Fifty years.
A blink of an eye for an immortal. An eternity for a loyal servant waiting in the dark.
Sebastian Wilfred stood at the balcony of his estate in the Baharuth Empire, the city sprawling beneath him like a glittering jewel. The air smelled of spiced meats and molten steel—the scent of industry, of prosperity. His fingers traced the rim of a wine glass, the deep red liquid catching the afternoon sun.
'Fifty years since the Shadow Overlord's passing.'
Even now, the memory burned fresh. Nazarick had mourned for seven days. Seven days where even the Great Tomb stood silent, its usual hum of activity stilled. Lord Momonga—no, Ainz—had ordered it. A gesture of respect for the only man who had ever bested him.
The only man Nazarick had ever acknowledged as peerless. Sebastian's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.
'His master.'
The Shadow Overlord had left instructions. A journal, filled with meticulous plans, contingencies, and a single command for Sebastian:
"When I'm gone, leave Nazarick. Live your life for a little bit…and then come to me once again, My friend…."
And so, he had. Once the funeral was over, Sebastian left Nazarick the very next day, and began touring the new world.
The New World had been ripe for the taking. It wasn't that much different from YGGDRASIL, but at the same time, it was also vastly differed, still it was a beautiful world.
Sebastian had traveled far, honing skills already razor-sharp, amassing wealth beyond measure. Gold. Magical materials. Seeds of plants that bloomed only under moonlight. Creatures whose hides shimmered with latent power.
If it was magical, he claimed it.
He learned from libraries and locals alike, mastering the cultivation of enchanted flora, the husbandry of mystical beasts. His reputation grew—first as an Adamantite adventurer, then as the owner of the largest trading company on the continent. And through it all, his [Spatial Dimension] swelled. A vault without end, filled with treasures waiting for one man.
His master.
Occasionally, visitors came. Lord Ainz, draped in his regal robes, Albedo at his side like a shadow. They brought gifts—chests of gold, rare artifacts—and Sebastian accepted them without hesitation. All for the vault. All for him.
"It has been fifty years, Sebastian," Ainz said one evening, sipping tea in the estate's garden. The Overlord of Nazarick sat with his posture relaxed, the usual weight of his persona absent. Here, with Sebastian, he could simply be.
"And he still hasn't called you yet?"
Sebastian poured more tea, the steam curling between them. "Yes, Lord Ainz. But the time will come." His voice was calm, certain. "That man has never broken a promise."
Ainz chuckled, the sound oddly human. "No. He hasn't."
Their conversations were rare, but familiar. Ainz, freed from the expectations of his subjects, could speak plainly. Sebastian, bound by no oath to Nazarick, could answer honestly.
It was... peaceful.
For, Nazarick's their conquest had been swift. Two years. That's all it took for Ainz to subjugate kingdoms, topple empires, and reshape the world in his image. And Sebastian?
He prospered. His trade networks expanded with Nazarick's borders, his influence growing in tandem with the Great Tomb's dominion. Every profit, every gain, funneled back into his vault. For his master. Because Sebastian knew. One day, the call would come. One day, the Shadow Overlord would return.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fire. Sebastian turned from the balcony, his monocle catching the dying light. Somewhere, beyond the veil of worlds, his master waited. And Sebastian would be ready. Always ready.
The evening air in Sebastian's estate carried the faint scent of blooming nightshade as fireflies danced between the hedgerows. Ainz Ooal Gown, Supreme Ruler of Nazarick, sat slumped in a wrought-iron garden chair in a decidedly un-overlord-like posture – his bony fingers steepled as he stared at the star-flecked sky through empty eye sockets.
"Hah~ he got reincarnated in a modern world, and me? Hah~" The undead king's sigh carried fifty years of exasperation as he sank deeper into the cushions. "Stuck playing fantasy kingdom simulator while he's probably eating cheeseburgers and watching Netflix."
Sebastian's golden monocle caught the lantern light as he poured more Earl Grey. "With all due respect, Lord Ainz, I believe Master Sai faces greater perils than streaming entertainment."
The butler's voice remained measured, but something dangerous flickered behind his professional demeanor. "Galactus consumes worlds. Thanos wipes out half of existence. And the political machinations of that realm make your conquest look... straightforward."
Ainz's jawbone clacked in what might have been a chuckle. "Yeah, yeah. The planet-eater brunch club and their drama." He waved a hand, the gems on his rings glittering. "Still... at least he's got proper plumbing. You ever try being an undead monarch with digestive system envy?"
The firelight reflected differently in Sebastian's monocle now – the left lens showing the present garden, the right flickering with memories from a journal's pages. "Master documented everything. The 'internet' alone nearly broke his mind before he adapted." A rare smirk touched his lips. "He wrote three pages about microwave burritos."
Clink.
Ainz's teacup met its saucer with unusual force. "That's so... him." The overlord's voice softened in a way Nazarick's denizens never heard. "Remember when he spent three weeks roleplaying a blind swordsman? Actually, learned braille? Took off his HUD and fought the Floor Guardians using only sound cues?"
Sebastian's glove tightened around the teapot. "Lady Shalltear still has nightmares."
For a moment, the two beings – one a lich-king of unimaginable power, the other a butler who'd walked through hellfire – simply existed in comfortable silence, united by memories of a man who treated virtual reality like life itself.
"He wasn't crazy," Ainz said suddenly, finger bones tracing the rim of his cup. "Just... prepared. While we were min-maxing stats, Sai was studying medieval economics. When we farmed for rare drops, he apprenticed under the NPC blacksmiths." The red pinpricks in his eye sockets dimmed. "We thought he was obsessive. Turns out he was the only one playing the real game."
The butler's posture shifted imperceptibly – shoulders squaring as if bearing invisible weight. "Every skill he mastered, every text he memorized... all for this eventuality." Moonlight caught the edge of his monocle as he turned. "Tell me, Lord Ainz – did any of you ever suspect?"
The overlord's laugh sounded like a bag of marbles rolling downstairs. "That our resident edgelord was actually training for interdimensional isekai? Not a damn clue." He leaned forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Though that one time he made Pandora's Actor cry during 'customer service training'... maybe we should've guessed."
A shooting star blazed across the sky as Ainz produced an object from his inventory – a gemstone pulsing with impossible colors, its facets shifting between realities. Sebastian's breath hitched.
"What is this? A Skill Tome?" The butler accepted the prismatic artifact with both hands, feeling power thrum against his gloves. "I've never seen..."
"Custom job," Ainz interrupted, pride creeping into his voice. "Took forty years and six world items to craft. Call it... a housewarming gift for Batman." The undead king's grin turned wicked. "Tell him it's the 'I told you so' he always wanted."
Sebastian's gloves creaked as he secured the gem within his dimensional vault. When he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of centuries. "He will appreciate this more than you know."
The fireflies dimmed as midnight approached. Somewhere beyond the garden walls, the Baharuth Empire slept unaware that two living relics of another world were drinking tea in their midst – one waiting to rule, the other waiting to serve.
And in that quiet space between moments, Sebastian Wilfred allowed himself a singular, treasonous thought:
Soon.
The last embers in the brazier died as Ainz's teleportation circle faded. Alone on the balcony, Sebastian watched dawn bleed across the eastern mountains – his reflection in the window showing not a merchant prince, but a soldier standing eternal vigil.
Somewhere beyond the stars, in a world of gods and monsters, a summoning token pulsed in an inventory screen. The butler's gloves tightened around his master's journal.
'The game was always real…for him…'