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Convergence of Magic: The Overlord X Harry Potter

A Fanfiction By Kart

AN: This is the revised Fanfic. I’m a huge fan of the Overlord and Harry Potter Series written by Kugane Maruyama and J. K. Rowling respectively. Big Shout Out to my Discord friends from Grand Library of Ashurbanipal who helped me beta this. I’d greatly appreciate useful reviews: critical or otherwise, and will try to respond to those I find intriguing. Updates may be irregular based on my IRL situations. Thanks once again for picking this fic.

“Comments”

‘Thoughts’

{Harry Potter Spells}

[Yggdrasil Spells]

<Skills / Abilities / Martial Arts>

The one, destined to conquer the Dark Lord, draws nigh,

Born to those who thrice defied, 

when the seventh month bids goodbye.

Marked as the Dark Lord’s peer, 

with power yet unknown, 

The child shall wield strength, 

that the Dark Lord can’t disown.

From realms obscure, 

Death shall tread untrodden way,

Rescuing the child, 

from darkness’ sway.

Fate weaves its tapestry, 

merging realms in flight,

Death, an unexpected ally, 

shaping the hidden fight.

With Death’s touch,

a shield unseen and rare.

The child shall endure,

Beyond the Dark Lord’s snare.

Dark Lord’s equal,

With power unrevealed,

A force that the Dark Lord’s ignorance can't shield.

In shadow’s embrace, 

secrets shall be kept,

Ensuring survival,

From Darkness adept.

• SYBILL TRELAWNEY’S FIRST PROPHECY

Chapter Text

In the year 2138 AD, a term dominated the gaming lexicon: DMMO-RPG. This acronym stood for "Dive Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game," a revolutionary concept that blurred the lines between reality and virtual. These games transcended traditional gaming experiences by interfacing directly with the human brain through a neuronal nano-interface—a groundbreaking fusion of cyber and nanotechnology.

Among the plethora of DMMO-RPGs flooding the market, one title reigned supreme: Yggdrasil. Renowned for its expansive virtual world, diverse range of character classes, and unparalleled freedom in character customization, Yggdrasil sparked a cultural phenomenon in Japan. Its innovative features ignited the imaginations of players, giving rise to what would later be termed a stylistic revolution.

Such was Yggdrasil's dominance that the mere mention of "DMMO-RPG" conjured thoughts of this iconic game in the minds of Japanese gamers. Yet, as time marched on, these accolades became relics of the past—

The throne room exuded an air of majestic splendour, its grandeur a testament to the finest craftsmanship. Despite its vastness, the room retained an aura of tranquil solemnity, capable of accommodating hundreds without ever feeling crowded. Its lofty ceiling and pristine white walls, adorned with intricate golden embellishments, set the stage for opulence.

Countless chandeliers, each adorned with precious stones of every hue, cast a mesmerising rainbow of light throughout the space, imbuing it with a surreal allure. Arrayed along the walls, flagpoles bore flags emblazoned with a myriad of symbols, gently swaying in the breeze that stirred the room. A total of forty-one flags, from ceiling to floor, added a touch of regality to the already resplendent ambiance.

In the heart of this room, bathed in tints of gold and silver, stood a grand staircase, ascending ten steps to a towering throne. Crafted from a single piece of crystal, its towering back reached the very ceiling above. Behind it, a vast red banner unfurled, proudly bearing the emblem of the guild. Nestled in the deepest recesses of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, this chamber exuded a palpable weight, imposing itself upon all who beheld its magnificence. It was here, amidst this solemn grandeur, that he chose to welcome the game's final moments.

A solitary figure traversed this divine realm, adorned in a resplendent black academic robe, intricately trimmed with the edges of violet and gold. Though the collar appeared ostentatious, it harmonised seamlessly with the garment's overall aesthetic. Yet, what truly drew the eye was the figure's exposed skull, illuminated by points of dark red light within its cavernous eye sockets, surrounded by an ominous halo of black radiance.

This figure was none other than Momonga, the Master of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, Ruler of Death, an Undead of the highest order—an Overlord. As he strode forward, the room seemed to swallow the sound of his footsteps, his penetrating gaze fixed upon the female NPC standing at the side of the throne.

She stood before him, a vision of ethereal beauty wrapped in a pure white gown that flowed around her like cascading moonlight. Her delicate features bore a faint, goddess-like smile, radiating an aura of serenity. Yet, amidst her celestial appearance, there were elements that hinted at a darker nature.

Contrasting starkly with her alabaster attire, her hair cascaded in lustrous jet-black waves, cascading down to her waist like an obsidian waterfall. Despite the oddity of her golden irises and vertically slitted pupils, she possessed a timeless allure that would rival any world-class beauty. However, two curved horns protruded from the sides of her head, adding a sinister edge to her otherwise angelic visage.

In addition to her horns, a pair of ebony-feathered wings emerged gracefully from her waist, hinting at a hidden power beneath her serene exterior. And though her smile appeared divine, there lingered a subtle sense of mystery—a mask concealing deeper emotions, perhaps amplified by the presence of her twisted horns.

Adorning her slender form was a golden necklace fashioned in the likeness of a spider's web, cascading from her shoulders down to the gentle curve of her breasts. Her wrists were adorned with lustrous silk gloves, accentuating her elegant limbs. In her delicate hand, she wielded a peculiar weapon resembling a wand, approximately forty-five centimetres in length, with a black orb hovering at its tip—an enchanting yet enigmatic artefact. Momonga had not forgotten her name.

She was none other than Albedo, the esteemed Overseer of the Floor Guardians within the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick. As the guardian of the seven NPC Floor Guardians, she held the highest rank among all inhabitants of the Tomb. It was her solemn duty to oversee their activities and ensure the smooth operation of their domain.

Due to her pivotal role, Albedo was granted the privilege of awaiting orders within the Throne Room, situated in the deepest recesses of the Tomb. Here, amidst the hallowed halls of power, she stood ready to execute her master's will with unwavering loyalty and dedication.

"This is a suitable location," Momonga's voice resonated across the room, addressing a distinguished figure adorned in the attire of a butler. The gentleman's appearance exuded an air of seasoned refinement, with hair as white as freshly fallen snow, including his neatly groomed beard and moustache. Despite the passing of years, his posture remained impeccably erect, reminiscent of a blade forged from the finest steel.

His countenance bore the marks of age, etched with deep lines that hinted at a life well-lived, evoking an aura of kindness and gentility to those who beheld him. However, behind the veil of serenity, his piercing gaze betrayed a keen intellect akin to that of a predatory eagle, assessing the room with a shrewd vigilance.

Behind the butler stood six maids, each a unique embodiment of strength and elegance. These were no ordinary attendants; clad in gauntlets and greaves fashioned from a blend of gold, silver, black, and an array of other metals, their armour mirrored the attire of manga-inspired maid outfits.

They did not wear helmets, but instead pristine white headdresses, allowing their varied hairstyles to cascade freely. From buns to ponytails, from flowing locks to intricate French curls, their hairstyles reflected a diversity as rich as their individual personalities.

Every maiden wielded a distinct weapon, showcasing their prowess in battle. They were the epitome of combat-ready maids, exuding a formidable presence tempered by grace and beauty. Despite their differences, each one possessed a unique allure; one radiated athleticism and strength, another exuded the demure charm of a traditional Japanese maiden, while yet another captivated with a seductive allure. Together, they formed a formidable and captivating ensemble, ready to serve their master with unwavering loyalty and skill.

All present, save for Momonga, were NPC creations meticulously crafted to fulfil the desires and directives of their creators—the esteemed Guild members of Ainz Ooal Gown. Whether tasked with defending against invaders or providing entertainment through immersive role-playing elements, they existed solely as Non-Player Characters within the Great Tomb of Nazarick. Unlike characters controlled by the game, they operated according to a set of pre-programmed AI routines, rendering them akin to mobile automatons.

Though their designs boasted remarkable realism, their actions were but scripted movements executed in accordance with their programmed directives. Despite their lifelike appearance, they were mere puppets, serving as instruments to carry out the will of their creators.

As he ascended the stairs, Momonga halted at the sound of approaching footsteps behind him. Though his skeletal visage betrayed no emotion, a chuckle escaped him involuntarily. The NPCs, after all, were nothing more than rigid AI routines, bound by their programmed limitations. Without precise and explicit commands, they would remain oblivious to his intentions.

In his oversight, Momonga realised that he had neglected to issue proper directives to the NPCs. His amusement tinged with a hint of self-deprecation as he acknowledged his negligence.

After his guild members departed, Momonga delved into solo hunting with relentless determination, driven by the need to amass the gold required to sustain Nazarick. Eschewing camaraderie with fellow players, he steered clear of high-difficulty areas that once brimmed with the presence of his comrades. Instead, he tirelessly pursued his solitary quests, accumulating wealth to be deposited into the Treasury before logging out.

This solitary routine had become his daily ritual, leaving little room for interaction with the NPCs who inhabited Nazarick.

"Stand by," he commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness of the throne room, as he addressed his loyal attendants.

The sound of footsteps ceased as Momonga issued the correct command, ascending the final steps to reach the throne. His gaze fixed upon Albedo, who stood resolutely by its side. Though he had traversed this room on numerous occasions, he found himself taken aback by the intensity of Albedo's scrutiny. It seemed as though her eyes were tracing his every movement, a detail that had eluded his recollection from previous visits.

"What kind of backstory does she have?" Momonga pondered aloud, his curiosity piqued by the enigmatic figure before him. With a flicker of interest, he accessed a console and began sifting through the intricate details of Albedo's character profile. Lines upon lines of densely packed text unfolded before his eyes, akin to deciphering the verses of an ancient epic poem.

If he were to devote the time to read it in detail, he surmised he would likely remain engrossed until the game's conclusion. Momonga felt a knot of unease tighten in his chest, akin to stepping on a landmine. Though unable to physically tremble, he sensed a surge of apprehension coursing through him. He chastised himself inwardly for his oversight—Albedo's creator was known for their meticulous attention to detail, a fact he had foolishly overlooked.

Despite his reluctance, Momonga found himself inexorably drawn to continue scrolling through the dense text. With a sense of urgency, he bypassed paragraphs in favour of reaching the conclusion as swiftly as possible. His eyes darted across the screen, seeking solace in the final line, only to freeze in shock as he read it.

"She is also a slut."

Momonga's non-existent lips parted in disbelief as he read the shocking words displayed before him. He scrutinised the phrase repeatedly, searching for an alternative interpretation, but ultimately found none. With a heavy heart, he could only conclude that it was indeed an insult.

Each of the forty-one guild members had crafted their own NPCs, and Momonga struggled to comprehend why someone would tarnish their own creation in such a manner. Perhaps the reasoning lay within the extensive essay of flavour text, but he knew that some guild members possessed unconventional tastes. Tabula Smaragdina, Albedo's creator, was one such individual.

"Ah, is this what they call gap moe?" Momonga mused aloud, pondering the incongruity between Albedo's appearance and her supposed backstory. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that such a narrative was excessive. After all, the NPCs were a shared legacy of the guild, and to imbue the highest-ranked NPC with such a demeaning portrayal troubled him deeply.

With a contemplative "Umu," Momonga deliberated over the possibility of altering an NPC's backstory based on personal preference. After careful consideration, he arrived at a decision.

"Should I change it?" he wondered aloud, uncertainty clouding his thoughts.

With the Guild Weapon firmly in his grasp, Momonga now wielded the authority of the guildmaster—a power he had never before exercised. As he gazed upon the altered text on his console, his resolve solidified. It was time to rectify the injustice inflicted upon Albedo by his guildmate.

Extending the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown, Momonga accessed Albedo's settings with a sense of purpose. Through the sheer force of his guildmaster status, he bypassed the need for developer tools and began editing her character profile. With a few swift actions, the derogatory line vanished from existence.

"Ah, that's better," Momonga remarked with a sense of satisfaction. Yet, as he pondered the empty space left by the deletion, a sense of obligation compelled him to fill it.

"This feels a little silly," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist the urge to add a new line to Albedo's backstory. With a mixture of amusement and embarrassment, he typed out the words:

"She loves Momonga."

A blush crept across Momonga's skeletal features as he covered his face with his palm. It felt as though he were crafting the ideal romantic scenario for himself, a notion that both thrilled and embarrassed him.

Despite his initial impulse to rewrite the sentence out of embarrassment, Momonga ultimately decided against it. After all, the game would soon come to an end, and with it, any lingering feelings of shame. Moreover, the new line seamlessly filled the gap left by the deleted sentence, preserving the integrity of Albedo's character profile.

Seated upon the throne, Momonga surveyed his surroundings with a sense of satisfaction tinged with lingering embarrassment.

Observing Sebas and the maids standing motionless, Momonga couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness and unease that pervaded the throne room. Recalling a command he had heard before, he extended his hand and uttered a single word:

"Kneel."

Instantly, as if compelled by an unseen force, Albedo, Sebas, and the six maids dropped to one knee in perfect synchrony, their movements fluid and precise. Satisfied with the result, Momonga raised his left hand to check the time.

23:55:48

He had timed it perfectly.

As the final moments of the game approached, Momonga remained oblivious to the festivities likely unfolding in the outside world. Immersed in his solitude within Nazarick, he had severed all ties with the realm beyond its walls.

Leaning back against the throne, Momonga gazed up at the ceiling with a sense of calm resolve. Even on this, the game's last day, he remained vigilant, fully aware that potential invaders might attempt to breach the sanctity of Nazarick. Yet, he harboured no fear. As the guildmaster, he embraced any challenge that dared to test the fortress's defences.

Despite having sent emails to all the guild members, only a handful had responded. Nevertheless, Momonga remained steadfast in his resolve to await their return, eager to welcome them back as their guildmaster.

"A relic of the past, huh," Momonga mused, sinking into contemplation. Though the guild now stood as nothing more than an empty shell, he cherished the memories they had shared together. His gaze drifted towards the array of flags suspended from the ceiling, each bearing the personal symbol of a guild member.

Pointing to one flag, Momonga whispered, "Mine," a faint smile tugging at the corners of his skeletal lips. With each successive flag, he recounted the names of his former comrades, their identities etched deeply into his memory.

"Touch Me," he murmured, acknowledging the founder of the guild and the catalyst behind the gathering of the "Original Nine." Moving on, he recited the names of each member with fluid precision, from the oldest to the newest, from the strongest to the most revered.

"Herohero, Peroroncino, Bukubukuchagama, Tabula Smaragdina, Warrior Takemikazuchi, Variable Talisman, Genjiro—" Momonga's voice trailed off as he recited each name with reverence and nostalgia.

Exhausted from the flood of memories, Momonga sank wearily onto the throne. "Yeah, it really was fun," he whispered softly, a bittersweet smile playing upon his lips.

The time displayed on his watch read 23:57. With just three minutes remaining until the server shutdown at 00:00, time was running out. The impending end of the virtual world meant a return to reality the next day. That was only natural—Nobody could live in a virtual world, which was why everyone had left, one by one. Momonga couldn't help but sigh, resigned to the inevitable departure of each member, one by one.

As the seconds ticked away, Momonga felt the weight of exhaustion settling upon him. Remembering he had to wake up at four tomorrow, he knew he had to seize what little time remained to ensure he could function properly the next day. 

23:59:35, 36, 37

Momonga set his watch to count out the seconds.

23:59:48, 49, 50

Momonga closed his eyes.

23:59:58, 59—

Chapter Text

AN : Hello everyone, thank you for your support. This chapter has been a major source of inspiration for me in writing the Overlord crossover. Having read many fanfics from the Overlord series, I always felt there was something missing—an explanation of how Ainz or Nazarick could crossover to another world instead of the New World. So, here it is: my own theory on this concept.

In the vast expanse of this world, the mightiest beings were the Dragons. They were the epitome of adaptation, thriving in lands too harsh for humanity to dare venture. Among the rugged terrain of the Azerlisian Mountain Range, the Dragons reigned supreme, particularly the formidable Frost Dragons. 

Unlike their brethren, Frost Dragons possessed sleek, serpentine bodies, reminiscent more of graceful felines than the lumbering forms of lizards. Their scales bore a striking bluish-white hue, reminiscent of the pristine snows that blanketed their domain. As they aged, their scales transitioned to the purest white, a testament to their mastery of their wintry environment.

With their natural affinity for cold, Frost Dragons were immune to its biting embrace, yet paradoxically vulnerable to the searing touch of fire. However, their most fearsome asset lay in their ability to unleash a freezing breath that could crystallize even the hardiest of foes.

At the pinnacle of this Draconic hierarchy stood Olasird’arc Haylilyal, the White Dragon Lord and ruler of the Quagoa that had long plagued the Dwarf Kingdom nestled within the Azerlisian Mountains. It was this formidable leader who now bellowed a command towards the confines of his castle: "It’s me, open up."

He waited patiently, but there was no response from the other side of the door. It was inconceivable that his son was not present. The occupant of this room was a recluse, a hikikomori, who seldom ventured beyond its confines. 

In fact, Olasird’arc could not recall a single instance of his son leaving his room. Even his meals were delivered by his siblings. The audacity of his son feigning absence in the presence of his own father, a Dragon Lord, was deeply irksome.

"I'll repeat myself. It's me. Open up," Olasird’arc demanded once more, his voice resonating with the authority befitting his status.

Dragons possessed incredibly acute senses, and the forcefulness of his shout should have roused even the deepest sleeper. Yet, the door remained obstinately closed. Anger surged within Olasird’arc, transforming into action. With a swift motion, he lashed out at the door with his tail, the impact reverberating through the chamber. The door, constructed by Dwarves who had likely never anticipated such force, groaned under the blow.

Signs of movement stirred within, but Olasird’arc's fury remained unabated. He struck the door once more, shattering it into splintered fragments. Stones flew into the room like shrapnel, accompanied by a startled cry from within.

"Get out of there, right now!" Olasird’arc's voice thundered with authority, prompting a reaction from within the room. A Frost Dragon emerged, but unlike the slender physique typical of its kind, this one appeared overweight. Perched precariously on its nose were tiny spectacles, and it regarded Olasird’arc with a nervous demeanour. 

Though this was his son, the sight of his pitiful display left Olasird’arc sighing inwardly. It was understandable, perhaps, for one to tremble in the presence of a ruler such as himself, but he had hoped for more strength from his own blood. Furthermore, the Dragon's corpulent physique resembled that of a swine rather than a true Dragon.

As his son, Hejinmal, tentatively spoke up, Olasird’arc contemplated the situation. Though lacking in the physical prowess expected of a Dragon, Hejinmal still possessed the potential to grow stronger with age.

"I have a job for you, Hejinmal," Olasird’arc announced, his tone brooking no argument.

"A... a job?" Hejinmal stammered, clearly taken aback.

"Yes. The Son of the Dragon Emperor has extended an invitation for us to participate in a mass ritual to restore wild magic and undo the spell cast by his father," Olasird’arc explained.

Hejinmal's eyes widened with apprehension. "Hieee," he muttered nervously.

Ignoring his son's hesitance, Olasird’arc continued, "You will accompany me. Your time spent holed up in this room should have provided you with ample knowledge to assist in the ritual and remain vigilant for any potential threats."

"Suspicious?" Hejinmal echoed, his voice trembling.

"Yes. Trusting blindly could prove disastrous. Keep your senses sharp," Olasird’arc cautioned.

"I-I will, Father. I'll keep a watchful eye and ears open," Hejinmal promised, his resolve evident despite his faltering speech.

Olasird’arc nodded approvingly, but then fixed his son with a stern glare. "And stop stuttering so much. Show some backbone. You are the son of the White Dragon Lord, ruler of the Azerlisian Mountains."

Hejinmal wanted to interject, but wisely held his tongue, knowing better than to argue with his father's commands.

X

In the heart of the desert, far to the south of the Re-Estize Kingdom, loomed a colossal and awe-inspiring city that instilled both reverence and fear in those who beheld it. Legend has it that this city was erected five centuries ago by the Eight Greed Kings, who intended it to serve as the capital of their empire during their reign over the continent. 

Though the hubris of the Eight Greed Kings led to their downfall and the demise of their nation in internecine strife, the city endured, guarded by thirty sentinels armed with formidable magical weaponry.

Today, however, the city was encircled by hundreds of gigantic dragons, among them were Hejinmal and his father, alongside other Frost Dragons. Their attention was fixed upon the dragon standing at the epicentre of the city, while a fully clad armoured figure of imposing stature stood by his side. 

Tsaindorcus Vaision, a dragon of magnificent proportions, exuded an aura of majesty. His scales, gleaming with an ethereal white luminescence, imparted an impression of grace and elegance, akin to a living masterpiece rather than a member of the mightiest species. His colossal stature alike, Tsaindorcus Vaision raised his voice with fervour and conviction as he addressed his assembled kin and allies. 

"Greetings, my esteemed brethren and honoured allies! Today marks a pivotal moment in our history—a moment of unity and purpose. For too long, our world has languished under the shadow of a curse—a curse born from the avarice of my progenitor, the sins of the past. This curse has warped the very fabric of our reality, unleashing untold suffering and devastation upon countless species by the periodic incursion of those abhorrent beings every century. But today, my friends, we stand united in our resolve to cast aside this malevolent legacy, to right the wrongs of the past. Together, we shall perform a mass ritual to rectify the sins of my forebearer and to usher in a new era of harmony and prosperity!"

The proclamation stirred the gathered dragons, eliciting thunderous roars echoing across the desert sands and elemental breaths unleashed into the heavens. Each word resonated with passion and determination, infusing the air with a palpable sense of purpose and resolve. Tsaindorcus Vaision, his form radiant with ethereal light, exuded an aura of majesty and authority as he continued to inspire his comrades with his impassioned speech.

Meanwhile, Hejinmal harboured concerns regarding the toll this endeavour would exact upon his kind. It was widely known that wild magic drew its power from the souls of beings, and even legendary dragons possessed finite soul energy. While the ancient Dragon Lords had methods to bolster their souls, Hejinmal pondered the fate of the newer Dragon Lords and fledgling dragons like himself, who relied on the Tier Magic System. How would they replenish their depleted soul strength after partaking in this ritual?

The Platinum Dragon Lord had reiterated on numerous occasions that all dragons would indeed gain wild magic after the ritual. He assured them that the strength they contributed would directly correlate to the potency of the wild magic they would receive. But where was the evidence? Could such a feat truly be possible? With these doubts lingering in his mind, Hejinmal extended his senses to their utmost, scrutinising every detail for even the slightest alteration that could spell irreversible consequences as the ritual unfolded.

Tsaindorcus brandished a blade crafted from crystal in one hand—a weapon that, if described, appeared both stunning and ostentatious. According to the information Hejinmal had perused, it was none other than the Eight Greed Kings' Guild Weapon. 

In his other hand, Tsaindorcus held a thick tome. Legend had it that the Eight Greed Kings possessed a plethora of powerful artefacts that cemented their dominion over the New World. Foremost among these was the Nameless Book of Spells. Valued at a king's ransom, this tome was imbued with unimaginable power. 

It was whispered that all spells of the New World were inscribed within its pages, and that newly created incantations were automatically transcribed into its depths. The true extent of its capabilities remained a mystery, yet its existence served as a testament to the possibility of legendary 10th Tier Magic.

Next, a sinuous dragon deftly crawled from within the castle. Its slender form, narrow wings, and lithe limbs gave it the appearance of a Drake rather than a Dragon. Its sleek scales shimmered like amethyst in the sunlight, yet appeared almost obsidian-like in the shadows. 

This was the Deep Darkness Dragon Lord who once fought and killed a Pu’hu’la-yer—The wretched existence that had required the combined might of seven to eight dragon lords to defeat was killed by this fearsome dragon single handedly. The spoils of its victory were evident, held within its jaws—the Black Bead, a treasure of immense power that could change the very laws of the world. 

Subsequently, four more dragons emerged, each bearing artefacts of comparable might and worth. With each item surpassing the last in potency, they assumed their positions within the magical formation. These legendary treasures were known as World Items, possessing power vast enough to bring about the annihilation of entire worlds. The summoning of the abhorrent beings was attributed to the Dragon Emperor's insatiable coveting of these Items.

As the Legendary Ritual commenced, a surge of energy coursed through everyone present, invigorating them with newfound vigour drawn from the World Items. Unaware of the subtle drain on their souls wrought by the formation, the dragons revelled in the exhilaration of their augmented strength. 

However, as the Ancient Spell persisted, signs of distress began to manifest with some of the weaker dragons going berserk. Their scales cracked, and strange energy seeped from every orifice, hinting at the tumult within.

Hajinmal's voice pierced through the chaos as he called out to his father with a sharp cry, "NUU-UUKK!" 

This code word, coined by Hajinmal following his father's cautionary words, held significance akin to that of a small creature resembling a rat known as a Nuk. Preyed upon by numerous inhabitants of the Azerlisia Mountains, the Nuk had evolved with robust reproductive capabilities and a tendency to flee at the slightest hint of danger. Thus, its name aptly served as a call to retreat in times of peril.

However, as Hajinmal turned, he witnessed a dragon hurtling away at breakneck speed, intent on escaping the confines of the ritual only to bash his head straight into a barrier. The dragon's roar of agony echoed through the air as others joined in, bombarding the invisible wall with their elemental breaths, only to meet with futile resistance. 

World-Isolating Barrier

This was a mid-tier wild magic spell that had been cast. It created a realm separate from reality, impervious to conventional entry or exit methods, including teleportation. Even attempts to teleport within or out of its confines were met with failure, with the furthest one could reach being its very edge. 

Only those possessing special means, such as Wild Magic or a World Item, could breach its boundaries. The dome encompassing the Platinum Dragon Lord's domain spanned an immense kilometre-wide expanse, an ability rivalling that of a Super-Tier spell or a World Item in its sheer scale and potency.

Hajinmal locked eyes with his father and turned his snout towards Tsaindorcus. Understanding his son's intent, Olasird’arc unleashed a resounding roar and surged towards the epicentre where the True Dragon Lords were conducting the ritual. In his wake, several other dragons followed suit, mustering their strength and preparing to confront the mightiest of their kind.

Meanwhile, the Platinum Dragon Lord observed with detached apathy, fully aware of the inevitable fate awaiting these fake Dragon Lords. Their belated efforts to halt the spell were futile. With each exertion of their strength, the dragons transformed into mere motes of light. 

His attention shifted towards the city below, where millions of inhabitants had long perished, their souls drained from their corporeal forms. Such was the grim fate befalling numerous cities across the world as the ritual continued its relentless march.

Amidst the prevailing despair, a curious spectacle seized his attention. Despite the overwhelming tide of oblivion, a handful of souls managed to elude its clutches, slipping away towards an uncertain destination. 

Speculating on their fate, he pondered whether they were destined for the new realm where the abhorrent beings and their World Items would inevitably meet their reckoning. Without intervention, he allowed their escape, understanding that their departure held little sway over the relentless force of the spell.

For even the loss of a thousand souls slipping through the cracks would scarcely perturb the spell's insatiable appetite for countless more. They were but a drop in an ocean, insignificant against the vast expanse of millions of souls required to sustain its formidable power.

X

In the northwestern expanse of the Re-Estize Kingdom, nestled amid imposing mountains, lies the Argland Council State, a demi-human nation with a storied past. Founded by the Platinum Dragon Lord as part of his pioneering experiments in community building, it emerged following the defeat of the Evil Deities two centuries ago. A bastion of diversity, the nation is home to a myriad of humans and demi-human species coexisting in harmony.

Yet, amidst this tranquil tapestry, an eerie stillness has descended upon the land. Cities once bustling with activity now lie silent, devoid of the usual clamour of daily life. The laughter of children and the chirping of birds have faded into oblivion, leaving behind a haunting emptiness. It is as if the very essence of vitality has been drained from the land, leaving its inhabitants laying down like the puppets whose strings were cut.

The Dragon Kingdom, a bastion of human civilization within the New World, traces its lineage back to the illustrious reign of the Brightness Dragon Lord. Presently, its governance lies in the capable hands of his great-granddaughter, Dragon Queen Draudillon. 

The nation endured relentless threats of invasion from the neighbouring Beastman Country, its very existence teetering on the brink of annihilation. Salvation arrived in the form of the Founder, whose timely intervention struck fear into the hearts of the marauding Beastmen Army, compelling them to retreat and sparing the Dragon Kingdom from impending destruction.

A young girl made her way through the majestic corridors of the royal palace, her steps echoing softly against the polished marble floors. Tall columns adorned with intricate carvings lined the passage, their surfaces illuminated by the gentle glow of ornate sconces. Flanking her were several ministers and royal guards, their watchful eyes following her every move with earnest vigilance. 

As she approached the imposing Platinum door, its surface shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance, etched with intricate patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering torchlight. The door itself stood tall and formidable, adorned with elaborate carvings depicting scenes of battle and triumph. Its imposing presence seemed to dwarf even the assembled guards and ministers who stood watch nearby.

From beyond the door, a cacophony of sounds erupted, filling the corridor with a tumultuous symphony of moans, screams, and roars, interspersed with sporadic bouts of rigorous clapping. 

The girl frowned at the sounds but quickly veiled her disapproval with an innocent expression, knowing that the sooner she dealt with this, the sooner the debauchery would cease. Summoning her courage, she called out in her sweet, melodious voice,

“My~lord! May I come in?!”

As the girl's voice pierced through the tumult, the cacophony within the chamber subsided, and the colossal doors swung open. Stepping inside, she left her entourage behind, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

Inside, a glittering hoard of gold and treasures adorned the chamber. The wealth of the Dragon Kingdom shimmered, bathed in the radiant glow emanating from a strikingly handsome man reclining atop this lavish display. 

Surrounding him were several naked beauties, their forms a testament to his allure, as he regarded the newcomer with an insatiable hunger in his eyes. In a mirthful tone, he addressed his descendant, his voice rich with anticipation, 

“Is everything ready, my child?”

Unperturbed by the provocative scene before her, the little girl responded with unwavering enthusiasm,

“Yes! Great~GrandPa! Everything is prepared as per your Orders! We can Begin the ritual~, when you are ready~!”

With a satisfied chuckle, the man nodded, his gaze alight with eagerness,

“Umu! Then Let us commence without any further delay.”

The handsome man rose from his opulent throne, his form bathed in radiant light. In a breathtaking display of power and majesty, the handsome man rose to his feet, his naked form illuminated by an ethereal glow. 

With a swift motion, wings of light unfurled from his back, and his body underwent a stunning metamorphosis, morphing into the majestic form of a beautiful white dragon. As he soared out of the treasury, all those present bowed their heads in reverence, acknowledging the might of the dragon lord.

Emerging into the skies above the capital of the Draconic Kingdom, the magnificent dragon lord commanded the attention of all who beheld him. As he ascended, a wave of awe swept through the onlookers, prompting them to prostrate themselves in reverence.

In the next moment, a colossal magic circle materialized, its intricate patterns weaving a protective barrier over the entire capital. Simultaneously, similar formations manifested across the whole nation, casting a spell of awe and fear over the land.

With joyous expressions, the people gazed upon the magnificent view, unaware of the faint glow that began to suffuse their forms. Some who noticed it felt a surge of elation, believing it to be the blessing of their revered deity, but they soon transformed into motes of light, unwittingly fuelling the power of the legendary spell.

Witnessing the devastating scene unfold before her, the queen found herself unable to contain her anguish. Her heartrending cries echoed through the hall as she beheld the faces of her beloved subjects, each one a testament to the sacrifices she had made to shield them from harm. 

Yet, despite her best efforts, she now stood powerless, forced to bear witness as they fell victim to the relentless onslaught. The weight of her inability to protect them pressed upon her like a suffocating shroud, leaving her engulfed in a profound sense of despair.

"Why!? Why!!?" she cried out in desperation, her voice trembling with emotion. 

"You promised that this would quell future troubles!" 

"Indeed, this will eradicate those pests once and for all. But child, your vision is too narrow; you fail to grasp the secrets of the world," he retorted, his tone laced with a mix of resignation and wisdom.

Saying this Brightness Dragon Lord Vanished in a Dazzling display leaving behind the sobbing Dragon Queen.

And so the world was rid of Tier Magic and all the World Items. With the power of Wild Magic, all its traces were erased, even from the people's memories, of those who remain, unbeknownst to them what kind powers their friends and ancestors wield. With the passage of time, even the traces of their civilization vanished.

Chapter Text

Nestled within the Borough of Islington, London, amidst a mundane neighbourhood oblivious to its hidden significance, stood 12 Grimmauld Place—a name steeped in both history and secrecy. Once the ancestral abode of the esteemed Black family, it now served as the clandestine headquarters for the valiant members of the Order of the Phoenix—a beacon of resistance against the encroaching darkness of Lord Voldemort's tyranny.

On the first floor of this enigmatic edifice, an exquisite drawing room unfolded—a chamber steeped in faded grandeur and veiled mystique. Its large windows, draped in heavy velvet curtains, offered fleeting glimpses of the bustling street below, while a crackling fireplace, flanked by two ornate glass-fronted cabinets, cast dancing shadows across the polished wooden floor, infusing the space with a flickering warmth. Adorning an entire wall, a majestic tapestry unfurled—a sprawling chronicle of the intricate lineage of the House of Black, each thread woven with the echoes of generations past.

Amidst this tableau of faded opulence and whispered secrets, three figures stood, their presence imbuing the room with a solemn gravity. Lily J. Potter, her auburn locks cascading in gentle waves around her, cradled her infant son in her arms—a symbol of fragile innocence amidst tumultuous times. Beside her stood James Potter, his protective embrace a silent testament to his unwavering devotion. And presiding over them all, a towering figure clad in flowing robes of deep purple and a cloak that swept the ground—a paragon of wisdom and authority in troubled times. Albus Dumbledore, the venerable headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, regarded the young family with eyes that gleamed behind half-moon spectacles, his gaze a mixture of kindness and gravitas.

Within the hallowed halls of 12 Grimmauld Place, amidst the flickering shadows and whispered echoes of generations past, the stage was set for a pivotal moment in the unfolding saga of the wizarding world—a moment fraught with both peril and promise, where the choices made would shape the destiny of all who stood upon the precipice of history.

"So, this is the Prophecy," began Albus Dumbledore, his voice carrying the weight of solemn revelation as he addressed the young couple before him. "Professor Trelawney made it during her interview for the post of Divination teacher at Hogwarts, and it seems Voldemort has learned of it."

Upon hearing these words, Lily J. Potter, her auburn locks shimmering in the flickering firelight, instinctively drew her child closer, a protective gesture born of maternal instinct. Her husband, James Potter, stood by her side, his embrace a silent reassurance amidst the uncertainty that hung heavy in the air.

