Two girls ran desperately through the dirt path, lungs burning, legs trembling. Behind them, the heavy thud of armored footsteps grew louder, relentless, closer. Their breaths came in ragged gasps until—stumbling over a root—they fell hard to the ground. Before they could rise, steel flashed. A sharp sting cut across one back, warm blood spilling as a blade traced its mark. "Finally… caught up to you two," the knight snarled, voice dripping with irritation, each word rasping between shallow, furious breaths. His sword hovered menacingly above, ready to strike again.
The elder girl pulled the younger into her arms, shielding her trembling body, squeezing her eyes shut as if bracing for the inevitable. The knight raised his blade high—then stopped, the air heavy with dreadful silence.
♦ ♦ ♦
Momonga sat on a chair and looked at the mirror before him. a large wide silver mirror before him, it doesn't not reflect his face but green grass, 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. This was a cry of joy one would expect out of a programmer who had pulled eight hours' worth of overtime. Cheering and clapping answered him. The source of these two sounds was Sebas and Sans.
"Congratulations, Momonga-sama. Your servant Sebas stands in awe of your prowess."
"heh… nice job, boss," Sans muttered, both eye sockets glowing faintly white as he gave a lazy grin. "kinda hard not to clap, but bones don't make much noise. still… gotta hand it to ya, that was pretty slick."
Granted, this was the fruit of extensive trial and error, so you don't need to go that far. Momonga thought that, but 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. you too sans"
"What are you saying? Staying by your side and obeying your orders is the reason for a butler's
existence, Momonga-sama."
"don't worry 'bout me, boss," sans said with a lopsided grin, sockets dimming into their usual lazy look. "but uh… if boss lady catches me nappin' on the job one more time, i'm really gonna be skull-t for it. heh… bone to pick and all that."
Momonga let out a quiet sigh within the stillness of his body, though deep inside, he felt the faint ripple of amusement. Against his better judgment, a soft chuckle slipped through his thoughts. Somehow, the skeleton's lazy demeanor and endless stream of puns were beginning to leave their mark on him—an influence he hadn't expected, yet one he couldn't quite push away.
After hearing they're answer, he continued studying the ways to control the mirror. Finally he discovered a method to adjust the height of his viewpoint. Momonga smiled in satisfaction and began looking for a populated area. Finally, an image of something like a village appeared on the mirror. It was located roughly ten kilometers south of Nazarick. There was a forest nearby, and wheat fields surrounded a settlement. It appeared to be a rustic farming village. By the looks of things, the village itself was not very developed. As Momonga zoomed in on the village, he felt that something was amiss.
"...Are they holding a festival?"
People were running in and out of their houses this early in the morning. They looked panicked.
"No, that is not a festival."
That steely voice came from Sebas, who was watching the display with a keen look in his eye as he stood beside Momonga.
There was an undercurrent of disgust in Sebas's stern words. As Momonga enlarged the image, he too furrowed his nonexistent brows. Fully armored knights were swinging their longswords at the villagers, who were dressed in rough clothes.
It was a massacre. A villager fell with every swing of a knight's sword. The villagers could not resist them and could only run away. The knights pursued and killed the fleeing villagers. There were horses eating the grain in the field. Those horses must have belonged to the knights.
"Cheh!"
Momonga scoffed, intending to change the image. This village 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 village. 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. There was nothing like pity, anger, or worry, basic human emotions anyone should have. It felt like he was watching a TV show about animals and insects, where the strong ate the weak. Could it be that as one of the undead, he no longer considered himself part of humanity? No, how could that be?
Momonga struggled to find an excuse to justify his thinking. He was not an agent of justice. He was level one hundred, but like he had told Mare, this world's commoners might well be level one hundred as well. Therefore, he could not tread blindly into this unknown world. Although it looked like the knights were conducting a one-sided slaughter of the villagers, there might be other reasons at work here which he did not know about. Reasons like "illness, judgement, setting an example," and others like them kept appearing in his mind. And if he stepped in and defeated the knights, he might earn the ire of the country they belonged to.
Momonga stretched out his bony hand and rubbed his skull as he thought. Could it be that after becoming an undead being who was immune to mind-affecting effects, he had become inured to scenes like this? Definitely not. He waved his hand again, showing a scene from another part of the village.
It seemed like two knights were trying to pull a violently struggling villager off another knight. The man was pulled away, his arms were held, and he was rendered motionless where he stood. Before Momonga's eyes, the man was stabbed with a sword. The blade entered his body and exited from the other side of him. It should have been a fatal blow, but the longsword did not stop. One, two, three strikes — the knight seemed to be taking out his anger on the villager as he hacked at the man's body. In the end, the knight kicked away the villager, who collapsed to the ground while spurting his blood into the air.
—The villager looked straight at Momonga. No, this might have just been a coincidence. It was definitely a coincidence. There was no way for anyone to detect the mirror's surveillance apart from anti-divination spells. Frothy blood leaked from the villager's mouth as he tried to open his mouth. His eyes were unfocused, and Momonga could not tell where he was looking. Even so, with what may have been his dying breaths, he gasped his last words:
—Please save my daughter—
"What do you intend to do?"
Sebas seemed to have been waiting for this moment to speak, while sans just look at him with unbothered focus, 2There 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. When Momonga had just started out in YGGDRASIL, hunting down characters of heteromorphic races was a common practice, and Momonga, who had chosen such a race, had been PKed countless times. Just when he was about to leave YGGDRASIL, those words, spoken by that man, had saved him. If not for those words, Momonga would not be here. Momonga sighed softly, and then he smiled. Now that he had recalled that memory, he had no choice but to go save them.
(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 enlarged the view of the village until he saw everything. After that, he tried to pick out the surviving villagers.
"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."
Before Sebas could even bow, Sans stepped forward, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, a faint grin plastered on his skull.
