instantly.

He figured there was no helping the fact that he got caught by the one said to be most intelligent in all of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, but he realized it might have been obvious, anyway, because he had teleported. Only someone with a guild ring could teleport freely within the Tomb, so it was a dead giveaway.

“Ahh, well…I have my reasons. And as for why I’m dressed like this, I’m sure you already know.”

There were various shades of emotion crossing Demiurge’s graceful features. Several breaths later, he answered, “My apologies, Lord Momonga, but I am unable to fathom the depths of your profound—”

“Call me Dark Warrior.”

“Lord Dark Warrior…?” Demiurge looked like he wanted to say more, but Momonga endeavored to ignore it. He knew it was an embarrassingly generic name, but it fit right in with the other monster names.

There wasn’t any deep reason for the name change. Now the only ones present were Demiurge’s underlings, but they were all right near the entrance. There would probably be lots of minions coming through and he didn’t want them all calling him “Momonga, Momonga.”

A light of understanding had gone on in Demiurge’s expression. What had he decided Momonga was feeling? “I see… So that’s why!”

Huh? You see what? Momonga stopped himself from asking.

He was just an ordinary guy. He couldn’t imagine what line of reason Demiurge had used or what kind of conclusion he had reached with his overflowing wisdom. He just stood there under his close helmet in a nonexistent cold sweat hoping his true intentions wouldn’t be found out.

“Lord Mo—Dark Warrior, I have grasped one part of your profound intentions. It is certainly a show of consideration befitting our ruler, however, it would not do for me to overlook you being out without an escort. I deeply understand what a bother this must be, but I beg that you will pity me with your mercy.”

“I suppose I have no choice. I will allow one guard to accompany me.”

An elegant smile spread across Demiurge’s face.

“I appreciate you granting my selfish request, Lord Dark Warrior.”

“You don’t need the ‘Lord’ with ‘Dark Warrior’…”

“Surely you can’t be serious! Such a thing would be unforgivable. Of course, if it were for an infiltration mission or I was on a special mission and had orders from you to that effect, I would obey them, but do you think there is anyone in all of Nazarick who could refer to you, Lord Momonga—I mean, Lord Dark Warrior—without ‘Lord’?”

Momonga was overwhelmed by Demiurge’s ardent speech and nodded several times. That said, inside, he had the feeling that this repeated emphasis on “Dark Warrior” was meant to poke fun at the absurdity of it, and he began to regret choosing the name so hastily.

“How rude of me. I am taking up your precious time, Lord Mo—Dark Warrior… Then, you all stand by here and explain where I’ve gone.”

“Understood, Master Demiurge.”

“Well, it seems like your minions have agreed. Shall we, Demiurge?”

Demiurge bowed as a token of his subordination, and Momonga slipped past him to head out. Demiurge straightened up a moment later and accompanied him.

“Why was Lord Mo—Ahem, Dark Warrior dressed like that?”

“I don’t know, but there must be some reason.”

The evil lords who had remained quietly voiced their questions.

They hadn’t known it was him just because he’d teleported—there was another way. Momonga could not perceive them, but all the minions in the Great Tomb of Nazarick—or rather, all the minions that belonged to Ainz Ooal Gown—gave off a wavering signal. They used this signal mainly to determine if someone was an ally or not. And the Forty-One Supreme Beings—currently just Momonga—“felt” to the minions like absolute rulers. It was such a bright signal that it could be sensed even at a distance. That was why even though he was covered in armor, there was no mistaking him. They would have known it was him instantly, even if he’d strolled in instead of teleported. And it was easy to distinguish that signal from any others.

The double door leading to Nazarick’s first level opened, and someone walked up the stairs. The signal that seemed to emanate to them was that of a floor guardian.

Reaching the top of the stairs, captain of the floor guardians, the beautiful Albedo, came into view. Registering the arrival of the person their direct master had been waiting for, the evil lords got down on one knee. Albedo took their obedience in stride. She looked around the room without even stopping to notice them.

She turned to the evil lords only after not managing to find whom she was looking for. Then she walked in front of them and asked no one in particular, “I don’t seem to see Demiurge around. Do you know where he is?”

“Well… Actually, someone by the name of Lord Dark Warrior came here alone a little while ago, so Master Demiurge left to accompany him.”

“Lord…Dark Warrior? I don’t know any minions by that name. And Demiurge—a guardian—accompanied him? Isn’t that a bit absurd?”

The evil lords glanced at one another, unsure what to do. Seeing this, Albedo smiled gently. “Might a bunch of minions be daring to hide something from me?”

Though there was kindness in her words, the evil lords sensed the iciness of a final warning and concluded this was not something they should hide.

“Master Demiurge judged that this Lord Dark Warrior was the one whom we serve.”

“Lord Momonga was here?!” Her voice was a bit frantic.

An evil lord replied calmly, “Well, his name was Lord Dark Warrior, but…”

“What about his guard? Did they know he was coming here? If Demiurge agreed to meet me here, he must have known Lord Momonga was coming! Ah, but more importantly, I need clothes! Draw me a bath!” She fingered her dress.

Since she had been working in various places without rest, her clothes were dirty and the ends of her hair were tangled. Even her wings were a bit of a mess. But for such a peerless beauty as Albedo, that amount of grit was hardly a minus at all; in the same way that one subtracted from a hundred million meant practically nothing, her beauty was hardly detracted from. But from Albedo’s point of view, she was not fit to present herself to the one she loved above all others.

“The nearest bath is in…Shalltear’s room? She’ll be suspicious, but I have no other choice. You guys bring me some clothes from my room! On the double!”

Albedo was about to race off, but one of the evil lords called out to her. It was an envy. “Mistress Albedo, if you’ll excuse me, would it not perhaps be better to go as you are?”

“…What are you talking about?” She stopped, and the reason she bristled was that she felt she was being asked to show herself to him filthy.

“Ah, I meant that the fact that such a beautiful woman as yourself has been working so hard for him might make a good impression and be advantageous for you in the end.”

“Not only that,” another evil lord continued, “if you take a whole bath and make all the preparations to go before Lord Momonga—Dark Warrior—that would take quite some time. If you missed him…it would be such a waste.”

Albedo moaned. It annoyed her, but they were right. “That makes sense… It seems it’s been so long since I’ve seen Lord Momonga that I’m not thinking quite straight. It’s been…eighteen hours. Don’t you think eighteen hours is just too long?”

“I do. It’s too long.”

“I need to get the groundwork of our operations laid so I can guard him personally! Now, then, grumbles aside, first I must see Lord Momonga. Where did he go?”

“He went outside just a moment ago.”

“I see.” Her reply was curt, but she was smiling in anticipation of seeing Momonga and her wings fluttered adorably. Her footsteps were quick as she bustled by the evil lords.

Then she stopped and addressed them once more. “I just want to ask one more thing: Do you really think Lord Momonga will take it as a plus if I show up all dirty?”

The scenery that stretched out before Momonga after he left the mausoleum was breathtaking.

The part of the Great Tomb of Nazarick that was aboveground took up more than two thousand square feet. It was protected by a thick wall twenty feet high, which had two entrances: the main and rear gates.

The graveyard’s undergrowth was trimmed short, creating a refreshing atmosphere. On the other hand, however, a large tree cast gloomy shadows here and there with its drooping branches. Countless white gravestones formed disorderly rows.

The neatly trimmed undergrowth and disorderly gravestones combined to create severe discord. Statues of angels and goddesses made with notable artistic merit were scattered about, warping the chaotic design to brow-furrowing levels.

There were fairly large mausoleums in each of the cardinal directions and then a huge one in the center of the graveyard. The Central Mausoleum was surrounded by armed warrior statues about twenty feet tall.

This Central Mausoleum was the entrance to the Great Tomb of Nazarick and the place from which Momonga had just come. Standing at the top of the broad white staircase, he silently looked out at the world.

Helheim, the world the Great Tomb of Nazarick was from, was eternally dark and cold. Perpetual night made for dismal scenery, and the heavens were covered by thick, dark clouds. But here was different.

Here there was a stunning night sky.

Gazing up at the stars, he sighed in amazement and shook his head several times as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Wow, even for a fantasy world, this is… This beautiful sky is proof that the air isn’t polluted here. Probably no need for heart-lung machines in this world…”

He’d never in his life seen such a clear night sky.

Momonga was about to cast a spell, but he realized his armor was in the way. Certain magic users had a skill that let them cast spells in armor, but he hadn’t learned it, so his heavy armor would impede his magic. Just because he’d created the armor with magic didn’t mean it came with amazing bonuses. There were only five spells he could use under these conditions, and unfortunately the spell he wanted to use was not among them.

Momonga put his hand into space and took out an item. It was a necklace with a bird wing charm. He put it around his neck and focused his consciousness there.

Then the one spell it contained was unleashed. “Fly!”

Freed from the yoke of gravity, Momonga glided lightly into the air. He went to ascend all at once, increasing his speed as he flew. Demiurge rushed to follow, but Momonga didn’t pay him any mind. He just kept flying straight up.

How far up am I?

Momonga’s body slowed to a halt. He practically tore his helmet off, and when he looked at the world below, he said nothing—no, he was unable to say anything.

The night sky banished the earth’s darkness with its pale light. Each time the wind made the grass sway, it was like the world was sparkling. The stars and a great celestial body reminiscent of the moon shone in the heavens.