"Are you sure this Prophecy is truly about our child?" James questioned, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and disbelief. "He is just an infant. How long will it take for him to grow up and defeat the Dark Lord? I am sure we can kill him several times over before that day comes."

Dumbledore's gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his understanding as he addressed their apprehensions. "There are actually two prospects for this prophecy," he explained, his tone measured yet imbued with a sense of urgency that belied the gravity of the situation. 

As he spoke, a fleeting smile graced Lily's lips, a glimmer of hope amidst the looming shadows of uncertainty. Yet, it was short-lived, extinguished by the weight of Dumbledore's next words.

"One is your child, Harry Potter," Dumbledore continued, his voice grave. "And the other is Neville Longbottom, the only son of Frank and Alice Longbottom."

Frank and Alice Longbottom, esteemed Aurors and loyal members of the Order of the Phoenix, had welcomed the arrival of their son, Neville, just a few hours before Harry's birth. Their dedication to the Order mirrored that of James and Lily Potter, illustrating the shared commitment among their ranks.

"According to my sources, Voldemort believes the prophecy pertains to your child," Dumbledore continued, his expression grave as he shared the unsettling revelation.

James and Lily exchanged a knowing glance, the weight of their responsibility as parents bearing heavily upon them. "So, I would suggest you take your family and go into hiding for a few days until this matter dies down," Dumbledore advised, his tone laced with concern. "I will personally become your secret keeper."

Lily shook her head gently, her resolve unwavering. "You already have a lot on your plate," she countered, her voice tinged with gratitude and determination. 

James, expressing his reluctance to burden Dumbledore said, "We don’t need to trouble you any further. We will stay at our house in Godric’s Hollow, protected by the Fidelius Charm. And as for being the Secret Keeper, I will just ask one of my friends."

Dumbledore's concern was evident as he reiterated the gravity of their decision. "Are you certain? This is a crucial choice, and Voldemort will not be easily thwarted," he cautioned, his blue eyes piercing as he searched their faces for any sign of hesitation.

James and Lily looked into eachothers eyes before turning back to Dumbledore with unwavering determination. 

"We are," they affirmed in unison, their resolve clear as they prepared to face the looming threat that threatened their family and the wizarding world alike…

Chapter Text

“...Hm?”

Momonga opened his eyes. He had not returned to his familiar room. This was still the Throne Room in Yggdrasil.

“What’s going on?”

The time was right. He should have been forcibly logged out by the server shutdown.

00:00:38

“What... on earth happened?”

Momonga was filled with panic, frustration, and suspicion, but he was also surprised by how calm he was considering the circumstances. He decided to call on other means. Forced connections that did not require a console, the chat function, a GM Call, a forced logout—

None of them responded. It was as though they had been deleted from the system.

“...What the hell is going on?!”

Momonga’s angry voice echoed through the Throne Room, then vanished. Today was the last day of Yggdrasil, yet all these things were happening on a day that should have marked an end to the game. Was this some kind of prank the Devs were pulling on the Players?

“What’s wrong, Momonga-sama?”

It was the first time he had heard that beautiful woman’s voice. Momonga was startled, but he still kept searching for the source of the voice. When he found the one who had spoken the words just now, he was speechless. The person who had answered him was the NPC raising her head — Albedo.

“Is something wrong, Momonga-sama?”

Albedo kept asking him questions. Momonga did not know how to respond. As it was, there were far too many things he did not understand, so his thought processes short-circuited.

“No... nothing is wrong... no, nothing.”

Momonga was not the sort of person who made a habit of speaking politely to dolls. However... hearing Albedo’s questions instinctively made him want to respond with deference. Her movements, her speech patterns, her whole being radiated an undeniable humanity. 

Momonga still had the feeling that something was terribly wrong about Albedo and himself, but he had no way of understanding exactly what the problem was. All he could do in this ignorant state was to suppress his fear, shock, and other unnecessary emotions. However, Momonga was a common person, and could not do that. Just as Momonga was about to cry out, the words of one of his guild members came to mind:

—Panic is the seed of defeat, so you must maintain your calm and think logically. Remain calm, look beyond your surroundings, and don’t waste your effort on unnecessary details, Momonga-san.

As he recalled these words, Momonga slowly regained his composure. Momonga silently thanked Punitto Moe, the Zhuge Liang of Ainz Ooal Gown.

“Is something the matter?”

She was close to him now. Albedo was so close he could feel her gentle breaths. Her lovely face dimpled in an adorable way as she asked her question. Momonga, who had calmed himself after much effort, was in danger of being driven into panic again from her nearby face.

“...The GM Call function does not seem to be working.”

 However, as his heart was about to jump out due to panic, his emotions were quenched, and he returned to normal. Momonga felt uneasy at the lack of strong emotions within himself, and he wondered if it was related to the words of his comrade from just now. But was that really the case? Momonga shook his head. Now was not the time to ponder these things.

“...Please forgive my inability to answer the Supreme One’s questions about this “GM Call.” I apologize for not meeting your expectations. Nothing would please me more than a chance to make up for my prior mistake. Please, command me as you see fit.”

...The two of them were conversing. There was no doubt about that. Learning this fact shocked Momonga so greatly that he could not speak. Impossible. This should have been impossible. The closest thing NPCs could come to conversations was with macroed responses to being addressed in a certain way.

She was close to him now. Albedo was so close he could feel her gentle breaths. Wait breaths.. As he finally realized what the problem was, he did not shout, nor did he keep silent, but he simply sighed imperceptibly. That unexpected breadth of facial expressions. The reason why her mouth could move and why she could speak—

“...pos...sible!”

Momonga hurriedly placed a hand on his mandible, and spoke.

—His mouth was moving.

This should have been impossible, going by what he knew about DMMO-RPGs. A character’s mouth would not move with their words. The basic premise was that external appearances were fixed. Because of that, facial expressions were impossible to design. In addition, Momonga’s face was a skull, without a tongue or a throat. He looked down to his hands, and they were the same fleshless pair that he was used to. He could also see that he had no lungs or, indeed, any other internal organs. But then, how was he speaking?

“Impossible...”

Momonga could feel the certainty he had in the world evaporating away, replaced by an ever-growing uneasiness. He suppressed his desire to shout out and, like he expected, his surging emotions were suddenly quashed. Momonga slapped forcefully at the throne, but as he expected, no damage values appeared.

“...What should I do... Is there anything I can do?”

He knew nothing about what was going on. Nobody would help him even if he got angry. Then, his first priority should be — looking for clues.

“—Sebas.”

He could see an earnest, sincere expression on Sebas’s face. He looked like a real person. It should be fine to give him orders, right?

Momonga took on a superior, commanding attitude, and spoke:

“Exit the Tomb and investigate the surrounding region. If you encounter intelligent creatures, interact peacefully with them and invite them to the Tomb. Attempt to accommodate the other party as much as possible during negotiations. Do not stray more than one kilometer from the tomb and avoid unnecessary combat.”

“Understood, Momonga-sama. I will do so immediately.”

Momonga folded his arms. The next step would be—

“...I should contact the game company.”

The game company would know the most about Momonga’s present situation. The problem was actually contacting them. Normally, simply using the /shout command or a GM Call would put him in touch with a GM instantly, but if these methods did not work either...

“ [Message] ?”

This was a spell used to communicate in the game. One of the fundamental rulings which pertained to DMMO-RPGs was that forcing a Player to participate in a game without permission could be treated as a form of cyber-kidnapping. As such, forcing a Player to test out a game in this manner was a prosecutable offense, especially if there was no way to force-quit the game. It would not be unexpected for a company to receive fines or jail time for such things. Which company would risk arrest or worse to commit a corporate crime like this? And there was another possibility...

...The possibility that the virtual world had become reality.

Impossible.

Momonga promptly rejected that idea. How could such an illogical, foolish thing happen?

But on the flip side, the more he thought about it, the more strongly he felt it was the right answer. And then — Momonga remembered Albedo’s scent. In accordance with the software legislation for virtual reality games, such games were not allowed to provide sensory data for smell and taste. Although Yggdrasil had food and drink items, consuming them was little more than changing a value in the game system. 

In addition, the sense of touch was heavily limited, in order to prevent confusion with the real world. These limitations meant that VR systems were not very useful for the sex industry. However, none of these limitations were in effect now. Realizing these facts shocked Momonga. Countless questions like, “What about tomorrow’s work? What’ll happen if this keeps up?” flashed through his mind, but then he cast them all to the back of his mind.

“...If this virtual world is just a simulation of the real world... then the quantity of data involved must be unimaginable...”

Momonga swallowed with a nonexistent throat. Though his mind could not comprehend the situation, his heart could.

He was… 

X

The Amphitheater, Sixth floor of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick.

In the middle of the arena stood Momonga trying out various skills and spells in his repertoire.  

“I see. Well, this was an informative experiment... thank you, Aura.”

—It seemed that Momonga could be sure that he still possessed the basic abilities of an undead being and his special skills gained through leveling up. After a casting a few more spells, Momonga could confirm these things— 

To begin with, the restriction on friendly fire had been lifted. In Yggdrasil, he could cast a spell by tapping its respective icon. However, there were no icons for him to touch. Therefore, there had to be some other way. He was not sure, but he had a faint idea of how to use his magic. It was a power hidden within him. Just like how he had deactivated his [Negative Touch] , Momonga focused within himself. An icon appeared, as though floating in mid-air—

And Momonga smiled in delight. He was fully aware of information like the spell’s effective radius, its recast delay, and so on. Knowing this information, being sure of his power filled him with a surging excitement and warm satisfaction. Unlike in Yggdrasil, he felt that the magic was part of him. This was a satisfaction he could never have experienced in Yggdrasil.

He channelled the jubilation in his heart — although his mood calmed quickly, he could still feel joy and excitement — into his fingertip, and spoke the words:

“ [Fireball] .”

An expanding globe of flame shot out from the finger pointing at the straw man. The fireball struck the straw man unerringly, as he had predicted. It burst, releasing a wave of scorching flame that blew the straw man away. The inner part of the fireball exploded, turning the straw man and the surrounding area into a sea of fire. All this happened in an instant. Then, besides the blackened straw man, there was nothing left. Glad with his success, Momonga began his next experiment.

“ [Message] .”

Momonga decided to contact Sebas.

—It got through.

This proved that the [Message] spell was working, and that most likely, it could only contact people within this new world.

“[Momonga-sama.]”

A voice of deepest respect echoed through his mind. Momonga considered that Sebas might have been bowing to him on the other side of the [Message], like in real-life companies. Just then, Sebas spoke again, as Momonga fell silent from thinking about these ridiculous things.

“[...May I ask if something is wrong?]”

“Ah, ahhh, forgive me. I spaced out there. That’s right, what are the surroundings like?”

“[Yes. We are surrounded on all sides by plains, with no intelligent creatures in sight.]”

“A plain... not a swamp?”

The Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick should have been bordered by a swamp that was inhabited by frog-like demi-humans called Tuvegs. The swamp was shrouded in mist, and it was poisonous.

“[Yes. There are only plains around us.]”

Momonga could not help but smile. All this was too much...

“In other words, the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick has been wholly transported to a different place? ...Sebas, is there anything floating in the sky, or did anything like a message appear?”

“[No, there is nothing like that. The heavens are as boundless as the Sixth Floor’s night sky.]”

“What?! Did you say night sky? ...Is there anything suspicious around you?”

“[No... I have not seen anything unusual. But the magic seems to be different here as compared to when I was inside the great Tomb.]”

“What?! Magic?.. Is there a hindrance in using it?”

“[No, there is nothing of the sort. Instead it seems to be flowing too freely such that variations in my natural flow of Qi is possible.]”

“Is that so... is that so...”

What should he say? All Momonga could do was grab his head and try to think. But in his heart, he knew that this was most likely the case. Sebas’s silence was a subtle hint that he was awaiting orders. Momonga glanced at the strap on his left wrist. In another twenty minutes, the other Guardians would arrive. If that were the case, there was only one order he could give.

“Return in twenty minutes. When you come back to Nazarick, head to the Colosseum. All the Guardians will be coming, so when you arrive, I hope you will tell them about what you saw.

“[Understood.]”

“Then, gather as much information as you can before you return.”

After hearing Sebas’s acknowledgment, Momonga terminated the [Message] spell.

Momonga had already verified that he could use his abilities from Yggdrasil inside the Great Tomb of Nazarick. That being the case, He now had to see if his powers worked the same in the outside world. He also had to unravel the reason for this. Maybe it was because the Tomb was protected by the world Item, Throne of Kings or maybe there was another reason. He could only wait for now… 

With the exception of the Fourth Floor Guardian, Gargantua, and the Eighth Floor Guardian, Victim, all the other Floor Guardians assembled before Momonga. After they pledged their unwavering loyalty to their Supreme Ruler, Momonga addressed them, outlining the dire circumstances they currently faced.

“Excellent. Guardians, I know that you will understand my aims and successfully carry out my commands. There may be some things which may be difficult for you to understand, but I hope you will pay attention and listen. I believe the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick has been caught up in some kind of unknown situation.

Although I do not know what has caused this incident, the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick has been displaced from its original location in the swamps to a vast plain where magic behaves differently compared to within the tomb. Sebas is currently reconnoitring the surface.” 

Momonga looked at his illusory timer,

“It’s about time for him to return.”

Just then, Momonga saw Sebas jogging over to them, until he reached the Guardians genuflecting before Momonga and went to one knee as well.

“Momonga-sama, forgive my lateness.”

“It’s fine. Then, your report on the surrounding conditions.”

“Yes. To begin with, the terrain surrounding us for a kilometre in each direction is a plain. There are no signs of man-made structures. I spotted some small animals, but there were no humanoid or large creatures.”

“Were those small animals monsters?”

“No, they were life forms which had no combat power.”

“...I see. Then, were the plains you spoke of covered in frozen grass which would cut you as you passed them?”

“No, it was simple grass. There was nothing special about it.”

"And what did you observe about Magic?" Momonga inquired.

"Although I am not a magic caster, I was able to compensate for it with my Ki Sense to perceive the spiritual energy of the world," Sebas explained. "It appears that the laws of magic are not well defined here, and a person's magical abilities are largely dependent on their emotions and innate talent. Even the strength and cooldown of skills/spells can be altered depending on the situation. However, there is a greater chance of their powers going berserk.

“I see. Unlike Yggdrasil’s Tier System of magic, which has well-defined rules, the magic outside Nazarick is much more volatile… Thank you for your hard work, Sebas.” 

As he praised Sebas for his efforts, Momonga was somewhat disappointed because he had not obtained any useful information. However, he was slowly realizing that he was no longer in the game world of Yggdrasil, although he did not understand why he could use Yggdrasil’s equipment and use its spells.

He did not know why they had come here, but it would be wise to heighten Nazarick’s combat readiness just in case. For all he knew, this might be someone else’s territory, and he might be censured for having come here without permission. No, he would be lucky if that were all that happened.

“Guardians, increase the readiness of each floor by one level. We are unsure of what has happened, so do not act incautiously. If you encounter an intruder, do not slay them, but capture them alive at all costs. When you capture them, do as little harm to them as possible. I apologize for imposing such demands on all of you at a time like this.”

The Guardians voiced their acknowledgment and nodded in unison.

“Next, Aura and Mare... can you conceal the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick? Simple illusions don’t seem very reliable, and thinking about the cost of illusions gives me a headache.”

Aura and Mare looked at each other and began thinking. After a while, Mare spoke up:

“U-Using magic might be tricky. If we had to hide everything along with the surface...  although, we could cover the walls in mud, and then add plants as camouflage.”

“Do you intend to soil the glorious walls of Nazarick with base dirt?”

Albedo said that with her back turned to Mare. Although her voice was sweet and velvet, the tone it carried was anything but. Mare’s shoulders trembled, and although the surrounding Guardians remained silent, their attitudes suggested that they shared Albedo’s opinion. In contrast, Momonga felt Albedo was being too much of a busybody. The situation was hardly serious enough to warrant such a reaction.

“Albedo... don’t speak out of turn. I am addressing Mare.”

His voice was so deep that it surprised Momonga himself.

“Ah, my deepest apologies, Momonga-sama!”

Momonga continued speaking to Mare:

“Can you conceal the walls by heaping dirt onto them?”

“Yes, yes I can, if you allow it, Momonga-sama ... However...”

“Yes, an observer from a distance would think the ground was bulging up unnaturally. Let’s also make dummy hills as camouflage?”

“Y-Yes. U-Understood.”

That was all he could think of at the moment. There were probably a lot of holes left in the plan, but that could be dealt with slowly, later on. After all, it had only been a few hours since all this had happened.

“Then, you are dismissed for today. Everyone, take a break before beginning your duties. There are many things we do not know, so do not push yourselves too hard.”

The Guardians nodded as one to show that they understood.

X

After the departure of the master of their revered creators, the Guardians shared their impressions of Momonga. 

Then, as though to wipe away this jubilant atmosphere, Sebas said: 

“Then, I shall take my leave first. I do not know where Momonga-sama has gone, but I should stay by his side.”

Jealousy was written all over Albedo’s face, but she quashed her feelings and replied:

“I understand. Then, Sebas, serve Momonga-sama well and do not disgrace him. Report to me if anything happens. In particular, if Momonga-sama summons me, you must let me know immediately. Everything else is of secondary importance to that!”

A pained expression crossed Demiurge’s face as he listened quietly from the side.

“But if he desires me in his bedchamber, you must inform Momonga-sama that I might take a while, in order to bathe and cleanse myself for him. Of course, if he wants me to proceed to him immediately, that is fine as well. After all, I do my best to keep clean for him, and my clothes have already been selected so I can heed his call whenever it comes. In any case, Momonga-sama’s wishes will always come first—”

"You slut," Shalltear exclaimed, following Albedo's command, her voice laced with venom as she remained on the floor.

"Shouldn't that be my line?" Albedo retorted, casting a pointed glance at the wet stain beneath Shalltear.

The two of them glared at each other. The Guardians did not know if they would fight as a result of this, but the way they were looking at each other was very unsettling. Shalltear slowly stood back up, and the two of them approached each other. Even so, their eyes remained locked. Eventually, the two of them came so close that they collided into each other.

“Don’t think you’ve won just because you’re the Guardian Overseer and can stay next to Momonga-sama. If you really think that way, I’ll laugh my ass off.”

“Hmph. That’s correct. While you’re stationed in a faraway place, I’ll swoop in and achieve a complete victory.”

“...What do you mean by ‘a complete victory?’ Teach me, Guardian Overseer-Sama.”

“As a slut, you should be fully aware of what that means.”

Throughout their trade of verbal barbs, neither of them had turned their gaze from each other. With a pacha , Albedo unfurled her wings in a threat display. Black mist wreathed Shalltear as she responded in kind, unwilling to admit weakness.

“Ah — Aura, matters between women should be settled by a fellow woman. If anything happens I’ll come to help, let me know when the time comes, all right?”

“Hey, wait, Demiurge! Are you planning to dump all of this on me?”

Demiurge simply waved lazily as he walked away from the feuding pair. Cocytus and Mare took a step back as well. Nobody wanted to get caught between them.

“Really, do they have to argue over this sort of thing?”

“Personally, I would be quite interested in the result.”

“What do you mean by the ‘result,’ Demiurge?”

“I refer to the increase in our fighting power, the future of Nazarick, and so on.”

“D-Demiurge, what do you mean?”

“Hmm...” Demiurge pondered on how he should answer Mare’s question.

“Any great leader requires a successor, no? Momonga-sama may have stayed with us until the end, but if he loses interest in us one day, he may leave for another place like the rest of the Supreme Beings. Thus, there is a need for a successor to whom we can pledge our loyalty.”

“I see. Then, which of us will be Momonga-sama’s successor?”

“How. Disrespectful. As. Guardians. We. Are. To. Serve. Momonga-sama. Faithfully. So. He. May. Stay. That. Is. What. We. Were. Made. For.”

Demiurge turned to the interrupting Cocytus.

“Of course I understand that, Cocytus. But do you not wish to pledge your loyalty to Momonga-sama’s heir?”

“Hmm... Of. Course. I. Would. Like. To. Swear. My. Allegiance. To. Momonga-Sama’s. Heir...” Cocytus began imagining himself running around with said heir on his shoulders.

Demiurge averted his eyes from Cocytus, who was fully into imagining himself as a cool old uncle, faithfully serving Momonga’s heir.

“Well, that aside, I think this is a test by Momonga Sama on deciding who is qualified enough to give birth and raise his Heir.”

“Eh? Ehhhhh?” After a short exclamation, Mare calmed down. 

“This will be the start of the Queen War. the one who will raise the child that shall rule over us after the Supreme One’s eventual departure.”

Demiurge averted his eyes towards the feuding pair.

“Are Albedo and Shalltear still fighting?”

The one that answered Demiurge was the tired-looking Aura, standing by the side.

“They’re... done. Right now, they’re arguing about the problem of who should be the first wife.”

“It would be strange for the ruler of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick to only have one wife. The question now is who is worthy of being Momonga-Sama’s first wife...”

Chapter Text

After leaving the mausoleum, Momonga was greeted by a beautiful sight. The surface area of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick was two hundred metres square, protected by six-metre-thick walls, with an entrance and an exit at the front and back. Momonga looked to the heavens and he could not help but sigh. He shook his head, as though unable to believe his eyes.

“Amazing... to think they could include such detail in a virtual world... The air here is so fresh that it must never have been polluted. People born in this world wouldn’t need artificial lungs to breathe...”

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

Momonga tried to cast a spell, which should have been hampered by his armour. There were certain mage classes that allowed for the casting of spells in armour, but Momonga did not have that class. This discovery opened ways for many new possibilities. Even armour created by magic would not allow its wearer to cast spells while wearing it. There were only five spells he could use in his armoured state, but the flight magic Momonga wished to use was not part of them. Yet,—

“[Fly].”

Freed from the shackles of gravity, Momonga floated lightly into the sky. He rose upward in a straight line, gaining speed as he did. Although Demiurge was frantically trying to catch up, Momonga paid him no heed and ascended steadily. Before he knew it, he was several hundred metres in the air. Only then did Momonga’s body slow down. As he looked down at this world, Momonga could not help but sigh:

“This is beautiful... no, beautiful would not begin to describe this... what would Blue Planet-san say if he were here?”

He spoke softly, as though to his absent friends:

“...To think one could see so far just by the light of the moon and the stars… It's hard to believe that this world is real. Blue Planet-san... This world is like a chest of jewels.”

“Perhaps it is. I believe the beauty of this world exists to adorn you, Mo—Dark Warrior-san,” Demiurge said in a reverent voice.

“Indeed, it is beautiful. You say these stars exist to adorn me... perhaps that is so. Perhaps the reason that I have come here is to claim this chest of jewels which belongs to nobody else.” Momonga clenched his fist before him, and it looked as though he was taking the stars into his grasp. He shrugged at his childish behaviour and said to Demiurge: 

“...No, this is not something I can claim for myself. Perhaps these jewels are meant to adorn the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick; myself, and my friends from Ainz Ooal Gown.”

“...What a moving statement. If it is your wish, then by your command, I shall lead Nazarick’s forces to claim this chest of jewels. I, Demiurge, would like nothing more than to present this treasure to my lord and master, Momonga-sama.”

Those cheesy lines made Momonga chuckle. He wondered if Demiurge had been intoxicated by the atmosphere as well.

“As long as we do not know anything about the beings which live in this world, I can only say that your idea is foolish. For all we know, we might be minuscule weaklings in this world. However, conquering this world might be quite interesting…”

X

Momonga sat on a chair and looked at the mirror before him. The roughly one-metre wide mirror did not reflect Momonga’s face, but a patch of grass. The mirror was like a television set, showing images of a distant plain. The grass of the plains swayed in the wind, proving it was not a still image. 

Momonga reached out to the mirror and swiped his hand right. The mirror’s image changed. This was a Mirror of Remote Viewing. A magic item used to display an image of a specific region. It was a very useful item which could show the outside world. Momonga enjoyed the movie-like quality of the grass within the mirror as the image changed.

“It would seem that I can move the image with a wave of the hand. That way, I won’t have to keep looking at the same spot.”

The scenery and the angles with which it was viewed changed within the floating mirror. Although he had made several mistakes so far, Momonga kept changing his gestures to alter the landscape within the mirror, hoping that he would find someone.

He repeated the same simple gestures over and over again, but all the images he got were the same: plains. Momonga was starting to get bored, so he looked at the other person in the room.

“What’s wrong, Momonga-sama? I stand ready to heed your every command.”

“No, there’s nothing, Sebas.”

Sebas was the other person in the room. Being with Sebas made Momonga think of his guildmate Touch Me. After all, Touch Me-san was the one who had designed Sebas. Momonga casually waved his hand with a vacant expression, and his field of vision suddenly expanded.

“Oh!” Surprise, delight, pride, Momonga’s exclamation was filled with all of these. At his wit’s end, he made a random gesture and the screen suddenly did as he wanted. Cheering and clapping answered him. The source of these two sounds was Sebas.

“Congratulations, Momonga-sama. Your servant Sebas stands in awe of your prowess.”

Granted, this was the fruit of extensive trial and error, but you don’t need to go that far. Momonga thought that, yet when he saw that Sebas looked quite happy, he decided to humbly accept the butler’s praise.

“Thank you, Sebas. Although I apologize for making you accompany me for so long.”

“What are you saying? Staying by your side and obeying your orders is the reason for a butler’s existence, Momonga-sama. There is no need to thank or apologize to me... although, it is true that this process took quite some time. Momonga-sama, would you like to take a break?”

“No, there is no need for that. Undead like myself are not affected by negative statuses like fatigue. If you’re tired, you may go and rest.”

“Thank you for your kindness, but it would be unthinkable for a butler to rest while his master worked. With the aid of magic items, I am not affected by fatigue either. Please allow me to stay by your side until the end, Momonga-Sama.”

After agreeing to Sebas’s request, he continued studying the ways to control the mirror. Finally, an image of something like a village appeared in the mirror. 

It was located roughly ten kilometres east of Nazarick. There was a forest nearby, and a wild moor surrounded the settlement. It was a quaint community, Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road... A short way ahead a golden glow of streetlights indicated the centre of the village... Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow. As Momonga zoomed in on the village, he felt that something was amiss.

“...Is this a Neutral Zone?”

Children and Adults of various different races were roaming the streets and so late at night. In Yggdrasil, it was normal for Heteromorphs, Demi-Humans and Humans to kill each other on sight. Discrimination against Heteromorphs was nowhere to be seen and everyone was living harmoniously. One more thing to note was that the children were going door to door with bags or baskets in their hands to collect something from the residents.  

“...Are they holding a festival?” It seemed oddly similar to a festival from his Original world called Halloween, Momonga mused.

“Hallo-ween…? I am afraid that I’ve not heard that word before.” The voice came from Sebas, who was watching the display with a keen look in his eye as he stood beside Momonga.

“I believe it is a kind of… Traditional festival. Halloween is a day when you… wear costumes and tell people to give you candy.”

“You disguise yourself to extort candy?” Sebas inquired, puzzled.

‘No! Not exactly. Well, actually, yes, but it's more than that. Come to think of it, am I sure about that? I’m pretty sure it started in Europe as, like, a way to celebrate the Pumpkin  Harvest, right…? But you always associate ghosts and monsters with it, so was it more like a festival to honour the dead…? It may have gotten a bit lost in translation in Japan, so I’m not confident about any of that…’

As Momonga pondered how to explain this to Sebas, two children dressed as pumpkins were seen waddling across the square. Just then, with a sense of childlike wonder, one of the boys approached a mysterious figure cloaked in darkness.

“Nice costume, mister!” The small boy exclaimed, his voice filled with innocent curiosity.

The figure offered no response, its presence imposing and ominous. The small boy's innocent admiration quickly turned to terror as he caught sight of the disfigured face lurking beneath the hood of the stranger's cloak. With a startled gasp, he stumbled backward, his eyes widening with fear before he turned and fled into the safety of the night.

Meanwhile, the cloaked man reached into the folds of his costume, his movements calculated and deliberate. For a moment, it seemed as though he was retrieving something harmless, perhaps a piece of candy to offer the children. But then, his hand hesitated, as he moved towards one of the nearby houses.

Reaching the doorstep, the cloaked figure withdrew a wand made of yew wood, its white surface gleaming faintly in the moonlight. With a flick of his wrist, he sent puffs of coloured smoke billowing from the tip of the wand, a sinister display of magic that hung heavy in the air. Without a moment's hesitation, the man pointed his wand at the door, unleashing a burst of energy that shattered the entrance with a resounding crash, sending splinters flying in all directions.

A man came sprinting through the hallway, his voice echoing with urgency, “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”

The dark cloaked intruder laughed before casting a curse. . . .

“{Avada Kedavra!}”

The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the bannisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut. . . .

Momonga was stunned by what suddenly transpired.

“Seems a bit too barbaric for a festival, doesn’t it?”

There was an undercurrent of disgust in Sebas’s stern words. As Momonga enlarged the image, he too furrowed his nonexistent brows. It was a massacre.

“Cheh!” Momonga scoffed, intending to change the image. This home had no value to him. If he could extract more information from it, perhaps he might have a reason to save them. But as things stood, there was no reason to save this family. He should abandon them.

Momonga was taken aback by how he could make such a heartless decision. A cruel slaughter was occurring before his eyes, but the only thing he could think of was the good of Nazarick. He was not an agent of justice. He was level one hundred, but this world’s commoners might well be level one hundred as well. Therefore, he could not tread blindly into this unknown world.

He could hear the women screaming from the upper floor. In Yggdrasil, the Mirror of remote Viewing could not transmit sounds or offer a view indoors, unless using special means. But in this world the functions of this once balanced item were broken to the point of granting it an unprecedented potency that far surpassed its intended capabilities.

The frail man climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in. . . . He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand . . . and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead. . . .

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl . . . stand aside, now.”

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —”

“This is my last warning —” Despite his words, he had no intention to follow. He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all. . . .

The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. 

“What do you intend to do?” Sebas seemed to have been waiting for this moment to speak.

There could only be one answer. Momonga replied coldly: “Nothing. There is no reason, value or benefit in rescuing them.”

“—Understood.”

Momonga nonchalantly looked at Sebas — at the phantom image of his past guildmate.

“This... Touch Me-san...” Just then, Momonga remembered something.

—Saving someone in trouble is common sense.

If not for those words, Momonga would not be here. Momonga sighed softly, and then he smiled. 

“I will repay that debt... besides, sooner or later, I’ll have to test my fighting strength in this world.”

After saying that to his absent friend, Momonga gave his orders.

“Sebas, put Nazarick on maximum alert. I will go first, and you will tell Albedo, who is standing by next door, to follow me after fully equipping herself. However, I forbid her to bring Ginnungagap. After that, prepare support units. Something might happen which results in my inability to retreat. Therefore the units sent to the village should be adept at stealth or have the ability to go invisible.”

“I understand.”

Since time was tight, Momonga swiftly incanted the spell.

“[Gate].”

The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder’s face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing —

The pale man in the dark robe pointed the wand very carefully into the boy’s face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage —

“{AV—ADAA—!! KED—”

The man’s voice was cut short when a swirling black portal appeared beside the crib. From it came a giant skeletal figure in Majestic academic robe edged in violet and gold. In his hand was a Golden Staff of immense worth. Momonga raised the Staff, and it immediately radiated a beautiful glow which lit up its surroundings. The glow was as blinding as the Staff itself. However, his surroundings were filled with inauspicious flickering shadows, which emitted an aura of menace.

The Skeletal Overlord pointed a bony finger at the Dark Lord.

“[Death]”  

Voldemort succumbed to its power just like his previous two victims, falling lifeless to the ground.

This was an eighth tier, instant death spell. Many of the necromantic spells which Momonga was adept with possessed instant death properties, and this was one of them. He could use higher tier spells like [True Death] which invalidates the effect of lower-tier resurrection, or one of his favourite spells [Grasp Heart] which crushed a foe’s heart, but he chose a lower-tier spell to test the waters. Momonga’s necromancy spells were augmented, he could’ve used his innate skills or necromancy-enhancing abilities to increase the chances of instant death even further. However, it meant that he could not gauge the strength of that psychopath. 

This way, he could measure the strength of this world and verify his own power. Momonga had been planning to follow up with another spell, [Triplet-Maximize Magic, Reality Slash] in case his initial attempt failed, but he felt silly as he noted the weakness of the pale figure. 

“Pathetic... he died so easily...”

‘Who knew that dark wizard lacked even the most rudimentary resistance against such spells. It was really bad luck for the couple to have died from such a noob.’

As Momonga lamented the fate of the unfortunate couple, a subtle moment escaped his notice: a severed soul, unseen and unbidden, surreptitiously slipped past him, finding its way into the infant's vulnerable form. His focus, momentarily drawn elsewhere, failed to catch this significant event amidst the unfolding chaos. 

The Overlord’s gaze fixated on the enigmatic figure emerging from the still-open [Gate] , his attention was wholly consumed by the mysterious being's arrival. At the same time, the [Gate]’s duration ended, and it slowly disappeared. A person clad in a suit of full-body black plate armour stood before Momonga. 

That suit of armour looked like a demon. It was covered in spikes and did not expose the slightest bit of flesh. Its clawed gauntlets grasped a black kite shield in one hand and a bardiche that radiated a sickly green glow in the other. A blood-red cape blew in the wind, while the doublet beneath was also the carmine of fresh blood.

“The preparations took some time. I apologize for my late arrival,” Albedo’s melodic voice spoke from beneath the horned helmet.

“No, it’s fine. You came just in time.”

“Thank you. Then... how shall we dispose of this inferior lifeform? If you do not wish to stain your hands with its blood, I will gladly eliminate them on your behalf, Momonga-sama.”

“Wait, wait, don’t be so hasty. There’s a time and place for this, so lower your weapon.”

“...Understood, Momonga-sama,” Albedo replied gently as she withdrew her bardiche.

However, she was still radiating murderous intent, to the point where even the little child started crying again in fear. In response, Momonga’s nonexistent stomach began cramping up. 

“...What exactly did Sebas tell you?”

Albedo did not respond.

“I see, you didn’t pay attention... My intention is to save this child. Our enemy is already dead, his corpse laying over there.”

Momonga observed Albedo's understanding nod before diverting his gaze elsewhere. In any case, he had to leave this place as soon as possible. If he remained here, who knew what other tragedies might occur?