"nah, boss. i'll go first. that's kinda my gig, y'know? take the hits, see what's waitin', then let ya stroll in all regal-like."
Ainz paused, the crimson glow in his sockets dimming for a breath as his thoughts swirled. Reckless… and yet, that's his nature. Sans is not built for endurance—he is fragile, a glass cannon whose only shield is unpredictability. But if there is anyone suited to walking into the unknown first, it is him. Better to let the enemy show their hand against Sans than risk Nazarick's core immediately.
"…Very well," Ainz said slowly, his voice even. "But change into your No Mercy form. If you are to stand ahead of me, I want your full strength at the ready."
Sans's grin widened as his sockets lit up pure white, the atmosphere around him shifting into something heavy, dangerous.
"heh. no mercy it is. guess i'll bone-rush the problem before it reaches you."
A deep, resonant toll of a church bell echoed across the chamber, the sound rolling like thunder through ancient stone. From somewhere unseen, a choir of low, reverent hums filled the air, each note vibrating with a weight that pressed against the soul.
Sans's small frame began to glow, a soft radiance that soon swelled into a blinding brilliance. The ethereal light wrapped around his skeletal body, outlining him like a figure caught between worlds. Slowly, his shape expanded, the glow stretching upward as though his very being was tearing through the veil of mortality.
Then—like a vision carved from divinity—three pairs of wings unfurled from his back, each feather blazing with otherworldly luminance. They spread wide, casting long, flickering shadows upon the walls of Nazarick's hall, their presence both awe-inspiring and unsettling.
The hums of the choir rose in harmony with the tolling bell, the combined sound carrying a weight of inevitability, as though judgment itself had descended.
Finally, the glow faded, dimming until only the faintest shimmer lingered on his bones. Standing where the lazy, grinning skeleton once was, there now loomed Sans in his NO MERCY form—his sockets burning white with relentless focus, his aura sharp and suffocating. The playful humor that once marked him was gone, replaced by a chilling presence that left little doubt: this was a being forged for annihilation.
♦ ♦ ♦
The knight raised his blade, ready to bring it down on the trembling girl—yet the strike never came. His body froze mid-swing, breath catching in his throat.
Before him, silent and menacing, hovered a massive dragon's skull. Its hollow sockets burned with a pale, unearthly glow, jaws slightly parted as if moments away from snapping shut. The air grew heavy, pressing down on him with invisible weight.
Suddenly, the dragon skull's jaw yawned wide. A surge of raw energy gathered within its hollow maw, light swelling brighter until it drowned the knight's vision. In the next instant, the magic erupted in a searing beam, a blinding ray that cut through the air and engulfed him completely. There was no time to scream—his body was burned away in an instant, leaving nothing but silence where he once stood.
"…Comparable to a Sixth-Tier disintegration spell," he judged silently. "No, perhaps even higher. That was not a simple elemental blast—its energy tore through both physical matter and magical defense alike. A direct hit would be lethal, even to me, unless countered properly." Ainz tapped his skeletal chin thoughtfully. "The efficiency is troubling as well. Instant manifestation, no verbal component, no casting delay… and the ability to summon multiple at once? If he were to employ several simultaneously, the combined output could rival Seventh or even Eighth Tier destructive spells. In other words… a glass cannon of the highest order."
"Pathetic… he died so easily…"
Momonga walk beside him glancing at the stun lock soldiers legs trembling, To Momonga, one gaster blaster is considered Sixth-tier spell. When hunting level one hundred players, Momonga would usually cast spells of the eighth tier and higher. Magic of the fifth tier and below would almost never see use. But this logic doesn't apply to sans' Gaster Blaster, the spell has unique function that ignores all magic resistance only on NO MERCY form.
Sans's crimson heart pulsed, its glow spilling out like fire through his ribs. From his outstretched hand, a blade materialized—shaped like a kitchen knife, yet magnified to a grotesque scale, half the length of his body. With a lazy but deliberate swing, the blade carved the air, releasing a scarlet arc of energy. The slice shot forward in a wide crescent, striking the two distant soldiers. In an instant, their bodies split apart, torn cleanly from shoulder to opposite hip, collapsing before they even realized what had cut them down.
(Hmm… so that was merely a casual swing. No technique, no skill, not even a hint of intent—yet the result was devastating enough to cleave through them as though their armor were paper. Still, if I analyze it carefully, it was little more than the equivalent of a basic attack. Even a level 60 opponent, with proper equipment and defensive stats, could have endured such a strike. There was no use of [True Strike], no enhancement, no focus—just Sans swinging a blade as if idly swatting a fly. That makes it all the more concerning. For someone like him, even the most careless gesture can become a lethal act. I may have misjudged the resilience of these foes… or perhaps I overestimated their worth. In either case, this serves as a reminder: when beings on the level of Floor Guardians exert themselves, even slightly, the line between effort and massacre becomes frighteningly thin.)
Just as Momonga was thinking about that, a humanoid shape came through the still-open Gate. At the same time, the Gate's duration ended, and it slowly disappeared.
A person clad in a suit of full-body black plate armor stood before Momonga.
That suit of armor 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.
Albedo's levels were in the defense focused Dark Knight class. As a result, among the three level one hundred warriors of Nazarick — Sebas, Cocytus, and Albedo — Albedo possessed the greatest defensive ability.
In other words, she was the strongest shield in Nazarick.
"No, it's fine. You came just in time."
"Thank you. Then… how shall we dispose of these inferior lifeforms? If you do not wish to stain his hands with their blood, I will gladly eliminate them on your behalf, Momonga-sama."
"...What exactly did Sebas tell you?"
Albedo did not respond.
"I see, you didn't pay attention… my intention is to save this village. Our enemies are the knights in armor, like that corpse over there."
Momonga saw that Albedo nodded in understanding, and turned his eyes elsewhere.