Momonga sighed as he spoke. “It’s just stun—No, a clichéd word like stunning doesn’t even begin to capture it. I wonder what Blue Planet would say if he could see this…” If he could see this world that doesn’t seem to have any air, water, or soil pollution…

Momonga remembered his old friend, the one who had smiled self-consciously when he got called a romanticist at an off-line gathering of guildmates, who was so kind—a man who loved the night sky. No, what he loved was nature, with its vistas that were mostly lost now due to pollution. He’d started playing Yggdrasil to experience scenery it was impossible to see anymore in the real world. And the thing he’d worked hardest on was the sixth level. The night sky there, in particular, was a realization of his ideal world.

He’d always get so excited when he was talking about nature—really, a bit too excited.

How nuts would he have gone seeing this world? How passionately would he have gushed to me, that low voice of his getting higher and higher? Craving a dose of Blue Planet’s wisdom for the first time in a while, Momonga looked to his side.

Of course, no one was there. There was no way anyone would be there.

Dimly feeling something akin to loneliness, Momonga heard the sound of flapping wings—Demiurge had transformed.

Black wings made of some kind of moist-looking membrane had sprouted from his back, and his face had turned from a human one into something vaguely frog-like. This was his half-demon form.

Some grotesques had multiple forms. In Nazarick, for example, Sebas and Albedo had other forms, too. Those types of grotesques took some trouble to make, but they were consistently popular because people enjoyed having multiple forms like a final boss. Many of them were set up so they took penalties in human or half form but received bonuses in their full grotesque form.

Looking away from Demiurge, who now had an appearance quite befitting a demon, Momonga turned once again to the twinkling stars, sighed in wonder, and uttered some words as if speaking to his friend who wasn’t there. “Being able to see just by the light of the moon and the stars—this definitely can’t be the real world, huh, Blue Planet? Everything sparkles like a box of jewels.”

“Perhaps it is a box of jewels. This world must be beautiful because it contains jewels you are meant to adorn yourself with, Lord Momo—Dark Warrior,” Demiurge answered with what seemed like flattery.

The sudden interruption made it feel like his memories of his friend were being trampled upon, and he grew irritated for a moment. But looking at such a beautiful world made all his anger fade away. Actually, looking down at the world like this made it seem so puny; he felt like maybe acting like the ruler of some league of evil wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“It truly is beautiful. Perhaps this untouched box of jewels exists to be mine for the taking.” Momonga held his hand up near his face and made a fist. Almost all the stars in the heavens fit inside. Of course, they were only hidden from view by his hand. He shrugged at what a childish thing he’d done and murmured to Demiurge, “No, I shouldn’t monopolize it. The Great Tomb of Nazarick, my friends in Ainz Ooal Gown—they should be adorned as well.”

“That’s a very attractive idea, my lord. If you so wish it, and if I might get your permission, I would mobilize Nazarick’s entire army and take this whole box of jewels for you. Nothing would make me happier than to do that and offer it up to you, whom I respect most highly.”

Momonga chuckled softly at the melodrama. Demiurge must also be a bit drunk on this ambiance…

“But that sentiment is nothing but foolish when we don’t even know what kind of beings inhabit this world. It’s possible that we’re nothings here. But…hmm… Taking over the world does sound kind of fun.”

“Taking over the world”—I sound like the villain from a kids’ TV show.

It wouldn’t be such an easy thing to do, either. There’d be the issue of how to rule the world after it was taken over, how to maintain public order and stop rebellions before they started—so many problems crop up when various countries get brought under unified rule. If you think about all that even a little bit, it makes it seem like there are no benefits to world conquest.

Even Momonga knew all that. He’d said it out of a childish desire: The world was pretty, so he wanted to have it. Also, it seemed like something the infamous guild master of Ainz Ooal Gown would do. And the last reason…was that his tongue slipped.

No, there was one more.

“Ulbert, LuciFer, Variable Talisman, and Belliver…?” He’d just recalled the former guild members who had joked that they should conquer at least one of Yggdrasil’s worlds.

He felt safe in the knowledge that Demiurge was the smartest guy in Nazarick and would therefore probably get that he was about as serious as a kid making a joke.

If Momonga had seen the look that played across the froggy face behind him, he wouldn’t have let the conversation end there.

Instead of looking at Demiurge like he should have been, he gazed at the boundary line of the heavens that embraced both the earth and the stars, the horizon.

“An unknown world… But am I really the only one here? Couldn’t some of the other guild members be here, too?”

It wasn’t possible to make alts in Yggdrasil, but he could imagine a scenario where someone who had once quit made a new character and came back for the last day. HeroHero was logged out, but there was even still the possibility that he was here. Momonga being in this world was strange enough. If he considered the fact that the entire situation was an unknown, he couldn’t completely deny the possibility that guildmates who quit the game had been sucked in, too. Message hadn’t worked, but there were any number of potential explanations for that, like that the geography was different or the effect of the spell had changed.

“In that case, I should spread the name of Ainz Ooal Gown throughout the world…” If someone from his guild were here, they would hear of it, and once they did, they would surely come to find him. He was confident that their bonds of friendship were at least that strong.

Tossed on the ocean of his thoughts, Momonga looked at Nazarick—a huge spectacle was just beginning. A span of dirt more than one hundred yards wide began to undulate like the sea. The little swells rising one after the other out of the plain slowly moved in one direction; swallowing each other up, they gradually began to form one mass, and eventually it grew to the size of a hill and swept toward Nazarick. The attacking dirt broke on the solid walls and scattered. It was just like the spray of a tsunami.

“Earth Surge… Not only did he use a skill to expand its area of effect, he’s using a class skill as well?” Momonga whispered, impressed. There was only one person in Nazarick who could use magic like that. “I’d expect nothing less of Mare. Seems like leaving the camouflage work up to him was the right choice.”

“Indeed. Besides Mare’s efforts, we are utilizing undead, golems, and other minions who do not experience fatigue to do some of the work, but unfortunately they are making little progress. When they move some earth, the land is left bald—we’ll need to grow some plants in order to conceal it, which only makes more work for Mare…”

“The walls of our castle are so vast—it makes sense it would take some time to cover them. The problem will be if we are discovered partway through. What precautions have we taken?”

“An early warning network is already in place. We can now detect any sentient being that comes within about three miles instantly without their knowledge. “

“Splendid. But are there minions in that network?” Hearing Demiurge’s affirmative, Momonga thought they should create another warning network without minions, just in case. “I have an idea for that warning network—please use it.”

“Understood. I’ll include it after consulting with Albedo. By the way, Lord Dark Warrior—”

“Ah, that’s enough, Demiurge. You can just call me Momonga.”

“I see. Lord Momonga, may I inquire what your plans are?”

“I’m thinking to go check up on Mare, since he’s carrying out my order so perfectly. I’d like to give him a reward, but I wonder what would be appropriate…”

A smile played across Demiurge’s face, a kindhearted one unbecoming to a demon. “I think your talking to him will be plenty reward enough… Ah, my apologies. Something has come up. I won’t be able to—”

“You’re forgiven. Go, Demiurge.”

“Thank you, Lord Momonga!”

At the same time Demiurge flapped his wings, Momonga began his descent. On the way, he put his helmet back on.

The dark elf situated at Momonga’s landing spot looked up as if he sensed something. Surprise broke out across his face when he laid eyes on the armored figure.

When Momonga alighted softly on the ground, Mare came scampering over, skirt fluttering. Argh, I can almost see underneath. Not that Momonga had any interest in seeing, but he did wonder what was going on under there.

“L-Lord Momonga, w-welcome! I m-most humbly th-thank you for coming!”

“Mmm… Mare, you don’t have to be so scared and don’t feel like you have to rush around. If it’s hard for you, I don’t even mind if you drop the formalities…when it’s just the two of us, at least.”

“I-I can’t do that, not toward a Supreme Being. Sis ought to do better, too. W-we can’t be so impolite.”

He didn’t really want to make children stand on ceremony, but… “Is that so? If that’s what you’ve decided, then I have nothing further to say. Just know that I don’t mean to force you, Mare.”

“Y-yes, sir! B-by the way, what brings you here, Lord Momonga? D-did I do something wrong?”

“No, Mare, I came to praise you.”

Mare had been looking a little twitchy because he thought he was about to be scolded, but his expression flipped to surprise.

“The work you’re doing is extremely important. We may have a warning network, but it’s entirely possible that regular people in this world are over level 100. If that’s the case, the most important thing we can do is prevent them from discovering us.”

Mare nodded.

“So I want you to know how satisfied I am with your flawless work and how much peace of mind I get by entrusting this to you.”

One of Momonga’s ironclad rules from his days as a working adult: Good bosses praise their subordinates’ work as appropriate.

The guardians had a much higher opinion of Momonga than he warranted. In order to not lose their loyalty, he had to act the part. He’d maintained their golden legacy all this time, but to disappoint and be betrayed by the guardians and other NPCs made by the guild members would brand him as unfit to be guild master. That’s why he had to try to be a great ruler.

“Do you understand, Mare?”

“Yes, Lord Momonga!” He may have been dressed like a girl, but the firm resolve on his face marked him clearly as a boy.

“Okay, then, I’d like to give you a reward for your good work.”

“B-but! It’s only natural that I should do this work!”

“It’s also natural to give a reward for a job well done.”