“Then...” Momonga's tone was decisive as he gently lifted the child. “Deploy some Shadow Demons and other stealth units to monitor this area and its surroundings. Notify me immediately of any developments.”

With a swift gesture, Momonga activated [Gate] once more, whisking himself and the child back to the sanctuary of Nazarick…

Chapter Text

Momonga’s chamber was adorned with opulent furnishings, while the floor was laid with a vibrant red carpet. This expansive room was typically shrouded in a delicate veil of silence, and today it was even more hushed than usual. The maid who usually attended to him was conspicuously absent. The only occupants were Momonga and the small infant cradled in his arms.

Momonga spoke in a weary voice, “So, how do I deal with this child?”

There were numerous issues he needed to address immediately, but tending to the child took precedence. On a whim, he had rescued the infant and brought him to Nazarick. In the past, when this was merely a game, the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick had seldom hosted anyone beyond the guild members. The guild never forbade inviting others; it was simply that no one had considered it. At most, they had occasionally invited the little sister of the guild member Yamaiko — whose Player name was Akemi-chan.

‘Which is why my friends ought to have no issue with me bringing this child. Invaders are different from guests.’

Momonga then turned his head to the boy , who stared back at him with emerald green eyes. 'Now that's been settled, how long should I keep this child in Nazarick? Even though his parents are dead, he must have other relatives — an aunt or uncle perhaps...’

After pondering for a moment, the Overlord used [Message] to contact the Commander of NPC defenses.

“[Demiurge..]”

"[Momonga-sama. It is a great honour to receive your message. How may I be of service to you?]"

Momonga, still not accustomed to such polite and deferential greetings, found himself momentarily spacing out.

“[Is something wrong, Supreme One?]” When no response came from his master, Demiurge inquired with concern.

“Umu... I believe Albedo has already informed you of my current actions. I want you to look into the child's background and, while you're at it, learn all you can about this world. Every piece of knowledge could be crucial. Use the stealth units already present in the village. If they are insufficient, contact me. However, secrecy is of utmost importance.”

“[Understood, Momonga-sama. Your will is our command.]”

As Momonga terminated the [ Message ] spell, the little boy, after getting bored with no one to interact with, started crying.

“Uuh-Uuh–UWAAHHH!!” 

‘Oh..Ahh.. W-What do I do!?’ Seeing the little infant bawling his eyes out, Momonga couldn’t think of anything.‘What would Yamaiko-san do!?

Yamaiko, one of the three female guild members of Ainz Ooal Gown, often expressed her fondness for children, considering them treasures to be educated, protected, and cared for.

‘—Ahh! I am getting distracted again. Why is this child crying? Is it hungry? What do children even eat? I don’t have any nutritional fluids. Wait, don't babies need something called baby formula? I recall Yamaiko-san mentioning that mothers who couldn't lactate due to health issues or other reasons fed their babies Baby Formula…’

“Hmm—, Milk!!”

At Momonga’s abrupt exclamation, the baby’s cries grew even louder.

“Yeah–Yeah. I got it. Be quiet.”

Momonga chided the kid before retrieving Auðumbla’s Milk, of which he had an unreasonable amount for reasons even he couldn't recall. As the little one drank the milk, it began to calm down.

‘Now then, I have many other duties to attend to. Who should I entrust this child to? Hmm... I remember Tabula-san created one of Albedo’s sisters to be very caring towards infants.’ Momonga, recalling the grotesque appearance of a woman with no facial skin and giant scissors in hand, quickly rejected the idea.

‘Wouldn't she frighten the child into seeking his parents beyond? What about Albedo?’ The thought of an enraged woman wielding a Bardiache made him quickly reject her. 

‘Shalltear? With those kinks and fetishes— No Way!’ Recollecting the questionable content from Peroronchino's character design for Shalltear, Momonga swiftly ruled her out.

‘Demiurge, with his demonic nature, is also a No-Go. Cocytus? But children are prone to catching colds easily. Aura and Mare are too young. Sebas and Pestoniya have numerous responsibilities as well. For now…’

X

Albus Dumbledore appeared at the corner of number four, Privet Drive, as if he had emerged from the earth itself, his arrival sudden and silent. The great wizard didn’t seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome.

He was engrossed in rummaging through his cloak, searching for something. Despite his preoccupation, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched and looked up sharply, his gaze meeting that of the cat lingering at the other end of the street. There was a hint of amusement in his expression as he chuckled softly and muttered, "I should have known."

After extinguishing all the street lamps with his Put-Outer, he slipped the device back into his cloak and proceeded down the street towards number four. There, he settled onto the wall beside the cat. Though he didn’t look at it, after a moment, he spoke.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had vanished. Instead, he found himself smiling at a rather stern-looking woman wearing square glasses that perfectly matched the markings around the cat's eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun , and she appeared distinctly ruffled.

“Professor Dumbledore... Is it true? The rumours everyone is speaking of? About why he’s disappeared? About what finally stopped him?” she asked anxiously, worry etched across her face. It was clear that whatever “everyone” was saying, she wouldn’t believe it until Dumbledore confirmed.

Dumbledore, however, was staring into the distance and did not answer.

“What they’re saying,” she pressed on, “is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric’s Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they’re — dead.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

“Lily and James... I can’t believe it... I didn’t want to believe it... Oh, Albus...”

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “I know... I know...” he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall’s voice trembled as she went on. “That’s not all. They’re saying he tried to kill the Potters’ son, Harry. But — he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill that little boy. No one knows why or how, but they’re saying that when he couldn’t kill Harry Potter, Voldemort’s power somehow broke — and that’s why he’s gone.”

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

“It’s — it’s true?” faltered Professor McGonagall. “After all he’s done... all the people he’s killed... he couldn’t kill a little boy? It’s just astounding... of all things to stop him... but where on earth did Harry vanish?”

“We are doing our best,” said Dumbledore. “But so far, our efforts have yielded no results.”

Dumbledore took out a golden watch from his pocket and examined it.

“Hagrid’s late. I suppose it was he who told you I’d be here, by the way?”

“Yes,” replied  Professor McGonagall. “And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re here, of all places?”

"I've come to deliver the news of the Potters to their (still) living family."

“A letter?” Professor McGonagall echoed faintly, sitting back down on the wall. “Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? I’ve been watching them all day. You couldn’t find two people who are less like us. They will never understand the Potters' sacrifice!”

“It is still their right to know,” Dumbledore said firmly.

Just then, a low rumbling sound shattered the silence enveloping them. It intensified steadily as they scanned the street for any indication of headlights; it crescendoed into a roar as their gazes shifted upwards at the sky — and a massive motorcycle descended from the air, landing on the road before them.

“Hagrid,” Dumbledore exclaimed, sounding relieved. “At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?”

“Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” the giant replied, cautiously dismounting from the motorcycle as he spoke. “Young Sirius Black lent it to me.”

“Did you uncover any clues?” Dumbledore inquired.

“No, sir — the house was almost destroyed, I couldn’t find any clues until the end, and then the Muggles started swarmin’ around…”

"Understandable. You did your best," Dumbledore replied with a reassuring nod.

“H-However, sir — while I was there, I felt like I — I saw some strange shadows moving about,” Hagrid continued, his gaze darting around as if searching for something. “A-And it feels like someone's constantly watchin' me since I left that place.”

At those words, Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with intensity.

“Are you sure it wasn’t just one of your pets?” Professor McGonagall inquired.

“I am sure — Most probably?”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said at last. “There’s nothing more for us here. We may as well go and join the celebrations.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid in a muffled voice, “I’d best get this bike away. G’night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir.”

Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar, it rose into the air and disappeared into the night.

“I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall,” said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. After relighting the street lamps with his Put-Outer, he turned on his heel and, with a swish of his cloak, vanished.

At that very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were raising their glasses and saying in hushed voices, “To Harry Potter — the boy who vanished!”

Chapter Text

On the lowest floor of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, in the heart of the Tenth Floor, the air of the Throne Room — adorned with 41 flags — was filled with a quiet ardour. Silent rows of vassals bowed deeply toward the throne, displaying their unwavering loyalty. Their ranks were packed with inhuman shapes. The Floor Guardians aside, all the NPCs which had been hand-crafted by the 41 Supreme Beings and the direct vassals of the Floor Guardians were gathered in this place.

Sebas trailed behind Momonga as he entered the room, carrying the child in his arms. The many beings kneeling here demonstrated their fealty. Momonga ascended the stairs and sat on the throne. Sebas remained at the foot of the throne, kneeling behind Albedo. Momonga silently surveyed the throne room from where he was seated. Almost all of the guild’s NPCs were gathered below him. They looked quite majestic when he watched them from on high, like a Night Parade of monsters.

“First and foremost,I would like to apologize for taking independent action,” Momonga began, his tone lacking any genuine contrition. “And thank you all for your tireless efforts in gathering information. You have all done well.”

Surveying the assembled individuals bowing before him, Momonga nodded with a sense of contentment. However, the ensuing challenge loomed large. It was a daunting task for an ordinary individual to emulate the demeanour of a true ruler, and Momonga keenly felt the weight of this responsibility. As he gazed upon his numerous subordinates, their reverence and admiration shining through, he recognized the magnitude of their expectations.

His purportedly non-existent stomach twinged with pain, and his heart — which should have been similarly absent —   throbbed within his chest. However, that fleeting discomfort was quickly overridden. The overwhelming urge to flee this place with all his might was suppressed by the emotional override, a unique feature of his body. In that moment, Momonga found himself embracing the role of a true ruler, and he commanded:

“Guardian Overseer of Nazarick, Albedo. The keenest intellect of Nazarick, Demiurge. I charge you with elucidating our strategic plan for the future. Should anyone have suggestions, you may raise your hands and speak. The two of you will explain clearly to everyone present. These are the elite personnel selected by the various Guardians. Ensure they are apprised of our future trajectory without omitting any details.”

Momonga had tried to read the reports sent to him, but the sheer volume and complexity proved overwhelming. No matter how hard he tried he could not make heads or tales of it. Ultimately, Momonga had been forced to employ this stratagem. It was like telling them to “explain to the other Guardians” on a larger scale. His plan was to use the excuse that someone or everyone did not understand, then pretend he knew and listen to the explanation.

"Then Demiurge, rise. You will clearly explain what we now know to those who do not understand the details. Begin by recounting the actions Nazarick has taken thus far.”

“Understood, Momonga-sama.” Demiurge then addressed the assembled NPCs.

“As you all may be aware, the Great Tomb of Nazarick has been transported from the realm of Helheim to an unknown New World. This world is so different and mystical that even the laws of magic we are familiar with differ from those of Yggdrasil. However, thanks to the Throne of Kings, those laws do not affect the beings inside Nazarick. The same applies to those carrying World Items outside Nazarick, though they can choose to be influenced by these new laws of their own volition.”

Taking a moment to let everyone digest his words, Demiurge continued his explanation.

“Next, regarding the races we have discovered in this place. Through the extensive reconnaissance that Momonga-sama ordered, we have found that this world is divided into two distinct parts: Magical and Muggle.”

At those words, Shalltear raised her hand, while many others appeared visibly perplexed.

“What exactly is a Muggle, Demiurge?”

Momonga, relieved that someone had asked the question, did his best to mask his elation.

Demiurge, adjusting his glasses, replied, “I was just about to clarify that. Muggles are non-magical beings, primarily humans who lack any magical abilities. This category also encompasses other non-magical entities.”

A wave of nods followed, signifying their comprehension.

"The magical community encompasses races similar yet distinct from those in Yggdrasil. Among them are humanoid entities like witches, wizards, hags, goblins, and elves. Additionally, there are various demihumans such as trolls, giants, mermen, and many other mystical beasts. We have also learned of heteromorphs, notably Dementors and vampires, each characterized by unique appearances and abilities that set them apart from our prior knowledge.

For reasons we have yet to uncover, the magical community is intent on concealing their existence from ordinary humans. There exists a law called the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, which safeguards the wizarding community from Muggles and ensures their presence remains hidden. This concealment is so effective that magical beings are often relegated to folklore and legends in the eyes of muggles. To maintain this secrecy, they employ various methods, including coercion, brainwashing, and sometimes, targeted elimination.

Regarding their magical practices, due to the distinct laws governing magic here — Wands serve as indispensable conduits for spellcasting, rendering most wizards and witches powerless without them...”

Reflecting on the massacre from a few days prior, Momonga recalled the father searching frantically on the couch and the dark wizard casting spells through his wand. ‘Isn’t using wands to cast spells inefficient? In Yggdrasil, wands had charges that they consumed to produce their effects. Only magic casters who had run out of mana would rely on wands as a last resort.’

“The wands used here differ from those in Yggdrasil. These can be used indefinitely unless they break, merely serving as vessels for the wizard's magic. The wizards must expend their mana and learn the spells themselves in order to cast the magic. Additionally, only humans are permitted to use wands, likely to prevent other races from potentially overpowering them and becoming the dominant species...”

‘Ah, the age-old tactic of suppressing others to maintain supremacy,’ Momonga mused. He had witnessed this many times in the history of his original world and had experienced it firsthand in the world of 2138, where large corporations had taken over the government, manipulated laws to their advantage, and controlled the populace.

“The magic system here has many discrepancies. For instance, flight magic can only be used by the most powerful casters in this new world, whereas for us, it’s merely a third-tier spell like [Fly] . To counter this limitation, they have developed their own means of flight via tools like — broomsticks, flying carpets, and so on.”

“Uwu. I recall that we have a few of these items in our Treasury. Demiurge, take them later and compare them with the ones from this world,” Momonga commanded.

“As you wish, Momonga-sama,” Demiurge responded with a bow.

“It seems these beings have found ways to compensate for their weaknesses. But that’s not all, is it?” Momonga inquired.

“As expected of Momonga-sama, to discern so much from just a few words of this lowly servant,” Demiurge replied.

“Haha! It was just a fluke.. And Demiurge, you are far from a lowly servant. You are the creation of one of my friends, the Commander of NPC defenses, and one of the three greatest minds in Nazarick. Take pride in that.” Momonga then turned to see the other NPCs looking at him with teary eyes. “The same goes for all of you. Never belittle yourselves. For, you are the reason Nazarick exists.”

At those words, all the NPCs bowed their heads, their bodies trembling with reverence. —"Your will is our command.”

“ Uwu! Demiurge, please continue.”

After the moment of emotion passed, Demiurge composed himself and spoke, “Yes, Momonga-sama. As I mentioned earlier, while these people lack flight magic, they have developed a rudimentary teleportation spell that causes discomfort to its user. Additionally, their memory alteration and erasure spells are far more efficient than those used in Yggdrasil. Almost all wizards we observed could use these memory altering spells to make the Muggles around them forget their actions.”

‘Necessity is the mother of invention ?— Was it Punitto Moe who said that? I think he quoted it from an old philosopher's book,’ Momonga mused. ‘These people, in order to keep their society's secrets, have focused on certain magical aspects more than others. If Punitto-san were here, he could probably deduce their history and values just from their magical capabilities alone.’

“Now, for the final and most crucial information—their strength. As you may have already deduced, these beings' powers are highly unpredictable, varying with their emotions and innate talent. However, they resemble glass cannons; they possess formidable offensive capabilities but lack any significant resistances, defenses, or immunities. They have virtually no passive abilities, and even the simplest concealment spells can be used to hide in plain sight.

There is, however, a certain form of magic called Ancient Magic. Little is known about it, as the ways of which had been all but forgotten in the current wizarding world. It is said to be very mysterious and extraordinarily powerful, far surpassing the magic they currently use. Those who can perceive and wield it are considered to possess a unique and exceedingly rare ability.”

“...Mm?”

Momonga quietly voiced his doubts. ‘This power… I think I felt something similar during my experiments.’ He recalled a time when he tried using several spells together, only to have their power increased severalfold due to a new force he couldn’t perceive before.

Just as Momonga was lost in thought,  Demiurge closed his mouth and looked back, staring at him.

Realizing that his murmuring had been heard, Momonga quickly diverted attention by giving instructions:

“This Ancient Magic... Further investigation is necessary. Determine if the denizens of Nazarick can wield its power.”

“Understood, Momonga Sama. I will make certain that all denizens of Nazarick become adept in ancient magic."

“N-No! There’s no need for such extensive measures. Just... keep tabs on any information pertaining to it... Very well, proceed with your explanation.”

“As for the Muggles, their society is technology-oriented, and the strongest weapon in their arsenal is a nuclear bomb, whose power is comparable to the Ninth Tier spell, [Nuclear Blast] .”

'Nukes!? If these humans possess such weapons of mass destruction, it's no wonder the magical community is wary of them. But...'

“Demiurge, have you obtained a map of this world or the surrounding areas? And do you know the current year or date they use?”

“My apologies, Momonga-sama. While I was able to procure a relatively well-developed map of the Muggle world, the Wizarding Community is hidden deep within several secret realms scattered across the world, which has delayed the creation of a comprehensive map.” Demiurge raised his hand, conjuring an ethereal globe in the air. Despite his previous remarks, the map was incredibly detailed, displaying the names of locations, terrains, native creatures, and the entrances to the secret realms he had mentioned earlier.

Momonga, seeing this, couldn't help but gasp. His eyes focused on a particular country named Japan.

"Momonga-sama, is something the matter?"

"Hmm… Demiurge, does this world follow the Gregorian calendar?" 'I remember Shizyuutensuzaku-sensei once giving a brief lecture on its history and significance.'

"Sasuga Momonga-sama, to think you have ascertained even that."

"Haha! It is nothing of the sort. I just happen to have a bit of knowledge about this world."

"I see. My apologies; I should have known better than to question the Supreme One’s vast knowledge, having traversed countless unknown worlds. As for your earlier question, today is November 3rd, 1981."

‘So, the two World Wars have already occurred. But why didn’t this magical community interfere during such cataclysmic events? Is it due to the Statute of Secrecy..? Will the same happen in the third World War and when the Arcologies take over? It seems they will hide away in their secret realms. No wonder the world turned to shit,’ Momonga thought, feeling anger rising within, only to be subdued by the mysterious force that kept his emotions at bay.

"I will have to do something about it," he vowed with determination. Just then, Albedo dropped a bombshell that shook Momonga to his core—

“So, this is the reason Momonga-sama saved Harry Potter,” Albedo said.

"Huh, what do you mean?" Shalltear asked, looking puzzled.

"I will answer that, Shalltear," Demiurge interjected smoothly.

“Momonga-sama’s unfathomable wisdom has left me in awe, especially after learning about his actions in the outside world,” Demiurge began, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “In the current wizarding world, the greatest wizard of modern times is Albus Dumbledore. He is the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, among many other prestigious positions.”

Albedo interjected, “Dumbledore, you say? He sounds quite fascinating. His influence and power must be substantial for him to hold such titles.”

Demiurge nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Indeed, Albedo. Dumbledore is a figure of immense respect and fear within the wizarding community. His abilities and intellect are said to be unparalleled, making him a formidable figure. Yet, despite his prowess, he couldn’t defeat a dark wizard so terrifying that they fear even speaking his name, referring to him as ‘You-Know-Who’.”

“Quite interesting,” Albedo mused, a spark of intrigue in her eyes. “It seems he is a complex individual, wielding significant power and influence, yet the true intentions remain elusive.”

Demiurge continued, “That dark wizard, Voldemort, was vanquished by Momonga-sama a few days ago as part of his grand plan to take over the world.”

“H-Hold on! Was that wizard really one of the strongest in this world? Are you sure this information is accurate?” Momonga asked amidst his confusion.

“Yes, Momonga-sama. I would stake my life on the accuracy of this information. Even now, in the Wizarding World, people are celebrating his defeat.”

Momonga thought, 'Hmm. It seems the defense and resistances of the people in this world are really weak. To think even their strongest got defeated by such a low-tier spell.'

Demiurge went on, “One more thing to note is that there was a prophecy pertaining to Voldemort’s defeat, and the child saved by Momonga-sama is key to it. Now, the child is hailed as the ‘Boy-Who-Vanished’. His story is known throughout the wizarding community.”

“With one move, Momonga-sama has laid down the foundation for Nazarick’s objective: World Domination. I trust nobody is foolish enough to not recognize this.”

‘NAANIIII!!!!???!?’ Momonga thought, stunned. 'When did I do that!? When did things end up like this?!' However, he could not ask about it.

Momonga glanced down at everyone’s faces. They all appeared to understand, without exception. Momonga was the only one who did not understand.

This was the greatest exercise of Momonga’s intellect in his entire life. He spent several seconds reflecting and searching himself. It had been far too unexpected, too difficult to accept. How had it ended up like this?

All he had wanted was to keep a low profile, avoid making enemies, improve his reputation, and then find a way to communicate with his friends from the past who might be in this world. Those cute little wishes were all he had wanted.

A sudden wave of panic surged through him, but a calming force washed over Momonga, allowing him to think rationally. ‘Isn’t this too dangerous? It has been only a few days since we came to this world.’

Still, when he thought calmly about it, world domination was not a bad idea. Of course, it would not be as simple as it was in games. To a plebeian like Momonga, this large-scale plan was too vague to grasp fully. However, he could understand that this was a perfect means for him to build his reputation — although it might end up being infamy instead. The problem now was what his friends would think if they knew about this. At that point, all he could do was apologize for his inability to manage Nazarick well.

‘Besides, aren’t there people searching for this child? What if they come here? And…’

Having composed himself a little, Momonga asked a question that had been on his mind for quite a while, “Is there any information on Resurrection Magic?”

“Resurrection Magic is only heard of in legends, even in the Wizarding World. There have been various attempts throughout their history, and Voldemort’s infamy is partly due to his pursuit of it. Rumour has it that he split his soul into several pieces to create Horcruxes for his resurrection. The world now believes that he has failed and will not be coming back. But we know that you, Momonga-sama, have deliberately not used higher-tier magic so that we can use him for our own goals.”

“Wow! Momonga-sama’s genius can never be compared to anyone,” Aura said in admiration.

“R-really! M-Momonga-sama is great,” Mare spoke in awe.

“Arinsu!~ Momonga-sama!~ Truly befitting of my one true love!~” Shalltear added, her voice dripping with adoration.

Having steeled himself, Momonga magnanimously nodded to Demiurge, who seemed to be waiting for praise.

“Y-You remembered.”

“Of course. I, Demiurge, have committed every word you have spoken to memory, Momonga-sama.”

“Is that so... I did bring it up then, did I not?”

“Indeed.”

“...From that time, then?”

“Indeed.”

‘At what time?!’

“That time... I see. This pleases me, Demiurge...”

“Thank you, Momonga-sama.”

“However, world domination is quite difficult.”

“It is, as you say, Momonga-sama.”

“Then… how do you think we should move forward?”

Momonga wanted to praise his voice for not trembling.

“I propose that Nazarick ought to take its place upon the global stage, as part of our overall direction for the future.”

“...Indeed.”

Was that really the case? Momonga felt it would be better to remain hidden. He had no idea how Demiurge had reached that conclusion.

“I concur, Momonga-sama. If we make ourselves known to the world, we can deal with problems in an above-board manner. We will not need to send small amounts of personnel to conduct secret investigations.”

“Ah, I see.”

Enlightenment dawned suddenly on Momonga as he heard Albedo’s explanation. The idea of not having to hunt for a needle in a haystack and being able to move as boldly as they pleased was very attractive.

“So that is why we are to rule the kingdom from the shadows and achieve legitimacy for Nazarick through various means. However, I cannot agree with the idea of allowing the land which Momonga-sama governs to become part of any other country,” Albedo stated with firm conviction.

Demiurge shook his head at Albedo’s question. “Of course, Albedo. I would not be able to tolerate it either. Furthermore, after reviewing and contemplating our information on this nation, I have concluded that it — as it stands now — holds no appeal for us, aside from one individual. This sentiment applies to all other nations as well. Having our organization serve any single state would be an unwise course of action.”

“Corporation…” Momonga murmured, as he recalled the past discussions of Ulbert and Punitto Moe about how huge conglomerates took over governments.

At the end of the twenty-first century, the old societal structure was under strain but still somehow intact. However, at the beginning of the twenty-second century, advanced environmental destruction and crop failures led to the collapse of primary-sector industries. This sparked food riots across the country, which eventually turned into a coup d'etat. Politicians, targeted by the people’s discontent, were tried by the mob.

The power vacuum left by the government's collapse due to the coup d'etat was filled by huge conglomerates, which seized legislative, executive, and judicial powers. They succeeded in taking over the country. Ironically, the same conglomerates had caused the environmental destruction in the first place. If they had protected the environment, there wouldn't have been food shortages or riots. In retrospect, it seemed the world had been manipulated by these conglomerates for a long time.

Just as Momonga was contemplating this, Demiurge closed his mouth and looked back, staring at him. Grateful that his body did not sweat, Momonga asked, “What’s wrong, Demiurge? Is something the matter?”

“I see. What a splendid plan, Momonga-sama. I could never fathom such a move.”

“Demiurge, what are you talking about?” Aura asked, confusion evident on her face, mirroring everyone else's.

“Hmm…” Demiurge glanced towards Albedo, who had a faint smile and nodded.

Albedo stepped forward and explained, “Our original proposal was to create a nation known as the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, as serving another nation would restrict our actions to that one country. However, Momonga-sama’s great foresight provided us with an alternative — creating our own sovereign state in our current position with limited information would strain our resources and be quite risky. Therefore, we should instead establish a trading firm that will operate in several countries and gradually infiltrate their administrative bodies. This will grant us freedom of movement and generate funds for our future endeavors.”

‘What?! They were planning to form a country!? Good thing they stopped before taking further action.’

Momonga's first priority was the continued survival of Nazarick. In the worst-case scenario, even if he lost the place known as Nazarick, it would suffice for him to protect the NPCs, the children of his former friends. He could create a shelter and find other ways to ensure their safety.

His second priority was to gather information. Although this should be the primary concern, safety had to come first.

The third priority was to spread the name of Ainz Ooal Gown across the entire world. Momonga considered that if his friends were in this world, they might come to find him. Perhaps this objective could be lowered in terms of priority.

His fourth priority was to strengthen Nazarick. Perhaps this should be moved up in importance.

The more he understood this world, the more he realized that while Nazarick seemed like an impregnable fortress, and Ainz Ooal Gown felt like the strongest organization within it, there was still a vast unknown outside. Arrogance and pride would be very dangerous. In particular, since Ancient Magic exists in this world, it was best to assume that there might be someone capable of destroying Nazarick if they let their guard down. Thus, they had to take action to increase Nazarick’s strength.

This was Momonga’s thought process. However, it was ultimately the product of Momonga, the commoner. There might be flaws in it, or he might not have analyzed the information well enough before using it as a foundation. Because of this, Momonga had called upon the pair of keen intellects. If all he needed was their wisdom, he could discuss the matter directly with them. There was no need to risk revealing his ignorance by putting on a big show to talk about this problem. However, doing so would be a mistake.

As their master, he had to put on this show to fulfill the role the NPCs envisioned for him — though he felt it was more of a delusion. He had to play the part of their leader, an incomparable being and a thinker of fathomless depths, and do so on a grand stage.

"Then—” Momonga looked out at everyone, “—We shall create a company: Nazarick Corporation, to implement an asset acquisition plan through trading.”

He turned to Demiurge, “Demiurge, I apologize for increasing your workload again. Please identify the Yggdrasil items that can be mass-produced and sold in the wizarding world. They have no knowledge of the Tier-System, so our monopoly should last quite a while. Seek assistance from Pandora’s Actor for this matter.”

“There is no need for an apology, Momonga-sama. Even if I must grind myself to dust to accomplish your task, it would be my greatest honor.”

“N-no need to go that far. —Next, as for the Muggle world… Shizu, activate the Professor’s Lab, start the Super Computer, and deploy all available Automations and A.I. Lifeforms to infiltrate their systems and gather more information. Also, find a way to access their Stock Exchange Markets to gather funds. Create at least a hundred paper companies to conceal those funds.”

Momonga rapid-fired the actions the guild took when confronting an advanced civilization in Yggdrasil. After the large-scale update, Valkyrie’s Downfall, new races and classes like Automations and Gunner were added to the game to introduce modern elements. This led to new strategies and counters being developed around them.

As for the final point, his guildmates once discussed how rich people hide their black money. Since Nazarick is already more advanced in both Magic and Technology, why not earn a few bucks through it? This is how most developed countries looted the developing nations. But these were only the thoughts of a commoner, Suzuki Satoru. There were many finer details that had to be addressed.

“If there are any doubts or suggestions, please speak up now.”

Everyone chorused, “None, my lord.”

“Alright, now... There is a matter of great importance. I must inform the gathered members of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick of something— [Greater Break Item] .”

Momonga cast a spell that could destroy a magic item of a certain level. A large flag fell from one of the poles attached to the ceiling, bearing the sigil of “Momonga.”

“I have changed my name. From now on, my name is...”

Momonga pointed to a certain place, and everyone’s eyes followed his finger.

“My name is Ainz Ooal Gown. You may address me as Ainz.”

He was pointing to the flag which hung behind the throne, emblazoned with the icon of Ainz Ooal Gown. Momonga raised his staff and forcefully slammed its tip into the ground to capture everyone’s attention.

“If anyone objects to this, rise now and let your views be heard!”

Nobody spoke out in opposition. Albedo, beaming with pride, responded:

“We have all heard your glorious name. All hail Ainz Ooal Gown! Oh Supreme One, Ainz Ooal Gown-sama, every member of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick pledges their undying loyalty to you.”

Shortly after, the Floor Guardians shouted as one:

“All glory to Ainz Ooal Gown! Supreme Lord and leader of us all, Ainz Ooal Gown-sama! We shall give ourselves completely to you!”

“Long live Ainz Ooal Gown! Oh King of fearsome power, Ainz Ooal Gown-sama! All shall know of your greatness!”

The shouts and praises of the NPCs and servants thundered through the Throne Room.

As he basked in the praise of his subordinates, Ainz thought:

‘—My friends, what do you think of me using this great name? Are you happy? Are you displeased? If you have any objections, please let me know, tell me, “This is not a name you can take for yourself.” I will gladly return to my old name of Momonga.’

“Then—”

Ainz looked out at everyone.

“—Next, I shall announce our new direction. This is an absolute order.”

He paused, observing the serious, stern faces before him.

“Make Ainz Ooal Gown an eternal legend.”

Then, as if responding to Ainz, the crystals socketed on the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown radiated light in all the colours of the rainbow, and the air around him trembled.

“There may be many heroes, but we will surpass them all. We will let everyone in this world know that Ainz Ooal Gown are the true heroes! If there are people stronger than us, we will deal with them in ways other than force. If we encounter a magician with many subordinates, we will achieve our goal some other way. This is just the beginning. Let us fight together for this glorious future!”

He would spread this name throughout the world. The former members of Ainz Ooal Gown may have left Yggdrasil, but there was a chance they might be in this world, like Ainz. Therefore, he had to make Ainz Ooal Gown a legend, so everyone would know of it. Be it in the air, land, or sea, he would spread this name to all the sapient beings in this world. He would carry this name to the ears of his comrades who might be in this world.

Ainz’s fearsome presence was startling, and his thunderous voice echoed through the Throne Room. Everyone lowered their heads in unison, their gesture resembling a prayer.

Ainz gazed at the infant cradled in his arms. With a measured gesture, he placed the child gently on the Throne of Kings and declared, "As for this child... proceed with the plan."

He had no idea what the plan actually entailed , but seeing Demiurge nod in understanding, he trusted his subordinate's judgement. Satisfied, Ainz turned and strode out of the Throne Room, leaving the details in the Guardian's capable hands.

Chapter Text

“Everyone, raise your heads,”

After hearing Albedo’s calm and steady voice, the assembled guardians lifted their heads in unison.

“Everyone, please act as Ainz-sama ordered. Before we proceed, does anyone still have doubts about the plan?”

“Is such a thing truly necessary?” Shalltear asked. “The plan is to create a company so we can infiltrate their world, gather information, and amass power.”

“―Kukukuku.”

Demiurge's laughter echoed through the room. “...Did you really think that was the extent of Ainz-sama’s plan?”

“Kuhuhu...”

“U-Uhm...??”

“Ehh?”

“What do you mean?”

“What. Did. You. Say?”

“Oh.”

“...Hm?”

“Everyone, you need to think harder. Ainz-sama is our master, who assembled all the Supreme Beings. Do you think that was the extent of his planning?” Demiurge's voice was tinged with amusement.

If Ainz were present, he would have felt as though he had been punched in the face. Meanwhile, the Guardians were nodding and murmuring, “Indeed.”

“Precisely. Aren’t you being too hasty by thinking you knew the depths of Ainz-sama’s intentions just because he supplied you with an easily understood answer? That’s why Ainz-sama didn’t tell you the deeper meaning behind his plans.”

A vague hint of regret coloured the faces of all the Guardians, except for Albedo and Demiurge. They were probably worried that their foolish brains were incapable of being useful to Ainz.

“This is about the successor to the Supreme Ruler.”

“BLaSpheMY!—” Cocytus roared, drawing his halberd. “ThiS. ChiLd. iS. No. bLOod. oF. ThE. SUPreme. OnE. But. IF. ThAt. Is. wHAt. He. DeSIrEs…”

“I am not saying it has to be this child,” Demiurge interjected.

“Please, explain in more detail.” Aura urged.

“Th-then, um, uh, please tell me too. Please!” Mare added, his voice desperate.

Albedo continued, “This child is but a test.”

“Test?”

“Precisely,” Albedo affirmed. “This child is a test for us Guardians. To see how we care for Ainz-sama’s heir when he is born or created.”

“Didn’t you want to be an uncle, Cocytus?” Demiurge asked. “You can prove that you are worthy of that position by becoming the master of this boy.”

“Ooh!~ Then I can prove myself to be a worthy mother of Ainz-sama’s ~ child by nurturing this boy to be the strongest beneath the Supreme One,” Shalltear said with excitement.

“Hmm... You wish,” Albedo countered. “I will raise this child to possess the keenest intellect . His Wisdom surpassing all of ours. So that he can become a worthy aide to Ainz-sama’s heir.”

The light in the Guardians’ eyes brightened as they shared their ideas on how to raise the little infant, each eager to prove their worthiness.

Chapter Text

22nd July, 1991

The Supreme Ruler of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick presided over a luxurious office, adorned with tasteful and exotic furniture. Each piece was an exquisite work of design and decoration. The crimson carpet upon the floor was thick and soft, swallowing the footsteps of those who trod upon it. Flags bearing assorted insignia hung upon the walls in the depths of the room.  An imposing mahogany desk sat in the centre of the office. Its owner sat behind it, upon a black leather chair.