"Then…"
The two girls shrank under Momonga's unyielding gaze, and tried their best to make themselves as small as possible. Perhaps it was because of sans, or because they saw what happen the knights, or because they had heard Albedo's words, which made them tremble uncontrollably. Perhaps it was all of them.
Momonga felt that he should show his intention to help and reached his hand out to the elder sister, but the two girls seemed to have gotten the wrong impression.
The elder sister wet herself, followed by the younger sister.
"..."
The sharp stench of ammonia lingered in the air. Weariness pressed down on Momonga, and Albedo remained silent at his side. Before he could act, Sans stepped forward, squatted to meet the fallen girls, and let a green glow bloom from the red wings at his back. The light spread over the wound, and as if by a quiet miracle, it began to close.
"There, all better" Sans voice sounded like a reverberating echo when talking
Momonga then step forward to where the girls are, Sans now standing beside him, and ask the older sibling a question
"Do you know of magic?"
"…"
(They don't trust me at all. Even though I wanted to leave them to their fate at first, I ended up being their saviour in the end. They should be crying and hugging me in gratitude. Isn't this sort of thing common in manga and movies? But the exact opposite is happening now. Where did I go wrong? Could it be that being instantly accepted is a privilege of the beautiful?)
"…Yes, yes I do. The alchemist who comes by our village… my friend, knows how to use magic."
"...Is that so. Well, that makes things easy to explain. I am a magic caster."
Momonga then cast his spells:
"「Anti-Life Cocoon」."
"「Wall of Protection From Arrows」."
A dome of light, roughly three meters in radius, surrounded the sisters. The second spell was not visible to the naked eye, but there was a subtle change in the air. He had originally planned to use an anti-magic spell as well, but he did not know what sort of magic existed in this world, so he did not do so for the time being. If the enemy had magic casters, then that was just their bad luck.
"I have cast a defensive spell that keeps living creatures from coming near you, as well as a spell that weakens the effectiveness of shooting attacks. As long as you stay here, you should be safe. Ah, just in case, I will give you these as well."
After calmly explaining the effects of the magic to the two dumbfounded sisters, Momonga withdrew a pair of unremarkable-looking horns. Apparently, the magic did not obstruct them, since they sailed straight through the forcefield as Momonga tossed them to the sisters' side.
"These are called the Horns of the Goblin General. If you blow them, Goblins — in other words, small monsters — will appear. Order them to protect you."
In YGGDRASIL, electronic data crystals dropped from monsters could be slotted into almost any sort of item (apart from certain expendable items), in order to create just about any item a player could think of. In addition there were certain artifacts which could not be created by players and had fixed stats. These horns were examples of them.
Momonga had used the horn before, and at that time it managed to summon a Goblin Troop, twelve or so Goblins with some measure of ability. There were two Goblin Archers, one Goblin Mage, a Goblin Cleric, two Goblin Riders and their wolf mounts, as well as one Goblin Leader.
Although it was called a Goblin Troop, their numbers were few and they were very weak.
This was a trash item for Momonga. The surprise was why he had not disposed of it yet. Still, Momonga felt quite smart for being able to put this trash item to good use.
Another good point about this item was that the summoned Goblins would linger until they were killed instead of vanishing after a while. That could at least buy the girls some time.
As Momonga finished, he turned to leave, bringing Albedo with him as he headed to the village. However, after a few steps, a couple of voices called out to him.
"Ah… th-thank you for saving us!"
"Thank you!"
Those words stopped Momonga in his tracks, and when he turned around, he saw the two girls, their eyes brimming with tears as they thanked him. He simply replied:
"...Think nothing of it."
"And, and this may be thick-skinned of us, but, but you are the only one we can count on. Please! Please save our parents!"
"Hmm…" Momonga's voice rumbled low, the glow in his empty sockets narrowing as if deep in thought. After a pause, he turned to Sans, still clad in his fearsome NO MERCY form.
"Sans, go ahead of us and greet our guest."
The skeleton gave a knowing grin, his tone as casual as ever.
"Sure thing, boss."
In the next instant, his form blurred, vanishing from Momonga's side without a trace.
The sisters' eyes went wide as they heard Momonga's words. Their faces reflected the disbelief in their hearts, but soon they came to their senses and lowered their heads in thanks.
"Th-Thank you! Thank you very much! And, and, may we know…"
The girl's voice trailed off, and then she asked in a mumble:
"May we know your name...?"
Momonga almost responded by reflex, but in the end he did not state his name.
The name "Momonga" was that of the guild master of the former Ainz Ooal Gown. Then what should he call himself now? What was the name of the last man who remained in the Great Tomb of Nazarick?
—Ah, that's it.
"...Remember my name well. I am Ainz Ooal Gown."
♦ ♦ ♦
Sans appeared in the middle of the village square with a hollow *thunk* of displaced air, the air warping faintly around his winged frame. His sockets glowed pale white, but before he could even scan the streets, the voices burst forth inside his head—seven tones, overlapping, jagged, echoing like cracks in glass.
[Red – Determination] [She]
"Finally awake again… You drag us into another fight, don't you?"
[Blue – Integrity] [He-teen]
"Tch. Careless as ever. Do you even know what you're walking into?"
[Green – Kindness] [She]
"...Those children, they were hurt. At least you healed them. Thank you."
[Orange – Bravery] [She-tomboy]
"Heh. About time. Let's cut them down and show no fear!"
[Light Blue – Patience] [She-tsun]
"Rushing ahead again… you never learn. But fine. We'll follow."
[Purple – Perseverance] [he-monotone]
"Even if you fall, we'll keep pushing forward. That's the only way."
[Yellow – Justice] [he-cowboy]
"This place reeks of corruption. If they won't answer to mercy… then they'll answer to us."