“N-no, it’s not! We exist to serve the Supreme Beings! It’s a matter of course that we should get things done well!”

They repeated this exchange several times, but their opinions continued to run parallel to one another. Beginning to sense futility, Momonga decided to offer a compromise.

“Then let’s say this. There’s no problem if it also rewards you for continuing your loyal work in the future, right?”

“I-if you’re sure it’s okay…”

Momonga compelled him to be calm and took out the reward. It was a ring.

“L-Lord Momonga, I think you t-took out the wrong…th-thing!”

“It’s no—”

“You’re mistaken, my lord! That’s a Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown—a treasure only Supreme Beings may possess! There’s no way I can accept such a gift!”

Momonga was taken aback by how hard Mare was trembling.

It was true that the ring was a one-in-a-hundred item made exclusively for members of Ainz Ooal Gown. Since forty-one of them had been passed out, there were fifty-nine that had no designated user—no, fifty-eight. In that sense, they were quite rare. But part of why he wanted to give it as a reward was how useful it would be.

Mare seemed like he was ready to bolt, so in order to calm him down, Momonga reached out carefully. “Relax, Mare.”

“I-I-I can’t! Y-you just said that a ring of the Supreme Ones was going to be my reward!”

“Mare, just think about it. Transportation by teleportation is prevented within the Great Tomb of Nazarick, but isn’t that inconvenient sometimes?”

Hearing this, it seemed Mare was able to begin to calm down.

“In the event we are attacked, I want each floor guardian to act as commander on their level. If they can’t teleport, if they can’t escape easily, that won’t work very well. That’s why I want you to have the ring.” The ring resting on Momonga’s upheld palm gleamed in the moonlight. “Mare, having your loyalty pleases me greatly. I understand quite well that as our subject you feel you can’t accept a ring that is our sign, but I think you grasp my intentions now—take it as an order.”

“B-but why m-me? Could it be that you’re giving them to all the guardians…?”

“I plan to, but you’re the first because I think highly of your work. If I gave them to people who hadn’t done anything yet, the rings’ significance as a reward would be diminished. Or are you saying I should lower their value?”

“N-n-not at all, my lord!”

“Then take it, Mare. Take it and continue serving Nazarick and myself.”

Trembling, Mare slowly bowed and accepted the ring.

Seeing him like this, Momonga felt a bit guilty. His other aim in giving away the ring was to make it so it wouldn’t be immediately apparent who it was anytime someone teleported.

When Mare slipped the ring on, it changed size to fit his slender finger. He looked at it on his hand a few times and sighed in amazement. Then, he turned directly toward Momonga and bowed deeply. “L-Lord Momonga! Th-thank you so much for giving me such a valuable reward! I’ll do my best to be word—worthy of such a treasure!”

“I’m counting on you, Mare.”

“Yes, my lord!” Mare finished with a boy’s valiance on his face.

Why did BubblingTeapot dress him like this? To be the opposite of Aura? Or was there actually a reason?

As Momonga wondered about this, it ended up being Mare who asked him about his getup.

“U-umm, Lord Momonga… Wh-why are you dressed like that?”

“O-oh, uh…because…”

Because I wanted to run away. There was no way he could say that.

Mare looked up at him full of expectation, eyes sparkling. How do I get out of this? If he messed up here, his performance to date as a great boss would all have been for nothing. There was probably no world where a subordinate would accept a superior who wanted to run away.

If only I were more confused, then I would be leveled out automatically, thought Momonga, who now had a new predicament to escape from—when a helping hand came from behind.

“It’s simple, Mare.”

Upon turning around, Momonga was captivated. Standing in the moonlight was a woman who could have been called beauty incarnate. Illuminated head to toe by the pale light streaming down from the heavens as she was, if she had said she were a goddess, he would have been convinced. She shifted her black wings.

It was Albedo.

Right behind her was Demiurge, but she was so beautiful, it took a moment to notice him.

“The reason Lord Momonga is wearing armor and the reason he was hiding his name until a little while ago was that he didn’t want to disturb our work. If Lord Momonga were to show up, everyone would naturally stop what they were doing and demonstrate their submission to him. But that is not what Lord Momonga wishes. So he created the persona of Dark Warrior, to say that it was unnecessary to stop our work to pay him respect.”

Momonga nodded vigorously to her.

“Right, Lord Momonga?”

“How very like you to perceive my every intention, Albedo.”

“As captain of the floor guardians, it’s only natural. No, I’m confidant that even if I weren’t captain, I would still know your heart, Lord Momonga.”

The less-than-thrilled look on Demiurge’s face after she bobbed her head with a smile made him wonder a bit, but Momonga couldn’t really say anything, since Albedo had gotten him out of a jam.

“I-I see…,” said Mare, seeming impressed.

Momonga looked over at them and saw something that made him do a double take. For one moment, Albedo had opened her eyes so wide it looked like they would fall right out of her head and rolled them, like a chameleon or something might do, to look at Mare’s finger.

Her face returned to normal before Momonga could even think anything of it. She was back to her beautiful self, like her previous expression had been a hallucination.

“…Did you need something?”

“Ah no, nothing. Okay, well then, Mare, sorry to bother you. Take a break and then keep working on the camouflage.”

“I will! Then, if you’ll excuse me, Lord Momonga.”

Momonga nodded gently, and Mare scampered off, stroking his ring.

“And what in the world brings you here, Albedo?”

“I heard from Demiurge that you were here and thought I would come pay my respects. I apologize for appearing before you in such a filthy state.”

She said she was “filthy,” but it didn’t really seem that way to Momonga. Certainly there was some dust on her clothing, but it didn’t mar her beauty.

“You needn’t apologize for that, Albedo. Your radiance could not be dimmed by a little dust. I do feel bad for running around such a flawless beauty like you, but this is an emergency. Sorry, but I’m going to need you to keep bustling about Nazarick a bit longer.”

“For you, Lord Momonga, I would run any distance.”

“I’m grateful for your loyalty… Oh, Albedo. I should give you one of these, too.”

“One of…what? I wonder…” As Momonga took out a ring, she lowered her eyes a bit and tried to keep her features neutral. Of course, it was a Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown.

“You need one of these, too, since you’re the captain of the floor guardians.”

“…Thank you, my lord.”

After Mare’s reaction, the lukewarm reception was a bit of a letdown, but he soon realized he’d misread her. Albedo’s lips were twitching as if she were desperately trying to hold her expression together. The jerking of her wings was probably also the result of her trying not to flap them. The hand she’d taken the ring with (at some point her fist had opened) was shaking. With all those signs, he’d have to be stupid to not understand how she really felt.

“Strive to be loyal. Demiurge…I’ll have one for you another time.”

“Understood, Lord Momonga. I shall endeavor to be worthy of such a great ring.”

“Ah. Well, I finished what I came to do. I guess I’ll head back to the ninth level before I get scolded.”

Albedo and Demiurge saw him off with a bow as he teleported away with his ring.

He had the feeling that right as the view before his eyes was changing, he heard a woman’s voice shout, “Sweet!” but he figured he had misheard, since Albedo would never use such an inelegant expression.

2

They were nearing the village’s edge.

Behind them, Enri heard the clanking of metal—and at a regular pace, too.

Praying in her mind, she glanced back. As she’d thought—as she’d worried the worst-case scenario might be—a knight was chasing them.

But we’re so close! She wanted to hurl the words in frustration, but she held them back. She didn’t have any energy to waste.

She took ragged breaths one after the other. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would explode; her legs shook and it felt like she might run out of strength and collapse to the ground at any moment.

If she had been alone, she probably would have despaired and lost the energy to run. Her little sister, whose hand she held, gave her strength. Yes, the wish to save Nemu’s life was the only thing keeping Enri going now.

She threw another glance over her shoulder as they ran. The distance between them had not changed much. Despite the armor, the knight wasn’t slowing down. The difference between a trained knight and a village girl was painfully clear.

She was sweating and her entire body was assailed by a coldness. At this rate, she wouldn’t be able to escape with Nemu.

“Let go of her hand…,” she heard a voice say.

“You might be able to make it on your own.

“Do you want to die here?

“It might be safer to split up.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” She ground her teeth and gasped a rebuke at herself.

I’m the worst big sister.

Nemu looks like she’s about to cry, so how come she doesn’t?

It was because she believed in Enri. She believed her big sister would save her.

Clasping the hand that gave her the energy to run and the courage to fight, Enri thought, Who could abandon a sister like this?!

“Agh!” If Enri was severely fatigued, Nemu was completely exhausted. She cried out as she tripped and nearly fell.

The reason she didn’t fall was that the two of them were connected by their tightly held hands. But having to pull her threw Enri off-balance as well.

“Hurry!”

“I-I am!”

But when they tried to run again, Nemu’s leg cramped up and wouldn’t move right. When Enri panicked and went to pick her up, she realized in horror that the knight was right next to them.

The sword the knight held was slick with blood. And that wasn’t all. His armor and helmet had both been splattered.

Enri stared the knight down, shielding Nemu.

“There’s no point in resisting.” There was no tenderness in his words. They were said with more of a sneer. His slimy tone seemed to imply that he could kill them either way.

Enri’s chest burned with rage. What is he talking about?!

The knight slowly raised his sword. Faster than he could cut her down, Enri smashed her fist into his iron helmet as hard as she could. “You think I’m that easy?!”

“Gwah!”