If one were to describe that man in one phrase — dressed as he was in a long, black robe that seemed to absorb light — it would be "Overlord of Death." His exposed head was a fleshless skull, with points of crimson light glowing within his empty eye sockets, tinged with traces of darkness. This was the man once known as Momonga, who had now taken on the name of the guild, Ainz Ooal Gown.

Ainz meshed his skeletal fingers together, covering the lower half of his face. The nine rings on those fingers glittered, reflecting the magical radiance of [Continual Light] spells.

His nonexistent belly ached. ‘I want to get out of here. In the first place, why did I sit here... no, it’s too late. No use crying over spilt milk. Grow a damn spine, Ainz Ooal Gown!’

The phantom pain in his gut seemed to have subsided a little, but he still felt like throwing up. When he first learned of Harry’s significance in this world ten years ago, Ainz had indirectly asked Demiurge, "What shall we do next?" And the answer he received was, "Since all is going as predicted, we shall stick to the plan."

‘But I don’t know what the plan is!’ 

Of course, he did not actually say that. As the absolute ruler of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, Ainz had to adopt an attitude that matched the expectations of the NPCs (the children). Therefore, all he could do was pretend to look determined, smile in a kingly way, and reply, “Is that so.” When it came to following Demiurge’s plan, however, Ainz was desperately flailing in the dark.

Ten years had gone past, and much had changed since then. Nazarick’s influence had spread all across the world, manipulating everything and anything from the shadows to achieve their goals. After many twists and turns, Ainz had played his hand entirely off the cuff, trusting that there would be a way through no matter what. As for how confident he was of his actions so far... Well, simply put, he was not.

But he had persevered until now, and believing in his subordinates, he would do so again. ‘Now is the time to take the next step, i.e., emerging from the shadows.’

“Well, then.. Let it begin…”

X

The ancient tower stood sentinel atop Hogwarts Castle, its stones weathered by centuries of whispered secrets and mystical enchantments. Its spire reached toward the heavens, piercing the veil between the mundane and the extraordinary. Within its hallowed walls lay the heart of the wizarding world—the repository of dreams, hopes, and the very essence of magic.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, the stern yet compassionate Transfiguration teacher, sat in her high-backed chair, her emerald eyes fixed upon the open tome before her. The Book of Admittance lay sprawled across the massive wooden table, its pages yellowed with age and etched with silver runes. Each page held the promise of a young witch or wizard, their names inscribed in shimmering ink.

The quill beside the book was no ordinary quill. It was the Quill of Acceptance—an instrument imbued with ancient magic. When a child first displayed their latent abilities, the quill stirred, its feathered tip dancing across the parchment. It wrote their name, forever binding them to Hogwarts.

The room exuded an otherworldly aura. Sunlight streamed through the gothic window, casting intricate patterns on the stone floor. Dust motes danced in the golden rays, as if celebrating the arrival of new students.

The professor’s fingers traced the names—the hopeful, the nervous, the destined. Some were scrawled in elegant loops, while others bore the hurried strokes of anticipation. She knew each name intimately—their potential, their quirks, their hidden talents.

Beside the book lay an inkpot, its contents shimmering like liquid stardust. It whispered forgotten incantations, urging the quill to write. And there, nestled among the parchments, rested a miniature dragon—a guardian spirit, perhaps, watching over the magical rite.

The candle sconces on the walls flickered, their flames undulating as if in approval. The room held its breath, for this was no ordinary task. It was the weaving of destinies—the sorting of souls.

Outside the window, a grey owl perched on the sill. Its eyes bore the wisdom of ages, and it observed the proceedings with solemnity. Was it a messenger from the beyond, or merely a curious observer?

As the sun dipped lower, casting elongated shadows across the tower room, the heavy wooden door creaked open. The air stirred, as if recognizing the arrival of a presence far greater than mere mortals.

Professor Albus Dumbledore stepped into the chamber, his robes trailing behind him like the wings of a celestial phoenix. His long silver hair framed a face etched with wisdom and kindness. His eyes—the colour of ancient starlight—held secrets untold.

The room seemed to hold its breath. The Book of Admittance lay open, its pages still aglow from the quill’s recent inscriptions. The miniature dragon model shifted, its eyes following the Headmaster’s every move.

“Ah, Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore said, his voice a gentle melody. “I see you’ve been busy.”

McGonagall rose from her chair, her spine straightening. She nodded respectfully. “Professor Dumbledore,” she said, her voice a thread of serene magic, “you’ve come again.”

His eyes, those pools of starlight, held a mixture of hope and sorrow. “Every year,” he replied, “since that fateful night in Godric’s Hollow.”

The Book of Admittance lay open, its pages like veils between worlds. Names shimmered—bright futures, dormant talents, and uncharted destinies.

“Harry Potter,” McGonagall said, her finger tracing an empty space. “His name remains unwritten.”

Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on the blank parchment. “He vanished, Minerva. A child marked by prophecy, yet lost to us.”

The quill rested, its feathered tip still. The inkpot whispered secrets, but Harry’s name remained elusive.

“Perhaps,” McGonagall ventured, “He lives. Hidden, protected. The Boy Who Vanished, still breathing.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Hope is a fragile thing, my dear. But it persists. And so do I.”

“Why?” McGonagall asked. “Why return each year, Albus?”

He turned to face her, his eyes wells of memory. “Because hope is our greatest magic. And Harry—Harry embodies hope. If he lives, if he thrives, his name will find its place.”

The room held echoes—the cries of Lily Potter, the laughter of James, the lullabies sung to an orphaned babe.

“And if not?” McGonagall pressed.

Dumbledore’s smile was bittersweet. “Then we honour his memory. We keep the flame alive, even in the darkest times.”

He closed the book gently, as if cradling a fragile heart. “Until next year, my old friend.”

The room held its breath, as if aware of the impending revelation. Professor Dumbledore, on the cusp of departure, paused. His eyes, ancient and knowing, scanned the horizon beyond the gothic window.

And there it was—a ripple in the fabric of reality. A surge of magic so potent that even the mundane world shivered in response. Muggles glanced skyward, sensing an inexplicable shift.

The tower room quivered. Dust motes danced, and the owl spread its wings, sensing the cosmic tremor. Professor McGonagall clutched the edge of the table, her heart racing.

“Albus,” she whispered, “what is this?”

His gaze remained fixed on the distant point where sky met earth. “Hope,” he murmured. “Or perhaps fate.”

And then it came—the wave of magic, a tidal force that swept through the castle, the Forbidden Forest, and the very marrow of the earth. It whispered secrets, sang forgotten songs, and caressed the stones.

The Book of Admittance glowed, its pages unfurling like celestial scrolls. The quill trembled, its feathered tip ablaze. The inkpot overflowed, spilling liquid stardust.

And then—the name.

Not etched in lightning, not scarred by fate. But written with grace, as if the universe itself held its breath.

“Harry Potter,” McGonagall breathed.

The quill danced, its strokes fluid and deliberate. The ink formed letters—each curve a promise, each line a legacy.

Harry Potter.

The room exhaled—a collective sigh of wonder. The owl hooted, its eyes wide.

“He lives,” Dumbledore said, his voice a hymn. “Somewhere, in shadows or sunlight, he lives.”

The Book of Admittance closed, its pages sealing destiny. The quill rested, its purpose fulfilled.

“Why now?” McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore turned to her, his gaze piercing the veil of time. “Because hope,” he said, “is a patient companion. It waits, even when the stars grow cold.”

He stepped toward the window, the world beyond beckoning. “Harry Potter,” he whispered. “May your journey be as boundless as magic itself.”

And as he left, the owl soared after him, its wings brushing eternity.

In the tower, the name glimmered—a beacon, a promise.

And Hogwarts held its breath, for destiny had stirred.

X

The Ministry of Magic quaked—a hive of frantic activity, robes billowing, wands drawn. Cornelius Oswald Fudge, portly and red-faced, stood at the epicenter, his voice a thunderclap.

“What madness is this?” he bellowed, his spectacles askew. “What is happening now!?”

Ministers scurried, their parchment-filled hands fluttering like startled birds. One, a bespectacled witch with ink-stained fingers, stepped forward.

“Sir,” she stammered, “the magical signature—it’s unprecedented. Like a thousand phoenixes reborn.”

Fudge’s jowls quivered. “From where?”

Another—a wiry wizard with frayed cuffs—spoke up. “Godric’s Hollow, Minister. The very place where Fate took the Boy Who Vanished.”

The room held its breath. Godric’s Hollow—the cradle of prophecy, the graveyard of heroes.

“Scale?” Fudge demanded.

The worker’s eyes widened. “Akin to a horde of dragons awakening. Raw power, unbridled.”

Outside, the enchanted windows rattled. The sky darkened, as if the heavens themselves leaned closer.

“Harry Potter,” Fudge whispered. “Could it be?”

The owl perched on the sill hooted—a sentinel, a witness.

“He vanished,” the bespectacled witch said. “But perhaps—just perhaps—”

The room quivered, its stones humming with ancient incantations.

“Prepare,” Fudge ordered. “For destiny stirs, and Hogwarts awaits.”

And as the magic surged, the Book of Admittance glowed, its pages whispering secrets.

Harry Potter.

The name etched in starlight, in hope, in the very fabric of existence.

And the Ministry braced—for the storm had come.

Chapter Text

A few days later…

“Ah! I didn’t expect there to actually be ruins! What a shock. While I thought it probably wasn’t a lie, given all the uproar, I can’t believe there’s an unexplored ruin smack in the middle of a grass plain like this. Really surprising, right?”

As Hekkeran spoke, his team members from The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes nodded in agreement.

The Great Tomb of Nazarick stood defiant against time and reality—an enigma woven from forgotten threads. Its outer visage defied categorization, drawing inspiration from realms beyond mortal ken.

As they approached, the perimeter walls loomed—a barrier both protective and foreboding. One reason why ruins like these had not been explored was the ancient magic that had faded away, giving rise to the catastrophe a few days prior.

The surrounding land was grass as far as the eye could see, with no remnants of ancient cities nearby to draw explorers’ attention. Scattered hillocks of dirt, like stars in the sky, obscured the central building, visible only from a high vantage point.

Each stone, weathered by aeons, bore no earthly signature. No pattern adorned the tombstones—no lineage, no dynasty.

“No doubt about it. In truth, I’m quite excited about this. After all, unexplored ruins might contain startling treasures.”

“That’s a bit hard to say. Given the chaos it caused when emerging, it’s clear there will be many dangerous monsters within.”

The gates beckoned—the front and back entrances, twin maws awaiting seekers and supplicants. Their iron hinges whispered secrets—the echoes of countless arrivals and departures.

“So, what do you guys think? Is He… in there?”

Hekkeran’s eyes carefully studied the cut grass. Within, the statues stood sentinel—goddesses and angels, their forms frozen in marble and alabaster. Some bore wings, others held scales or swords. Their eyes, once alive with celestial purpose, now gazed into infinity.

And the mausoleums—the cardinal points of existence. To the north, a crypt of ice and moonlight; to the south, a sepulchre of flames and forgotten oaths. Eastward, a vault of whispers and veils; westward, a sanctum of shadows and echoes.

But the heart—the centre mausoleum—was the nexus of all mysteries. Its entrance, flanked by armoured sentinels, stood taller than ambition itself. Their eyes, gemstones reflecting forgotten stars, watched the threshold.

And there, within the tomb’s core, lay the void…

“The vegetation in the graveyard’s been neatly trimmed. There isn’t even a trace of algae here, so someone must be taking good care of it. But, is He… alone?”

Each team—aside from Tenbu of the Improper Use of Magic Office—had felt something amiss when they researched the site.

Looking around, they saw plains upon plains, singularly unsuited for building a tomb.

For starters, one had to consider convenience. Building such a luxurious tomb in such a deserted place made no sense at all; it was far too inconvenient.

It would be understandable if this was not to honour the dead, but to serve as a memorial for future generations. After all, people sometimes built monuments upon places where great deeds took place.

However, in that case, the fact that this great accomplishment had not been passed down in history felt entirely unnatural. Well, aside from the incident 10 years ago. But it was still not on this scale. Or—maybe...

Magic veiled it from discovery, shrouding its secrets.

Was it Egyptian? Roman? Atlantean? No. It was all and none. A convergence of memories—the whispers of lost civilizations, the echoes of gods.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Great Tomb held its breath.

All the teams had shared the information they had gathered, but there was no relevant data among it, indicating that this ruin might have been erased from history. It all seemed highly irregular.

There was a bizarre sensation, like something stuck in Hekkeran's throat, and it made him furrow his brows.

“More than that, I’m more uneasy why so many Owls are gathered here and none daring to fly past the wall.”

At those words, the owl perched on the parapet hooted—with great fear in its eyes, a witness to unseen horrors.

The Ministry had surrounded the Tomb on all sides, with many Owls flying here and there holding letters in their claws. A normal sight at the Ministry Headquarters, but the strange thing was that not a single Owl dared to fly over the Tomb. Even if it had to go to the other side, the Owls would simply skirt around the corner to reach their destination.

Such behaviour was quickly noticed, and the Ministry decided to directly command the Owls and other pets and familiars to go inside the Tomb with magic. But no matter how many times the spell was used, no creature dared to budge and go over the walls.

Later that day, several Owls came holding letters and started flying around the tomb; some sat on the nearby tents staring into the tomb.

Upon investigation, it was revealed that they were carrying a letter—a letter from Hogwarts.

The yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter, The Grand floor, The Great Tomb of Nazarick ver—3.0, Near Godric’s Hollow.

Once the identity of the person the letter was addressed to was known, many more Aurors and Wizards gathered. Ancient unexplored ruins were popular tourist destinations for many wizards hoping to make it big with one adventure, but Harry Potter—now that was the biggest celebrity in all of Europe, if not the world.

If someone could find him, they would become an instant star with many interviews from the Daily Prophet and might even get awards like the Order of Merlin.

“It would save a lot of trouble if they were just Golems tidying up the ruins on orders from their previous masters. Then, what do you plan to do after this?”

“—I think Hekkeran should attend the meeting in my place.”

“Don’t worry about it, the other team leaders didn’t take part either, right? This is called making full use of one’s resources, mm.”

Hekkeran winked at Arche, and she sighed with deliberate loudness.

“—In any case, all the teams will move in after dark. We’ll enter from four directions at once and meet up at the central mausoleum.

“I see, because we’ll be spotted more easily when entering during the day.”

“—Correct.”

The surrounding terrain was open, with no signs of observers or travelers. Thus, entering directly was also a valid option, but they had to be on watch against unexpected situations. It was somewhat safer to move around in the dark.

They might still learn something by continuing to observe the ruins, though with the results so far, there was very little progress to be made.

To avoid wasted effort, they opted for a plan where everyone would go in together.

Hekkeran understood that point and nodded. While there were still some holes in the plan, this was the best balance they could strike between risk and effectiveness.

“In that case, we’ll be resting for now?”

“—Yes, Darkness and Screaming Whip will be in charge of security; but for safety’s sake and to keep everyone on their toes, the various teams will be assigning sentries to keep an eye on things.”

Darkness and Screaming Whip were among the best-known wizarding mercenary groups. Especially Darkness, who had risen in the past ten years with members from various races. They had no equal in terms of strength, and despite much speculation, their loyalty and honesty to their work were perfect.

The Leader, Momon, was said to be a Half Giant who could slay a troll with one swift sword strike, and the ‘Vampire Princess’ of the Lost Country, Evileye, could even slay a Dragon single-handedly. They had many other strong members in their group spread all across the world.

“I see, so we’re the last, then.”

“—Yes, it’ll be a while before it’s our turn.”

Saying so, Arche cricked her neck and worked her shoulders.

“Thanks for your hard work.”

Arche nodded to Roberdyck.

“—I’m so tired. We spent so much time because that idiot wanted to just barge into the ruins. It took us a lot of time to talk him down. That man doesn’t know the meaning of teamwork at all.”

“...Ah, that sword genius guy...”

“Just call him Goddamn Son-of-a-bitch.”

Hekkeran smiled at Imina, who was a half-blood—the murderous intent was steaming off her.

Just as the other two were expressing their agreement with Hekkeran, they heard the sound of flesh striking flesh, followed by a house elf trying to bite back a scream of pain.

All the people present turned their eyes to the same spot. Several had already taken out their wands, believing something had happened.

The source of the scream lay before Eruya — one of his elves, who lay upon the ground. Judging by the circumstances, Eruya had probably punched her. The elf looked up at Eruya’s face, which was twisted in anger. Her own face was filled with fear as she begged pathetically for forgiveness.

Hekkeran fought back a rising wave of nausea, and a thought flashed through his mind. He hurriedly turned his attention towards his companion — Imina.

Just as he had imagined, her face had gone blank. There was a dangerous air around her, as though she would launch an attack if things went any further.

Hekkeran hurriedly signalled to Roberdyck and Arche, who were standing beside her, telling them to hold her back.

Personally speaking, Hekkeran was as angry as Imina. However, he could not stick his nose into the problems of other teams. Of course, he could do so if he wanted. However, if he did, he would need to be prepared to bear all the consequences of that choice. That was why the other teams simply wrinkled their brows in displeasure, but none of them made a move.

Imina’s reason eventually overcame her desire to fight, and she spat on the ground after directing a lewd gesture at his back.

“...The only thing he has that got him the job is his swordsmanship. And that too, is only because of the secret power of his family’s elves.”

Erya Uzruth—the last descendant remaining of the once-powerful ancient Wizarding family, House of Uzruth. The family was famous for the secret technique one of their elves created in devotion to their founder. It is said that when the Founder was fighting a Troll and lost his wand, his old elf-servant created a powerful magic to protect his master, giving him immense strength to behead the Troll in one slash.

Since then, all the house elves in the service of House Uzruth were rigorously trained in it. However, unlike the first patriarch who held great love and respect for his loyal servants, the following generations began to treat them as mere tools of war. It led to a revolt with the massacre of most of the lineage by their own servants.

Now only Erya Uzruth remains, who had put some form of slave seal on his elves. Maybe that seal was the reason for the massacre.

“Rumors say that he even uses them for relieving himself.” At those words, everyone’s expression turned to that of utter disgust.

“Alright, we’ll stop here for now.”

“...Indeed. Since Hekkeran’s here too, let’s decide the most important thing.”

“That man refused, so who’ll be our overall leader?”

The three of them fell silent.

There were four teams present here: 

Foresight from The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, 

Heavy Masher from The Department of International Magical Co-operation, 

Dragon Hunt from The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and 

Tenmu from The Improper Use of Magic Office.

While all of them possessed ample fighting power, without someone to coordinate and lead everyone, they would not be able to take effective action. It was like having many arms but being unable to use them all at the same time; little different from only having one.

Being able to make effective use of a team of strong personalities was not an easy task, and doing so without complaints from anybody was even more difficult. If the instructions resulted in failure, or if others thought that one was placing their own team’s gain above their own, it would incur the wrath of the other teams.

Frankly speaking, the position demanded excellent skills, yet there were more demerits than merits to taking it.

Every team leader understood that point, so they all remained silent while watching each other’s faces. Each of them wanted to dump this burden onto the first person to open their mouth. After about a minute’s silence, Hekkeran tiredly suggested:

“Honestly, we don’t need an overall leader, do we?”

“That’s just delaying the inevitable. It’ll be troublesome once fighting breaks out.”

“...Mine idea is that we should alternate. That way resentment will not accrue. I feel we may discuss the matter at greater length upon reaching the ruins.”

“Ah~”

“You do have a point.”

Both of them approved of Gringam’s suggestion.

“In that case, we’ll go in order of when we arrive there.”

“How about Uzruth and his Tenbu?”

“It’s fine if we skip that punk. Besides, he won’t be able to do it.”

“I agree, revered elder. Then, as the one who proposed it, my Heavy Masher shall take the lead.”

“I’m counting on you, Gringam.”

“Please do, young man.”

“Understood.”

Chapter Text

The moon hung low, its silvery glow casting elongated shadows across the ancient ruins. The teams of magical investigators stood at the threshold, their breaths misting in the chill night air. They moved with purpose, their footsteps, once heavy and armoured, now danced lightly across the ancient stones. Shield hats adorned their heads, and shield cloaks swirled around their forms, blending seamlessly with the shadows.

The hill loomed above them—a sentinel guarding the secrets below. Arche Eeb Rile Furt, her wand at the ready, led the way. Beside her, Imina whispered incantations, unravelling the air itself. Roberdyck Goltron traced protective runes in the moon-drenched soil. And Hekkeran Termite, ever watchful, scanned the horizon.

As they circled the base of the hill, the world shifted. The {Quietus} spell enveloped them, swallowing the clatter of footsteps and the rustle of leaves. Their breaths became echoes, lost in the night. Then, the {Disillusionment} charm settled upon them like a second skin. Their outlines blurred, their presence veiled. They were phantoms, slipping through the veil of reality.

Above, a wizard soared—a lone figure with {Invisibility} , {Levitation} , and {Revelio} woven into his being. His wand hummed, a spell ready to pierce the darkness.

They reached the summit, their boots brushing against the edge of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. Arche’s wand trembled as she channelled magic through it, ready to send up a {Red Sparks} charm in case of danger, acting as a beacon, a message to their comrades if they were attacked.

From their wands, {Lumos} spells cast a soft glow, illuminating the path ahead. The ropes, imbued with {Locomotor} magic, descended like snakes. They looped around each Worker, securing them as they were gently lowered.

As each Worker descended without a problem, landing within the tomb grounds, their first destination was one of the four smaller mausoleums in each cardinal direction. Now that the effective duration of the {Disillusionment} charm was over, everyone came into view again. Each team ran towards their respective mausoleum.

They crouched low, concealing themselves with tombstones, trees, or statues, running through the darkened graveyard. During this time, the {Quietus} charm was still in effect, so they did not make any noise even when they ran with all their might while seeking cover. Their movements were swift and fluid, like shadows racing across the land.

X

Seeing the vast amount of treasures in the smaller mausoleums they couldn’t hide their expectations for what they would find in the most important location—the central mausoleum. 

“Gringam, what took you so long?” Hekkeran asked.

“My sincerest apologies; it seems I have kept thee waiting.”

“Well, it’s not like we arranged a meeting time, so it’s fine. That aside, let’s move to a different place and decide what we’ll do next.”

Hekkeran lowered his stance, leading the way even as he kept an eye on his surroundings.

Shortly after they began moving, Gringam asked: “A question, if I might; has thy team discovered treasure?”

Hearing the barely concealed excitement in Gringam’s voice, Hekkeran recalled the way his own team had been and smiled in satisfaction.

“Oh yes, we did. We were all smiles. The old man said so too.”

“So that was thy experience as well? Truly, we did well coming to this tomb.”

“Indeed, we should properly thank whichever big shot was buried here.”

“Mm. That said, after discovering so much treasure, we might have to prepare ourselves for the possibility that the main tomb will be barren.”

“No, I’m willing to bet that there’ll be more treasure.”

“Thy words... how much dare you wager?”

“Not bad. Not only can I find more in the tomb, but I can make a tidy sum off you as well. However, the problem is that you and I might bet on the same thing.”

Neither of them laughed out loud, simply smiled broadly.

After passing the huge statue, they ascended a long, gently sloping flight of stairs that seemed to be made of the same material as the stone sarcophagus. The entrance to the central mausoleum stretched before them.

“‘Tis the stench of the dead.”

“Yes, you’re right. It’s a common smell in the Egyptian tombs.” Hekkeran expressed his agreement with Gringam’s muttering.

While it was not as nauseating as the vile odour of decay, the faint stench of undeath unique to graveyards hung in the cold air. There were undead present in such a well-kept tomb.

The group prepared themselves as they stepped into the mausoleum. Before them was a great hall. Countless mortuary slabs of stone lined either side of the hall, and opposite them was a staircase leading down. The door leading downstairs was wide open. A strangely chilling gust of ice-cold air flowed out from behind it.

“This way.” Led by Hekkeran, Gringam’s group descended the stairs.

A burial vault lay at the foot of the stairs, with a set of doors straight ahead. It seemed to be the only one around.

While it was more cramped than the room above — the mausoleum — it was wide enough. Hekkeran’s companions in Foresight, Eruya’s Tenbu and Palpatra’s group were all here.

“Now then, what shall we do next? The original plan was to split up here and investigate the interior, but after inspecting the mausoleums, do you have any other ideas?”

After saying so, Hekkeran looked around at everyone else.

It did not feel like anyone wanted to propose anything new. Was it desire, or just a simple trick of the light? He could not be sure what that glow in everyone’s eyes was. Their faces were filled with excitement as they longed to rush into the depths of the tomb.

"In sooth, I have a counsel to offer. Let us sweep the outer bounds in a circle, and with keen eyes search for doors that may lie hidden from plain sight."

The team leader might have spoken, but the team members did not look happy about it.

After all, they had all seen the glittering prizes just now. Even if that opinion came from their veteran leader, it was very hard for them to go along with it. Surely, they must have imagined the treasure fleeing before their very eyes.

"What sayest thou? We have scanned the surface, yet cannot avow that our search was thorough. Perchance there be other paths concealed beneath the mausoleums, dost thou not think? Moreover, we have not yet searched the graveyard, have we?"

“I believe what Gringam is trying to say is that according to the songs of the bards about the great ruins — that is to say, the Ruins of Sasashal — there was a safe passage near the entrance which could take everyone straight to the heart of the area.”

“Ah, Gringam. We’ve checked already, but unfortunately there aren’t any secret doors in this room.”

"Precisely. We are willing to endure hardship for the sake of the company. In exchange, we beseech thee to grant us a portion of the treasures ye discover on this level. How doth 10% from each other team sound? Moreover, should ye uncover another level below, may we entreat thee for the privilege to enter and explore it first?"

“I have no objections to that proposal.”

The first to reply was Palpatra. Shortly after that, Hekkeran also expressed his agreement.

“Since the revered elder has already spoken, we also don’t have any objections! By the way, how about you, Uzruth?” 

“Personally, I object very much, but it’s only 10%, hardly a big deal. However—”

“—Great! It’s decided then!” 

The portly man laughed merrily at Eruya’s barbed reply. It was Eruya who was displeased by having his acidic words completely disregarded.

“Ah, Gringam. In that case, we have a request for you. We found a huge flag woven of precious metal threads in the mausoleum we investigated. We didn’t bring it along because it was too bulky. Can we trouble you to help us bring it back?”

“I concur with Hekkeran’s opinion. Though it shames me to trouble you, I would be glad if you could help us recover ours as well.”

“Since it’s that way, we’ll leave ours to you as well.”

Eruya jerked his chin at one of the Elves, and the skinny girl shakily unloaded a large piece of cloth she was carrying on her back and laid it on the ground.

"Understood. Is there aught else thou dost wish to leave behind, or that thou wouldst have us take away?"

Nobody answered Gringam’s question.

"Verily! Then shall we heed the counsel but now given and scour the surface. Ye all must take care likewise. Howbeit, should ye uncover any treasures, prithee leave them for our keeping."

“Haha, Gringam. Gladly will we leave the monsters to you, but regretfully, we will not leave so much as a single coin of treasure behind.”

The group chuckled, and then Hekkeran asked everyone: “Then, shall we move out?”

The group accepted that suggestion immediately, and so they went forth.

Their eyes gleamed with desire and expectation as they took their first step into the unknown ruins — the underground tomb.

After opening the door in the room, a passage led straight into the depths.

Perhaps they should have expected this, but the passage was very clean.

This was a passage of stone with no mildew or algae growing on it. There were alcoves on either side, each filled with human-sized objects wrapped in funerary shrouds. There was none of the stench that was unique to corpses. There was just the cold, clear air, as well as a smell like that of the dead.

There were white lights spaced along the ceiling at regular intervals, but due to the great distance between them, there were still a lot of shadowy corners along the passage. While it did not affect their travels, the dimly lit lamplight made them wonder if they had missed something. Moving without preparing illumination seemed quite dangerous.

“Rober, is there an undead reaction from that body?”

“No, none at all.”

“Really?” Arche replied, and then walked over to a wrapped corpse, slicing the shroud open with a dagger. After seeing her actions, two of the men from the group stepped forward to help expose the cadaver underneath the shrouds.

“Judging by the height and physique, it’s most likely human. And a grown male.”

“He’s not wearing clothes, so we can’t tell which era the ruins came from.”

“Still, these ruins really are a mystery. We can’t tell its age from its architecture or the burial styles. For all we know, these ruins might be from millenniums ago.”

“—If that were really the case, then this would be a historic find.”

“These ruins’ date of construction and background are still a mystery, after all.”

“Understood. Can we move on now? I want to kill monsters.”

The somewhat displeased Eruya expressed his disinterest.

X

“Good grief, they’re gone.”

“They’re all gone. They might be members from the ministry, but we did break bread with them, and they’re our comrades for this job. I hope they’ll come back safely... what do you think, Momon-san?”

“—That they’re all going to die?”

Ainz answered in gloomy tones, and the leader of the mercenary group who had questioned him froze up.

‘Crap. I said what was in my heart…’

"Er, no, what I meant was that we should be mentally prepared for that outcome. These are previously undiscovered ruins, and there’s no telling what dangers are waiting for them inside. Being too optimistic is harmful."

“I see, so that’s what you meant... thanks for your concern.”

‘...I thought I was being pretty stiff, did that actually pass muster? I feel pretty good about this.’

The leader was probably nodding non-stop because those words were spoken by a Heroic-ranked man, so he was blindly thinking the best of him.

It would seem that Ainz’s efforts — he had been as friendly and approachable as possible during their journey to Nazarick — had borne fruit, given their favourable attitude towards him.

"Then, in keeping with the plan, I will go rest first." Ainz headed for his tent.

In the past ten years, to escape his workload, Ainz had regularly taken trips around the world. During his adventures, he had met many people, beings of various races. Some were befriended, others were subjugated. This had bolstered the forces of Nazarick many folds over the years. He also created his own mercenary group with his newfound allies.

Ainz and Evileye entered the tent together and closed the flap, and then just in case, they checked around outside. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to them; in fact, they seemed to be deliberately trying not to stare at Ainz.

“...While people call this a love nest, I guess I was right to not deny it right away. That way, they won’t be suspicious of why we pitched our tent so far away, and they won’t pay undue attention to us or come near this place.”

He might have lost some things, but he had gained much more in return. Ainz took off his helmet, exposing his skeletal face.

“Now then, Evileye... no, Keno, I will be returning to Nazarick. I plan to have Pandora’s Actor take my place; if anything happens before that, think of a clever way to deal with it.”

“That guy!? Great!~” Keno’s eyes lit up with delight at the mention of Pandora's Actor taking Ainz’s place. She had always enjoyed Pandora's company and valued his unique insights, especially when it came to magical research.

"If he is coming, then ask him to bring me the Grimoire of Lost Incantations. It would be incredibly helpful for my research. There are some advanced spells and ancient knowledge in there that I believe could aid us significantly."

Ainz nodded thoughtfully. "The Grimoire of Lost Incantations, huh? That should be doable. I'll ensure that Pandora's Actor retrieves it from Ashurbanipal and brings it here."

Keno smiled, her fangs slightly visible. "Thank you, Satoru. Pandora and I have already discussed some potential breakthroughs, and this grimoire might just be the key we need."

Ainz placed a reassuring hand on Keno’s shoulder. "I trust in your abilities, Keno. Your research has always been impressive. I look forward to seeing what you uncover."

As Ainz prepared to leave, Keno felt a mix of excitement and determination. With the ancient tome, she was confident that she and Pandora could make significant strides in their magical endeavours. 

She watched as Ainz dismissed his magically created armour and swords. The spell he cast was [Greater Teleportation] . Because he was wearing the Ring, Ainz bypassed the barrier deployed over Nazarick and arrived immediately at the chamber before the Throne Room.

“Welcome home, Ainz-sama.”

Right after that, a melodious female voice greeted him.

“I’ve returned, Albedo.”

The deeply bowed woman raised her head, and a smile like a flower blooming spread across her ravishing features.

‘Uhhhh…’

As he saw the look of loving adoration in her eyes, Ainz felt itchy all over and he wanted to roll around on the ground. However, he could not act in a way that did not fit Ainz Ooal Gown, sovereign of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick.

In order to suppress the weak, lingering emotions within himself, Ainz deliberately coughed, something that his skeletal body should not have required.

“If all is proceeding according to plan, the invaders should arrive soon. No, perhaps they have already arrived. Have the welcome preparations been made?”

“They are flawless. I am certain we will be able to entertain our guests.”

“Is that so... Albedo, I look forward to the reception you have prepared.”

Ainz entered the heart of Nazarick; the Throne Room. He had already given Albedo orders concerning the intruders this time around. He had expressed the desire to observe the performance of the new defenses she had erected in the Fake Nazarick under live battle conditions.

The Real Nazarick’s defenses had already been verified via countless experiments over the years. Now it was the turn of the Fake Nazarick they had built as a decoy and to be the face of Ainz Ooal Gown.

“...The intruders are very weak, so obviously it will be impossible to use them to verify all the systems. Still, I hope we will learn something from this operation.”

“Understood. I guarantee I will meet your expectations, Ainz-sama.”

“Very good.” As Ainz slowly sat down upon the throne, several television monitor-like objects appeared before him. The monitors showed scenes from the Fake Nazarick. The (Fake)Tomb was covered in all forms Anti-Divination spells and with friendly-fire turned down, the screens should not be able to showcase it. 

This should have been the result of Albedo’s tinkering with the defense network, but Ainz was not quite sure what had been changed. 

‘Maybe the magical energy that was released in the beginning? But, that might create a flaw in the defenses… In order for this training exercise to be fruitful, I need to learn something from these images. Otherwise, things will go badly when the exercise is concluded and we swap opinions.’

Ainz was the supreme ruler of Nazarick. Such a highly placed man could not claim ignorance of the defensive systems to his own subordinates.

“Then, just in case, I’d like to confirm that Ariadne won’t activate, will it?”

He opened the control console and saw that all was well, but he still could not help asking. In theory, the Fake Tomb should not be a part of Real Nazarick, but it doesn’t hurt to confirm it. Since they were able to monitor and control it from here.

‘In fact, does the Fake Tomb even have an Ariadne System?’ Over the years, Ainz had travelled all over the world and visited many ancient castles and tombs. However, there were no such systems or rules governing those sites.

“We have made several contingencies to stop it as per your orders, Ainz-Sama.”