(Comedian here: I add the gender so ya'll can simulate or imagine their voice and red is both Chara and Frisk, but the one who is always taking is Chara, and Frisks' gender is G/n [gender name] well not like Frisk will be talking tho)
The cacophony pressed into his skull, a constant wave of judgment and doubt. Sans exhaled, shoulders rising and falling like he was shrugging the weight off, though the grip they had on his soul never loosened.
"Geez," he muttered aloud, voice carrying a half-smirk that didn't quite reach his bones. "you guys ever think about usin' an inside voice?" The chorus went quiet for a heartbeat, then simmered back into low, restless murmurs, watching through him, waiting. "don't worry," he whispered under his breath, words aimed at the storm inside him. "Boss gave the order. i'll handle it. no need to panic… you'll see."
The Souls throbbed faintly in reply, neither agreeing nor resisting—just watching. Waiting to see what Sans would do next.
However before Sans can do anything a soldier charge at him caught off guard, his sword nearing his huge skeletal frame, the souls knowing sans Even in his NO MERCY form is Susceptible to any attack regardless of magic or physical, and with a spec of a second the upper half of the gaster blaster on top of Sans where the red souls is house, block the blow by talking it saving Sans While endangering its own
Sans original Hp value is only 5,000 and when he Transform To his NO MERCY form he use the souls HP value to boost Its own, with 1,870 for each souls and time that to eight and add his original HP value it is now 20,000. However this is not the case for the 8 souls though their HP value Still remain the same at 1,870.
-937
Frisk HP: 938/1,875
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Meanwhile, within Sans' mental scape, the once still void cracked with panic.
"KID!!"
"FRISK!!"
Both Sans and Chara materialized beside the fallen figure, dropping low in a rush of urgency. Sans' sockets burned with panic as he checked them over, hands hovering with the instinct to heal, to do something. Chara's gaze, however, was nothing but venom, their small frame trembling with wrath.
The thought tore through Sans like a knife—if Frisk's soul was damaged, if they were gone, then the balance of all seven would crumble. Every ounce of borrowed strength would collapse with them. His usual slack demeanor slipped away, replaced by a cold, sharpened edge, the kind of killing intent rarely seen on his face.
Beside him, Chara's hand curled into a fist, their expression twisted with a promise of vengeance. No words were needed—Sans could feel it, the same thought mirrored between them:
Whoever hurt Frisk… will pay.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Earlier Knight's Pov:
The villagers were herded together, fear heavy in the air as armored soldiers pressed them toward the village center. Children clung to their mothers, elders trembled, and not a soul dared raise their voice. At the head of the cordon strode Captain Londes Di Gelanpo, his armor gleaming with the discipline of a career knight. At his side, a nobleman sneered openly, lips curling as he muttered with disdain.
"Filthy peasants… it's a wonder this mud pit hasn't sunk into the earth already. Their stench is unbearable."
The villagers lowered their heads further, as though shame could shield them. The noble chuckled at his own cruelty, while Londes simply gave a curt command for the soldiers to close ranks.
And then—
A ripple in the air. A distortion, like reality itself had hiccupped. In the space of a breath, a short, robed skeleton stood there, only a few meters ahead of the captain and his entourage. He hadn't walked, nor ridden, nor announced himself—he was simply there, as if the world had skipped a frame and suddenly included him.
The gathered crowd recoiled instinctively, eyes widening in horror. The figure before them was no simple skeleton anymore—it towered two meters tall---
((Yes I'm following the anime height of Ainz to match Sans))
---cloaked in an otherworldly aura. Three distinct pairs of wings stretched from its back: the upper pair blazing with vibrant plumage like a phoenix aflame, the middle a dark moss-green, leathery and bat-like, while the lowest pair were skeletal, bare bone with no flesh nor feather, rattling faintly with each shift.
Above its head floated a dragon's skull, massive and regal, as though crowning the entity with an aura of dominion and dread. From behind trailed a long tail, its tip sharpened into a gleaming blade, swaying with silent menace.
The soldiers faltered, shields trembling in their hands. The noble, who only moments before sneered with arrogance, staggered back, words dying in his throat as the sheer unnatural presence bore down on him. Captain Londes instinctively drew his sword, his discipline holding him firm, but even he could feel his heart seize—this was no man, no beast, but something far beyond his measure.
Humans were creatures of instinct long before they were creatures of reason. When confronted with something beyond comprehension, their primal wiring sparked one of two choices: flee or fight. Most would falter, their bodies trembling under the weight of fear, the mind already screaming to turn and run. Yet for others—particularly men like Captain Londes, trained to wear steel and duty like second skin—the instinct twisted the other way. Pride, drilled discipline, and a refusal to submit overrode terror, birthing defiance in the place of retreat.
The soldiers quivered, unable to step forward nor back, frozen in the limbo between instincts. But the captain's choice was clear. Snarling through gritted teeth, he raised his blade high, voice straining to sound commanding, though it wavered under the unnatural silence.
"Monster! You dare mock me?! Die where you stand!"
With a surge of false courage, Londes broke into a charge. His boots thundered against the ground, sword lifted in a practiced arc. He closed the distance in heartbeats, his blade flashing down with the weight of a man betting his life on the strike.
The moment steel met its target, the sound that erupted was not the expected crash of metal against flesh or bone—it was that sharp, echoing "shk!" tone, the villagers froze at the alien sound, its eerie finality piercing the silence of the square.
The looming dragon-like skull that hovered like a crown above the figure had use itself to block the strike a wound now visible on its face, with crimson liquid showing
The captain sneered, catching sight of the shallow mark his blade had etched across the dragon-like skull. His courage swelled with arrogance, his voice cutting through the tense silence.
"Hah! So it can be hurt! I'll shatter that skull and carve through to the coward hiding behind it!"
The skeletal figure's burning eyes locked onto him. The wound glowed faintly, threads of crimson and cyan searing through the crack as though mocking the captain's claim.