She’d put all her anger, and all of her will to protect her sister, into her fist. She wasn’t scared of hitting metal. It’d been a punch that contained her whole body and soul. She heard the crunch of bone, and the pain shot through her entire body a moment later. The knight staggered from the impact.

“Let’s go!”

“Yeah!”

Bearing the pain, they were just starting to run when Enri felt something red-hot on her back. “Ngh!”

“You little—!!”

The humiliation of having underestimated a village girl must have made the knight angry. What had saved her, in fact, was that he’d lost his composure and swung so carelessly. But now she’d run out of luck. She was injured and the knight was mad. The next blow would surely be fatal.

Enri glared bitterly at the sword raised over her head. She could look at it with the sternest expression in the world, but its ominous sparkle told her two things. One: In a few seconds, she would almost certainly die. Two: As a mere village girl, there was nothing she could do to escape.

There was a bit of her own blood on the tip of his sword. It reminded her of the awful pain spreading out from the wound with each beat of her heart and the hot sensation she’d felt when she’d been cut. She’d never been in this much pain before, and it scared her so much she felt sick.

If I throw up, maybe the burning in my chest will go away, too…

But Enri was trying to find a way to survive. She didn’t have time to vomit.

Although she was nearly discouraged, there was one reason she couldn’t give in to despair: the warmth in her heart for her sister.

I have to at least save Nemu.

That thought didn’t allow giving up as a choice, but the knight in full plate armor blocking their path sneered at her determination.

The sword came down.

Whether achieved by some trick of extreme concentration or her brain being activated by the life-threatening situation, it felt like time had slowed down; Enri flailed for a way to survive—for a way to save Nemu.

But there was nothing. If she had an idea, it was only to use herself as a shield—a last resort where she would take the sword with her flesh and make sure he couldn’t get it out. She’d grab onto him somewhere, or maybe even onto the blade itself as it cut into her—in any case, she’d grab as hard as she could and never let go. Not until the last of her life flickered out.

If that was the only option she had, then she just had to accept it.

The smile of a martyr appeared on her face. This is about all I can do for my little sister now.

It was unclear whether Nemu would be able to escape the hell their village had become on her own. It was entirely possible that there was a lookout making sure no one ran into the forest. But if she could make it through this, she at least had a chance. For that slim chance, Enri would bet her life—no, everything.

Even so, fear of the imminent pain made Enri shut her eyes. She braced herself in the raven-black darkness for the agony that would come…

3

Seated in a chair, Momonga gazed at the mirror directly in front of him. The image reflected in the mirror, about three feet in diameter, was not Momonga’s. Instead, it reflected a grassy plain from somewhere else, as if it were a television. The grass calmly swayed in the breeze as if to prove that it wasn’t a still image.

Showing the flow of time, the sun that had just started to rise gradually banished the darkness over the plain. The pastoral scene coming into view was a far cry from the hopeless landscape of the Great Tomb of Nazarick’s onetime world, Helheim.

Momonga lifted a hand and slowly moved it to the right. The view reflected in the mirror slid to the right as well.

It was a Mirror of Remote Viewing. Since it would display a specified location, it was an item that PK (player killers) or PKK (PK killers) would find handy, but because players could conceal themselves easily enough with anti-intelligence magic and it was vulnerable to counterattacks from reactive barriers, it was also an item of questionable utility.

But as an item that could display what was happening outside, there were plenty of reasons for Momonga to use it in his current situation. As he watched the grassy plain go by from overhead, he thought it looked like a location from some movie.

“So if I move like this, it’ll scroll the screen. And I can switch the angle like this…” Drawing circles in the air, he kept changing his view. For hours now he’d been using trial and error to search but had yet to find any sentient (and preferably human) beings. He silently focused on the monotonous task, but since all that came up was the same grassy plain, his motivation began to dwindle. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the other person in the room.

“What is it, Lord Momonga? Whatever you require, I am at your service.”

“N-no, it’s nothing, Sebas.” The butler was smiling but everything he said was somehow prickly. He respected Momonga absolutely, but it seemed he was a bit miffed about him going out without an escort—it’d been like this ever since Momonga had returned from the surface and Sebas had caught him to give him “advice.”

“I just can’t get used to this…” Momonga let his inner thoughts slip out.

Whenever he was with Sebas, he couldn’t help but think of former guild member Touch Me. Not that there was anything strange about that, considering Touch Me had created Sebas. But why did they have to be so similar that they’re both equally scary when they’re mad? Grumbling inwardly, he turned his attention back to the mirror.

Once he figured out how to control this thing (it was taking a while), he was planning to teach Demiurge to use it. This was the idea he’d had for the warning network.

Even though it would be easier to leave this up to his subordinates, he was doing it himself with the questionable aim of getting them to think, That’s our ruler, all right, when they saw him working. That’s why he couldn’t just get fed up partway and abandon the project. I gotta figure out how to get the viewpoint up higher. If only there were a user manual…, he thought as he continued working.

How long had he been doing this?

Probably not that long, but if he didn’t get results, he would feel like he’d been wasting his time. With a glazed look on his face, he moved his hand absentmindedly and the view changed dramatically. “Whoa!” He shouted a mix of surprise and triumph. It was like the cheer of a programmer in his eighth hour of overtime who made a random edit that somehow got his code to work. There was applause in response—from Sebas obviously.

“Congratulations, Lord Momonga. I can only say that I would have expected nothing less.”

He’d only been using trial and error, so it didn’t seem like the type of work that deserved so much praise—it made him a little suspicious—but the look on Sebas’s face was genuine admiration, so he decided to accept the sentiment. “Thanks, Sebas, but I’m sorry to make you hang around here with me for so long.”

“What are you saying, Lord Momonga? As a butler, the reason I was created was to stand by and obey your orders. There is nothing whatsoever to feel sorry about. However, it is true that some time has passed. Would you like to take a break?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m undead, so I don’t get negative status effects like fatigue. If you need a break, though, you can take one; I don’t mind.”

“I thank you for your kindness, my lord, but what butler can rest while his master is still at work? I also experience no physical fatigue, thanks to an item. I will accompany you until you are finished.”

Momonga had realized something about his conversations with the NPCs. They talked using some video game expressions as if they were totally normal: skills, classes, items, levels, damage, negative status effects… There was something sort of funny about saying all those words with a straight face. Putting that minor issue aside, he was glad he could give orders using game lingo.

He told Sebas he understood and threw himself back into operating the mirror. Then, after repeating similar movements over and over, he finally figured out how to adjust the height of his viewpoint. Grinning, he earnestly set about searching for people.

After a while, something that looked like a village appeared. It was about six miles south of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. The village was surrounded by wheat fields, and there was a forest nearby. Pastoral was definitely the word for the scenery. At a glance, it didn’t look as if the civilization were terribly advanced.

As he zoomed in, something seemed off. “Are they having a festival?” Though it was early morning, there were people going in and out of houses, running. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry.

“No, that’s not it…,” Sebas, who had moved beside him, answered in a steely voice as he watched the scene with a piercing gaze.

Sebas’s hard tone gave Momonga a bad feeling, and he furrowed his brow as he zoomed in farther.

Knightlike figures in full plate armor were brandishing swords at simply dressed people who seemed to be the villagers.

It was a massacre.

The villagers fell one by one each time a knight raised a sword. They must not have had any means of resistance. All they could do was flee in desperation while the knights just chased them down and killed them. Horses the knights must have ridden in on were standing in the fields eating the wheat.

“Tch!” Momonga clicked his tongue and went to change the view. This village held no value for him. If he thought he could have gotten some information, there might have been a point to saving it, but like this, no.

I should ignore them. As he made this coldhearted judgment, Momonga suddenly felt confused. There was a slaughter in progress and all that came to mind was what Nazarick stood to gain. The emotions he would have taken for granted—pity, anger, uneasiness—were completely missing. He felt like he was watching animals on TV, or insects in the dirt, playing out survival of the fittest.

As an undead, am I already counting humans as a different species?

Nah, couldn’t be.

He hurried to justify his thoughts with an excuse.

I’m not some hero.

I may be level 100, but as I said to Mare, normal people here might be that. I can’t just go charging into a situation when I’m in a world where anything could be possible. The knights may be killing the villagers in a very one-sided way, but there could be a reason for it: disease, crime, a lesson. There are any number of possible reasons. If I step in as a third party to drive the knights away, I might make an enemy of the country they serve.

Momonga put a hand to his head—to his skull. It was absolutely not the case that the scene failed to faze him because he had ceased to be human and transformed completely into an undead, immune to psychic effects.

His hand slipped and a different part of the village showed up on the screen. Two knights were breaking up a struggle between a villager and another knight. They forcibly dragged the villager away and made him stand up, with one knight restraining his hands. Then, as Momonga watched, the other stabbed him with his sword. The blade went clear through the flesh and came out the other side. That’s probably fatal. But the sword didn’t stop there. The knight stabbed once, twice, three times, over and over, as if taking out his anger. Finally he kicked the body away, and it fell, splurting blood, to the ground.

Momonga and the villager’s eyes met. Or perhaps he just thought they did.

Nah, this has to be a coincidence.

Unless there was anti-intelligence magic involved, there was no way the villager could know he was being observed.

His mouth worked frantically, spilling a bloody froth. His eyes were already glazing over, and it was impossible to tell where he was looking. Still he clung to life and was able to get some words out. “Please, my daughters…”

“What will you do?” Sebas asked, as if he’d been waiting for the right time.