“Alright, good work, Albedo.”

“It was only possible due to your guidance, Ainz-Sama.”

“Umu…” Ainz said magnanimously as one of the monitors which he was controlling showed an image of the intruders. “—They’ve finally entered. I was getting tired of waiting.”

Was it due to being undead? Ainz felt no pity for them, and it somewhat frightened him. He did not even feel cruel, like someone trampling ants to death. In truth — in truth, he felt nothing at all.

There was only the desire to see the results of his Guardian’s efforts. And of course, the benefits it would reap for the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick.

“Albedo, not a single one of them is to escape intact, do you understand?”

“But of course. Please enjoy the fate that will befall these foolish creatures. Also... I believe you said earlier that you wanted lab rats to test Harry with. Which lot shall we use?”

“Hmm, that’s right. I’ve sparred with the old man before, I’ve practiced with that man on the road, and this team isn’t suitable for practice. By process of elimination, it has to be them.”

Ainz shifted the monitor so Albedo could see, and pointed to a group of people.

Chapter Text

The members of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, led by Gringam, bade farewell to their companions and surveyed the desolate graveyard. Silence, darkness, and starlight were their only companions as they prepared to leave. As Gringam took a step towards the stairs, one of his companions spoke up.

“Leader, don’t you think this is a bit of a shame? We should have let the other teams search the graveyard, no?”

“Thou art correct. Each team... well, that accursed team aside, the others possess roughly equivalent abilities. Whatsoever we are capable of, Dragon Hunt or Foresight can accomplish as well.”

“In that case — ”

Gringam cut off his companion, saying, “But we possess priority searching rights for the morrow, thus we shan't be losing out on aught. Besides, we ought to have concluded the surface investigation by then, and if fortune doth not favor them, the last team might find naught and might even be assigned to guard the base camp.”

“I see… Say, leader, you don’t need to talk in that weird way anymore. We’re the only ones here now.”

“Umu...”

Gringam’s brows furrowed momentarily before a wry smile spread across his face. “Ahhhhh, what a pain, thou this and meanst that, it’s all so stupid.”

“Thanks for your hard work. Still, he’s right; when it’s just us, you can speak normally.”

“No, I can’t! Speaking stiffly and formally like that makes me sound more like a high-profile foreign minister from The Department of International Magical Co-operation. And besides, changing the way I speak here and there is a pain in the ass, so I always speak like that on the job. That’s one of my principles; you know that, right?”

Gringam met his companions’ bitter smiles with a wry grin of his own. A part-goblin of stocky build, he bore a “dash” of goblin’s blood in his veins, which endowed him with exceptional physical and magical prowess. With these gifts, and the loyalty of his friends, he had carved a name for himself.

Yet, as a half-breed, he was not spared the prejudices that plagued others of his kind. He refrained from openly bearing his wand, despite not being subject to the Wand Ban that restricted full goblins. Instead, he wielded an axe and shield, clad in heavy armour adorned with horns, giving him the appearance of a formidable beetle.

This guise allowed the wizards of the ministry to lower their guard around him. The fact was that people laughed at him for speaking in that way. However, it was far better than letting others say, “A team led by a clueless goblin won’t amount to much.” 

This led their team being regularly deployed to contact with other magical species and maintain cordial relations with them.

“Very well, we have tarried sufficiently. Let us be off, gentlemen.” Gringam declared, and without further objections, the group proceeded down the stairs.

“We might have missed the chance to discover amazing magic items! What’s wrong with betting our lives on that?” one of his companions mused.

"Thou dost have a point. However, behold this neat and tidy graveyard. 'Tis clear someone is maintaining it, which means monsters shall emerge to greet us. Is it not better to let the others observe what manner of monsters there be? Personally, I did not much fancy this task due to the multitude of uncertain factors." 

After hearing Gringam grumble, his team members lightly asked: “But you still took it in the end, right?”

"Of course. That is because the other teams did accept it as well. I thought we could flee whilst they sacrificed themselves for our sake."

“That’s a very pragmatic approach.”

A woman’s quiet voice suddenly reached their ears. The only women among the members of this expedition were the two ladies from Hekkeran’s Foresight and the three Elf slaves from Eruya’s Tenbu. However, the voice did not belong to any of them. 

The group immediately raised their weapons, and turned back. As they looked up the stairs they had just descended, they saw a group of women in maid uniforms standing at the entrance to the mausoleum. There were five of them in total.

Each of them was unbelievably beautiful, but at the same time it also made them especially abnormal. The strange thing was that each of them was dressed in an outfit that resembled a maid’s uniform, but they were different from the clothes Gringam had seen before; they gleamed with an armor-like sheen.

"Thou... who art thou? I did not see thee just now... ah, so there was a hidden passage after all."

“Women? They’re beautiful enough to rival the ‘Vampire Princess’ of the Lost Country... they’re clearly not ordinary people,” one of his companions observed.

“They don’t seem hostile, but... they can’t possibly be people who were hired in addition to ourselves,” another added.

“What should we do, leader?”

His comrades dared not be careless. They observed the girls closely as they asked him.

The best option would be to negotiate with them, but it would seem they would not be able to conclude this amicably.

"Our numbers are roughly even... so we shouldst be able to manage it, correct?"

Their opponents’ strength ought to be about the same as themselves, or slightly higher.

They had not attacked while the teams were gathered together in order to get them all in one fell swoop. That implied they lacked the fighting power or traps to deal with so many people at once. At the same time, they had chosen to show up and show themselves off and initiate the conversation; that implied they were confident of defeating Gringam’s group.

While his stout body hardly sweated any more, at this moment, Gringam felt the hand gripping his axe turn cold and clammy.

“Gotta say, with the shape this tomb is in... these maids have really been slacking.”

In the next moment, the friend of his who had tossed off that casual joke was suddenly covered in cold sweat, his face pale and trembling. Gringam thought the temperature around him had plummeted for a moment. However, the goosebumps covering his body were no delusion.

Even with only the light of the moon to illuminate them, he could clearly see murder in the eyes of the maids lined up above him. It looked like their eyes were glowing.

“LeT’s KiLL thEM.”

“...Have to die.”

“We can’t just kill them normally. We need to make their suffering legendary.”

An intense bloodlust roiled around the maids. Their anger was such that it felt like the air itself was warping.

“Alright, alright,” the most senior-looking maid said with a clap of her hands. “Our master has ordered us not to let any of them return unharmed, so we were going to kill them anyway. However, I’m quite pleased to see everyone so motivated.”

There was a clang, a sound of metal which seemed to come from the stairs that had been cut from a slab of stone. The sound had come from the greave-like metal high heels which the maids wore.

Shaken, Gringam and company backed off.

Given their lack of wands, their opposition ought not to be magic casters. However, given their unsurpassed beauty, they were most likely magical creatures — like Veela, or some variant thereof. In that case, allowing them to take the high ground where they can easily entrance them with their dance was not a wise strategy.

For Gringam and the others, the ideal tactic for them was to shorten the distance between themselves and the enemy as quickly as possible. The reverse would be to the maids’ advantage. However, if they turned to full-blooded Veela and soared into the sky, they could just rain {Fireballs} from above, turning his team to sitting ducks. 

Given how angered they were, that might just happen. The maids’ blank faces were like a mask, and their movements were as regal as a sovereign as they slowly descended the stairs. Gringam and his group were at a loss for how to respond, but still, they sheltered behind their shields and discussed what to do and what tactics to use.

Clang!

A particularly strident sound rang through the air. The maids had stopped halfway down the steps.

“Alright, let’s start with a self-introduction. I... forgive me... this one is the assistant leader of the Seven Sisters (Pleiades), Yuri Alpha. While we will not be together for long, it was a pleasure to meet you. Now then, back to the main topic, while wiping you out directly would be faster, we cannot make a move ourselves for certain reasons. What a shame.”

The wind carried adorable, bell-like laughter over to them. The smiles of these stunningly beautiful maidens overflowed with a charm that instantly seized the hearts of anyone who looked upon them.

The best option might be to run, and let the mercenaries — especially Momon — join the fight.

“Then, allow me to introduce your opponents.”

Yuri clapped, and the graveyard trembled, as though in response to the echoing sound.

“Come forth, Nazarick Old Guarders.”

“What?” Gringam exclaimed in shock.

The earth behind him split open and several Skeletons showed themselves.

A pincer attack? No...

Looking up, he saw that the maids were still hostile, but they had no desire to fight. Perhaps they were in a spectator mode. While they could not be careless, it seemed to be as the maids had just said; they did not wish to attack right away.

Gringam came to the conclusion that the only enemies in their way were the Skeletons behind them, and so he began assessing the new batch of enemies.

Skeletons were hardly powerful opponents. Given the strength of Gringam and his group, they could take on a few hundred of them with no problems. That being the case, the Skeletons that had emerged from the earth — eight of them in total — were no match for them whatsoever.

However, there was a problem. Gringam ’s companions gulped in unison and unconsciously backed up one step. These Skeletons felt different from regular Skeletons, and their equipment was different too.

They were dressed in grand breastplates, like the sort a country’s royal guard would use. Their shields were emblazoned with a Gryphon motif, and they wielded all manner of weapons, in addition to composite longbows on their backs. All this equipment radiated a mystical glow. Yet, the magic emanating from it felt… different. Skeletons outfitted with otherworldly magical gear could not be ordinary.

"What be those?"

“You don’t know either, leader? I’m not too sure... but I think they might be an advance form of Charmed Skeleton.”

"An advanced form, eh? They dost not resemble Inferi either..."

Opponents one had never encountered before were always unsettling, especially foes outfitted with otherworldly magic items that possessed unknown effects.

“—These numbers should be enough to deal with you gentlemen. Please do your best and show us how far you can run.”

“So I messed up the plan and now we’re the canaries instead... ah, what a pain. Very well, dost thou think that is all of them?"

“Given how well those undead are equipped, I can’t imagine there could be more of them.”

“This is a route which invaders would have to pass through, so stationing their best troops here would be the best tactic. That being the case, these Skeletons should be all of them. And since the opposition should have better intelligence than us, they probably aren’t dumb enough to split their forces.”

“...No, I think there ought to be a few more in the ruins. However the ones left are probably lower-grade undead.”

“Leader... we should flee. This is bad. It’s very bad.”

"We art already surrounded, there’s no escape for us! We dost not even have our brooms to fly away. Even if we attempt to flee, they’ll shoot us down with bows! Hold fast, lads! Our only path to survival is by defeating them!"

The response to Gringam ’s shout was a resigned yet surprised voice.

“Well, that’s also a valid means of breaking through. We’ll cheer for you, so let’s begin.”

And with that, the Nazarick Old Guarders stepped forward.

Yuri and the others had troubled looks on their faces as they kept “cheering” them on. They had been hard-pressed to hide their consternation since the beginning. To think they were actually so...

“Ahhh, this is bad ~su.”

“...Did not think it would be like this.”

“Cocytus-sama will be shocked.”

“If this keeps up It’ll end without anything to show for it.”

Yuri and the others watched a raised hammer swing down.

“Oh, that looks very bad, he’ll die ~su.”

Just as Lupusregina muttered to herself, the man in question took a blow to the chest and crumpled to the ground. The sound of metal scraping and a heavy object collapsing somehow managed to fill the air despite the intense battle.

The first casualty was a human warrior, but the Nazarick Old Guarder holding an electrically charged hammer did not seem particularly excited about it, instead looking for another target.

The Nazarick Old Guarders held the upper hand throughout the battle with Gringam ’s team. At this point, this one-sided battle could be described as futile resistance. Even Yuri and the others could not help but pity them.

At first, they had even laughed and said, “Weren’t you very confident in yourselves before the battle started?” but then they had lost all interest and started yawning, and now they were even rooting for Gringam and the others.

“Uwah, the difference in their strength is so great I can’t think of anything to say.”

“...No trump cards?”

“Leader, what should we do?” One of Gringam’s teammates asked.

"Looks like we must needs use that!"

“Are you sure?”

“OOOOOOOAAAAHHHHHHH!” Gringam ’s response was a thunderous roar. 

The air crackled with ancient, corrupted magic as Gringam stepped forward in his new crimson-clad form. His once steel-colored full plate armour now looked as if forged from the darkest metals, gleamed ominously in the moonlight. The large horn protruding from his helmet grew even larger, flames writhing against it. The faceplate bore the likeness of a snarling beast — a creature born of rage and fire. The eyes of which glowed with an unsettling red hue. It was as if the very essence of fire resided within, watching the world with an unblinking, malevolent gaze.

The chestplate, broad and imposing, fit snugly over his powerful frame. It was adorned with ancient goblin runes, pulsing faintly, each symbol meticulously etched into the dark metal. His shoulder guards were large and spiked, jutting out like the fearsome horns of a demon. A dark, tattered cloak hung from his shoulders, its edges frayed and worn. The fabric seemed almost alive, shifting and shimmering with an otherworldly energy. 

His gauntlets were more than mere armour; they were conduits for his power. When Gringam clenched his fists, flames licked along the edges, leaving scorch marks on the ground. With these gauntlets, he could shatter stone, deflect arrows, and channel the very essence of fire into devastating blows.

Gringam held many secrets, but the greatest of them all was that he was a descendant of Ranrok, who led the goblin rebellion of the 1890s. This was known only to his teammates, whom he trusted wholeheartedly. Just as Ranrok sought to retrieve Bragbor's last journal, he wrote his own journal with his own insights on ancient magic in case he failed.

That journal eventually came in Gringam’s hand, who used it to become stronger. But unlike what Ranrok expected, his heir didn’t seek to overturn the world. Gringam used his strength to get a position in the ministry. Since his mind was not as capable as his body, he used his strength to get a job in the The Department of International Magical Co-operation.

Gringam raised his gauntleted hand, and the air shimmered around it. His voice echoed — a blend of forgotten tongues and celestial whispers. His fingers traced sigils in the air, each stroke leaving a trail of ethereal light. The graveyard pulsed with energy, as his comrades held their breath.

Then it happened — his form blurred, his aura merging with the ambient magic. Suddenly, crimson tendrils erupted from Gringam’s core, spiralling outward. They wrapped around his teammates’ armour, infusing them with raw power. Their eyes flared brighter as their armour crackled with energy. 

His purpose became clear: to empower his allies, those friends he held so dear. They gathered around their leader, weapons raised. Their blades glinted with malevolence, and their spells crackled like lightning. Gringam’s crimson aura enveloped them. Their eyes widened, pupils dilating. With their newfound strength, their blows would strike harder, their hexes more potent. Their Leader had bestowed upon them a dark gift, binding their fates to his own.

Gringam’s eyes blazed crimson. He crouched, muscles coiled, and with a primal roar, he leaped skyward. The air quivered as he defied gravity, axe raised high. With his descent, Gringam’s axe swung — a celestial pendulum. But this was no mere physical strike; The goblin channelled ancient magic, a blast that defied distance. The necropolis trembled as the ground absorbed its power. The Skeleton Guarders who took the brunt were sent flying, no shield thwarted his charge.

Seeing the battle quickly turned in Heavy Masher’s favour, the Pleiades battle maids who had lost all interest earlier, quickly cheered up in excitement. 

“Ahhh, this is great ~su.”

“...Ancient Magic.”

“Ainz-sama must have expected it.”

“If this keeps up, we might have to step forward.”

Yuri and the others watched as Gringam took down a Nazarick Old Guarder.

“The thief’s firepower is good. I wonder if this is their trump card?”

The thief, fighting to protect the arcane magic caster, now dashed forward with unnatural speed. The corrupted ancient magic flaring from his blade pierced through the shields of his foes — the undead Nazarick Old Guarders. Those who could not be slain in one hit fell to the comet of death. His blade sliced through defenses, unyielding and unblockable.

The Heavy Masher’s warrior who had fallen earlier rose up, brandishing his weapon — now a gnarled blade etched with ancient runes. With a primal roar, the warrior charged forward. His blade striking true, cleaving through resistance. Sparks danced along its edge, and the dark aura surged.

“I like how they look now ~su”

“Want to wave to him?”

“I guess waving to him wouldn’t hurt.”

“Okay ~su”

Lupusregina smiled sweetly and waved to the man.

“...He didn’t respond.”

“Are you trying to distract him?”

“Ueeehhhh~ Sorry ~su”

“...Mm, they lost their minds. But we can cheer for them... Yay.”

“Yes, I do hope they can hang in there a little longer.”

The maids nodded at Yuri’s words.

Far behind, the ranger emerged — a sentinel of precision and ranged prowess. His crossbow, etched with runes, pulsed with raw energy, spitting flames — an infernal volley.

Beside him the arcane magic caster whispered in ancient tongue. A beacon of crimson surged as ancient corrupted monsters emerged from the searing inferno.

“Uwah, ancient magic is so great I can’t think of anything to say.”

“I have not seen that summoning spell before.”

“Fourth tier?”

“No, that’s too weak for a secret weapon. Although, using a summoned monster as a meatshield is a pretty good idea.”

“Indeed. As long as they keep attacks from connecting, they might be able to reorganize.”

“However, they are just fighting aimlessly. Do they not have a strategy?”

“I don’t know… Maybe it’s due to ancient magic…”

Despite their unyielding prowess, the members of the Heavy Mashers had lost the will of their own. Now, on course to carve out a path of blood and destruction, they fought endlessly. 

In the end, all the Nazarick Old Guarders were destroyed. Finally, Gringam’s team moved towards the Pleiades standing atop the flight of stairs. Eyes glowing like twin embers, their purpose was clearer than ever. 

Losing their sanity wasn’t the only reason for this wanton destruction. Whenever Gringam used this last card, Heavy Masher had to ensure that no evidence of its existence was left behind. 

All the witnesses had to be taken care of, either via {Obliviate} or… eternal rest. No one could know the existence of Ancient magic or their connection with Ranrok. 

Gringam again shot forth in his <leap of fury> , but this time Yuri Alpha, the eldest sister of the Pleiades Battle Maids confronted him. Yuri’s gauntlets blurred as she lunged at Gringam. 

<Impact Blow> , the technique focused on a single target, delivering devastating physical damage. 

Bones cracked, and the ground trembled as the impact reverberated through the battlefield. Gringam was sent flying from whence he came.

The Thief reached next, relying on his <Swift Dash> . His blade struck true, seeking the vital point of the blonde woman. 

Was it due to experience that he chose to strike Solution Epsilon, the only assassin among the sisters, to stop her from reaching Heavy Masher’s backline?  

As he pierced through her heart, he couldn’t help but Jeer at such an easy prey. He looked into her eyes hoping to see her shock and misery. But what he saw was that Solution's beautiful face did not change even under this circumstance. 

‘Has she not even realized her situation?’ he thought for a moment, only to realize that this was not the case. The Thief’s dagger had literally sunk into Solution’s body along with his hand.

“What... what the hell is this?!”

The Thief screamed in surprise and tried to pull his hand back, but he could not budge it. Not only did it not move back, it was sucked further in. It seemed as though there were many writhing tentacles inside Solution which had latched onto the Thief’s hand and were drawing him in. 

With a swift motion, she twisted her body, and the Thief’s arm was wrenched painfully. He cried out in agony as Solution’s form shifted, her body becoming more fluid and amorphous as she enveloped him. And so, the Heavy Masher’s Thief was swallowed whole, as though he were a python’s prey.

The Warrior appeared next, using the spell {Apparate} , he emerged right in front of the supposed mage, Narberal Gamma. In a flourish of unchained wrath, he swung his blazing sword directly at her neck. 

“filthy maggot.” [Lightning Shield] 

In a splendour of arcane magic, a barrier of lightning covered Narberal’s form. The moment the warrior’s blade touched it, a jolt of electric current assaulted his body. 

Narberal pointed a finger at him. [Lightning Blast] A burst of thunder flung the warrior away.

Meanwhile, the Heavy Masher’s wizard summoned demonic creatures. As the corrupted beasts charged, the little maid in a yukata-like uniform threw out a few talismans from her right hand.

“ [Shikigumo Talismans] !” 

The talismans landed on the ground and instantly transformed into huge spiders, quickly taking down the abhorrent beings. 

Entoma didn’t stop there as she swiftly cast out more talismans with her left hand. 

“ [Thunderbird Flurry Talisman] .” 

“ [Explosive Talisman] .”

They transformed into birds of lightning and went straight for the Heavy Masher’s magic caster. 

Before the stink of fresh blood accompanied a cry of pain vanished, a loud explosion resounded the graveyard.

“Smells tasty...” Entoma touched her chin. Her fingers made contact with a clear, sticky fluid.

“You can’t do that,” Yuri chided Entoma.

Their master had issued an order to recover everyone who was incapacitated, whether they were alive or dead. Naturally, they could not present an insect-chewed body to their master. It would be terribly rude.

“We’ll just heal them before presenting ~su.”

“Kiiiiiyeeeeeart!” Entoma charged forth, her attack accompanied by a shrill cry that sounded like two pieces of foam rubbing against each other. 

The two of them shuddered, exposed as they were before Entoma’s hungry gaze. They were not afraid of the killing intent she emitted, but this was a trembling born of the revulsion any living being had when a carnivore set its sights on them.

The other wizard, in desperation, quickly chanted a powerful ancient spell from the newfound forbidden knowledge but was suddenly halted when a [Magic Sealing Shot] struck his wand-wielding hand.

“Target Neutralized”

The spell fizzled out as the magic was disrupted, the chant shattered along with any remaining hope.

The archer, despite seeing all this, continued to fight. For, he didn’t even had the time to lament his fate as Lupusregina toyed with him. 

“Hello ~su. I came to play with you ~su. Can I bother you for a bit?”

The archer didn’t hesitate as he unleashed a crimson bolt at her. But the moment the arrow was about to pierce her, she vanished. 

[Complete Invisibility]

The next moment, she appeared right behind him and whispered, “Oh my~ You’re so feisty ~su.”

Every hair on the archer’s body stood on end as he lunged forward, quickly creating distance between him and his beautiful adversary. 

He released a <Fiery Volley> from his crossbow as flames spat out in all directions wherever the girl appeared. 

“Ahahaha! This is wonderful! What game is this ~su?”

Arrows streaked like comets, each imbued with corrupted Ancient Magic. Yet not a single one touched so much as a hem of her skirt.

“Ahh, this is fun! This is the best! I love it!”

Lupusregina’s mocking laughter mirrored what the Archer was thinking.

‘There was only one way to survive. He had to defeat his enemies.’

“There’s fewer people now, so playtime’s been shortened too... well, that can’t be helped ~su. On my part, I’m going to have all kinds of fun ~su. I might not have the abilities Sol-chan has, but I can show you a trick or two ~su~”

…Lupusregina walked toward the archer, who had now lost his arm along with the crossbow. It was as though she was taking a walk through a field. The smile which split her beautiful face like a fissure chilled his heart with fear.

And so, Heavy Masher from The Department of International Magical Co-operation vanished that night.

Chapter Text

“Push them back!”

Palpatra’s furious cry rang through the burial vault, a cavernous chamber reeking of mildew and the stench of rotting corpses. The room, a perfect square of twenty metres on each side, boasted a ceiling that soared five metres overhead. The dim light from the {Lumos} charms cast by the wizards and the flickering torches scattered on the floor barely pierced the oppressive darkness, revealing a space teeming with people.

Palpatra and the members of Dragon Hunt had been driven into a corner, their backs against the cold, damp stone walls. The rest of the vault was inundated with a horde of low-end undead—Zombies and Skeletons—so numerous that counting them was an exercise in futility.

Palpatra and the shield-carrying warrior stemmed the flood of death head-on, forming a solid defense to keep the undead from reaching the back-liners. A Zombie lunged at Palpatra with both hands outstretched, but he deftly sidestepped, slicing it in half with his staff-spear, crafted from the spiked tail of a Hungarian Horntail.

Palpatra swung the crescent blade in his hand with deadly precision, but for every undead he felled, another would rush in to fill the gap. The horde pressed in ever closer, as though they wanted to squash Palpatra and the others to death.

“Dammit! There’s too many!”

The shield-bearing warrior beside Palpatra growled through gritted teeth. He swung his mace with desperate fury, shattering skulls and splintering bones, but the relentless pressure of the undead forced him back, step by agonizing step.

“Where did all these enemies come from?!” 

The warrior’s question was very reasonable. The undead found in this tomb were not native to this region, or even the continent for that matter. The Zombies hailed from the southern United States, while the weapons clutched by the Skeletons were distinctly un-English. If this truly was an ancient ruin newly unearthed, the creatures and artifacts within should have borne some semblance to European descent. Yet, just like its outer appearance, the monsters emerging from it had similarly bizarre origins.

The native dark creatures like Inferi were nowhere to be seen crawling about—a small mercy, perhaps, but instead, they had to deal with these bizarre living dead, who were largely unaffected by the common charms that should’ve warded them off.

The teams from other departments of the Ministry might not have noticed this anomaly, but Dragon Hunt, from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, was well-versed in dealing with such irregularities. Their work often involved confronting the illegal importation of magical creatures from all over the world. Unscrupulous wizards and witches frequently smuggled exotic and dangerous creatures into the country, either out of a misguided desire for unique pets or for more nefarious purposes.

This illicit trade in magical creatures meant that the Dragon Hunt team was well-versed in identifying and managing creatures that didn’t belong in their usual habitats. They knew the signs of foreign magical influences and were adept at piecing together the origins of such creatures based on their unique characteristics and behaviours.

Zombies and skeletons were hardly strong foes, their primary threat lying in their overwhelming numbers. However, the dark creatures found in this cursed place seemed to be impervious to the {Tickling Charm} and were unafraid of the light. 

If things went on like this, a single stroke of bad luck could see their battle lines crumble. Having reached this conclusion, Palpatra decided to use the power he had wanted to conserve.

“We need to finish this right away! Show them hell, lads!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the burial vault.

The back-liners — who had only been casting {Titillando} and {Lumos Solem} until now — made their move.

Normally, undead like this were not a problem for Palpatra and the rest of Dragon Hunt. However, that was also the reason why the backliners chose to wait and conserve their strength. Once the backline made a move, eliminating undead like these would be as easy as falling off a log.

“{Firestorm}!”

Through the oppressive darkness, fire erupted in a dazzling display of crimson and gold. A ring of fire surrounded the team, its fierce heat warding off the encroaching undead. The living dead, their decayed forms reaching out to grasp Palpatra and his comrades, were instantly turned to ash. The wizards’ wands, raised high like torches, emitted flames that danced and flickered, forming a vast, fiery lasso that encircled them all with a protective warmth and light.

In a wave of divine might, more potent than any spell they had cast before, the undead crumbled into ash and dust, their blind attempts to reap the lives of their living adversaries thwarted by the overwhelming power of the spell. Destroying so many undead at once was no easy feat; it required immense magical knowledge and a deep reservoir of power. Yet, with both N.E.W.T. -achieving wizards casting such advanced magic in unison, the result was nothing short of spectacular.

The flames roared and crackled, their light casting eerie shadows on the walls of the burial vault. The heat was intense, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of burning flesh and the faint, metallic tang of magic. 

In the end, that single, powerful move disintegrated over twenty undead beings. The once overwhelming horde was reduced to a smoldering pile of ash and bone fragments.

“I’ll blow you away! {Confringo}!”

The wizard cast his {Confringo}, which flew to the back of the undead horde where it detonated. In a single, ferocious instant of flame, the false lives of all the Zombies and Skeletons within the spell’s area of effect were consumed and burned away, leaving nothing but ash and smoke.

“I’m not done yet! {Bombarda}!”

“{Diffindo}!”

The backliners launched another round of area-of-effect attacks, and the number of undead sharply decreased. Explosions and slashing spells erupted in the midst of the horde, tearing through their ranks with brutal efficiency.

“At them!”

“Alright!”

Amidst the burning rotten flesh, sticky fluids oozed — perhaps it would have spurted, if their hearts were beating — from the flying body parts. The odour from the open, severed wounds on the corpses was nauseating but not unbearable. Or rather, one could say that their noses were numbed to it.

The relentless assault of spells had created a momentary reprieve, a chance for the team to regroup. The warrior, now with some breathing room, said, “All the undead we’ve met are piddly little creatures, but there’s a lot of them in this tomb!”

“So there’s no guarantee that stronger undead won’t show up! Although, if there are stronger undead, I have no idea why they haven’t appeared yet!” Palpatra replied, his voice tinged with both relief and caution.

After eliminating the undead within the room, Palpatra finally had the luxury of looking around. The interior of the burial vault was a grim sight. The walls were lined with ancient, crumbling stone, and the air was thick with the musty scent of decay. 

As he surveyed the interior, Palpatra noticed four tunnel-like structures, one on each wall, positioned about three metres from the ground. These tunnels were the source of the undead horde, from which the Zombies and Skeletons had poured forth. The tunnels yawned like the mouths of some great beast, dark and foreboding, hinting at the unknown depths beyond. The flickering light from their {Lumos} spells only penetrated so far, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls.

In addition to the tunnels, there was a closed door directly in front of them. Its heavy, ornate design was made of ancient wood, reinforced with iron bands that were rusted with age. It stood as a silent sentinel, guarding whatever lay beyond. Intricate carvings adorned its surface, depicting scenes of battles and rituals, hinting at the ancient and dark history of the place.

Since a while ago, a woman’s wailing could be heard, a haunting sound that echoed through the burial vault, sending shivers down the spines of Palpatra and the members of Dragon Hunt. They were in no hurry to move forward, wary of what might lie ahead. Who knew if there was truly a person trapped there or a magical creature like a Veela looking for prey.

Once everyone was ready, one of the wizards stepped forward, his wand held aloft. “{Alohomora}!” he intoned, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. He swished his wand, and the door opened with a groan, the ancient hinges protesting the movement. The door swung open to reveal a room cloaked in shadows. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp stone and desperation, a palpable sense of foreboding filling the space.

They slowly moved towards the cries, their wands held at the ready, casting a soft glow that barely pierced the oppressive darkness. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the chamber, mingling with the mournful wailing that seemed to come from the very walls themselves. There, in the centre of the chamber, lay a figure — a woman — bound in chains.

Her blonde hair clung to her face, matted and streaked with dirt. Her delicate features were etched with exhaustion, lines of weariness tracing her once-beautiful visage. Her eyes — those rain-washed eyes — held a mixture of fear and defiance, a spark of resilience that had not yet been extinguished. The adventurers exchanged glances; they hadn’t expected this — a damsel in distress, shackled like a common criminal.

“Who are you?” Palpatra demanded, blade half-drawn. “What’s your name?”

The woman’s lips moved, but her voice emerged as a mere rasp. “Clementine,” she whispered. “They call me Saint Clementine.”

Saint? The word hung in the air, incongruous with the chains that bound her.

“Why are you here, Saint Clementine?” Palpatra’s voice was as weathered as the tomb itself.

Clementine’s lips moved, and her voice emerged like a whisper from the crypt’s very stones. “I came to heal a child, but the next thing I knew, I was confined here. For the past month, I have been stuck here…”

Palpatra’s mind raced. ‘A child? Is she talking about Harry Potter?’ If the information they received before entering the tomb was correct, then the Potter’s boy should be 10 or 11 years old. He should’ve shown signs of awakening magic by now. 

‘Was that perhaps misunderstood as him falling ill and this woman was called? But then why is she chained here?’

“What did the child look like? Why are you bound here?”

“H-he had green eyes. A-a beautiful little boy. A-Aahgh!” As she was describing the child, she suddenly groaned in pain. As the wound hidden beneath her white religious habit bled, stained it red. 

Seeing this Palpatra finally gave an approving nod to the rogue who went forward to cast the Unlocking Charm.

“Despite his pale appearance due to mild sickness, the letters he received from Hogwarts made him quite happy…”

“Letters?”

Palpatra’s pulse quickened. Letters — from Hogwarts. How did Clementine know about them if she was stuck here for the past month? Besides, the letter arrived only a few days ago and none of the Owls dared fly past the tomb’s walls. How did Harry get the letters?

But before he could demand answers, Clementine moved. Drawing a Stiletto hidden beneath her robe, she stabbed the rogue in front of her. 

{Imperio} 

With the curse enchanted in the blade unleashed, the rogue fell into a daze momentarily and then turned to his once comrades, blades drawn forth. Blood stained the stone floor, and Palpatra’s heart clenched. 

“Fufu~ You found me out~ Not bad~” Clementine laughed.

“U-Unforgivable curse!”

“How dare you use an unforgivable curse!” Palpatra shouted. His eyes on the thin-blade stuck in his teammate’s abdomen.

Clementine slowly rose up. Black mist surged as her once pitiful appearance was nowhere to be seen. Gone was the white fabric of her once-frayed habit revealing a dark as midnight, intricately designed dress, adorned with gold patterns that glinted ominously in the sparse light.

The chains that once constrained her vanished as two long, slender blades materialized in her hands, their edges stained with the remnants of past battles. Blood spattered across her dark attire and face, marking her as both a predator and a survivor. The once gentle Clementine now stood as a figure of menace, her eyes no longer held misery and fear but were sharp and unforgiving.

In the span of moments, Clementine had shed her peaceful facade, embracing the darkness that lurked within. She, now cloaked in shadows and armed for battle, was ready to unleash her fury upon the world.

“Uwah~ Unforgivable~ curse? Where~? Where? Ju~st kidding~ you mean these?”

Clementine pointed at the needle-like blades in her hands. These were artifacts bestowed upon her by Lord Ainz. They possessed what is known as a "Magic Accumulate Enchantment," allowing them to be imbued with magic spells that the user could activate at any moment. 

Clementine slowly changed her posture, lowering herself into what seemed like a runner’s crouch. However, her body was still upright, so she looked very strange. It might have appeared comical, but this was definitely not the sort of stance one could take lightly.

And then — Clementine moved. Before Palpatra’s vigilant eyes, she shot forward like a compressed spring, sprinting directly at him. It was a charge that even Palpatra, with his superhuman physical abilities, could hardly believe was possible.

The Dragon Hunt wizards unleashed their spells. However, like a hurricane devouring everything in its path, Clementine closed the distance in an instant. She slid under the dazzling streaks of magic, her physical dexterity allowing her to maintain full speed.

Palpatra — who was shaken by Clementine’s serpentine movements — forcefully swung his shaft. The powerful stroke ripped through the air as it surged toward Clementine, promising unimaginable devastation if it connected.

And in that brief instant, Palpatra saw the face-splitting grin on her face get even wider.

“[Invulnerable Fortress].”

The unbelievable sight took Palpatra aback. The slender stiletto had actually blocked a hit from a spear made of a dragon’s spiked-tail, more than ten times its mass. 