And in answer, the skeleton loomed forward, its hollow face framed by jagged fractures of bone like scars carved by time itself. Yet it was not the fangs of its skeletal grin nor the weight of its towering form that froze the air—it was the eyes.
From the left socket, a searing red glow burned like a molten ember, wild and furious, a promise of violence given shape. From the right, a chilling blue blaze flickered with equal intensity, sharp and merciless, cold as a blade pressed against the throat.
Together, the two lights pierced through the dark, a union of wrath and judgment. The villagers dared not breathe beneath that gaze; it was as though their very souls had been seized, weighed, and already condemned. The skeleton did not need words. Its eyes alone declared it a force beyond life, beyond death—a predator who had already chosen its prey.
"DON'T. YOU. DARE."
The words were not spoken—they were declared. A single voice, yet it carried two tones: Sans's rasping chill and Chara's venomous snarl, fused into something that reverberated like a curse. The air itself seemed to recoil, heavy and suffocating, as if the world wanted no part in what came next.
Captain Londes blinked, sword still locked against the hovering skull—then the world shifted. His vision tilted, turned, flipped. For an instant, confusion drowned his thoughts, until horror dawned. He was looking down… at his own armored body, swaying without its head.
A clean strike. He hadn't even felt the blade.
Behind him, the towering skeleton lowered a weapon of pure, seething crimson light—shaped like a blade, humming with malice. The wound did not drip blood; it evaporated, his life severed so swiftly that the moment of death lagged behind the act itself.
The fused voice lingered in the air like a phantom whisper, colder than the night:
"…you should've chosen to run."
A manic laughter followed him into death. It was not human, nor could it ever be mistaken for anything born of this world—it rose and fell, jagged and broken, like two voices clawing over each other in deranged harmony. That was the last sound Captain Londes ever heard before the darkness took him. But for those left alive, the nightmare only began.
The crimson blade carved merciless arcs through steel and flesh alike, severing knights as though their armor was parchment. Screams choked the air, blending with the inhuman laughter that refused to stop. From the dirt ground, jagged spikes of bone erupted without warning, skewering soldiers' mid-stride, lifting them into the air like grotesque trophies. Blood sprayed, soaking the earth as their bodies twitched and stilled.
Others fared even worse. From the hovering dragon-skull crown, constructs of hollow bone materialized—ghastly skulls wreathed in hellish flame. They descended upon fleeing men, biting into them with spectral jaws or belching streams of fire. Their victims did not die swiftly. Their armor became furnaces, their skin blistering as their screams melted into ragged shrieks, only to be drowned by the monster's laughter.
Villagers, herded into the square, cowered and wept, unable to look away. To them, this was no guardian, no savior, no man in armor. This was punishment incarnate. And through it all, the towering skeleton's eyes burned with doubled malice, Sans and Chara's fused gaze drilling into every soul that still dared to draw breath. Half the knights were already gone—strewn across the dirt in torn heaps of steel and flesh, or writhing as fire devoured them. The rest found themselves caught in something far worse.
A sudden blue light burst from their bodies, shackling them where they stood. It wasn't rope, nor chains of iron, but invisible force that bent them to the dirt like they were no more than dolls. Their bones cracked under the crushing weight, audible snaps breaking through their screams. Muscles spasmed, locking in painful contortions, while their skin bloomed with dark bruises wherever the unnatural grip pressed down hardest.
They thrashed, swords falling from broken fingers, shields clattering uselessly into the dirt. One knight tried to raise his head, only to be slammed down again with such force that his helmet buckled inward. Another begged through bloody teeth, each word swallowed by the howling laughter that dominated the night. The monster didn't move a step. It simply looked—its empty sockets flaring brighter with that twin red glow—and the weight intensified, pinning armored men deeper into the earth.
Some knights prayed. Some cursed. But all of them understood the same truth in their final moments: they weren't fighting a man, or even a monster
They were being judged.
"Sans that's enough"
"— I am Ainz Ooal Gown"
Momonga — Ainz raised his head as the sound of the horn reached him from the direction of the village.
The area around him was covered with the corpses of the knights who had been standing guard here. The stink of blood hung heavy in the air, but Ainz paid it no heed as he ran his experiments. Just then, he chided himself for getting his priorities wrong.
Ainz cast down the sword in his hand. The sword which had originally belonged to a knight fell to the ground, its gleaming, razor-sharp edge now stained with dirt.
"...Well, I've said it before, but this physical damage reduction is quite something."
"Ainz Ooal Gown-sama."
"...Ainz will do, Albedo."
Ainz's request to be called by a truncated version of his name threw Albedo into confusion.
"Ku, kufu! Am, am I really allowed to do that? Would it not be disrespectful to shorten the name of the leader of the Forty One Supreme Beings, especially if it is also the name of Nazarick's rulers!?"
Ainz did not think that it was a big deal. However, her words meant that she respected the name of Ainz Ooal Gown, which pleased Ainz. Therefore, his reply was phrased in a gentle tone:
"It's fine, Albedo. Until my former comrades arrive, that is my name. I permit you to shorten it."
"I understand… no, but please let me address you with the appropriate respect. Then, then… my master, Ai-Ainz-sama… kukuku… yes, that's right..."
Albedo twisted her body shyly.
However, since she was in full body armor, Ainz could not see her beautiful face. To him, she was just acting strangely.
"Could, could it be… kukuku… could it be that I'm the only one who's allowed to address you in such a way?"
"No. Having someone address me by such a long name all the time would be annoying, so I would like to have everyone do the same thing."
"...Is that so… ah, that's right. Yes, that's what I thought—"
Albedo's mood turned gloomy all of a sudden. In an uneasy voice, Ainz asked:
"...Albedo, what do you think of the name I chose?"