There’s only one answer. “Ignore them. We’ve nothing to gain by saving them,” Momonga answered calmly.

“Understood.”

Momonga casually glanced over at Sebas; behind him appeared a vision of his former guildmate.

“Right, Touch?”

But then Momonga remembered something Touch Me had once said.

“When someone’s in trouble, it’s only natural to help them.”

Back when Momonga had started playing Yggdrasil, there were people going around hunting grotesques like him. The quote was a memory from those times. He’d kept getting PK’d and was almost to the point of quitting the game when Touch Me had reached out to help him. If it weren’t for that, Momonga wouldn’t be here.

He slowly exhaled and broke into a resigned smile. With that quote in his mind, he couldn’t very well not go and help them.

“I’ll repay the debt I owe you. I have to test out my combat abilities in this world at some point, anyway…” Talking to someone who wasn’t there, he zoomed out to look at the entire village. He combed over it, searching for villagers who were still alive.

“Sebas, put Nazarick on the highest alert level. I’m going ahead. Albedo is standing by in the next room; tell her to fully arm herself and follow—but no Ginnugagap. Also, prep reinforcements. If something happens and I become unable to retreat, send in a party with good stealth abilities or invisibility.”

“Understood. But if you need an escort, then I would—”

“If you escort me, then who will relay orders? If there are knights rampaging through that village, there’s the possibility another group could appear near Nazarick while I’m gone. If that happens, I need you here.”

The scene in the mirror changed and he saw a young girl send a knight staggering with a punch. Then she took a younger girl—was it her little sister?—by the hand and tried to escape. Momonga immediately opened his item box and took out the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown.

Meanwhile, the girl’s back had been cut. There was no time to lose. The spell glided out of his mouth. “Gate.”

Momonga traveled by way of the most reliable teleportation spell in Yggdrasil. It could cover any distance and had a failure rate of 0 percent.

His view changed. Momonga felt a tiny bit of relief that there had not been any magic blocking his teleportation. If there had been, he wouldn’t have been able to save the village, and it might have ended with someone getting the jump on Nazarick.

The scene before him was the one he’d been watching a moment before—the two scared girls. The older one, probably the elder sister, had shoulder-length hair in a braid. Fear had drained the blood from her healthily tanned face. Her eyes brimmed with tears. The younger one had buried her face in the older girl’s back; her whole body was trembling.

Momonga looked coolly at the knight standing before them. He must have been thrown off by Momonga teleporting in; he’d forgotten he’d been swinging his sword and was just staring at him.

Momonga had lived a nonviolent life. And he felt this world was real, not a game. Despite that, confronting an opponent with a sword didn’t scare him one bit. His calm made a coolheaded decision for him.

He opened his empty hand, stretched it out, and promptly cast a spell.

“Grasp Heart.”

Magic tiers went from one to ten, and this was a ninth-tier spell—one that caused instant death by crushing the enemy’s heart. It was one of Momonga’s specialties, since he was strong in ghost magic, which often came with effects like instadeath.

The reason he’d chosen this as his opening move was that even if his opponent resisted it, there was stun as a secondary effect. In that case, he planned on taking the two girls and jumping through the still-open gate. When the strength of your enemy is unknown, you need to have an evacuation strategy and plan B ready.

But in this case the prep was unnecessary.

Simultaneously with the sensation of something warm being squashed in Momonga’s fist, the knight silently crumpled to the ground.

Momonga looked down coldly at the lifeless body.

He’d had a hunch it would be this way, but sure enough, he felt nothing upon killing a human… His mind was like the surface of a placid lake—no guilt, fear, or confusion. Why?

“Hmm, so it seems I’ve quit being human in mind as well as in body…”

Momonga walked forward. As he passed the girls, who must have been frightened following the death of the knight, the elder sister made a hesitant noise.

One look was enough to tell he had come to save them, and yet they were panicked as if he had done something insane. What do they expect?

He wanted to know the answer, but he didn’t have time for a Q and A. He confirmed in passing that the elder sister’s shabby clothes were torn and her back was bleeding; he hid the two of them behind him and shot a penetrating glare at a new knight who had appeared next to a nearby house.

The knight registered Momonga as well and took a step back, as if he were scared.

“So you’re fine chasing little girls around, but I’m too much to handle?” Momonga sneered in response to the knight’s terror and set about selecting his next spell. For his first move, he had chosen a pretty advanced one. Grasp Heart was from the magic tree he specialized in, so he got the ghost magic boost, and a boosted rate of instadeath success, as well. But there was no way to tell how powerful the knights really were like that.

I should use something else on the next one, not instadeath, as a chance to test not only how strong beings in this world are, but also how strong I am myself.

“Well, since you’re here, I’m going to have you help me with my experiment.”

In comparison to how strong Momonga’s ghost magic was, his basic attack magic was fairly weak. Plus, metal armor was weak against electric magic, so in Yggdrasil most players added electric resistance to their armor. This all meant that using electric magic would be a good way to see how much damage the knights could take.

He wasn’t going for the kill, so he didn’t need to use a skill to boost it. “Dragon Lightning!”

White lightning appeared writhing like a living thing from his hand to his shoulder. A beat later it leaped off the end of his finger pointed at the knight like an electric discharge from a cloud. It was impossible to dodge or guard against.

The energy took the form of a dragon and lit the knight up glaringly white for just a split second. Ironically, it was beautiful.

The flash dimmed and the knight fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The strange odor of his charred flesh beneath his armor could be smelled faintly.

Momonga had been prepping for his follow-up attack and was astounded to see how fragile the knights were. “How weak… They die this easily?”

To Momonga, Dragon Lightning—a fifth-tier spell—was way too low level. When he, as a level 100, went out grinding, he’d been using mainly spells in eighth tier and up. He barely used five at all.

Seeing that his opponents were so fragile sent all his worry out the window. There was, of course, the possibility that those two had been particularly weak. Still, it was hard to feel nervous at this point. Nonetheless, he kept his option to teleport away open.

It was possible that they specialized in attacking. In Yggdrasil, an attack that chopped a player’s head off would just be counted as a critical hit and deal a lot of damage, but in the real world, it would be instantly fatal.

Since he could no longer be nervous, Momonga decided to be cautious. It would be stupid to die from carelessness.

First, I need to test more of my powers. He used a skill, Create Middle-Tier Undead: Death Knight. This was one of his special abilities. He could create all sorts of undead mobs, but this one was his favorite tank. Its total level was low at 35, and its attack level was even lower, comparable to a level-25 mob. On the other hand, it had good defense but still only about what a level-40 mob would have. In other words, in terms of levels, this monster was useless to Momonga.

However, the death knight had two handy special abilities. One was that it would pull all enemy attacks. The second was that it could withstand any attack once, with one HP (hit point) remaining. Momonga had been able to make good use of it as a shield for those reasons.

And that was why he was creating one now.

When the Create Undead skill was used in Yggdrasil, the monster would instantly shimmer out of thin air near the player, but it seemed to work differently in this world.

A black fog oozed out of the air and covered the knight whose heart had been crushed. It puffed up but then began to melt into the corpse. Then, he abruptly stood up with jerky, inhuman movements. Momonga heard the two girls shriek, but he didn’t have time to care about that—he was just as surprised as they were.

A black liquid glugged noisily out of the slit in the knight’s helmet. It must have been coming out of his mouth. The viscous fluid darkness flowed to cover his entire body without missing a spot—it was like seeing someone get preyed on by a slime. Once the darkness had enveloped him completely, his shape began to warp and change.

After several seconds, the darkness drained away and what was standing there could definitely be called the vengeful spirit of a dead knight.

He’d grown to a height of around seven and a half feet and his body had gotten insanely thick. It made more sense to call him a beast than a person. In his left hand, he held a huge tower shield that covered three-quarters of his body, and in his right, a flamberge. Normally this blade of more than four feet would be wielded with both hands, but this giant could easily hold it in one. A horrifying aura of reddish black twisted around the waved blade, undulating like the beating of a heart. His huge body was covered in full plate armor made of black metal with a pattern of crimson arteries going through it here and there. It was quite the embodiment of violence, with sharp spikes jutting out in various places. His helmet had horns like a demon and an open face that left his rotting features visible. In his vacant orbits, his hatred for living things and anticipation of slaughter burned red. He stood in his ratty raven-black mantle awaiting orders, his posture appropriately imposing.

Momonga could feel the mental connection to the summoned monster, just like he had with the primal fire elemental and the moon wolves. He used it to give an order. “Kill the knights”—he pointed at the knight he’d killed with Dragon Lightning—“who are attacking this village.”

“Yarrrrrgh!” the knight howled. It was a scream that would make anyone’s skin crawl. The air vibrated with his bloodlust. He ran off, swift as the wind, and made a beeline like a hunting dog on the scent of its prey. It seemed his perception ability, Hate, was working.

Watching his death knight get smaller and smaller in the distance, Momonga was made vividly aware of a difference between this world and Yggdrasil—the difference of freedom. A death knight was supposed to stand by near its summoner (Momonga) and intercept enemies. It wasn’t supposed to take orders and act on its own. That difference could prove fatal in a world containing so many unknowns.

Momonga clawed at his face in frustration. “He’s gone! What’s the point of a shield who leaves the one he’s supposed to protect? Sure, I’m the one who gave the order, but…,” he mumbled.