The stiletto should have snapped under the grand strike it had just blocked head-on. Even if it had remained intact by some miracle, it would have been knocked flying. However, it was Palpatra’s weapon which bounced away, like it had struck some ridiculously strong castle wall.

As though throwing herself into a lover’s embrace, Clementine rushed toward Palpatra’s unguarded chest. In that moment, half of Palpatra’s field of view was taken up by the grinning Clementine. He retreated, but she was faster. This attack, combining a full-tilt charge, all her strength, and skillful use of momentum, could be described as “meteoric.”

There was a flash of light, and then the screeching of metal clashing with metal rang through the graveyard. The rogue, now controlled by {Imperio}, had sneaked up on Palpatra’s side, managing a stab to the leg. Meanwhile, Clementine took advantage of the distraction and threw a dagger at one of the mages.

{Avada Kedavra}

The blade, bathed in green light, went through the wizard’s forehead. The body shook violently, and then collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Once the body touched the ground, it was as if a bell had gone off, and the two sides went at it again with even more ferocity.

X

Half an hour later…

“—Gyaaah!”

Palpatra’s wail resounded throughout the chamber. A searing pain pierced his left hand, spreading agony through his body with every pulse of his heartbeat. His vision blurred, and his breath came in ragged gasps as the torment intensified. Before him stood Clementine, her eyes gleaming with a cruel light. She held a slender, wicked blade, its edge shimmering with malevolent energy. The blade had barely nicked his skin, yet the pain it inflicted was beyond comprehension.

{Crucio}

“—Gah, gaaaah!”

Drooling from the intense pain, Palpatra jerked his head back to see what was going on. The Old man glared at the young woman before him. However, it was clear that he was just putting on a brave front. He had lost the will to fight after seeing the woman casually kill three of his fellows.

“Nfufufufu~ Did it hurt that much, *Ojii-san~?”  

As she said that, the girl’s — Clementine’s — face twisted. She had a grin so wide it nearly reached her ears.

“—!”

Palpatra was in so much pain that he could not speak. Yet, he was once part of the Auror Office before being transferred to the Department of Magical Creature Regulation due to a past incident. So to say, he had experience in dealing with Dark wizards and witches. Thus, pain was a common experience for him. Oily sweat beading on his forehead, Palpatra asked,

“Why, why are you doing this?”

He knew it was a stupid question, but the man had no idea why this was happening to him. In the past as an Auror, he had sent many Dark wizards and witches to Azkaban. This might have been the result of some sort of grudge, but he had never seen this girl before.

“Ah, why I did this? Well now~ I just wanted you, Ojii-san~”

The man could not understand what the girl was talking about. He blinked several times, and then asked:

“What, what do you mean?”

“You are a past Auror, Aren’t you~? I Ju~st want to ask you a few itsy~bitsy questions~”

“Then all you needed to do was ask! Weren’t you planning to do that in the first place?!”

“Nonono, you might have lied to me~”

“I will never lie! You can use Truth Serum if you don’t believe me!”

“Hmmm~? Then how about this? I like killing people, I love it, I’m absolutely crazy about it. Ah, and I like torture too,” Clementine added with a giggle.

After hearing this nonsensical reply, the man’s face hardened and he said,

“You’re insane! Why?!”

“Why...?”

The young woman’s voice changed. The joking, teasing tone from just now was gone.

“Hmmm... I wonder why? Perhaps it was because my job involved killing lots of people? Maybe it was because I was constantly compared to my amazing big brother? How they loved him instead of me? Or how I was raped constantly before I became strong? Because my friends died in front of me? Or maybe it’s because I messed up and got captured and experimented on for several days? Getting your soul ripped apart to create Horcruxes hurts, you know~”

“H-horcrux!?”

The most terrible of all Dark Magic. To think, this little girl before him was subjected to such a horrifying experiment. But in the blink of an eye, a smile bloomed on Clementine’s face.

“Just kidding~ I was making it all up, it’s a lie, a lie — never happened to me. Still, even if you knew, would it change anything? I’m this way because things piled up — ah, speaking of which, I need to thank Big Sister Neuronist for allowing me to participate in this mission. I’m so glad I could meet you all right away~ you should know how long it takes to find materials~”

Clementine released her stiletto, which was pulled down by gravity and sank into Palpatra’s thigh.

{Crucio}

“Aaaaaahhhh!”

“Oops~ My Bad~”

The fact that she still didn’t pull that dagger out of his leg and was giggling clearly showed her sadistic nature.

“Then~ time for the next step. I can’t use you if you’re heavily wounded, Ojii-san... buuuut Big Sister has sent me a few of her subordinates. They can heal you with divine magic no matter how much I hurt you~ which means I get to enjoy torturing you as muuuuch as I like, no?”

As she uttered those bone-chilling words, several ghastly pale figures wearing tight leather masks and aprons of similar nature came into the room. They stretched their long corpse-like arms in front of Green Leaf and his teammates, as a mysterious magic circle formed on their palms, releasing a soft ethereal glow, ridding Palpatra of all his injuries.

“These should be good... sorry if I miss~”

It was adorable, the way she stuck her tongue out at him. However, her filthy, blackened heart was visible for all to see.

Palpatra turned his back to her and ran. Although he heard an exaggerated gasp of surprise from the young woman, he still ran with every ounce of strength in him. He was proud of his sense of direction, and he used it to the full as he ran through the lightless dark. However, there was a clattering noise from behind him, followed by the woman’s calm voice.

“—Too slow~”

Searing pain filled his shoulder. His first thought was that he had been stabbed by a stiletto, and then a shadow fell over his thoughts. It was {Imperius}. The old Auror desperately tried to resist, but that only mired his consciousness further in darkness. The voice of “a friend” came from behind him.

“Ah~ Are you all right? Is the wound deep?”

“Mm, no, it’s fine,” Palpatra smiled as he turned to face “his friend.”

“Is that so? That’s wonderful~”

A dreadful smile bloomed on the young woman’s face.

* Ojii-san is honorifics for grandpa

Chapter Text

Each team had taken a different route at the crossroads, and among them Eruya Uzruth had simply charged straight ahead, driven by the baseless assumption that a strong enemy awaited him in the tomb's depths. He encountered stone doors and countless turns along the way. Picking each one at random, his route was peaceful and boring, devoid of any traps or monsters.

‘Perhaps I picked the wrong route,’ Eruya thought, clicking his tongue.

“Hurry up already, slowpoke,” Eruya barked at the House Elf walking ten metres ahead of him as she was about to stop. 

The Elf slave quivered for just a second before walking tiredly on. Exhausted from continuous marching since entering the tomb, she had not been permitted to slacken her pace at all.

Fortunately, nothing had happened so far, but if there had been traps, she could very well have died. The way he was using his slaves was not so much trap finding as having her serve as a canary in a mine. Eruya’s team was composed of himself and three of his House Elves.

Giving such an order to someone like her, who possessed irreplaceable searching skills, was too much of a waste. However, he had his reasons. Simply put, he was tired of the Elf in front of him. Surely anyone would be shocked when they heard that answer. Their shock would not stem from ethics but from economics. House Elves were not cheap. This was particularly true of House Elves nurtured by Uzruth Family , who were trained in their secret arts. 

In most cases, no household would ever consider selling their elves due to pride. Consequently, elves were shockingly expensive merchandise and not something an average citizen could afford. Even someone like Eruya, who worked in the ministry, couldn’t simply purchase one on a whim.

However, Eruya had inherited the entire Uzruth household fortune. Therefore, once he grew tired of a slave, he didn’t particularly mind if she died. Additionally, there was one other reason he only acquired a new elf after one of the existing ones perished: he could only create and control three slave seals at a time.

If he wanted a new house-elf, he had to either let go of or sell one of his current ones. He could also choose not to place a slave mark on them. House-elves were highly sought after for their absolute loyalty to their house, but given what happened with his family, Eruya didn’t trust anyone he couldn’t control.

Lost in thought, Eruya was a second late in noticing the Elf had stopped moving.

“Why did you stop? Keep going.”

“Aiieee... ah, I, I felt strong magic.”

“Magic?”

Eruya furrowed his brows as the Elf plucked up the courage to reply. He concentrated but felt nothing. The surroundings were silent, so quiet, in fact, that it made his head hurt. Though a genius swordsman, his magical abilities were mediocre.

“...I don’t feel anything.”

Normally, he would have simply punched her right in the face, but Elves had keener senses than wizards. She might have perceived something he hadn’t. To verify, he asked the two beside him:

“How about you lot?”

“Y-yes, I can feel it. There is also a sound coming from ahead.”

“It... it sounds like metal clashing against metal.”

“...Is that so.”

There was no way a strong magic signature along with metal clashing against eachother could occur naturally. In that case, it must surely have been made by someone. In other words, this might be the first fight since entering the tomb. As he thought of that, Eruya’s heart filled with excitement.

“We’re going to check it out.”

“Y... yes.”

He let the Elf lead the way as they followed the magic signature. Soon, Eruya heard the intense clanging of metal, accompanied by roars and shouts.

“Is that the sound of another team fighting? I didn’t think we crossed their path when we went forward, but it seems we’ve run into another team.”

What had been something like joy dampened in an instant, and Eruya sighed dejectedly.

“Oh well, forget it. We might be able to back them up and kill some monsters.”

Perhaps they were battling a formidable creature, and he could save them with his exceptional swordsmanship. This way, they would owe him a favor, and he could also spread his name to the other departments of the ministry. Eruya thought as he continued toward the source of the sounds.

When he turned the corner, Eruya saw a wide, spacious room, large enough for several dozen people to run around. Inside were ten lizard-like beings clad in exquisitely crafted armour, each wearing collars with broken chains dangling from them.

They swung their swords with mighty hacks, each met by an unhesitating parry. This scene repeated throughout the room. Upon Eruya and his team’s arrival, the lizardmen ceased their fighting, seemingly laying their conflict to rest upon seeing outsiders.

Apart from the Lizardmen, there was a gigantic fellow. He wielded a huge tower shield and wore black plate armour etched with blood vessel-like tracery, and one more person — or rather, one more creature. It was a massive magical beast with a coat of silver-white fur accentuated with a bulky dark armour, and intelligent-looking eyes hidden beneath a horned helmet, giving it an otherworldly appearance.

“So, thou hast come at last, intruder-dono.”

Talking magical beasts were often difficult opponents. While most relied on their physical strength, some intelligent ones could also wield magic.

“And you are?”

There was no need to bother. Its presence here implied it was the guardian of these ruins. The question now was how powerful this guardian was.

By the looks, it might even be the overseer of these ruins. In that case, killing this magical beast would be a great accomplishment, marking his team as the most outstanding among all other Departments. Since Tenbu was a one-man team consisting solely of Eruya, it would cement his status as the strongest wizard of all the ministry members gathered this time. Of course, luck played a crucial role in a wizard's success as well.

“Someone hath appointed me to face thee, and perform several tests at the same time... but given thy strength, I fear it is somewhat insufficient.”

Disappointment and frustration surged through his heart. The former was because the magical beast was simply a watchman, and the latter was because it had scorned him.

“You’re already looking down on me without even crossing blades with me? Oi!”

“Y-yes.”

The Elf shuddered as her master addressed her. Doing so filled Eruya with satisfaction. This was the sort of attitude that he was entitled to. Spending the past few days around Momon, a filthy half-breed who acted superior with just a bit more strength, had deeply displeased him. This eased the annoyance a little.

“What kind of creature is that?”

“I... I’m very, very sorry. I... haven’t heard of a magical beast like that before.”

“Cheh, you’re useless.”

He smashed the useless elf’s face with the hilt of his sword. The house-elf collapsed to the ground, shielding her face while frantically apologizing, but Eruya paid her no heed; instead, he examined the magical beast’s body.

The magical beast was quite large; fighting it head-on would be very unfavourable. However, magical beasts were generally very big, and Eruya had killed several before. The main issue was the mysterious armour this beast was donning.

The dark, intricately designed full-body armour gave this mythical creature the presence of an imposing warrior. Large, curved shoulder guards with spiked edges, added to that a helmet featuring horn-like protrusions, gave the onlookers a visual marvel of hulking strength and majesty. The silver and azure accents highlighted the detailed engravings and patterns, each inscribed with ancient runes that amplified its magical abilities and provided further defense.

As the mystical beast moved, the ancient runes on the brobdingnagian armour glowed faintly, a testament to the powerful magic they held, further enhancing its innate abilities. In this armour, it was not just a legendary beast but a nearly invincible force, ready to face any challenge that came its way.

An ordinary wizard would not have so readily recognized those mysterious symbols. However, Erya Uzruth was not an ordinary wizard. Hailing from an ancient wizarding family, Eruya had some knowledge of Ancient Magic. Mainly, that it could only be seen by those who had affinity for it, and dragons among other magical creatures could also wield it. Unfortunately, Eruya had no talent for it. At one point, he did try to research more about it when he was creating his Slave Mark, but it led to no fruition. 

Nonetheless, the knowledge gained is still coming in handy that this beast is an ancient creature, if its ability to speak is not an indication or its wisdom filled eyes…

Eruya was on his guard, but if he was too cautious and shrank from his foe, then he would be a coward.

“I have a question; what makes you think you can beat me?” Eruya sneered.

“Well, it’s obvious at a glance that you’re very weak...”

Eruya’s face twisted in anger, his grip on his sword tightening.

“...It seems those eyes of yours can’t see anything. How about I help you cut those useless eyes out of your head?”

“I pray thee spare me. Very well, my master hath ordered this one to slay thee here... so let us begin forthwith.”

The casualness of those words only fueled Eruya’s fury. He wanted to dispense with the pleasantries and start swinging, but if this was the beast’s ploy to provoke him into a reckless charge, then he might get the better of himself. Therefore, he swallowed his anger and snorted.

“Let’s do it, beast. You and me, one on one.”

"Not do battle alongside thee, will those Elves?"

“There’s no need. You should be having those Lizardmen behind...”

“Ah, they are not involved in this. The Lizardmen behind this one are merely to spectate the fight. Fret not about them.”

“So you’re throwing away your only chance of victory for nothing? How brave.”

“I thank thee for thy praise.”

Taunting the beast had proven futile; though it could speak, it seemed lacking in intelligence. Anticipating the battle ahead, Eruya had already ordered his elves to cast his family's secret art on him. Various spells to enhance his physical abilities, sharpen his blade, harden his skin, and heighten his senses had already been cast on him beforehand. 

This allowed him to enter the battle appearing as if he was relying solely on his own strength. There was no need for the elves to directly participate; maintaining the enchantments from a distance was sufficient. No one would notice unless they specifically probed for the hidden magic.

As Eruya pondered this, the creature’s whiskers quivered as it addressed him:

“That said, this one must slay thee without mercy, so this one desires that thou assault me with all thy might. After all, as this one hath said before, this is also a test for this one.”

“A test? For a watchdog?”

“Mm~ a test to see if this one’s warrior prowess hath improved. Alright, let us commence. This one shall not strike at the elves behind thee, but only at thy person.”

“Do what you want.”

“This one is known as Hamsuke! Remember the name of the one who claims thy life upon thy voyage to the next world! State thy name as well!”

“...Unfortunately, a mere beast like you doesn’t deserve to know my name.”

“Then this one shall erase you from my memory as a nameless fool, I shall!”

The massive beast charged at him with startling speed. Eruya could scarcely believe that something so large could move so fast. A less talented warrior might have been paralyzed by the sheer force bearing down on him, unable to avoid being crushed and suffering grievous wounds.

‘I’m not like those mooks,’ Eruya thought.

He waited until Hamsuke drew near, then in a split second, his body became enveloped in a translucent, ethereal aura.

{Swift Dash}

His robe billowed dramatically, as if caught in a sudden gust of wind. He performed a swift, graceful sidestep, his movements almost too fast for the eye to follow. The ground beneath him blurred, leaving behind a faint trail of magical energy that dissipated like mist. This trail, a mix of vibrant colours — primarily blues and purples, with occasional sparks of white light — added to the mystical effect.

As the dodge concluded, he reappeared a few feet away from his original position, the ethereal aura fading away. Eruya landed lightly on his feet, poised to counter. The entire motion was seamless, with no wasted effort, showcasing his mastery of this evasive manoeuvre.

This technique resembled {Apparate} but differed in that it activated more quickly, though it was only usable for teleporting for a short distance.

“Yeeart!” he jabbed his sword —

“—Guuwaaargh!”

But Hamsuke’s body caught up, his massive form suddenly crashed into him, shattering Eruya's stab and sending him flying. It felt incredibly hard. What looked like soft fur from the gaps between the armour was as hard as metal; to Eruya, it was like being struck by a wrecking ball. The impact blanked his mind out for a moment.

He crashed heavily to the ground, instinctively checking if he could still move. Although bruised and battered, his bones remained intact. He could still fight. However, the twin facts that he was rolling around on the ground and that he had disgracefully taken an attack from the enemy almost made him go berserk.

However, Eruya reprimanded himself; now was not the time to be thinking of that. As Eruya rose to his feet, he had already grasped Hamsuke’s position, and this time he pointed his sword forward, bracing himself to take his opponent’s charge. A slick fluid trickled from his nose — he wiped it with one hand, as expected, it was blood.

“Damn piece of shit...”

Hamsuke watched Eruya rise with calm eyes. The word “observing” would best describe the expression on its face. Those were not a wild beast’s eyes which said, “Can I eat this? Can I beat this?”, but a warrior’s eyes, attempting to determine the best tactics from their brief clash just now.

‘You’re using me as a touchstone for a magical beast’s growth as a warrior?!’

While it upset him, the sequence of events just now had forced him to acknowledge that his opponent was no mere beast. The attack just now had been a snap reaction to realizing that Eruya had circled around itself, a leaping tackle that had struck home. While the attack itself had not been that strong, the fact that it could respond immediately was surely due to training.

“I see... so if I keep fighting at a slow pace like this, I ought to be able to win… Ah, I pray thee pay it no heed. This one hath never before seen a human being who could overcome this one.”

“If you want to talk big, how about waiting until after you’ve seen this, huh? Unlike a mere beast, warriors can use Secret Arts!”

Eruya subtly signalled his slaves, who immediately channelled in more magic power. Mystical beasts were said to be highly attuned to fluctuations in mana, but this one seems to be dull in this regard.

‘Or— it might just be stupid.’

He thrust the sword in his hand. The blade felt light, and his movements were smooth, as though the weapon was an extension of his own will. Eruya smiled thinly; now it was his time to shine.

“Umu, this one remembers that one should keep a distance when one cannot gauge an opponent’s strength, right? But this one must also face battle as a warrior... alas, it cannot be helped.”

Hamsuke used two legs to walk over, step by step, until it was before Eruya’s eyes.

“This one wishes to fight in close quarters; wilt thou accede to this one’s request?”

“Don’t look down on me, beast.”

The moment it entered his attack radius, Eruya swung at his foe.

Hamsuke used its sharp claws to fend off the sword strikes that had been made with the aid of an augmented body. No, it tried to fend it off, but it had not succeeded completely. The blade had run over its arm. However, the force of the blow had been dissipated, and it could not tear through its sturdy armour and slice open the hide beneath.

Eruya did not pull his sword back but thrust at Hamsuke’s eyes. The eyes were the weakest part for most magical beasts; even a dragon could not resist the {Conjunctivitis Curse} , which caused irritation in the eyes, much less this giant rodent whose only defensive ability was its ancient armour.

But Hamsuke wasn’t about to let that strike land. The beast’s body whirled, and as it evaded the thrusting blade, its tail ripped through the air and struck at Eruya. He managed to block the blow with his sword, but the impact numbed his arm.

“Gwaargh!”

Hamsuke’s body once more became a spinning blur in his field of vision, signalling another tail strike. Anticipating the attack, Eruya leapt back. He had roughly grasped the length of the tail; after the tail passed by, he would use {Swift Dash} to charge back into close quarters with the enemy. Just as it was about to flash past his eyes, the tail suddenly stopped.

“Hnggg!”

It was a feint. Hamsuke used the moment to regain its balance, retracting its tail. Eruya frowned, realizing he had lost his chance to close the gap. The tail’s movements were completely different from those of the body. It was not a rat’s tail, but a serpentine tail like that of a Chimera; it could move independently.

“So its tail can move freely — is that it?”

Eruya altered the information on Hamsuke in his head as he rushed into its embrace. Hamsuke had been waiting for this, and it responded to the attack. Blade and claw crossed, sending droplets of blood flying through the air — Eruya’s blood.

Hamsuke could attack with both sets of claws, and so he could strike more frequently than Eruya, who only had one sword. Close combat was not favourable to him. His bodily attributes might have been improved, but Hamsuke was still superior. In that case —

He used {Swift Dash} to retreat.

“Umu...”

Hamsuke didn’t pursue, so Eruya took the opportunity to raise his sword and swing it down forcefully.

“ {Diffindo} !!”

His slash ripped through the air towards Hamsuke. The beast braced itself, covering its face as the runecraft™ armour deflected the cutting strike.

Eruya’s rapier was a family heirloom made of Goblin Metal. After his family fell to ruin, he fused it with his wand, which became the sword's hilt. This fusion allowed him to channel magic through the blade, enabling him to cast spells in situations like this.

The Severing Charm travelled a long distance, its power undiminished. Though, it would be very hard to strike a mortal blow. However—

“So you can’t block this, can you? This is the difference between a man and a mere beast.”

“What a headache this is...” Hamsuke muttered.

He kept on using {Diffindo} , but Hamsuke’s armour was very hard, so breaking through its protection would surely be very difficult. That was why he had to keep casting spells on its face, which ought to be the least protected.

Hamsuke remained in place, shielding its face with its forelegs, and spoke through the small gaps between its fingers.

“Wait!”

“Begging for mercy? An animal is an animal, after all.”

"No—advised my master never to let mine enemy take the upper hand. Keeping distance thou art, then in I charge and close the gap, that I shall!"

“[Enhanced Magic Resistance]!”

“[Greater Hide Reinforcement]!”

“[Everlasting Fortress]!”  

As Hamsuke chanted, its body began to glow with mystical lights. Removing its claws that were hiding its face, it now stood in full glory as the horned helmet gave it a majestic presence.

Eruya quickly fired a {Combat Bolt} at its face, but the spell bounced off an invisible barrier.

“Ahhhh, how annoying! This one shall come at thee!”

“Bring it.”

Even though Eruya said that, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He didn’t understand what kind of power that beast had activated. Well, obviously humans wouldn’t be able to understand a beast’s mystical abilities… that said, Hamsuke was now able to defend against his spell barrage.

‘It lacks ranged attacks, so its options are limited. It ought to be charging over now!’

Given Hamsuke’s powerful armour, landing a fatal blow with {Diffindo} was already difficult. Now, Eruya had no choice but to rely on his Goblin Metal sword and face the beast in direct combat.

When Hamsuke charged, it did so like a beast, sticking out its face. Though that horned helmet was something to look out for, Eruya readied himself with a ¹ {Stesso Tempo} . His plan was simple: keep attacking Hamsuke’s face until victory was assured.

He swung his blade, which hummed through the air. The blade moved faster than usual. This time, he was certain that he was on an even footing with his opponent; perhaps even faster than it.

“Humans and beasts have always been separated by the difference in their physical attributes! I’ve made up for that difference!”

“This one originally intended to end this in melee combat, if thou canst fight on even terms, it would please this one.”

“Bullshit!”

Eruya charged forward, intent on using the power suffusing his form to crush his foe in a single, decisive blow and keep the creature from spouting more nonsense. With {Swift Dash} , he closed the distance and used ² {Imbroccata} to suppress his opponent.

“Take this!”

With a mighty cry, he plunged his sword down with all his might. If the creature’s armour was thick, then he would simply have to thrust harder to pierce through it.

His blade, driven with all his might—

“[Slashing Strike]!”

A slashing attack from above connected with his arms. Something spun through the air, then landed heavily on the ground. He heard the ear-piercing sound of metal and a sound like a wet sack splattering on the ground. Eruya couldn’t comprehend it. His arms—which had still been holding his sword just now—had vanished.

Even as blood spurted from the severed stumps in time with his heartbeat, he could not accept reality. Agony surged up from his mutilated arms. Some distance away, his arms fell to the ground, still clutching the sword. Only after seeing that fact did Eruya finally grasp what had just happened. He stumbled back from Hamsuke and screeched:

“My arms, my aaaarrrrmmmms! Heal... heal me, hurry up and heal me! Hurry!”

The Elves did not move.

The silent glee of the tormented lit up their clouded eyes.

“Marvelous! A resounding success! This one just learned a new martial art! Now Milord shall surely lavish praise upon this one!”

“Aiiiiiieeeee!” Eruya wailed hoarsely. 

In this world filled with Dark Wizards and powerful mystical creatures, pain was a constant companion for those in the Ministry, especially those in the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Eruya had experienced many forms of pain. He had been struck by lightning, burned with fire, frozen by cold, his bones had been broken, he had been mauled, slashed, and bludgeoned, but through it all, he had never lost his weapon. That was only common sense; in this world, for a wizard, dropping one’s wand equaled death. No, he was confident that as long as he held his sword, he could overcome any challenge.

And in this moment, his self-confidence was shattered. This was the first time in his life Eruya had taken such a devastating blow.

“My arms! Hurry!”

Fresh blood kept spraying, and his body started turning cold and heavy from the blood loss. 

As they heard Eruya’s pitiful screams, the Elves smiled.

Just as Eruya was at a loss to describe the emotions bursting in his heart, a voice bearing a hint of kindness reached his ears.

“My thanks to thee! This one does not delight in tormenting others, so I shall dispatch thee forthwith.”

There was a whoosh. A moment later, something struck Eruya’s face. The pain was so intense that he even forgot about his arms, as though his entire being had been shattered. That was the last burst of agony Eruya would ever experience.

Chapter Text

The air crackled, and Hekkeran felt a magic circle activate under his feet. In the next moment, the intrepid Foresight team found themselves ensconced in an inescapable azure glow. The world around them shifted, as if the veils of reality had been deftly rearranged.

“Be careful! Stay alert!...?”

Although the Ghouls had vanished and the surroundings were different, they were still on edge from the battle. Even so, after such an unexpected occurrence, it was no surprise that they were dumbfounded for a few moments. Hekkeran shook his head, regaining his focus. The most basic thing he had to do—although learning about their current situation was also important—was to ensure the safety of his comrades.

Imina, Arche, and Roberdyck.

All the other members of Foresight had maintained their formation as the magic circle activated, and nobody was missing. After mutually confirming that they were all safe and sound, the four of them continued observing their surroundings.

This place was a wide corridor, dimly lit and with a high ceiling. Even a Giant could walk freely through here. The flickering flames of faraway torches provided unsteady illumination, and in their light the long shadows seemed to dance. Along the tunnel and ahead of them was some kind of latticed gate, like a portcullis. Rays of white, magical light shone through the gaps in its surface.

Behind them, the path stretched into darkness, and along the way, several doors opening into the corridor could be seen, lit up by torches. With everyone remaining quiet, only the crackling of the torches could be heard. In any event, they did not seem to be in any danger of being attacked immediately. After they realized this, their tension eased.

“Although I don’t know where this place is, it has a completely different atmosphere to what we’ve seen up until now.”

The style of this place was completely different to the tomb they had just left. In fact, signs of civilization could be seen here. The members of Foresight surveyed their surroundings, and whilst they were trying to grasp where this place was, only Arche’s attitude was different from the rest.

“—This place is...”

Keenly perceiving the meaning behind the words, Hekkeran asked Arche:

“Do you know? Or perhaps you have a clue?”

“—I know of a similar place. The Roman Empire’s Colosseum.”

“Ah... indeed, you are right.”

“That means the arena should be behind that.”

Roberdyck pointed towards the latticed gate.

“That should be the case... then being teleported to this place means that... is that what it is?”

They were to fight in an arena. Although, they had no idea who or what might be waiting for them.

“—It’s dangerous. I didn’t see any Portkey and being able to teleport without any discomfort has only been heard of in stories. This site must have been constructed by someone with unimaginable skill in magic. It’s not favourable for us to accept the opponent’s invitation. I suggest we proceed in the opposite direction.”

“But, if we accepted the opponent’s invitation, don’t you think there might be a path to survival? Wouldn’t rejecting the invitation antagonize the other side?”

“Both sides seem dangerous. Rober, what do you think?”

“There’s a case to be made for both arguments. But I have some doubts about what Arche-san has said. Is this really a trap? Could it be that they’re just using something created by an unknown third party?”

They looked at each other and exhaled in unison. There was no point in staying here and discussing the matter further. They did not have enough information and their opinions did not match, but they had to make a decision right now.

“—What Rober said makes sense. Who knows, maybe this was done by him.”

“Ah. You mean that person is trying to contact us?”

“...I see. Then I’m in favour of heading out to the arena. In any case, since we were brought here by a trap, they would not allow us to escape.”

In response to Roberdyck’s statement, everyone nodded, gathered up their determination, and began moving. When they approached the gate, it rose upward with impressive speed, as though it had been waiting for them all this time. The first thing they saw as they entered the arena were rows upon rows of audience seats around the colosseum.

The structure was no less impressive than the one in Rome. In fact, it might have been even more so, given that it was covered in lanterns enchanted with {Lumos} , which lit the grounds up as brightly as if it were the day. Everyone in Foresight was astonished, especially when they glimpsed the audience above them. This was because sitting there were innumerable clay figures, the dolls known as Golems.

{Piertotum Locomotor} 

This was a charm used to bring life to those artifacts that had, previously, been inanimate and unmoving. The target’s movements could be controlled by the caster of the charm. Without the need for food or sleep, and immune to fatigue and even the ravages of time, they were treasured as guardians and labourers. They were valuable constructs, and this arena seemed to be overflowing with them.

Even if the entire Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes came here, controlling this vast army of golems would be an impossible task. To Hekkeran, it spoke of how strong the people behind all of this were. It can’t possibly be done by a single wizard. The members of Foresight looked briefly at each other’s faces, as though they had already come here many times before, and then they walked silently towards the centre of the arena.

“Outside?”

In response to Imina’s voice, they looked up, and saw the night sky. The surrounding illumination was strong and eclipsed the light of the stars, but even so, there was no doubt that this arena was open to the night sky.

“Were we teleported outside?”

“Then, we could summon our brooms to escape—”

“TOOOOOH!”

A figure jumped from the balcony of the VIP box, in time with the voice that had interrupted Arche’s words.

The figure somersaulted in mid-air as it descended from a height that seemed roughly equivalent to a six-story building, making people wonder if it might have wings as it gracefully landed upon the ground. There was no magic at work there, only pure physical prowess. Even Hekkeran had his breath taken away by the perfection of the movement.

The figure absorbed the impact with a mere flexing of its knees and smiled radiantly. Before them stood a young house elf. Seeing the dark elf, Imina let out a gasp of surprise.

“—Ah!”

Imina had never seen an elf so beautiful before. With an androgynous appeal that blended the charm of both boy and girl, the little elf smiled as brightly as the sun. His long ears twitching slightly amidst the golden, silky strands of his hair that cascaded like a waterfall. His striking azure eyes sparkled with a mischievous yet commanding light, and he exuded an aura of youthful exuberance and formidable power, making his presence truly mesmerizing.

His attire was a stark contrast to that of a typical house-elf. The dark elf was dressed in a suit of tight-fitting, light leather armour, crafted from jet black and deep crimson dragon scales. Over this, he wore a white vest embroidered with golden threads, bearing an emblem sewn onto the breast. The craftsmanship of his clothing was exquisite, befitting the prestige and wealth of his master. Even Arche felt a pang of embarrassment, realizing that the elf’s attire was more splendid than that of most noble wizards.

The members of Foresight couldn’t help but compare him to the house-elves they knew—diminutive, humble creatures dressed in simple, often ragged garments. House-elves were known for their intense loyalty to their masters, a loyalty so profound that they would not accept freedom unless presented with clothes by their master. This loyalty compelled them to perform their duties to the utmost of their abilities. Yet, even the most content house-elf would not possess a smile like this.

The elf’s smile was effulgent, exuding a joy and freedom that seemed almost otherworldly. This was not the smile of a slave, bound by duty and servitude. It was the unrestrained, jubilant smile of a being living life to its fullest, unburdened by care.

The stark contrast between this boy and a house-elf was evident not only in their attire but also in their demeanour. The elf’s presence was commanding and radiant. In contrast, a house-elf, despite their loyalty and dedication, would carry an air of subservience and humility.

As the members of Foresight stood before this radiant figure, they realized that they were in the presence of a being of extraordinary power and grace, a true embodiment of the grandeur and mystery of this enigmatic place.

“—The challengers have arrived!”

The boy’s voice, amplified by the rod-like object he held, echoed throughout the arena. His bright and cheerful tone seemed incongruous with the gravity of the situation, yet it resonated with an undeniable authority. The very ground beneath their feet trembled and shuddered in response to his proclamation.

As the members of Foresight looked around, they noticed that the previously motionless golems were now stomping on the ground, creating a cacophony of noise. The rhythmic pounding reverberated through the arena, adding to the surreal and intimidating atmosphere.

“The challengers are four reckless fools who have invaded the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick! And, facing them is the Child of Prophecy, the one guided by the Supreme King of Death, Harry! Potter!”

The portcullis on the opposite side of the arena rose upwards at the same time as the Dark Elf’s voice rang out. From the darkness of the path beyond, another child stepped into the light. Not a House-Elf, but a human child.

The first thing that caught everyone’s attention were his eyes—emerald green and vivid, glowing with an inner light. These eyes, so strikingly similar to his mother’s, held a depth of emotion and power that was unmistakable. They drew the gaze of all who beheld him.

He was dressed in a finely tailored, dark suit made of luxurious materials, with subtle magical enhancements woven into the fabric. The suit’s design was elegant yet practical, allowing for ease of movement in both formal settings and combat scenarios. The dark hues of his attire contrasted sharply with the healthy radiance of his skin.

Harry’s physique was lean but muscular, honed by rigorous training in both physical combat and magical arts. His movements were graceful and steady, exuding confidence and authority. His face appeared refined and composed, with an air of mystery and power.

Around his neck was a collar with a broken chain dangling from it, the ends waggling in the air. The collar, though seemingly ordinary, added an unsettling element to his appearance, making it seem as though he were enslaved.

As he stepped into the arena, the air around him seemed to hum with latent magical energy. He carried no visible weapons, but the aura of power that surrounded him was unmistakable. The challengers could sense that they were facing a formidable opponent, one whose abilities and strength were beyond ordinary comprehension.