"I think that name suits you very well. It fits my beloved — cough, cough — it fits you, in your capacity as the one who united the Supreme Beings."
"...This name was intended to represent the forty one of us, and this includes your maker, Tabula Smaragdina-san. However, I ignored the feelings of your master and the others, and took that name for myself on a whim. How do you think they would feel about that?"
"...Although I fear to anger you… I pray you will allow me to speak. If my words displease you, then I will gladly take my own life if you command it. I feel that some of the Supreme Beings who abandoned us might object to that name being used by the one who stayed with us until now, Momonga-sama. However, they are not here, so if you wish to use that name, all I feel is happiness, Momonga-sama ."
Albedo lowered her head after she finished speaking, and Ainz remained silent.
The phrase "abandoned us" swirled in his mind like a vortex.
His past companions had left him for their own reasons. YGGDRASIL was just a game, and they could not abandon their real lives for a game. Momonga felt the same way too. Yet could it really be said that he — who had been fixated on Ainz Ooal Gown and the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick — had not been suppressing his anger toward his former comrades?
They abandoned me.
"...That might be so, but it might not be. Human emotions are a complicated matter, and there is no right answer. Raise your head, Albedo. I understand your feelings. All right, it's decided… thiis shall be my name. Until my comrades object, I shall be Ainz Ooal Gown."
"Understood. The thought that our most exalted master… and the man I love most would bear this glorious name fills me with joy."
The man I love most… ah.
The uneasy Ainz decided not to worry about this for now.
"...Is that so? I'm glad to hear that."
"Then, Ainz-sama, would you like to spend some time here? Although I would be happy to stand by Ainz-sama's side, I… right, a stroll through the woods would be fine too."
He could not do that. Ainz had come to save this village.
The parents that his sisters had asked him to save were already dead.
As he thought of their corpses, he scratched his head.
The sight of their bodies reminded him of a dead insect by the roadside. There was no pity, no sadness, no anger.
The battlefield was a nightmare painted in blood and bone. Knights hung skewered on ivory spears that had erupted from the dirt, their armor split open like fragile shells. Others burned where they stood, writhing in the balefire of summoned skulls that hovered and roared with unholy flame. The air was heavy with the stench of charred flesh and iron, screams dying into silence as bodies collapsed in twitching heaps. Those who survived fared no better—blue light pinned them to the earth, their bones cracking, muscles spasming, skin bruising under the invisible crushing force.
And at the center of this devastation loomed Sans. A two-meter skeletal giant crowned with a dragon-skull halo, his sockets blazing crimson as though mocking the futility of resistance.
Ainz stood, unmoving, watching the display with that stillness only an undead could muster. Yet behind the empty sockets of his skull, his thoughts stirred. Such ruthless precision…
He spoke aloud, his voice like a solemn verdict.
"Excellent, Sans. This is the efficiency I expect from a guardian of Nazarick."
Albedo, standing at his side, let a rare smile play across her lips. She folded her hands reverently, her tone laced with admiration.
"Indeed, Lord Ainz. At last, this one proves his worth without sloth. A fitting servant for you."
But Ainz's crimson eyes fell upon the crack along the dragon crown—Gaster's face, marred but slowly knitting itself together. It was not instantaneous like the other guardians' defenses. The memory stirred within him, dragging him back to a time long ago…
The chamber of the Supreme Beings rang with voices.
Ulbert's tone was sharp with disdain.
"Gaster, are you serious? You designed a guardian without [High Tiered Physical Nullification]? That's suicide. He'll shatter the first time a strong attack hits him. Even some Floor Guardian has this passive skill while the other has high or somewhat balance defense stats
Touch Me's voice was stern, the weight of a paladin's creed behind it.
"This is irresponsible. A floor guardian's duty is to protect Nazarick. You're building in weakness."
Even Peroroncino, usually quick with jokes, shook his head in disbelief.
"Yeah, Gaster, this sounds like bad comedy. One crit and poof!—our precious skeleton explodes into bone dust. What were you thinking?"
For a long moment, Gaster said nothing. His faceless form gave away no emotion, until his voice emerged—a low, resonant tone that seemed to hum with absolute conviction.
"You don't need defense… if you're not planning to be hit."
The table fell silent. Gaster continued, his tone almost lecturing.
"Sans is different from the others. I coded his AI with predictive dodging algorithms, beyond anything we've tested. He learns patterns. He reacts before the attack is even executed. His movements will not be bound by human reflex or delay."
He leaned forward slightly, as if to press the truth into them.
"He will not need armor. He will not need negation. Because nothing will touch him. He will be the untouchable blade—fragile only if he allows himself to be struck."
Touch Me's hand tightened on his weapon, but his voice softened with reluctant acceptance.
"…If what you claim is true, then he may indeed never require the defense."
Ulbert clicked his tongue, irritation laced with begrudging respect.
"Hmph. Fine. But if he gets obliterated, that's on you, Gaster."
Peroroncino smirked, folding his arms.
"Guess that makes him our biggest gamble. A glass cannon… with the best chance never to shatter."
Silence hung over the table. And in that silence, all of them, however reluctantly, accepted Gaster's vision.
The crack in the dragon crown continued its slow healing. Ainz's sockets narrowed.
So this is the flaw. The cost of Gaster's gamble. (Even with unparalleled agility and predictive dodging, even with his dreadful power… Sans is still what they made him. A glass cannon. Magnificent—and fragile.)
Yet even as he thought it, pride swelled in the overlord's hollow chest.
"Sans that will be all for now"
Sans without saying a word release the control he has pinning down the other knights
His words seemed strangely incongruous with the surroundings, like he were buying something at a store. But to Ainz, this situation was as casual as going shopping.
He slowly descended to the ground, accompanied by Albedo.
The false knights stared at Ainz with mouths agape. They had been hoping for a rescue, but what had come was the man responsible for everything, and his arrival shattered their hopes.