He could make more death knights, but since he didn’t know the strength of his enemies or what the situation was, he felt he should save up casts of spells that were limited. But Momonga was a rear guard magic user and had no one to go out front and tank for him. He felt naked.

I guess I should make one more. I’ll see if I can do it without using a dead body this time, he was thinking, when someone came through the still-open gate just as it was beginning to expire and fade away.

The figure was covered head to toe in demonic black armor. Not a single patch of skin showed among the thorny raven-black plates. It was equipped with a raven-black kite shield, and in its hands, wearing gauntlets with spikes like claws, it casually held a bardiche giving off a faint, sickly green glow. Draped over its shoulders was a mantle the color of fresh blood, and its surcoat was also bloodred.

“My apologies. Getting ready took some time.” From beneath the horned close helmet came the charming voice of Albedo.

She had learned all the classes that had good defensive abilities or seemed appropriate for an evil knight to know—like dark knight. For that reason, she had the best defense out of all the level-100 warrior-type NPCs (Sebas, Cocytus, herself) in Nazarick. In other words, she was the best tank they had.

“Oh, that’s fine. Actually, your timing’s perfect.”

“Thank you. Then, how will you dispose of these lower life-forms that are still alive? Would you rather I dirty my hands in your place?”

“…What did you hear from Sebas?”

Albedo said nothing.

“He didn’t tell you? We’re saving this village. Our enemies at the moment are the ones in the armor like that guy lying over there.”

Albedo indicated her understanding and Momonga looked elsewhere.

“Let’s see…”

The two girls shrank and tried to hide themselves under Momonga’s unreserved gaze. Maybe having seen the death knight is what is making them shake so hard. Or was it the howl? Or what Albedo had said?

Maybe all of it.

Momonga thought he would first try to show them he wasn’t an enemy. Healing the elder sister’s wounds seemed like a fine way to do that, so he reached toward her, but the girls didn’t see it the way he did.

A wet patch appeared between the elder sister’s legs. And then the younger sister’s.

“…”

The smell of ammonia drifted into the vicinity. Waves of fatigue Momonga wasn’t even supposed to experience surged over him. He didn’t know what to do. It seemed like asking Albedo for help would be a bad idea, so he decided to continue as he had been.

“…It looks like you’re injured.” As an adult, Momonga had been trained to look past all manner of things.

Pretending not to notice they’d wet themselves, he opened his item box and took out a bag. An infinity haversack, unlike its name, was limited to around a thousand pounds. The items inside could be given menu shortcuts, so it was Yggdrasil basics for players to use a bag like this for things they wanted to use often.

In one of his many infinity haversacks, Momonga finally found a red potion. It was a minor red potion, which healed 50 HP in Yggdrasil. Every player ended up using them early on in the game. But to Momonga, this item was useless—this type of potion used justice energy to heal, but for an undead like Momonga, justice had the opposite effect and worked as a poison. However, it wasn’t as if all his guildmates were undead. That was why he hadn’t thrown them away.

“Drink this.” He casually thrust it toward her.

The older girl grimaced in horror. “I-I’ll drink it! Just please don’t make my si—”

“Sis!” The younger girl tried to stop her, looking like she was about to cry. Momonga racked his brains.

Why the tender family drama when all I did was save them and then offer a potion out of the kindness of my heart? Seriously…what the heck!

They don’t trust me at all. I was going to ignore them, but instead I saved their lives—it wouldn’t be weird at all if the three of us were tearfully hugging right now. Or rather, that’s what it would look like in a movie or a manga. But this is the complete opposite!

What’s the problem? Do you have to be good-looking to get that kind of ending?

As various questions came up in Momonga’s fleshless, skinless head, he heard a gentle voice. “He tried to give you lower life-forms a potion out of kindness, and you refused?! You deserve to die ten thousand deaths…” Albedo instinctively raised her bardiche. It was clear she was determined to promptly chop off both of their heads.

Considering how he was being treated after risking danger to save them, Momonga understood how she felt, but he couldn’t allow her to go through with it or the whole point of coming would be lost.

“W-wait. Don’t be too hasty. There’s an order to everything. Lower your weapon.”

“…Understood. I obey your word,” she replied in a velvet tone and returned her bardiche to its former position.

Still, the thick air of violence coming off Albedo was more than enough to scare the two girls so much their teeth were chattering—even Momonga could feel it in the pit of the stomach he didn’t have.

Anyway, we can’t get out of here soon enough. There’s no telling how bad things will get if we stay.

Momonga offered the potion again. “This isn’t dangerous; it’s medicine that will heal you. Hurry and drink it.” His tone contained a bit of kindness even as he tried to compel her, implying she’d die if she didn’t.

She reacted by opening her eyes wide, grabbing the potion, and downing it in one go. Then came surprise.

“No way…” She touched her back. She twisted around and whacked herself a few times as if she couldn’t believe it.

“The pain is gone, right?”

“Y-yes.” She nodded, looking utterly astounded.

So a minor healing potion will do for a wound like that.

That was fine, but Momonga had another question. There was no avoiding it. Everything depended on her answer.

“Do you two know what magic is?”

“Y-yes. There’s an apo-pothecary who sometimes comes to our village, my friend. He can use magic.”

“I see. That makes things much easier to explain. I’m a caster.” He cast some spells. “Anti-Life Cocoon. Wall of Protection from Arrows.”

A glowing dome appeared in a ten-foot radius around the girls. There weren’t any other visible effects, but changes could be felt in the air. Normally he would perfect the setup with an anti-magic spell, but he didn’t know what kind of magic this world had, so he just left it. They’d just have to consider themselves unlucky if another caster showed up.

“I used a spell that puts up a barrier that won’t let any living things through, as well as a spell that weakens projectile attacks. If you stay there, you should be pretty safe. And just in case, I’ll give you these, too.” After giving a simple explanation of the magic he had cast, he took out two shabby-looking horns and tossed them over. Apparently the Wall of Protection from Arrows didn’t register them as something to be stopped, so they fell near the girls. “These are items called Goblin General’s Horns. If you blow them, an army of goblins (little monsters) will appear and obey your orders. You should use them to protect yourselves.”

In Yggdrasil, apart from some consumables, most items could be customized by inlaying them with data crystals. However, there were also “artifacts,” which were dropped as fixed data and couldn’t be augmented. These horns were a lower-tier example of one of those.

Momonga had used one once: It had summoned about twelve fairly strong goblins, two goblin archers, a goblin mage, a goblin cleric, two goblin riders with wolves, and a goblin leader.

For an army, it was pretty small, not to mention weak. To Momonga, these items were junk; he was surprised he hadn’t gotten rid of them. This had to be the best use for them.

And yet, there was one good thing about the Goblin General’s Horns. The goblins it summoned didn’t disappear after a set time, but stuck around until they died. They would be able to buy the girls some time.

Having given his brief explanation, Momonga set off, referring to the image of the entire village still in his mind, and Albedo accompanied him. However, before they had gotten more than a few steps, a voice called out to them.

“U-umm, th-thank you for saving us!”

“Thank you!”

Hearing their voices put their appreciation into words, Momonga stopped. He turned to look at the two teary-eyed girls and replied curtly, “Don’t worry about it.”

“A-and I know it’s shameless of me, but…we don’t have anyone to rely on but you. Please, please save our mom and dad!”

“Got it. If they’re alive, I’ll save them,” he promised casually, and the older sister’s eyes widened. She seemed stunned, as if she shouldn’t believe he’d just said that. Then, she returned to herself and bowed.

“Th-thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much! And may I ask…”—she swallowed hard—“…your name?”

When he went to give his name, “Momonga” wouldn’t come out. “Momonga” was the name of the guild master of Ainz Ooal Gown. What am I now? What is the name of the last player remaining in the Great Tomb of Nazarick…?

Oh, I see.

“You would do well to remember my name. I am Ainz Ooal Gown.”

4

“Yarrrrrrrrrgh!”

The howl set the air vibrating. It was the signal that one slaughter would give way to another. The hunters would be the prey.

Londes Di Grampp cursed his god for the umpteenth time. In the past ten seconds, he’d probably cursed him enough for a lifetime. If God really exists, he should get down here right now and smite this evil being. Why was Londes, a pious believer, being forsaken?

There is no God.

He had always made fun of the unbelievers who spouted such nonsense, asking them where the magic the priests used came from, then, but he was beginning to be convinced that he’d been the foolish one all along.

The monster before him—if he had to give it a name, he’d call it a “death knight”—advanced a step, looking pleased.

Londes backed up two steps instinctively to put more space between them. His armor was rattling as he trembled. The tip of his sword wavered in the air. It wasn’t just him—all the swords of the eighteen men surrounding the death knight were shaking.

Though their bodies were ruled by fear, no one fled. But it wasn’t out of bravery. The chattering of their teeth proved that if they could, they’d forget everything and run away just as fast as they could.

They simply knew it was impossible.

Londes shifted his line of sight slightly, seeking salvation. They were in the center of the village. The sixty villagers they’d rounded up were watching them, terrified, from around the square. The children were hidden behind the slightly raised wooden platform used for events. Several people carried clubs, but they weren’t ready to fight—not dropping their weapons was the best they could manage.

When Londes and the other knights attacked the village, they had come from all four directions and driven the villagers into the center of town. Then, after searching the empty houses, taking care not to overlook level hideouts, they had planned to douse them in alchemical oil and burn them down.