The arena quaked with stomping, as if to welcome the debut of this new entrant, before turning into thunderous applause. It was a reception befitting the arrival of a champion.

The young boy reached the centre of the arena amidst the thunderous applause from the surrounding Golems. He bowed politely towards the VIP Box, and it was then that Hekkeran noticed who stood there.

The figure was imposing and otherworldly. A skeletal being, draped in a robe-like vestment that flowed with an eerie grace. Crimson radiance flickered within the eye sockets of the white skull, casting an ominous glow. The Undead Monarch stood with an air of absolute authority. His presence was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a testament to his immense power.

The Skeletal Overlord waved his hand before them. The movement looked as if he was wiping something away. The sounds disappeared. In an instant, the golems’ movements stopped, and the almost painful silence returned.

“Welcome to Nazarick,” the Undead King intoned, his voice resonating as he scrutinized the intruders with a calm, calculating gaze. “You have trespassed upon sacred ground, and for that, you must face the consequences.”

Hekkeran, the leader of Foresight, tightened his grip on his sword, his eyes narrowing with determination. “We mean no harm. We were investigating anomalies and were brought here against our will.”

“Intentions matter little in this place. Only actions and their repercussions.”

With a simple, dismissive gesture, the Sovereign of Death signalled the start of the battle. The air grew tense as he returned to his seat, his gaze never leaving the intruders.

Realizing that reasoning with the skeletal figure was futile, Hekkeran shifted his focus to the boy standing before them. “You… you’re Harry Potter, aren’t you? We’ve come here to find you… to rescue you.”

Harry’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and sorrow. “Save me? Where were you when I needed saving all those years back? Where were you when Voldemort came to kill me? When he brutally murdered my parents?”

A gasp escaped from one of Hekkeran’s female companions at the mention of the One who cannot be named. A shiver running down his own spine.

Hekkeran took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “Harry, you don’t understand. You’ve been manipulated, bewitched. This place, these people—they’ve twisted your mind.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his emerald gaze piercing through Hekkeran. “Manipulated? Twisted? You have no idea what you’re talking about. Here, I’ve found people who truly care about me.”

Desperation edged into Hekkeran’s voice as he tried a different approach. “Harry, think about your past. The life you were meant to have.(1) This place—it’s not your home.”

For a fleeting moment, Harry’s expression wavered, softening. But in the blink of an eye, his face hardened again. “My past? My life was taken from me the night my parents died. Here, I’ve found a new purpose—a new family.”

Hekkeran pressed on, knowing his time was running out. “But this… this isn’t real. They’re using you, Harry. Just look at what they’ve done—”

His eyes flicked towards the collar around Harry’s neck. Almost instinctively, Harry’s hand brushed against it. “This collar isn’t what you think. It’s not for you to understand.”

Hekkeran shook his head, frustration evident in his eyes. “Harry, please. We’re here to help you. You don’t have to fight us.”

Harry’s stance shifted, his body tensing in preparation for the inevitable confrontation. “I don’t need your help. If you want to leave here alive, you’ll have to prove your strength.”

With that, the tension in the arena reached its peak. The members of Foresight readied themselves for battle, knowing that words had failed and only actions remained.

“If you are not going to come,” Harry declared, his voice resolute and cold, “then I will.”

With a fluid motion, Harry conjured a resplendent white knight’s sword and a pristine white heater shield from thin air. The sword gleamed with an ethereal light, and the shield bore intricate runes that pulsed with latent power.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he invoked the [Lesser Vidyārāja Strike] , a formidable technique imparted by his master uncle. The air around him crackled with energy as he unleashed the devastating attack.

Sensing imminent danger, Hekkeran’s instincts screamed at him to evade. Unwilling to risk direct confrontation, with a snap of concentration, he swiftly utilized {Apparate} , vanishing from sight and reappearing behind Harry in a burst of displaced air.

However, Harry, ever vigilant, with a subtle gesture, he silently casts [Delay Teleportation] , warping the spell and dragging Hekkeran’s reappearance out of sync.

Sensing the magical distortion behind him, Harry deftly laid down [Drifting Lesser Mines] in his wake and retreated to a safer distance. The mines hovered ominously, ready to detonate at the slightest provocation.

The other members of Foresight, realizing the peril, sprang into action, hurling spells like {Confundo} , {Stupefy} , and {Flipendo} , their intent clear—to subdue Harry with minimal harm. Each spell was cast with precision, aiming to disorient and subdue rather than kill.

In response, Harry raised his shield and invoked [Lesser Veil of Moon] , a defensive spell that enveloped him in an immaterial magical barrier. The barrier shimmered like moonlight as the oncoming spells flickered and faded out of existence before they even managed to touch Harry.

Hekkeran, now emerging from his delayed Apparition, felt a surge of life-threatening danger.

Acting on pure instinct, he triggered his Animagus transformation. His body began to shift, muscles rippling and expanding, bones realigning with a rapid series of cracks. His skin darkened as a sleek coat of blonde fur sprouted, adorned with rosettes as dark as the night itself. A striking tuft of red fur appeared near his forehead, a vivid streak that mirrored the highlights of his human hair. His eyes glowed an intense blue, now sharp and predatory.

With a powerful leap, the transformed jaguar tried to escape the trap. His feline agility propelled him forward, but he wasn’t quick enough. 

BOOOM!!  

The explosion erupted just as he took off, the intense force of the magical blast propelling him through the air but also searing his side. The blast burned deep, and he crashed heavily onto all fours, blood matting his fur. The pain was excruciating, but his senses were sharper than ever before as his azure eyes blazed with a fierce, unyielding light.

The explosion’s aftermath rumbled across the arena, leaving scorch marks on the stone and stirring the air with an acrid scent.

“Hekkeran!” Imina cried out in alarm, her voice breaking through the din as she saw her comrade in peril.

Harry’s eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and disdain. “An Animagus, I see? Perhaps the Ministry has more tricks up its sleeve than I gave it credit for,” he remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

As Harry moved to finish the job, his blade gleaming dangerously, the rest of Foresight leapt into action, determined to protect their fallen comrade.

“{Protego}, {Arresto Momentum}, {Depulso}!” The spells flew from their wands, shimmering barriers and bursts of force manifesting between Harry and Hekkeran. Yet Harry surged forward, brushing aside the defensive magic with chilling ease.

“{Glacius}!” Arche shouted, conjuring an enormous ice wall that formed instantly in front of Harry. Imina, quick to follow, encased him in a massive shimmering bubble with {Ebublio} , while Roberdyck scattered a handful of seeds onto the ground, chanting {Herbivicus} . In an instant, the seeds erupted into Chomping Cabbages and Venomous Tentacula, their leafy maws snapping and writhing as they lunged at Harry.

Seizing a moment of respite, Robberdick hurried to Hekkeran's side, casting healing spells. “Just what kind of Protective Charm does he have?” He asked befuddled. No matter the type of spell they ditched out, nothing worked on the boy.

“I don’t know. However, those runes…” Arche pointed to the shield glowing with arcane incantation. “I think that artifact possesses Ancient Magic.”

Harry, bursting through the bubble, obliterated the rampaging flora with a devastating swipe of his sword. Shattering the ice wall, he emerged unscathed, pressing forward with relentless determination, he confronted them once more.

“{Accio},” “{Expelliarmus},” “{Locomotor Wibbly}!”

The members of Foresight launched their attacks. Hekkeran, his wounds mended enough for him to rejoin the fray, lunged forward. His was a frightening speed that shrunk the distance between him and his foes to nothing in an instant. Counting on his beastly strength, he followed with a grand strike downwards using his sharp claws—an attack with great destructive power, capable of killing anything it struck.

‘Taking this would be very dangerous, especially for an eleven-year-old,’ Hekkeran reasoned as his claws descended like a decree. Knowing a hard block would turn this into a contest of power, he believed the boy would be overwhelmed by his beastly strength. The two claws inscribed gleaming arcs in the air as they scissored toward Harry’s head.

“Hnh!”

Harry interposed his pristine shield in the path of the claws, stopping them cold. While most would falter, deeming it impossible, the boy managed the feat effortlessly. The clash sent shockwaves through the arena.

Hekkeran, despite his astonishment, remained composed. Realizing he had to act quickly, he grabbed the shield with his paws, attempting to pry it away with brute force. But, Harry retaliated with his sword sweeping towards Hekkeran’s throat. The jaguar-man leaped away in a panic, feeling the wind from the blade’s passing as it sheared through his fur. The narrow escape sent chills racing down his spine.

“This way!” Imina conjured and launched two arrows from her wand. Because she had cried out, it was no sneak attack ; Harry casually avoided the projectiles .

But in that fleeting moment of distraction, Hekkeran charged forward again. With immense strength, he slammed into Harry; intent to knock him off balance . However, Harry stood his ground, deftly parrying the blow. 

He swung his sword as to not miss this prime chance for a counterattack again, only to lose his foothold when the ground beneath him got a hole blasted to it.

“{Deprimo}!!” — “{Apparate}!!” Hekkeran was quickly teleported out of the sword’s way.

“This isn’t working,” Imina murmured, worry etched on her face. Hekkeran knew that this stalemate couldn’t continue. At this rate, casualties were inevitable. They needed stronger spells, even if it endangered Harry’s life. They can’t let their own comrades die.

Hekkeran met her gaze, understanding the gravity of her words. “Alright,” he agreed, determination hardening his expression.

He leaped forward, mouth wide open to bite Harry’s hand off while Arche hurled {Combat Bolt} .

“Child’s play.” Harry didn’t even bother looking at Arche. The bolt of light flickered and faded out of existence before it even managed to touch him. Arche's shock was palpable.

—Well it certainly is a child’s play for this boy… Hekkeran thought.

Noticing something, Imina frowned and cast the Arrow Shooting Spell again. In response, Harry’s shield whirled in a deadly arc, deflecting the arrows while continuing onto a brutal bash against Hekkeran’s face.

The Animagus decided to turn this into an opportunity, making his move. He aimed his claws at Harry’s belly, reasoning that the bulk of the shield would create a blind spot in the defense. However, Harry easily swept his claws aside with a splendid manoeuvre of his sword.

—He saw through it! 

His eyes followed the wall-like shield as it approached, and he barely evaded the blow by the skin of his teeth—and then a [Heel Drop Kick] came at him. 

Hekkeran pounced back as the weight of this crushing blow was comparable to an object weighing several tons, forming a small crater.

Confirming her hypothesis, Imina nodded to her comrades. If magical attacks didn’t work then they just have to deal out physical blows.

“{Aqua Eructo}!” Arche shouted, sending a powerful jet of water surging from her wand. Roberdyck summoned more of his plant army, vines and snapping vegetation growing rapidly to ensnare Harry. Imina loosed arrow after arrow, numerous enough to make any Appleby Arrows fan envious. As Hekkeran moved behind Harry in this moment of overwhelming attacks.

Harry, his lips curling into a scornful smirk, raised his shield once more. “[Lesser Wall of Jericho],” he commanded, summoning a crystalline barrier to form around him. The barrier shimmered with an impenetrable brilliance, and none of the spells, arrows, or verdure made so much as a crack on it.

Stunned, Hekkeran quickly backed off as Harry stabbed his sword where he had been just moments ago.

X

Ainz leaned forward slightly, his skeletal visage unreadable to most, but a glint in his eye conveyed an unusual intensity. Watching Harry face the party below, he was gripped by a flicker of genuine concern, masked behind the calm façade only his closest allies could discern.

‘These guys are… good,’ he thought, replaying the conversation they’d had earlier. ‘It might’ve even fooled me if that man claimed about him having permission from one of my friends… Is Harry truly alright?' A cascade of alarm bells went off in his skull.

Perceiving the subtle shift in her master’s demeanour, Albedo leaned closer, her voice laced with a softness reserved only for him. “Is everything to your satisfaction, my lord?”

“Umu…” Ainz responded, steadying his tone. “Harry has indeed grown—not only in strength but also in his resolve.”

Beside her, Cocytus nodded, his mandibles clicking with approval. “Indeed. Ainz. Sama. Harry. Has. Shown. Immense. Potential. His. Spirit. Is. That. Of. A. True. Warrior. Resolute. And. Fearless. Following. The. Teachings. Of. The. Supreme. One. I. Anticipate. That. His. Future. Will. Hold. Greatness.”

Mare shifted nervously but chimed in, “Yes, Ainz-sama. Harry has learned so much from us. He’s even managed to acquire those… Lesser classes that are new to us.”

The “Lesser classes” were an unexpected discovery in this world—a deviation from the high-tier job classes of Yggdrasil. Though weaker than their original counterparts, they required fewer prerequisites to obtain and opened up new possibilities for the Great Tomb of Nazarick. With these, Nazarick could potentially enhance its forces in novel ways.

Demiurge tilted his head thoughtfully, his glasses glinting in the light. “A pity he cannot acquire Racial Skills in the same way. However, with Ancient Magic, he may still unlock new skills, perhaps even something akin to [Aspect of the Devil] . This world has shown that transformation into varied forms is possible—even into objects as mundane as chickens or exploding barrels.”

Shalltear smirked, crossing her arms. “He already mastered my trump card, though.”

“Wasn’t that just an adaptation of a native spell from this world?” Aura interjected, raising a brow.

Their discussion continued as they continued to observe the spectacle. Despite their praise, the battle dragged on longer than expected.

X

“ {Lumos Maxima} !!”

A brilliant flare of light burst in front of Harry. Whether he resisted it or not, the spell would blind him momentarily. Yet, for him, it seemed utterly pointless, serving only to rouse a flicker of irritation.

“Interfering busybodies!” Harry clicked his tongue at Hekkeran, who had closed the gap thanks to his Beastly strength and dexterity.

“— {Bombarda} !”

“ {Herbifors} !”

Arche and Roberdyck support spells interfered again. Having evaded Hekkeran’s attack and deflected his claws, Harry was about to riposte once more when another arrow flew into his face.

“...Hmph!”

The casual ease with which Harry evaded the arrow by simply turning his face was truly befitting a champion.

Hekkeran used the brief opening made by the support fire to back away, sweat coursing down his body from the brief but intense combat.

‘To think that a mere child could wield such monstrous power… and with such precision!’ The thought gnawed at Hekkeran as he clenched his claws tighter. Only Merlin knew what trials this young boy experienced to gain such combat skills. 

Harry’s combat prowess was nothing short of prodigious. His technique was flawless, his awareness razor-sharp. Every feint was read, every strike countered with almost mechanical efficiency. Combined with his uncanny shield spells, it was close to a miracle for them to still be alive. 

But there was a reason they could stand toe-to-toe with a being like this. That reason was teamwork. It was precisely because they had walked the edge of life and death together, and were intimately aware of what each of the others was thinking, that they could move and act like a single organism.

It was this unity that allowed them to stand against the boy who vanished, Harry Potter. A faint smile lifted the corner of Hekkeran’s mouth. Until now, Harry had been untouched. Certainly, he was very strong. But he was not invincible. With this conviction in his heart, he swung his twin claws.

Hekkeran’s claws struck, the fastest his augmented body could produce, was deflected by the white heater shield. The arrow flying in was interdicted by the white knight sword. Arche and Roberdyck made use of this opening to hurl a few more spells.

Ever since Harry had clicked his tongue, his hostility toward them had been rapidly weakening. After considering whether or not to press the attack, Hekkeran decided to back down and calm his frenzied breathing.

In fact, Harry was having the time of his life. From his earliest memories, he had lived within the depths of Nazarick. The only faces he knew belonged to its denizens, with rare exceptions—new servants who pledged themselves to the Tomb, who were also one of the only few sources of glimpses to the outside world. The other being the stories he heard from Lupusregina-san and the Mirror of Remote Viewing which he was allowed to use occasionally when he made great achievements in his training or studying. 

Now, he stood against true outsiders, foes who challenged him directly. Even though they were enemies, this encounter thrilled him. Most of all…

Ainz-sama was watching. Harry could feel his master’s gaze from the VIP box. Every strike, every move was a silent declaration of his progress, a chance to prove his worth.

As Hekkeran pulled back, Harry cast a fleeting glance toward the box. His heart leapt, hoping to find approval in Ainz’s expression. But instead, his eyes met Albedo Sama’s stern, piercing gaze—a silent rebuke that froze him mid-step.

Harry straightened his posture, exhaling softly. A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips as he assumed a composed, gentlemanly stance.

“Alright… Playtime is over. I guess~ ” 

A ball of silvery white light coalesced in front of Harry, which slowly shaped itself into a humanoid form.

“I-Is that a Patronus?”

The Patronus Charm— {Expecto Patronum} —stood as one of the most formidable defensive spells in wizardkind’s arsenal. A manifestation of pure positive energy, it was a spell of such complexity that even seasoned wizards faltered in its execution. It repelled Dementors and Lethifolds, creatures that otherwise had no true countermeasure.

“A corporeal Patronus at that…!”

Unlike its lesser counterpart, which appeared as an indistinct mist, a corporeal Patronus took a solid, tangible form, capable of driving away even the most fearsome of dark entities. But this—this was unlike any Patronus they had ever seen.

“But… Why does it look like Harry? Or… is it his father?”

However, what Harry used was a little different from the Patronus Charm the members of Foresight knew. The spell had been modified to summon a construct-type avatar almost identical to the caster. This was one of Shalltear's trump cards, [Einherjar] a skill belonging to the job class: Valkyrie.

“It’s here! It’s finally here~!” Shalltear squealed.

The white light fully resolved itself into the shape of a person. If one ignored the bleached-white suit and the glowing skin, it was the spitting image of Harry.

Despite all things he witnessed today, Hekkeran still couldn’t believe such a young child could produce a patronus. As a result, the charging Einherjar landed a solid hit on him.

“Guwaaargh!”

The bright, silvery, translucent being continued attacking, the blows knocking Hekkeran back.

Forced back by the continuous string of attacks, Hekkeran failed to notice that Harry, now free of annoyance, discharged a third-tier attack spell, [Fireball] at his comrades.

“ {Protego} !” The fireball flew over and burst forth onto the invisible shield. The charm protecting its caster from harm's way, if only for a second. 

As the eruption of the massive blaze died down, out of the dissipating flames emerged Harry using [ Dimensional Move] .

“You didn’t think I could use Teleportation as well. Did you~?”

A spectral fog, dark and writhing, enshrouded his right hand— [Touch of Undeath] .

With a seamless fluidity, Harry shifted his stance, executing an [Acupoint Palm Strike] , the same technique Sebas had drilled into him. His palm connected with Imina’s chest.

A blast of sickly black energy erupted outward in a violent, concussive shockwave engulfing everything in its path. 

Imina hurtled backward as though struck by a titan’s fist, colliding with Roberdyck in a tangle of limbs before both crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Hekkeran reacted instantly, attempting to {Apparate} away from the spectral construct to reach his fallen comrades.

But Harry raised a hand.

[Lesser Dimension Lock]

The teleportation spell fizzled out before it could take effect.

Hekkeran’s eyes widened in alarm, forced instead to dodge as the Einherjar closed in with another lethal blow.

Harry did not let the opening go to waste.

Twin circles of shimmering light formed in the air before him. [Twin Magic Arrows] . Another pair followed immediately. [Twin Lesser Magic Seal Release] .

A volley of radiant projectiles streaked through the air, each arrow seeking its mark.

Arche barely had time to raise her wand. The first struck. The second. The third.

Her body seized, the last of her breath escaping in a strangled gasp before she collapsed, her limbs splaying lifelessly against the bloodstained ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Hekkeran let out a furious roar. His boots struck the spectral shield of the Patronus, using it as a launchpad to propel himself forward, toward his fallen teammates.

Harry did not stop him.

He only watched as the last standing member of Foresight gathered towards his fallen friends.

The moment Hekkeran met his gaze, he understood.

This was the end.

All the members of his team were here. Unlike previously where everyone was spread out, kiting Harry from one place to another using Apparate , looking for the briefest opportunity to strike him, now they were all gathered here with no means to escape with two of his comrades down even if he could dodge whatever attack Harry was going to dish out, his friends will die surely. 

Hekkeran readied himself becoming a living shield for his friends.

As Harry activated the Ancient Magic, his sword flared with an intense, bright light, casting dramatic shadows around the arena. The air around him crackled with energy, and a low, thunderous rumble resonated, signaling the impending storm.

Harry lifted his sword high, and from the tip, a bolt of pure, crackling lightning shot upward, piercing the sky. The bolt split into multiple tendrils of electric energy, each arcing and dancing with unpredictable intensity. The entire scene was bathed in a stark, blue-white glow, illuminating the surroundings with a blinding brilliance.

In an instant, the lightning tendrils converged on the team with a deafening crash, striking with pinpoint precision. The impact created a spectacular explosion of light and energy, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Sparks flew and the ground shook as the members of Foresight were engulfed in the electrical onslaught, their form outlined by the searing lightning. 

The intense heat and energy left scorch marks on the ground, and the air was filled with the sharp scent of ozone. As the lightning dissipated, no trace of the brave wizards remained. Harry lowered his sword, its glow fading as the ancient magic settled.

X

A few days later...

After suffering catastrophic casualties—where not a single witch or wizard returned from the accursed subterranean vault—the Ministry had designated the site as forbidden, barring all access under the gravest of penalties. The once-hopeful expedition had left behind only silence, a silence punctuated by the flight of hundreds of owls, each bearing a letter from Hogwarts.

CLANG!—CLANG! CLANG!!

One of the twin wrought iron gates, rusted and ivy-clad, now groaned beneath the weight of relentless knocking by a colossal figure.

The giant of a man. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

"'Ello?! Anyone in there?!" the booming voice rang out, startling birds from nearby dead trees. "I’ve come fer Harry Potter! Got his Hogwarts letter right ‘ere! HARRY! I KNOW YEH’RE IN THERE! If yeh don’ open up, I’ll be comin’ in, like it or not!"

The gate, as though weary of resistance, creaked open on groaning hinges. Hagrid stepped through the gate, each bootfall landing with a solid thud. Before him lay a bleak stretch of stone and silence—an old graveyard, still as a held breath, the cold wind curling like smoke through the air.

He sniffed. "Blimey, this place smells like it’s been sealed up since Merlin’s beard was still brown."

Grumbling to himself, he trudged forward. "Ah, good to see someone’s got the decency to open the door. Thought I’d be here all day bangin’ away like a flobberworm in mating season."

Yet, as he pressed deeper into the tomb's outer sanctum, the temperature plummeted and the very shadows began to shift. He did not see the creeping darkness pooling at his heels, nor the spectral silence that fell upon the land like a curtain.

"Strange... feelin’ like I’m bein’ watched," he muttered, reaching for the pink umbrella tucked into his belt.

But the thought hadn’t finished forming before his vision dimmed, the world collapsing into inky blackness. And then, silence.

Chapter Text

The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster’s office sprang aside at the utterance of the password, revealing the spiral staircase that led to the circular room atop the tower. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the myriad of curious instruments that whirred softly on polished tables. Portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, occasionally stirring to observe the living occupants.

Professor McGonagall stepped into the office, her emerald robes swishing softly against the floor. She found Professor Dumbledore seated behind his vast desk, a half-eaten sherbet lemon in hand, and a twinkle in his eye that belied the gravity of recent events.

“Good morning, Headmaster,” she began.

“Ah, Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore replied, gesturing to the tin of sweets on his desk. “Sherbet lemon?”

She declined with a slight shake of her head. “I assume you’ve heard about the incident at the tomb?”

Dumbledore’s expression grew solemn. “Yes, a most unfortunate event. The loss of life is always tragic.”

“The Ministry has declared the site a Forbidden Ground,” she informed him. “No one is to approach without explicit permission.”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “A prudent decision, though I wonder if it might hinder our understanding of what transpired.”

“Understanding won’t bring back the dead,” McGonagall replied, her voice tinged with concern.

“No, but it might prevent further loss,” Dumbledore countered gently.

She regarded him closely. “You’ve sent Hagrid, haven’t you?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled once more. “Indeed. I thought it best to extend an olive branch, so to speak.”

Before McGonagall could respond, a tremor interrupted their words. The windows rattled in their frames, shelves shook, and the delicate instruments wobbled precariously. The portraits grumbled and peered down from their canvases. This was no ordinary earthquake — it was the impact of something vast colliding with the school grounds.

“What happened?!” McGonagall gasped, bracing herself against the desk. From below came the sharp, unmistakable cries of students, carrying even through the stone walls. For screams to reach this high in the tower… what in Merlin’s name had descended upon Hogwarts?

Together they strode to the window. Heavy curtains were pulled back, and the scene outside struck them both dumb for a heartbeat.

A Dragon had landed in the main courtyard.

Its golden body gleamed in the sunlight, wings folding with a leathery crack. Each talon gouged the flagstones like a knife through parchment. Its eyes, like molten coals, blazed with terrible awareness.

Then came the roar.

A bellowing, primal sound tore through the air, shattering glass in its leaded panes. The ground quivered again beneath the force of it all, as students clutched their ears, some outright collapsing to the floor as the force of the sound battered their senses. 

McGonagall’s face tightened. Her wand was already in her hand. At last, a time for Hogwarts’ defenses. She had waited her entire life to use it for this purpose. With uncharacteristic exhilaration she shouted:

“Piertotum Locomotor!”

Instantly, the statues and suits of armor lining the corridors leapt down from their plinths. From the floors above and below came answering crashes as hundreds more stirred.

“Hogwarts is threatened! Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!” McGonagall’s voice rang out, fierce and exultant. 

With a clattering roar, the horde of guardians surged into motion: helmed suits of armor brandishing swords and morning stars, stone lions bounding on heavy paws, giants of granite crashing down the staircases. The castle itself seemed to have come alive.

“I’ve always wanted to use that spell,” McGonagall said, breathless with excitement as the tide of guardians thundered into the courtyard.

There, beneath them, two small forms dropped lightly from the Dragon’s back.

Children — or so they looked at first glance. A boy and a girl, sun-darkened skin, ears long and unmistakably inhuman. Elves.

Mare stepped timidly forward, staff clutched in both hands. With a shy glance at Aura, he planted it into the ground.

The effect was instantaneous.

The flagstones split apart with a shriek, fissures racing outward in a spiderweb pattern beneath the charging guardians. In an instant the entire army of enchanted statues and armor was swallowed. No resistance, no sound — one heartbeat they marched, the next they were gone.

The earth slammed shut again, ridges rising where once Hogwarts’ protectors had stood. Silence fell.

Mare drew his staff back, eyes lowered, voice barely audible. “Ah… all gone.”

McGonagall froze in disbelief. The thrill she had felt moments ago evaporated. Her defenders — centuries of enchanted guardians — had been erased by a single casual gesture.

And then Aura stepped forward.

She cupped her hands to her mouth, and her voice boomed unnaturally loud across the castle grounds:

“Er, can everyone hear me? I’m a subordinate of Ainz Ooal Gown-sama, and my name’s Aura Bella Fiora!”

Every ear in Hogwarts heard her. 

“The Headmaster of this school sent a bunch of rude chaps to the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, where Ainz-sama stays! Ainz-sama is very unhappy. So if you don’t apologize, we’ll wipe this school out!”

She spread her arms wide, her tone shifting into singsong mockery.

“For starters, we’ve already destroyed your Golems~ Now we’re going to kill all the people here! …Er, I don’t know who’s the Headmaster, so never mind! If the Headmaster doesn’t show himself right now, we’ll destroy this school! Headmaster-san, please come out now!”

“Albus…” McGonagall’s voice trembled despite herself, her face pale as she turned to him.

“...So,” Dumbledore murmured, his gaze still fixed on the courtyard below, "It seems the tomb is not as dormant as the Ministry believes."

The portraits muttered anxiously in their frames. Several headmasters called warnings at once, but Dumbledore silenced them with a raised hand. His expression was calm, but the lines about his eyes were grave.

“Ainz Ooal Gown…” Dumbledore’s whisper was almost to himself. ‘What manner of being… No. Now is not the time for speculation.’

He shouted from the window: “I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts! I wish to speak with you! May I trouble you fine envoys to enter the castle?”

McGonagall turned sharply to him, still pale. “Albus, are you certain—”

“Prepare the finest reception for them,” Dumbledore said firmly, turning from the window. “At once.”

The portraits exchanged alarmed glances and several muttered in protest, but his tone brooked no argument. McGonagall pressed her lips thin, then swept from the room to set his command in motion.

Dumbledore remained at the window, his gaze following the two Dark Elves who stared back up at him.

“…I underestimated them,” he admitted softly. ‘If those are merely subordinates… Perhaps we stand before a power beyond reckoning. Still, I will not back down. If they seek to parley… then we shall test our strength in words. Ainz Ooal Gown…’ His eyes glinted behind the half-moon spectacles. “…watch as I guard my school.”

X

Albus Dumbledore — Headmaster of Hogwarts, the man regarded as the greatest wizard of the age —  sat in silence, his hands folded lightly on the armrest. 

He had faced Ministers, warlords, and tyrants before. He had stood before the Wizengamot and cowed them with nothing but words. He had spoken kindly, he had spoken sternly, and he had never once lost control.

To his students, he was a grandfatherly figure, full of whimsy and sweets. To the Ministry, he was an inscrutable rival, always a step ahead. He had worn such masks for decades.

It was always important to understand one’s opponents.
Suspicion blocked knowledge. But trust, carefully given, could peel away layers of wariness. That was how you glimpsed the truth.
All hidden behind the courteous smile of a host who said, Welcome.

Yet here, his opponents were not ministers or children — but emissaries of a being powerful enough to ride into his school on the back of a Dragon and erase Hogwarts’ guardians with a gesture.

Two strange little elves. Their innocent appearances belied the destructive power they commanded. Children’s faces, sun-darkened skin, wide eyes — and yet...

 With one gesture, the staff-wielding one had swallowed Hogwarts’ stone guardians whole. A catastrophe.
Centuries of enchantments erased as if they were nothing but brittle toys.

If they had destroyed only the enchanted knights… perhaps it could be replaced in time. But the statues were the legacy of the founders. A fortune of magic, now lost.

The blow was heavy. But Dumbledore showed nothing.
He could not drive them away. Not now. Not against those who could kill without blinking.
All he could do was welcome them with a smile.

But he would not yield.
His blue eyes studied them with sharp attention, not letting a single twitch escape his gaze.

He studied their clothes—
He studied their looks—

A veritable legion of house-elves were enlisted by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to help out the entire school in various menial labour.

They were magical beings who were immensely devoted to their masters. Loyal magical creatures bound to their owners as servants for life. And to symbolise their enslavement they usually wore makeshift clothes made with found objects such as pillowcases and rags. These clothes could become quite filthy, and yet the elf would not clean their clothes to further express that they had no needs which were not specifically commanded to them by the master. 

However the ones sitting before him were… exceedingly attractive. Those small, slender bodies, alive with ever-changing expressions. Not hollow, not worn thin by long labor. They were children’s faces, touched by care.

Their clothes were neat, well-fitted. Their voices too—clear, certain. House-elves did not speak so, without deference, without excuses or pleas. These two spoke as though it never crossed their minds to do so.

Even their eyes were different. Elves glance upward in fear, quick and darting. These looked on openly as if the social conventions didn’t exist for them. 

‘Who was this Ainz Ooal Gown? 

 What was his motive behind sending this pair with such confounding traits?’

Dumbledore’s thoughts churned. Then stilled. I don’t know enough.

‘My first task must be to learn more. Then, to test the boundaries of their patience. One careless word, and the school might crumble.’

The pair had said it already: “The Headmaster sent rude people to the Great Tomb of Nazarick.” Then destroyed Hogwarts’ guardians in front of everyone.
Did they have proof? Or was it just bait?
He would need to find out.

He thought briefly of the Ministry. It had been they who sent full investigation teams. He himself had sent only Hagrid, with nothing more than a letter of admission in his hand. A gesture of goodwill. A way to welcome a boy, not to trespass. But Ainz Ooal Gown would not know, or would not care.
And so the blame would fall on him.

‘But what of Hagrid? Was he safe? …Or alive, at least?’

Dumbledore smiled faintly, as though nothing were amiss. “Honored guests, you have traveled far to grace us with your presence. Will you not moisten your throats? Please, partake of our humble hospitality.”

As he spoke, plates of food appeared one after another, filling the table to the brim, covering every corner. Steam rose in gentle curls, the smell of roast and spice spreading through the room.

Before they could reach for anything, a soft pop echoed. An elderly house-elf hunched with age appeared by the desk, its long fingers wringing nervously.

“I must speak, Headmaster!” it said, voice quavering but firm. “Elves in clothes bring only shame. They must be cast out.”

The office grew still.

Aura’s head turned slowly, her expression unreadable, eyes narrowing just slightly.
“…What?”

The elf flinched, stumbling backward a step, its ears twitching wildly. The force of that single word seemed to smother the air. 

With a squeak, it protested again. “It is a disgrace. Elves do not wear garments of masters. To do so brings dishonor to all. You must be cast out—”

Dumbledore’s voice entered the space like a calm tide. 

“Enough, my friend—Your concern is noted. I ask only that you trust me and let us end this matter here.”

The elf shifted uneasily, glancing between Aura and the headmaster. After a long pause, it bowed its head and vanished with a soft pop.

Mare tugged at his sister’s sleeve, whispering,
“S-sister… it’s gone now.”

Dumbledore blinked. Sister? He looked closer. Yes. The “boy” was not a boy at all. A girl, dressed in boyish clothes. For freedom of movement, perhaps. Children their age were androgynous. Easy to mistake. The quieter one — the younger sister, then? Or was she the brother? He could not be sure.

Aura exhaled through her nose, a faint, dismissive sound. She shifted her eyes back to Dumbledore, expectant.

The headmaster inclined his head, voice low and courteous.
“My apologies, Miss Fiora. I beg your understanding—the weight of old ways can make even kind tongues stumble. Pray, pardon their outburst.”

After diffusing the tense moment, Dumbledore’s tone lightened, his hands spreading in gentle invitation.
“Then, please, do help yourselves.”

Aura leaned back slightly, lips curving in a faint, amused hum.
“Hmmm~”

The boy — or so he had thought earlier — lifted a crystal goblet, turning it in small fingers, then took a mouthful of the drink.

“This doesn’t taste particularly good,” the child said flatly.

The words sent a tremor through Dumbledore’s chest.
Blunt. Dismissive. Rude.
Even for a child, no one had ever spoken to him like that.

Not once in the thousands of years of its history had anyone mocked Hogwarts’ feasts. Not the sons of the Ministers. Not the daughters of ancient houses. Not even those who wished him harm. Hogwarts’ food was pride, history, ritual. Never slighted.