"Greetings, gentlemen. My name is Ainz Ooal Gown."
Wearing a majestic, jet black, royal robe, wearing steel gauntless and a red mask in a grin [envy's mask]
Nobody answered.
"If you throw down your arms, I can guarantee your lives. Of course, if you would rather fight—"
One sword was cast to the ground. It was shortly followed by the other swords being thrown down until there were four blades on the ground.
Nobody spoke during this time.
"...You seem quite tired. Although,don't you think your heads are held a bit too high before the Supreme Being?" said the other person clad in armor beside the magic caster
The knights immediately prostrated themselves before him without a single sound.
They did not look like vassals before their lord so much as convicts awaiting execution.
"...I will permit some of you to leave with your lives. In exchange, tell your master — your owner — this."
Ainz used the effects of the 「Fly」 spell to move near one of the knights, and then he removed his helmet with the hand that was not holding the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown. He noted the man's exhausted eyes, and their gazes met through the mask.
"Do not make trouble around here. If you make a disturbance here, I will slay you with the rest of your country."
The trembling knight nodded as hard as he could. His frantic gesture looked quite comical.
"Get lost. And make sure to relay this to your master."
He jerked his chin, and some knights fled like rabbits. While the others were held down by the same blue light preventing them from running or simply move, and part of this knights that was held down is one pompous noble
(...Ah, this act is tiring,) Momonga quietly grumbled as he watched the knights run away.
If there were no villagers around, he might even have stretched his shoulders. Although he was doing the same thing in the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, playing the role of a dignified person was very tiring for an average salaryman like Ainz. Yet, until the curtains closed on this act of his, he had to wear yet another mask.
Ainz resisted the urge to sigh and walked toward the villagers. Albedo followed behind him, her every step accompanied by the clanking of metal.
As Ainz drew closer to them, he could more clearly see the confusion and unease on the villagers' faces.
It was not that they were not happy at being rescued from the knights but frightened by the person before them.
Ainz finally realized this, that the knights are weak, so weak they might even not be considered level 10 or above, however it might be too early to judge the whole civilization from these knights, he them remember a quote from his fellow guildmates
"Never take an enemy lightly, no matter how weak they seem. Overconfidence breeds carelessness. It is always better to prepare for the worse than to be caught unprepared."
He decided to reflect on this and pondered it quietly.
If he went too close to them, the outcome would be the opposite of what he was hoping for. Therefore, Ainz decided to stop at a distance from them, and spoke in a kindly tone.
"You have been saved. Be at ease."
However, the attention of the whole village is shifting from the magic caster and to the skeletal seraphim who is watching them like a hawk, a silent warning. Ainz notice this and address Sans to revert to his Base form to ease the villagers, and the ringing bells and heavenly choir can be heard again while a blinding light covered his form as Sans grows smaller and back to his original smiling skeleton face, but given the long black shorts, a Hodie on, and hand on his jacket pocket, as a result they didn't notice his feature.
"You, you are…"
One of the villagers was saying that, but even in the middle of speaking to Ainz, his eyes never left the now smaller 'person'.
"I saw someone attacking this village, so I came here to help."
"Ohh…"
As the noises spilled out, looks of relief dawned on the faces of the villagers. Even so, they could not be completely at ease.
What a pain. Should I try a different approach?
Ainz decided to handle this in a way he did not like much.
"...That said, this was not for free. I expect a reward commensurate with the number of villagers whom I saved."
The villagers looked at each other. It would seem that they were worried about money. However, their doubtful looks faded away. This crass demand for money in exchange for salvation seemed to have allayed their suspicions somewhat.
"With, with the village in its present state…"
Ainz raised his hand to silence the other man before continuing.
"We'll discuss that later. I rescued a pair of sisters before I came here. I will go bring them over now. Can you wait here for me?"
He had to make sure those sisters did not talk and give away his true identity.
Without waiting for them to reply, Ainz slowly headed off. At the same time, he thought about using magic to alter memories.
♦ ♦ ♦
Ainz surveyed the interior from where he was seated on one of the chairs.
The sunlight which shone through the windows illuminated every corner of the room, so he could see clearly inside even without darkvision.
He took a look at the woman in the corner of the kitchen, and the farming tools inside the house.
There were no manufactured products to be seen anywhere.
Just as Ainz thought that there would not be much in the way of technology here, Ainz realised that his thinking might be naive. Still, he was curious about what sort of science that a world with magic would develop.
Ainz shifted his hand across the old table to avoid the sunlight. His metal gauntlets were not heavy, but the shabbily-made table shook under its weight. The chair also creaked from Ainz sitting on it.
This was a textbook definition of the word "poverty."
Ainz leaned the Staff on the table to keep it out of people's way. The way the Staff reflected the sunlight in a brilliant display made the run-down old house appear to be some sort of fairytale wonderland. He recalled the surprised expressions on the villager's faces, the way their eyes went wide and how they were lost for words.
A surge of pride came over Ainz as the villagers asked about the Staff which he and his guildmates had painstakingly crafted. However, his delight was immediately suppressed to normal levels, which made Ainz furrow his nonexistent brows.
Frankly speaking, Ainz disliked this forced calming effect. That said, it was also true that allowing his emotions to run wild would make it difficult to solve the challenges ahead of him. With that in mind, Ainz prepared himself for his upcoming task.
He had to negotiate payment for rescuing the village with the Chief.
Of course, Ainz's real objective was to obtain information, and not money. However, directly asking for information would be strange.
While it would be fine in a small village like this, once the local lords found out, they would begin making their way to him. When they discovered that he knew nothing about this world, there was a high chance that they would try to use him.
Was he being too cautious about this?
Ainz felt that this was like running across a busy road — a fatal accident could happen at any time. The fatal accident in this case meant encountering the mighty beings of this world.