There were four knights still on their horses stationed in the area. They were on watch with their bows at the ready so they could kill anyone who tried to flee the village. This was a plan they’d used many times with no weaknesses.

The killing was taking a bit longer than expected, but it had been progressing smoothly. They had gathered the remaining living villagers in one area. After some moderate culling, they would release a handful.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to have gone.

Londes remembered the moment things took a turn. Elion had tried to slash at some straggling villagers from behind as they were running to the square and gotten sent flying into the air.

It was so absurd no one could understand it. His armor may have been made lighter with magic, but it was still heavy, and he was a grown, built man. Who could make any sense of the sight of him arcing lightly through the air like a ball?

He flew more than twenty feet before crashing to the ground. The crash made a hideous noise, and then he didn’t so much as twitch.

Even harder to believe was the sight where Elion had been moments before. The horrifying undead death knight slowly lowered the huge shield it had used to bash him out of the way.

That had been the beginning of their despair.

“Yeaaagh!”

A high-pitched shriek sounded, as if all hell had broken loose. One of his comrades in the circle, no longer able to bear the fear, turned tail and ran. In an extreme situation like this, with such a delicate balance, one weak link could break the entire group. But no one followed him, and they had a very good reason not to.

A black blur whipped through Londes’s peripheral vision. For having such a giant build, far surpassing the height of an average human, the death knight was certainly quick on his feet.

His comrade was permitted to run a total of three steps. As he went to take his fourth, a silver flash cut his body in two like it was nothing. The left and right halves collapsed to either side and his pink entrails slopped out, sending a sour stench into the air.

“Krrrrrr,” the death knight growled as he stood there bathed in blood, with his flamberge at the low end of its slash.

It was a purr of delight. That much could be read from his face, even if it was hard to look at because it was rotting off. The death knight was enjoying this. As the one with unquestionable authority, as a killer, he was enjoying the feeble resistance the humans put up—their fear, their despair.

Though they all held swords, no one moved to attack. At first, they had, despite their fear, but even if they were lucky enough to slip past his defense, they couldn’t put so much as a nick in his armor. And in response, the death knight didn’t even bother with his sword; he just knocked them flying with his shield, hitting them hard, but not so hard they’d die. His aim in holding back was “play.” It was clear he relished the pathetic humans’ frantic struggle.

He only swung his sword like he meant it when someone tried to run away. The first who had tried to run was Lilick, a good-natured enough fellow, if an obnoxious drunk. In a flash, all four of his limbs had been severed, and as the finishing touch, his head was lopped off. Seeing one of their own die was enough for the others to learn they couldn’t run.

Attacking was futile and they’d be killed if they ran. In that case, there was only one thing to do: Die as this monster’s plaything.

Everyone was wearing close helmets, so it was impossible to tell, but they all must have realized their fate. Some were sniffling, grown men crying like children. They’d been the strong who had robbed the weak of their lives, and they’d gotten used to it; they weren’t prepared to face the reverse.

“God help us…”

Some murmured between their sobs.

“Oh God…”

If Londes wasn’t careful, he felt like he’d soon be on his knees either praying or blaspheming.

“You bastards! Get that monster under control!”

A voice that grated on the ears like an out-of-tune hymn rang out among the supplicating knights. It had come from a knight right next to the death knight. Trying to tiptoe away from his comrade who’d been cut in half, he just looked ridiculous.

Londes frowned at the ungainly figure. Since the close helmet hid the face and the voice was strained due to fear, it was hard to tell who it was. Yeah, but there’s only one guy who takes that tone.

Commander Belius… Londes grimaced. He’d been chasing village girls out of vulgar desire, then cried for help after getting into a fight with their father. When someone got them apart, he’d taken his rage out on the father by stabbing him over and over. That’s the kind of guy he was. Back home he was a man of some means and only joined the company because he thought it would look good. They’d probably been doomed from the moment he was selected as commander.

“I’m too important to die here! Buy me some time! Be my shields!”

Of course, no one moved. Sure, he was commander, but nobody cared for him very much, so there was no way they would risk their lives for him. The only one who reacted to the shout was the death knight, who slowly turned in Belius’s direction.

“Yeek!”

I’m impressed he could even get words out, much less get his voice to carry, standing that close to the death knight. Londes was oddly impressed.

Belius’s terrified voice thundered on. “Money, I’ll pay you! Two hundred gold pieces—no, five hundred!”

He was offering quite a sum. But he might as well have been telling them he’d pay them if they survived jumping off a 1,500-foot cliff. No one moved a muscle, but there was one response—well, half of someone moved.

“Oghabowww…” The right side of the knight who had been split in two grabbed Belius’s right ankle. He spluttered blood as he spoke in words that wouldn’t form. “Ugyahhhh…” Belius screeched. All the knights and villagers who were within view of the situation froze solid.

A squire zombie. In Yggdrasil, when a death knight killed something, an undead with the same level as the defeated opponent would spawn. The game had a system such that anything that died by the sword of a death knight would be loyal to it for all eternity.

Belius’s screech cut off abruptly and he collapsed onto his back, as if something inside him had snapped. He must have passed out. The death knight approached the now-defenseless commander and stabbed him with the flamberge. Belius’s body spasmed. “Agh—Aghghhhhgh!” Jerked awake by the pain, he screamed in a way that made everyone wish they could plug their ears. “Shabe—Shave me! Preazh! I’ joo amyfing!” He’d frantically grabbed hold of the flamberge sticking out of him, but the death knight ignored that and began sawing up and down. A chunk of his flesh, plate armor and all, was cut off, sending a heavy splatter of blood flying. “Gyak, gyak. I’ll—arhghghhg—I’ pay you. Urgghhg—shabe meee.” His body spasmed violently several times and then went limp. The death knight, satisfied, moved away from the meaty wreckage.

“No, no, no…”

“Oh God!”

Several of the other knights, driven nearly insane, began to scream. The moment they ran they’d be killed, but to stay put was a fate worse than death. They knew both those things and so were helplessly paralyzed.

“Pull yourselves together!” Londes roared, cutting their shrieking short. It was so silent it felt like time had stopped. “We are retreating! Signal the horses and mounted archers! Everyone else buy us time until the whistle is blown! We’re not going to die like that! Now, go!”

Everyone sprang into action at once. They moved in such perfect coordination it was like the paralysis of the previous moment had been a lie. They acted with the force of a waterfall. By following their orders like machines, they ceased thinking and could perform miraculous feats. They would probably never achieve such exquisite order ever again.

The knights confirmed with one another what each of them would do. There was one knight with one of the whistles they used to communicate—they had to protect him. He backed away a few steps, cast away his sword, and went into his haversack for the whistle.

“Yarrrrrgh!” As if in response, the death knight charged. He was heading straight for the key knight. Is he aiming to destroy our means of escape and plunge us further into despair? Everyone was chilled to the bone.

The raven-black flood surged closer. It was clear to everyone that whoever stood in its path would be killed, but they formed a breakwater anyway. They replaced their fear with an even more terrible fear, fueling themselves to act.

The shield was brandished and a knight went flying.

The sword flashed and a knight’s upper and lower body were severed.

“Dazen! Maurette! Take your swords and cut off the heads of those who’ve been killed—quickly or they’ll come back as monsters!”

The men who were named hastily ran toward the dead knights. The shield was brandished again, and one was bashed and sent flying; the other attempted to block the flamberge coming down on him and was cut, sword and all, in half.

In the space of a few breaths, four of Londes’s comrades had lost their lives. Shuddering, he watched—like a true martyr—as the storm of raven black bore down on him.

“Yahhhhh!” Though he had no chance of winning, he couldn’t go down without a fight. He screamed a battle cry and swung his sword as hard as he could at the oncoming death knight.

Perhaps the extreme situation had pulled out all the stops in Londes’s body. Even he was astonished by what a powerful attack he’d unleashed. It was the best swing of his life.

The death knight countered with his flamberge.

One swing sent Londes’s vision spinning. Below, he saw his headless body crumple to the ground. His sword sliced the air, making not so much as a scratch.

At the same time, a horn resounded through the area.

At the sound of the horn, Momonga—Ainz—looked up. Around him were scattered the corpses of the knights who had been on watch. Enveloped in the thick stench of blood, Ainz had been performing experiment after experiment, but wasn’t prioritizing the right things…

He cast away the knight’s sword he held. The beautifully polished blade was dirtied when it fell to the earth. “And I used to always be so jealous of people with abilities like Reduce Physical Damage…”

“Lord Ainz Ooal Gown.”

“Ainz is fine, Albedo.”

His simple reply seemed to confuse her. “Oh, tee-hee! I-is it really all right to be so rude as to abbreviate the name of our Supreme Ruler?!”

Ainz didn’t think it was such a big deal. It did make him happy, however, to hear that she held the name of Ainz Ooal Gown so sacred. His tone naturally softened. “I don’t mind, Albedo. Until my old friends show up, this name is my name. So I allow it.”

“Understood, b-but I will still attach the title. A-ahem…my master, Lord A-i-nz, tee-hee-hee! B-by the way…” She squirmed a bit, perhaps out of shyness. But since she was covered head to toe in full plate armor, none of her beauty shone through. The sight was so strange it was a bit awkward. “C-could it be that, tee-hee-hee, you’re letting me specially call you by this shortened—?”