But here. Mocked by a girl no older than a first year student.

“…Then I must apologize,” Dumbledore said softly. His smile did not waver. “If it displeases you, the fault is mine. Perhaps, should you tell me your favored dish, we might—”

The child smirked. “There’s no way you could prepare the drinks I want.”

The quieter sibling fidgeted. “O-oneechan, y-you’re being rude...”

“Oh? Am I now?”

It was clear that this farce is going to be a clear deride of his own lack of knowledge about them. And treading too close to them to fish out information would be like stealing eggs from beneath a sleeping dragon.

“Then, honored guests,” he said at last, bowing slightly. “Allow me to introduce myself once more. I am the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I am certainly aware of Miss Fiora’s own noble name, but might I inquire as to yours?”

“Ah, I- I’m Mare Bello Fiore.”

“My deepest thanks, young Fiore. Then, with reference to what you said, specifically ‘Ainz-sama is very unhappy and will destroy this school unless he receives an apology’... I assume that I, as the presumed offender in question, will be making my way to Nazarick?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

It was a terse reply, but one that dripped with frostiness. The Elf called Aura had no warmth in her eyes from the very beginning. She looked at people like she was looking at insects.

“Naturally. If, the responsibility lies with me. I sent only one emissary — a man named Hagrid — and it was with goodwill, not hostility. But if offense has been given, I will expiate it before Sir Ainz Ooal Gown himself.” Dumbledore inclined his head.

“Huh~ all right. Let’s go together, then.”

“A moment, please. While I have no issue with leaving presently, I cannot simply vanish from my post and abandon the duty to my students at a moment’s notice. Perhaps, if you could allow me two, maybe three days… to settle the school,” He said, as he eyed the twins.

“And to prepare the reparations for Sir Gown, I think ten days should—”

“Ten days? Too long.”

“With ten days, I can prepare a fitting gift. A thoughtless offering would be an insult.”

Aura tilted her head. “A gift, huh.” Beside her, Mare shifted nervously.

Dumbledore noted it at once. They revere him. Ainz. Even the mention of a gift makes them uneasy. That means… 

But before Dumbledore could continue his thought process, Aura’s lips curled. In a teasing tone, she spoke,

“Just kidding~. Ainz-sama just told me to tell you to come over now, but he didn’t say exactly when. So ‘now’ is ‘however long you think you need.’”

Tricky. He is testing me. So he wanted to see how I’d react to the demand of “now.” He must be quite the sage to have foreseen the path this conversation would take.

“Alright then,” he said smoothly, “five days. That will suffice.”

“Got it. We’ll let Ainz-sama know.” Aura clapped her hands together, with a smile like a sun shining amidst the spring.”

Dumbledore let himself be bathed in it with a thinnest smile of his own, momentarily forgetting the atrocities the two before him were capable of.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore and the small contingent of Hogwarts’ teaching staff approached the peculiar closet that served as their passage. A Vanishing Cabinet, or something like it—but unlike the paired Cabinets they knew, where one had to shut the door and reopen it on the other side, this was no box.

A thin film shimmered across the opening, like liquid glass, alive with shifting colors, as it rippled faintly with every breath of magic.

One after another they stepped through.

No wrenching sensation of Apparition, nor the nauseating drag of Portkeys. Instead, stepping through was like crossing beneath a gentle spring shower. A cascade of soft petals brushed past their shoulders, pink and weightless. For a fleeting moment, Dumbledore glimpsed the figure of a woman in flowing eastern garb, her sleeve trailing like mist, before she dissolved into the shimmer.

And they were through.

It was as though they had stepped into a shining dreamscape as the receiving room unfolded before them. It was vast, unnaturally lit, its marble floor gleaming like ice. Gold trim ran across the columns and chandeliers of crystal lit by spellfire floated serenely overhead. Glass birds perched in the fireplace mantle, their wings frozen mid-flight, so lifelike that one half-expected them to burst into song.

The furniture was tasteful and exquisite. A table laid with polished dishes gleaming, and silver goblets filled with wine that caught the light like rubies.

And there—in a recliner far too fine for his bulk sat Rubeus Hagrid.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said softly, a smile flickering. “You seem to be doing well, Hagrid.”

“Professor Dumbledore!” Hagrid boomed, springing up at once, his face splitting into a grin as he brushed away the crumbs from his beard. “Never been better, Professor Dumbledore, sir. But—how’re yeh all here?”

McGonagall exhaled, posture still taut. “We feared the worst when no word came back,” she said sharply, though her eyes betrayed her warmth.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled faintly. “It is a relief to see you safe. Tell me, Hagrid… do you remember how you came here?”

“Aye, well,” Hagrid scratched his head sheepishly, “truth be told, don’ quite remember how I got in here. Fainted, I reckon. Next thing I knew, I was wakin’ up in here.”

“Curious,” murmured Flitwick, eyes narrowing.

McGonagall cut across. “And you’ve been well treated?”

“Oh aye,” Hagrid nodded at once. “Very courteous and friendly some of ‘em are. They’ve been right kind to me here. Never in me life seen a place like this—clean as a whistle, food on the table quicker’n you can blink. Can’t complain, not a bit. Though—” He frowned, scratching at his beard. “Funny sorts. Can’t make heads nor tails o’ what they’re really thinkin’.”

He gestured broadly, voice lowering with disbelief. “They say this place is underground. But it’s too big—bigger’n anythin’ could be underground. There’s a whole forest. A great colosseum. An endless sky. Think they take me fer a fool? Like I haven’t seen the Great Hall’s ceiling meself?”

The professors exchanged glances.

Hagrid pressed on. “Forest’s full o’ strangest trees yeh’ve ever seen—glitterin’, singin’. Beasts too, creatures I’ve never even read about in Fantastic Beasts.”

Professor Pomona Sprout’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Enchanted flora in a subterranean habitat! Extraordinary!” As Dumbledore recalled the Vivarium in the room of requirement.

“An’ the food—blimey, it’s somethin’ else! You should try some, Professors. Tastes wonderful, an’ I swear it does summat to yeh. Makes yeh feel spry. Stronger. Been eatin’ for days now. I reckon I’m twice as strong as when I came in.” He thumped a fist against his chest.

“Ah. We already had the pleasure, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said gently, his eyes twinkling. “It was quite… astonishing.”

“Ah, so yeh know then!” Hagrid said eagerly. “They even let me spar a bit—test me new strength. Didn’ last long, mind, but still!”

Snape’s face darkened. One pale hand covered his eyes as he muttered under his breath, “Merlin preserve us. This fool.”

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, his tone quiet but probing. “And tell me, Hagrid—have you… perchance met their leader?”

Hagrid’s grin dimmed. He shook his head. “No, Professor. Haven’ seen ‘im yet. They all call ‘im Ainz-sama—that’s the name. Speak of ‘im like he’s the strongest wizard—or whatever he is—that ever lived. Said I’d be meetin’ ‘im today.”

And just as Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, the doors swung inward with a soft, heavy sound.

Two massive figures stepped through in perfect unison.

Two insectoid giants—towering nearly two meters, One had a dark, rhinoceros-like horn, its black carapace gleaming like onyx. The other was lighter, greenish, its jagged mandibles jutting like a stag beetle’s. Compound eyes caught the light, glimmering with inhuman vigilance. Each carried a massive glaive that pulsed faintly with magic enchantments.

Their synchronized tread was heavy enough to make the floor tremble.

The professors stiffened. Several hands twitched toward their robes, fingers brushing wand hilts.

“Oi now, steady,” Hagrid said quickly, spreading his massive arms as if to shield both sides at once.

“Don’ let the looks fool yeh. Tha’s Unchu an’ Achu. Good sorts, both of ’em. Might look like they’d run yeh through, but they’re as steady as old oak, loyal as they come. Been keepin’ me company here.”

As if to underscore his words, the two anthropomorphic-knights stopped in flawless formation. Their glaives struck the marble in unison, ringing like a bell. They did not bow, but the stillness they held was respectful, dignified.

“See?” Hagrid said, lowering his hand with a grin. “Wouldn’ ask for better mates watchin’ my back.”

From behind them, Yuri emerged, her steps quiet but sharp as steel. She inclined her head with mechanical precision.

“Ainz-sama is ready to see you now,” she said. “Please, follow me.”

Unchu and Achu shifted aside at once, their movement so smooth it was as though one mind directed them both.

X

Entranced by the nigh-mythical scenes they had walked by, they now stood before a pair of vast double doors. Intricate carvings decorated both sides of the doors; a beautiful goddess on the right and a cruel-looking demon on the left. Countless ominous-looking statues were arrayed around them.

If one had to give it a name, it would probably be “The Gates of Judgment.”

Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder to look at his faculty of teachers who had followed him here.

Everyone behind him ― with the exception of Hagrid ― had drawn in their shoulders.

This was the result of walking through all manner of wondrous sights before coming here, which had stolen their souls away. 

The Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick was a tomb in name only. In truth, it was a beautiful world that was closer to a citadel of the gods than anything else. Their image of the ruler of this place, the wizard Ainz Ooal Gown, was overwhelming beyond description.

The smile on Dumbledore’s face was filled with self-mockery. Humans would naturally bow their heads to those who exceeded them. In truth, even Dumbledore found it hard to control the impulse to gawk openly at his surroundings

‘...This is truly troubling.’

Ainz Ooal Gown waited beyond that door. He was a wizard whose power surpassed even that of Merlin himself. Indeed, there might be nobody to equal him in the past or the future. His magnificent domicile far exceeded the capacity of humans to imagine, and his followers possessed incredible power. He was a being who possessed every possible advantage.

‘Why had someone like that hidden in a place like this until now?’ Although Dumbledore did not know the answer, he would probably find out soon enough.

At least, he hoped to learn that much during the discussions that were to follow.

As he gave voice to these thoughts, Dumbledore found that they were louder than he imagined. However, nobody around him reacted. They were too mesmerized by their surroundings.

“The Throne Room lies beyond. Ainz-sama waits for you within.”

After that, Yuri announced that her part was over, and bowed deeply.

As though waiting for those words, the vast double doors swung open slowly, without being touched.

Several sudden intakes of breath reached Dumbledore’s ears. It was not just one or two instances, but all of them who had come to this place. All the resolve they had mustered uptil now was gone with their desire to flee. 

The chamber stretched impossibly wide and the ceiling vaulted high. The walls were predominantly white, with extensive gold decorations and highlights. Luxurious, multicolored chandeliers ― made of precious stones from all the colors of the rainbow ― depended from the ceiling, radiating a fantastic light. Huge flags hung from poles set into the walls.

This room was the epitome of a “Throne Room.” There was no better word to describe a place like this. Dumbledore and the others blanched pale as an oppressive air swept over them from inside the room.

A crimson carpet ran down the center of the room, and flanking it were a series of immeasurably powerful beings.

There were Demons, Dragons, bizarre humanoids, armored knights, bipedal insects and Elves. Each was different from the other in size and appearance, but the one thing they had in common was the overwhelming might each of them possessed. These beings were arranged in two lines on either side of the carpet, and it felt too disheartening to count them.

They watched Dumbledore and company in silence. Although it was said that one could sense a certain kind of strength in the eyes of those with power or status, this was the first time Dumbledore had ever felt a physical pressure.

The sound of low moans and shuddering came from behind Dumbledore. Snape’s breath hissed sharp between his teeth. Flitwick’s knuckles whitened against his robes. Even McGonagall faltered a step. It was clear that they were all scared out of their wits.

But none turned back. Dumbledore felt a ripple of pride. He wanted to praise them, because every single one of them had conquered that fear and stayed behind him. The fact that they had remained steadfast in the face of these terrifying beings was to be lauded.

Dumbledore’s threat evaluation of Ainz Ooal Gown rose by several dozen levels at once. His wariness had been revised ever upward since he arrived here. But even that had been far too naive.

This was not a threat to Hogwarts alone. This was a threat to the continued survival of the entire world ― wizards, magical creatures and muggles alike.

His eyes trailed the carpet forward.

At the far end rose a dais. Gathered there were Nazarick’s chosen aides. A beautiful silver-haired girl. A towering insectile figure of frost-blue chitin. A toadlike man swathed in a suit. The twins from before. 

And then—a boy.

Green eyes, vivid, unmistakable.

The boy was handsome, yes—but standing there, he seemed almost ordinary. 

Ordinary only because around him stood either figures of impossible beauty, as though sculpted by gods—or horrendous grotesques so twisted they seemed born from nightmares. Among such extremes, his mortal plainness was a clear contrast.

Dumbledore’s breath caught.

He had taught James and Lily. He had watched them grow. He had held their son as an infant.

Harry Potter.

The boy’s face held no recognition. Only curiosity.

Dumbledore breathed eased—at least the boy did not look on him with enmity. And looking at the position he was standing in, it seemed he was given some importance here which maybe troubling in hindsight. 

Above them, upon those stairs, was a beautiful winged woman, and just behind her―

“That is...”

Upon a crystal throne sat the physical incarnation of Death. It held a strange-looking staff in hand.

It was a monster with a bare skull for a head.

It was like a being that had been formed from concentrating and condensing the darkness into a single point.

―It was Ainz Ooal Gown.

A magnificent crown sat upon his head, and his body was cloaked in a luxurious sable robe. Rings glittered brightly on his fingers. Even from such a distance, Dumbledore could clearly tell that the exquisite accessories which Ainz wore were beyond the skills of even the goblin craftsmen.

Blood-red points of light glowed within the empty eye sockets of Ainz Ooal Gown’s skull. As they swept over Dumbledore’ and his professors, it felt as if they were tasting him.

He did not seem shocked by the fact that Ainz was not human. Instead, he was relieved that he was not human.

It was because Ainz was not human that Dumbledore could honestly accept that Ainz was a superior being that was far out of his league.

“Hu...”

Dumbledore exhaled quietly.

It was a sign of his resolve.

The door had been opened, but it had not been opened for long. Still, they could not wait out here forever. And so ― Dumbledore stepped forward.

“Let’s go.”

Dumbledore’s words were quiet enough that only those behind him could hear them.

However, Dumbledore could not sense anyone moving in response to his words.

Advancing to stand before Ainz Ooal Gown meant that they would have to pass between the flanking lines of monsters. Though he knew that they would probably not attack them, walking in front of these creatures still required a great deal of courage.

His judgment that they would not be attacked was not simple optimism.

The reasons for using a throne room like this were for hosting events, as well as displaying their own power to outsiders. These were facts that anyone would know.

In other words, the reasons for choosing this place were to display the power of Nazarick, and to show that he had no intent of killing Dumbledore and his followers.

After all, if Ainz wanted to get rid of them, he could simply have brought them to a slaughterhouse instead.

Dumbledore’s teaching personnel should have clearly understood that fact. However, that was not the reason why they remained immobile.

The main reason for that was simply because they did not want to go near those monsters.

Beyond the lines of monsters were Ainz Ooal Gown’s aides. The power of those beings was clearly beyond the reckoning of sane men.

And upon the throne was Ainz Ooal Gown himself. 

At great length, Dumbledore realized something in the depths of his soul.

He realized that they were standing in the presence of what men would call a god.

The pressure he was facing standing right at the front of the retinue was beyond the scope of any Occlumency training one had before. If he lost his focus but once, even the man known as the Grand Sorcerer would be able to do nothing but kneel before Ainz.

Still, it was precisely because of that reason that he had to go.

Just as Dumbledore was observing Ainz Ooal Gown, Ainz Ooal Gown was also observing Dumbledore. If he disapproved of what he saw, what would happen in the future? At the very least, he had to let Ainz recognize the value of Headmaster of Hogwarts, and by extension, the continued existence of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Dumbledore laughed at his own naïveté.

What had he been thinking by a war of words.

‘So this is what it means to regret something. Nothing else matters anymore. All I can hope for is to minimize the damage to the School.’

“Let’s go!”

Dumbledore said resolutely to his subordinates, but more importantly to himself, in order to recall himself to life. He could sense his educators following him.

It was a very soft carpet, but to Dumbledore right now, it seemed far too light and ephemeral.

He firmly shunted aside the innumerable glares directed at him and moved forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the person that lay before him ― Ainz Ooal Gown. He had a hunch that if he turned his eyes from his objective, his feet would no longer be able to move.

At last, he reached the base of the steps, in front of Ainz’s aides.

“Ainz-sama, this is the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who seeks an audience with you.”

The sweet voice came from the winged woman standing beside the throne.

‘Her sweet voice matches her radiant looks’, Dumbledore thought.

In response, the being that was a veritable god of death spoke to Dumbledore.

“I am glad you have come, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am the master of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, Ainz Ooal Gown.”

A faint pang of relief ran through Dumbledore. His voice was more normal than he expected ― like that of a human being.

If that was the case, reading him from his words might yet be possible.

“I humbly thank you for your most generous welcome, Sir Ainz Ooal Gown.”

One could not read facial expressions from a skull. What sort of opening would best fit the current situation? Dumbledore carefully pondered that question.

However, the one who spoke next was neither Dumbledore, nor Ainz.

“Ainz-sama. It is disrespectful for inferior species such as humans to address you as an equal,” a man’s voice said. “『Kneel.』”

The word slammed into them like a hammer.

Dumbledore’s knees buckled before he even realized it. His palms struck the soft carpet, his body bowing as though dragged by invisible chains. Behind him, Hagrid, McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, Hooch—all collapsed in unison, forced flat against the ground. Not one of them could resist.

Every instinct screamed humiliation, danger, submission. Dumbledore tried to rise—willed his body to move—but his limbs trembled uselessly, pinned by the crushing weight of that single word.

“―That’s enough, Demiurge.”

“Understood!”

The toad-like monster called Demiurge bowed respectfully to its master.

“『Release control.』”

The pressure vanished at once. The unseen shackles broke. Their bodies were free again, but the sting of it lingered. Dumbledore heard the ragged breaths of his staff as they pulled themselves up, shame and fear heavy in the air.

“...Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, my subordinate has done something rude to a noble guest who has come from far away to visit my domain. The sins of the vassal are those of the liege, and as such I beg your forgiveness. I hope this is a matter which can be resolved with a bowing of the head.”

Commotion and activity rose from the two files of monsters behind them.

‘To cast an Unforgivable Curse so casually. Without wand or word, and yet seek dialogue afterward…’

Countless feelings danced up in Dumbledore’s heart.

He was cautious, because he realized that Ainz was not the type who handled matters solely with brute force.

Similarly, he was relieved, because Ainz was not the type who handled matters solely with brute force.

Most importantly, he was afraid. He knew without a doubt that Ainz had the complete loyalty of all the monsters present here.

At the same time, Dumbledore had the sickening realization that everything that had happened so far had occurred in accordance with Ainz Ooal Gown’s wishes. It was the ominous feeling that everything had taken place just as Ainz had planned.

“There is no need to apologize for that, Sir Gown. It is not uncommon for subordinates to go wild and do as they please. Some of mine have done the same themselves. Truly, I am disgraced.”

‘But, what does he want from me? I doubt he’ll be satisfied with a simple apology after that spectacular show of force he put on.’

Initially, Dumbledore’s plan was to divine and then play on Ainz Ooal Gown’s desires, thereby turning the situation to his advantage. This whole pretense of making an apology was merely an excuse for achieving that aim.

However―

‘As if I could begin to tempt someone as powerful as this. I couldn’t do it, even if I used all the wealth I possessed.’

Dumbledore’s wand trembled faintly in his hand. It had not stilled since they entered the Throne Room, quivering as though it too sensed the weight of the presence before them.

Ainz’s gaze drifted.

Downward.

Then Dumbledore saw it.

The crimson pinpricks within Ainz’s skull had lowered—not on him, but on the wand itself. A gaze too intent to mistake.

Dumbledore’s heart skipped. ‘So… that is what he desires.’

Dumbledore felt suffocated. Few in the wizarding world even believed the old tales. Fewer still suspected the truth of what he carried. ‘How could this being know?’

Dumbledore should have immediately bowed his head, laying the wand before the throne, but he was delayed by his thoughts.

‘Were the actions of Gown’s minion intended to make me say what I just did? If that’s the case, should I go off-script? No, that’s not an option. This is like a staged fight with real blades. A single misstep will result in severe injuries... that would be very bad.’

Dumbledore drew a long breath. ‘If he can wield it, then it is no longer mine. If not, then perhaps there is hope yet.’

“This is the Elder Wand. It has passed through the hands of many great wizards. For long it has rested with me. But I believe… it belongs to you, Sir Ainz Ooal Gown.”

Several gasps were heard from behind him in the ranks of Hogwarts’ teachers.

Slowly, with great ceremony, Dumbledore raised it across both palms and stepped forward as though presenting an offering at an altar.

The silence that followed was crushing. Ainz’s gaze remained fixed, unreadable. Then, with steady motion, the skeletal overlord extended his hand. Fingers of ivory closed around the ancient wood. A silver ring, set with a rectangular cyan-blue gem, glimmered faintly on his hand, and for an instant the air stirred as though answering it.

Ainz raised the wand slightly and gave it a testing swish. At a glance, one might think he was simply trying it out, the way a child might heft a new toy—but a closer look would reveal the truth.

A black stain bloomed on the empty marble floor where the tip pointed.

Dumbledore did not turn his eyes from the horrifying sight of a fountain of black mist spewing upward, coiling into a form. Bone and steel knitted together in a hulking mass.

What stood before them was Death itself made manifest, a towering figure clad in jagged armor from which scythe-like blades jutted at cruel angles, its form wreathed in a foul black smog that seemed to leech the warmth from the air. A tattered, blood-stained cloak billowed behind it like a funeral shroud, and upon its skull sat a rusted crown set with a single crimson gem that burned with eerie life. In its skeletal grip rested a great war scythe, its curved blade drowning in the same miasma of negative energy, as if it could harvest not just the body but the very soul, a specter of inevitability and despair.

A collective gasp tore through the Hogwarts professors as Dumbledore’s mind reeled.

‘And here I thought he was Death itself… but he is more than that. He is the Master of Death. Was the essence of Death sealed in the wand all along? And with my own hands—I gifted it to him.’

The Elder Wand—the fabled Hallow.

Given away.

The crimson points in Ainz’s eyes gleamed. His skeletal jaw shifted as he spoke, tone deep and resonant:

“This is a nice gift. I appreciate it.”

Dumbledore’s lips curved into a grandfatherly smile, though inside his stomach sank.

‘Yes. I have just delivered Death into his hands.’

Feigning composure, Dumbledore inclined his head. “Of course not, Sir Gown. I merely return a treasure to its rightful owner.”

“Then, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

“Ah, Sir Gown, Dumbledore will do. After all, it is a long name.”

“Is it now? Well then, Professor Dumbledore. To begin with, allow me to apologize for that unsightly display just now. Given that my ill-mannered vassal gave offense to you and those under your command, I will consider the matter of that small invasion of Nazarick settled. Then, that is all. Although I have made you come a long way, you are now free to leave.”

“―Hah?”

Dumbledore did not understand what he had just heard.

“Ah, forgive me. I fear I may have misheard your words. Could I trouble you to speak them to me once more?”

“There is no need for you to apologize. It will be fine if you return home. After all, we will be getting quite busy over here shortly.”

Ainz shrugged, like he was joking.

Dumbledore had no idea what was going on any longer.

Could it be that he had shown such power only to dismiss it as nothing? To take the Elder Wand, command Death itself—and now speak of forgiveness, as though it were a trivial thing. None of this added up.

‘―Wait a minute! What did he just say?’

“Forgive me, but what did you mean by ‘getting very busy’?”

“Thanks to you, we now know that we will be drawn into troublesome matters even if we try to keep a low profile. That being the case, I was thinking of moving to the surface and personally dealing with all these troublesome things.”

“That, that would mean...”

“First, we will have those who plot against us pay the price for their foolishness. After that, we will crush all the troublesome people we encounter until the peace I so cherish is restored.”

These words were the ranting of a lunatic.

No ― that would be wrong. He was not mad. When one considered Ainz Ooal Gown’s abilities, his military and economic strength, those words were not mad at all. It was only Dumbledore ― blinded by his limited experience ― who found it hard to accept the facts.

Ainz Ooal Gown was a man who could do all that.

An uncontrollable feeling of dread welled up from beneath Dumbledore's feet.

The Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick. It was a monster which had secluded itself away quietly. Now it had opened its doors, and it was about to take its first steps on the surface world.

‘Could it be that he called me here for this? Is this a declaration of war?! What should I do? Ainz Ooal Gown is essentially saying he will declare war on the World in the future! I should be kneeling before him now, right?’

In truth, he felt that was the wisest thing to do.

However—he did not think the people would prosper by accepting a monster’s rule. If things went badly, there was every possibility that Ainz might simply kill everyone and reanimate them as Inferi.

That would be a fate worse than death.

Dumbledore racked his brains like he had never done before in his life. By rights, he ought to have brought this matter before the Wizengamot—to debate it with the Ministry’s finest minds, to weigh every possible course of action. But by then, it would be far too late.

With a smile that cut through everything, Dumbledore spoke.

“I have a proposal. How about forming an alliance?”

“Are you confusing us with your lackeys ― uwah!”

A clear, bell-like voice rang forth, followed by the sound of something moving swiftly. The silver-haired girl frowned slightly, while Aura, standing beside her, pretended to act dumb.

Although Dumbledore’s dynamic vision was not good enough to see what had happened, it would seem the Dark Elf had kicked the silver-haired girl in the leg.

“...Oi, you―”

“―You’re making too much noise. Quiet down.”

With a gesture befitting a demon king, Ainz majestically waved his left hand to motion for silence.

Such regal movements could only have been born of long years of rulership.

Dumbledore’s alertness level went through the roof.

I see, he has presided over this land as its ruler for a long time. To think he had such a dignified bearing...

The two girls spoke at once, expressing their regret for their foolishness.

He could not sense a hint of the arrogance that Aura had given off while in the school. Right after that, he glanced at Ainz Ooal Gown, hoping that he had his subordinates fully under control. Then he screwed up his courage and prepared to speak.

This was the main event.

His tongue moistened his dry lips.

Dumbledore picked the finest plan he could think of from the numberless plots and stratagems he had come up with in the short time until now.

“You have built a magnificent realm, Sir Gown. Yet the world beyond has changed much since… the time you once knew. Magic, knowledge, and the hearts of men are no longer as they were. If I may suggest—you might wish to take time to observe this new age. My school could serve as that bridge.”

He took a slow breath.

“If you would allow it… perhaps the boy, Harry, might study among us. Through him, you could learn of our world—and we of yours.”

For a long moment, silence reigned.

Then—

Ainz’s movements stilled. His gaze, which had drifted almost idly before, now fixed upon Dumbledore with absolute precision. The twin red flames within his skull dimmed, swallowed by a suffocating blackness until only two pinpoints of crimson burned like distant stars. The temperature seemed to drop. The air itself grew heavy, pressing against lungs and bone alike.

The professors behind Dumbledore stiffened, instinctively shrinking back.

When Ainz spoke, his voice resonated like a cathedral bell struck at midnight — majestic, and terrible.

“I am the Sorcerer King Ainz Ooal Gown. Long ago—in the age men have long forgotten—I stood alongside forty others who shaped this world. Together, we ruled with harmony and with strength. But, such times were fleeting. One by one, my comrades departed… for reasons I could not stop, to destinations I could not follow.

In the end, only I remained—left to watch over the creations they entrusted to me. Their children. Their legacy. Their dreams. They left this Tomb in my care, for it was my duty as the leader and so I sealed it… sealed myself within it, to wait. For their return. For eternity, if need be.

For ages, there was only silence. Then, a decade ago… the boy appeared. Brought by fate, carrying with him a spark of something I thought lost—hope.”

He turned slightly, the hollow sockets of his skull glinting red as they fell upon Harry.

“The boy grew under my gaze. And then they came. Bringing destruction and chaos to this sanctuary of solitude.”

His voice deepened, echoing like the grinding of a tomb’s door.

“And now, you stand before me and tell me he does not belong here. That his fate lies in the world unknown?

Do not mistake my patience for weakness. Do not think I fear your world. If I must rise once more to protect what is mine—then I shall rule again—as we once did, eons ago.”

Dumbledore bowed his head slightly, calm though his heart pounded like a drum. “I never meant disrespect, Sir Gown. Only that two great worlds need not collide. I seek understanding, not division. Hogwarts stands not to take, but to learn, and to offer friendship. Cooperation, not conquest.”

Ainz’s gaze lingered for a long, dreadful silence. Then, at last, the tension in the air eased—barely.

“If that is your wish, then it shall be so. However… if the boy is to study in your school, then some of my other subordinates shall do the same. Those under my command shall walk among your students—to learn of this new world, as you have suggested.”

His words carried no hint of suggestion—only decree.

For an instant, Dumbledore forgot to breathe. “…Your subordinates, you say?”

“Yes,” Ainz replied simply. “They have much to observe, and I would see their understanding shaped by the place you speak of with such pride. Consider it an exchange of culture. Surely the Headmaster of Hogwarts would not refuse the chance to educate eager minds?”

It wasn’t a question. 

Behind Dumbledore, the other professors stiffened, understanding all too well what had just happened. Ainz’s “proposal” left no room for refusal.

‘Of course. He understood everything in an instant. He’s not sending them to learn. He’s sending them to watch us… to make sure even Hogwarts lies beneath his shadow.’

Forcing his breathing to remain even, Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. “That is… a generous offer, Sir Gown.”

Generous. The word felt bitter in his mouth.

‘This is precisely why he is terrifying. If he had sent a teacher, or a bodyguard, I could have refused. I could’ve found a pretext like—improper influence, unsafe methods, political concern. But as students? How could I refuse children? Even if those children could topple armies! Who would question them?—who would dare lay blame upon them, knowing what they are capable of?’

“Excellent. Then it is settled. I will leave the details to you.”

Ainz inclined his head slightly. The crimson fires in his eye sockets flared faintly, a gesture that might have been satisfaction—or amusement.

Ainz had agreed so fast that it left Dumbledore dumbfounded. It was almost disappointing. He had not expected things to go so smoothly.

To begin with...

‘Why didn’t he ask me to swear loyalty to him? As an overwhelmingly superior individual in an infinitely advantageous position, why would he accept this proposal?’

He had prepared dozens of answers for when Ainz demanded fealty from him.

But Ainz’s answer had exceeded the scope of Dumbledore’s predictions.

What was he up to?

Dumbledore could not understand Ainz’s thinking at all.

When battling a stronger opponent, a weaker man would fight by thinking of how to trip his opponent up. This was how one exploited the arrogance of the strong. But if the stronger opponent was not an arrogant being, then that tactic was unusable. The weaker man’s only way of fighting would have no effect.

That was how Ainz was. He would never act in a way that let others feel he was arrogant.

No―

‘As I thought, it’s possible that everything up till now has been going according to Ainz’s plans. After all, the delay in his reply was far too short. Did that mean he already predicted all my possible choices and prepared the appropriate responses?’

Dumbledore was keenly aware that the frightening thing about the being called Ainz Ooal Gown was not merely his matchless might, but also his unfathomable intellect.

“Is, is that so. Then, that is wonderful. Could, could you tell us if there is anything we can do for you?”

“I cannot think of anything right now. However, I would like to establish a venue where I could station emissaries from our end. I would like some way of quickly communicating with yourself...”

If all was really going as Ainz planned, then there was no way he would not have thought of everything. In that case, had this entire exchange simply been a coincidence?

‘No, that might be a bluff as well. He must have thought that he would be seen through if he stated his demands immediately. What a cunning monster he is. Or rather... perhaps it’s because he’s a monster that his intellect surpasses that of mankind.’

“Ah, yes, indeed. How foolish of me for not having thought of that. I expected nothing less of you, Sir Gown.”

“...Ah.”

‘Is he not a fan of pleasantries?’

After hearing that half-hearted response, Dumbledore made a mental note of that data point.

“Then, I shall return first. I will leave my Keeper of the Keys here. Could you discuss the details with him? ...Rubeus Hagrid!”

“Aye, Professor. I’ll handle it.”

Dumbledore felt an ache in his chest seeing Hagrid’s earnest response. Despite him staying here previously, Dumbledore didn’t want anyone to stay here a minute longer.

“Very well. I welcome his presence. He shall be treated as an honored guest within Nazarick.” Ainz said joyously as Dumbledore quietly lamented Hagrid’s fate. However, as Dumbledore heard Ainz’s next words, he realized how naive he had been.

“Now then, the present situation is different from before. You are now an ally of Nazarick, Professor Dumbledore. To send you home in such haste seems rude. Since you have come all this way, why not spend the night here? I shall prepare a warm welcome for you.”

‘So it’s not just Hagrid, he wants to get everyone here as well?!’

Worse, he might be planning an even more wicked scheme. No matter what, it was hard to believe staying the night was an innocent act of charity with no ulterior motives. 

“No, no, no, we could not possibly trouble you. After all, we must return to make preparations.”

“Is that so? That is a shame. Then, if it is convenient― no, please allow one of my servants to send you home.”

The thought of riding a Dragon came to mind, and curiosity welled up at Ainz’s suggestion. Still, Dumbledore waved that prospect aside. There was no way Ainz would simply transport him home, and he did not wish to owe Ainz a favor.

“I am deeply appreciative of your most generous offer and I thank you for it.

However, I feel that since I came on a carriage, I should return the same way.”

“An undead headless horse could run day and night without sleep―”

“―Please forgive me, but I must respectfully decline.”

“Must you? I see.”

He could sense that there was some disappointment in those words. Was it an act, or was it the truth? Dumbledore could not tell, although he suspected it might be an act.

“Then, we shall take our leave.”

“Very well. Demiurge... escort our guests outside.”

“No, no, there is no need to trouble... well, since this is a rare opportunity, how about the maids? I have never seen such beautiful women before.”

Ainz cricked his neck in surprise.

―It was an incredibly fake movement.

Dumbledore fought to keep his anger under control as he smiled to Ainz.

He must have known that they were wary of Demiurge, yet he had sent him out anyway, as though to mock them.

He had no intention of forming an alliance. This was a roundabout way of telling Dumbledore exactly who was in charge here.

‘I’ve never seen such evil before... he’s a threat to world’s continued survival…’

“Ah, thank you for your praise. Then, please speak with the maids waiting outside. Ah, what a fine day for forging an alliance. How I wish I could make it a festival.”

‘You mean, to celebrate the day you made slaves of us?!’

As he screamed internally, Dumbledore smiled to Ainz once more.

“Indeed. Yes... Indeed.”