“No. Being called such a long name every time would be annoying. I’m going to have everyone call me the same thing.”

“Oh. Of course. I assumed…” Her mood suddenly darkened.

Next, Ainz asked her a question with a bit of anxiety, “Albedo… Do you find anything wrong with me calling myself by this name?”

“I think it fits you extremely well. I think it’s appropriate for the man I love—ahem—for the one who kept the Supreme Beings together.”

“…Originally, it was a name that stood for all forty-one of us, including your creator Tabula Smaragdina. So how does it strike you that I leave all your masters out of this and take the name as my own?”

“I realize this may invite your displeasure, but…I will be so bold as to humbly offer one thought. If it causes you to furrow your brow in the slightest, please order me to kill myself… If one of those who abandoned us were to leave you, Lord Momonga, who stayed with us all this time, out of it and take the name, I may have felt it was wrong. But if it is you, my lord, and all the others’ whereabouts are unknown, what else could I feel but happiness?” Albedo bowed her head in a swift motion and Ainz said nothing.

Nothing after the word abandoned had registered. All his former guildmates had left for a reason. After all, Yggdrasil was a game, not something one could sacrifice reality for. That went for Momonga, too. But did he harbor some suppressed rage toward his guildmates? For “abandoning” him?

“Hrm, maybe, maybe not. Human emotions move in mysterious, complicated ways. There’s no answer… Albedo, lift your head. I’ve understood your thoughts. Yes, this is my name. Until some of my friends come to raise objections, it will refer to me only.”

“Understood, sublime lord and master. Nothing makes me happier than that the man I love should call himself by that sacred name.”

“Love,” huh…?

Despite his dark thoughts, Ainz chose to avoid the issue for the moment. “Ah… I thank you.”

“Oh, but Lord Ainz. Are you sure it’s all right for me to be wasting your time like this? Of course, I am satisfied simply standing at your side, but…well, hm. Yes, a stroll might be nice.”

That wouldn’t do. He had come to save the village.

He already knew the girls’ parents were dead. Remembering their corpses, he clawed at his face. When he’d seen their dead bodies, it was as if he’d seen two bugs lying dead in the road. He’d felt no pity, no sadness, no anger—nothing.

“Well, let’s put aside the idea of a stroll, but it’s true that we’re not in any particular hurry. It seems the death knight is doing his job.”

“I’d expect nothing less of an undead you created, Lord Ainz. I marvel at his magnificent efficacy.”

The undead made with Ainz’s powerful magic and skills were stronger than normal undead. Still, this one was only about level 35. Compared to the overlord wisemen and grim reaper thanatoses he could make using experience points, the death knight wasn’t so fancy. If such a weak monster was still out there fighting, it just meant that none of the enemies in the area were terribly strong.

In other words, they weren’t in any danger.

Realizing that, he wanted to pull a victory pose, but he suppressed the urge, knowing he had to act his part. He did, however, do a mini–fist pump under his robe.

“It probably just happens to be the case that the knights who attacked this village are weak. Anyhow, let’s go check on the survivors.”

Ainz was about to leave when he realized there were some things he needed to do first. For starters, he turned off the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown’s effects. The evil aura it had been giving off flickered and went out like a flame blown in the wind. Next, he went into his item box and took out a mask that would cover his whole face. Into it was carved a difficult-to-pin-down expression—tears or perhaps anger. It was a bit ornate. If someone had told him it looked like the masks of Barong or Rangda from Bali, he would have had to agree.

Despite how weird it looked, it didn’t have any powers. It was an event item, and it wasn’t possible to augment it. The only way to obtain it was to have been in-game for two hours or more during the period between seven and ten PM on Christmas Eve. Or rather, if one was there (and therefore dateless on the most romantic day of the year), it was forcibly added to the player’s inventory—a type of cursed item. In that sense, it was considered a cursed item. Its name was Mask of the Jealous, or the jealousy mask.

“Are the admins on crack?”

“We’ve been waiting for this!”

“There are some peeps in my guild who don’t have it, but we can PK for it, right?”

“Screw being human!”

That was the kind of stuff that was written in the Yggdrasil thread on a major forum site about the mask Ainz now donned.

Then, he took out some gauntlets. They were the typical, unsophisticated iron gauntlets one could get anywhere, with no outstanding features. They were known as járngreipr and were something the guild had made for fun. Their only effect was to boost the wearer’s strength.

He equipped them, and with that, all of his skeletal exterior was covered.

Naturally, there was a reason he was taking pains to conceal himself. He finally realized the fatal error he’d been making.

Ainz was used to his bony body from Yggdrasil, so there was nothing horrific about it to him, but it seemed to strike fear into the hearts of the people who lived in this world. That must be true, because it wasn’t only the little girls who thought he was there to take their lives—the armed knights had been frightened, too.

In any case, by changing his equipment he succeeded in downgrading his impression from evil monster to evil caster…hopefully. He wondered what to do about his staff but decided to take it. It wouldn’t get in the way.

“If you were gonna pray to your god to save you, maybe you shouldn’t have been massacring people?” Ainz spat a line only an unbeliever could spit in the direction of a knight who’d died with his fingers knit together in prayer. Then he cast a spell. “Fly!”

He glided lightly into the air and Albedo followed him a moment later.

Death Knight, if there are any knights left alive, leave them. We can use them. In response to Ainz’s thought came compliance. He understood what the death knight was feeling and what kind of situation he was in, even at a distance; it was a vague sensation, difficult to describe.

He flew quickly in the direction the horn had sounded. The wind whipped at him—he hadn’t been able to go this fast in Yggdrasil. His robe got twisted around his body in an irksome way, but the flight was brief.

Soon he was above the village; he looked down. One part of the ground in the square was darkened as if it had gotten wet. It was scattered with corpses. A handful of knights were left barely standing. And the death knight stood with perfect posture.

Ainz counted the surviving knights, who were breathing weakly; it seemed like moving was too much trouble for them. Four. More than he needed, but that was fine.

“That’s enough, Death Knight.” His voice seemed to boom a bit, out of place. It was nonchalant, like someone who’d gone to the market and was telling a merchant what they’d like to buy. That was about how this situation registered to Ainz.

Accompanied by Albedo, he touched down gently.

The knights, despondent, stood stock-still staring at Ainz. They’d been holding out for a savior, but instead the worst possible person showed up, crushing their hopes.

“How do you do, gentlemen? My name is Ainz Ooal Gown.”

No one replied.

“If you surrender, I’ll guarantee your lives. If you still want to fight, then…”

A sword was tossed to the ground. This was followed by the rest, and soon all four had been readily cast aside. No one said a word.

“…Well, you all seem quite exhausted, but your heads are held awfully high for being in the presence of this death knight’s master.”

The knights silently dropped to one knee and hung their heads—not as subjects, but as prisoners awaiting their beheading.

“I’ll send you gentlemen home alive. And I want you to tell your boss—your owner—” Ainz glided over to one of the knights using Fly and, with his free hand, slipped the kneeling man’s close helmet off to look into his groggy eyes. Their eyes met through Ainz’s mask. “Not to cause trouble here. Tell him if you cause any more trouble here, I’ll bring death to your country next.” The knights nodded over and over, their entire bodies trembling. They were so desperate it was funny. “Now flee! And make sure to tell your master.” He jerked his chin, and the knights practically fell over themselves as they scrabbled away.

“Acting takes so much energy…,” Ainz murmured as he watched the knights’ silhouettes grow smaller and smaller. If the villagers hadn’t been watching, he would have wanted to rotate his shoulders. Just like inside the Great Tomb of Nazarick, acting this dignified part was a huge burden on a normal guy like Ainz. But the act wasn’t over—it was time to put on a different hat.

He suppressed a sigh and walked toward the villagers. He knew Albedo was behind him because he could hear the clank of her armor. Clean up the squire zombies, he mentally ordered the death knight on his way. As the distance between him and the villagers closed, the mix of horror and confusion on their faces became clearly visible.

The reason they weren’t upset about him letting the knights go was that a more terrifying monster had arrived, he eventually realized. Since he was strong—stronger than the knights—he hadn’t thought of things from the point of view of the weak. Ainz reconsidered and pondered a bit.

If I get too close, it’ll probably backfire. Ainz stopped at a reasonable distance and addressed them in a kind, familiar tone. “Okay, you’re safe now. I hope you can relax.”

“Wh-who…a-are you?” A man seeming to present himself as a representative of the villagers spoke without taking his eyes off the death knight.

“I saw that this village was being attacked, so I came to help.”

“Wow…” Relieved murmurs went around the group, but Ainz could tell they were still uneasy.

Oh, well. I guess I’ll change tactics. He took a tack he didn’t particularly like. “Of course, it’s not as if I did it for free. I’d like to get paid some amount times the number of lives I saved.”

The villagers all looked at one another. The looks said they weren’t sure they could come up with money, but Ainz could see that their skepticism was reduced somewhat. Saving people with the base aim of money made him less suspicious.

“I-in this state, I don’t—”

Ainz cut him off by raising a hand. “Why don’t we discuss that later. On my way here, I saved a pair of sisters. Give me a little time to bring them here.” He would have to ask those two to keep their mouths shut. They’d seen him without the mask.

Ainz headed off at a leisurely pace without waiting for the villagers’ reply, wondering if memory manipulation magic would work.