Strength and weakness were two sides of the same coin.
For now, Ainz knew firsthand that Sans was stronger than everyone he had encountered in this village, and by extension it was only natural to assume the same of the other Guardians. If even one of them could so casually outclass the locals, then as a whole, the Guardians of Nazarick—and by further extension, Ainz himself as Guild Master—were beings on an entirely different level. Yet, that did not guarantee supremacy over this entire world.
Ainz and Sans are undead, and from the terrified reaction of the two girls earlier and the villagers, he could infer that undead were despised here. If hatred was the norm, then hostility would surely follow. For all their overwhelming strength, it would be unwise to invite endless waves of enemies through arrogance. Careful steps were required, both to protect Nazarick and to safeguard his position as its leader.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
—The Chief sat opposite Ainz. His wife stood respectfully behind him, eyes cautious and wary.
♦ ♦ ♦
Sans walked lazily through the town; his hands tucked deep into his pockets and his hood drawn low over his head. To the villagers, he looked like just another cloaked traveler wandering without care, but beneath that casual gait his glowing eye flickered, taking in every detail—the layout of the houses, the positions of wells, the cover provided by trees and bushes. He was surveying, memorizing, planning.
He knew Ainz was stronger, armed with spells and utility that could shield him from nearly any threat, but that didn't mean Sans would slack off. The idea of seeing Ainz bleed or crumble to dust was mortifying, and after what happened to Frisk earlier, he had sworn—sworn with every ounce of his being—that no one in Nazarick would suffer that fate.
If it meant hunting down every threat, if it meant wiping out entire towns, he would do it without hesitation. Whatever it took.
He. Will. Do. His. Job
Just then, he reached the entrance of the town and spotted Ainz, Albedo, an old man—presumably the village chief—speaking with a well-built man in armor who was bowing respectfully.
"Sup, boss. Who's Captain Crunch?" Sans muttered.
The armored knight lifted his head, blinking in confusion at the sight of what appeared to be a kid in a jacket with his hood up. He assumed this strange child must be the magic caster's assistant.
Ainz turned to the hooded figure. Before he could speak, however, the knight stepped forward, introducing himself with a polite bow and extending his hand toward Sans.
Ainz froze. His mind raced—Sans didn't wear gloves, and if he touched the knight directly, his skeletal hand would be revealed. For a brief moment, panic welled up within the overlord.
But before anything could spiral out of control, the sound of a long, drawn-out "Pffffft!" echoed between them. Sans had casually cloaked his hand in a small illusion, making it appear human before grabbing the knight's hand. He let out a chuckle.
"Heh, the old whoopee-cushion-in-the-hand trick. Classic. Name's Sans"
The knight blinked in bewilderment, caught between courtesy and confusion, while Ainz silently exhaled in relief.
The knight then nod and before he could say his name he was alerted by a knight running to them turning his head he saw a knight panting for air,
"Warrior-Captain! We've sighted a lot of people around the village! They've surrounded the village and they're closing in!"
♦ ♦ ♦
"So boss, we gonna help or not think Captain Crunch is losing"
"Lord Ainz, have no time to waste on insect, Sans"
Ainz quietly watched Gazef's back shrinking into the distance as he rode off. Although her master seemed to be thinking about something, Albedo did not inquire further.
"...Haa… when I first saw the humans here, I could not help but think of them as insects… but after speaking with them, I have come to be fond of them, like small animals."
"Is that why you swore on your glorious name to protect them?"
"Perhaps… no, I should say that it was in response to how he bravely rode to his death..."
Ainz admired it.
He admired Gazef's determination, his strength of will that he did not have.
"...Albedo, order the servants to search out the ambushers around us and knock them out once they are found."
"I will do so at once… Ainz-sama, the Village Chief and the others are here."
As Ainz turned to look at Albedo, he caught sight of the Chief and two other villagers coming over.
♦ ♦ ♦
Gazef is now panting, laceration all around him and fatigue gripping him as he stands his ground
"Kuh. kuh… kuku…"
Gazef was smiling brightly.
"...What's so funny?"
"...Hmph, you fool. In that village… is a man who is stronger than me. His power is unfathomable, but he could take you all out by himself… Trying to kill… the villagers he protects… is impossible for you."
"...Someone stronger than the Kingdom's greatest warrior? Do you think boasting like that will do you any good? You truly are an idiot."
Gazef was still smiling. What kind of look would Nigun have on his face when he met that inscrutable man called Ainz Ooal Gown? Seeing that would probably be the best gift Gazef could receive before heading off to the afterlife.
"...Angels, kill Gazef Stronoff."
Countless wings moved in response to that cold, cruel order.
Gazef steeled himself, preparing to run forward, when suddenly a voice came past him:
—Looks like it's about time to switch.
The scenery before Gazef changed, and he was no longer on that bloodsoaked plain. Instead, he was in the corner of what looked like a simple village hut.
There were worried-looking villagers all around him.
"This, this is..."
"This is a warehouse that Ainz-sama has protected with his magic."
"So you're the Chief… Gown, Gown-dono does not seem to be here."
"No, he was here just a moment ago, but he seems to have vanished without a trace, and in his place, you appeared, Warrior-Captain-sama."
I see, so the voice in my head was...
Gazef allowed himself to relax. He would have no part to play in what would come next. Gazef collapsed to the ground, and the villagers hurriedly drew closer.
The Six Scriptures. They were an enemy that even Gazef Stronoff, the strongest warrior in the region, could not hope to defeat.
Yet, he could not even begin to imagine that Ainz would lose.
♦ ♦ ♦
The light of the setting sun covered up the blood staining the grass, and the stench of blood was blown away by the wind.
There were two figures on the plains who had not originally been there.
Nigun of the Slaine Theocracy's special operations unit — the Sunlight Scripture — looked at them with perturbation in his eyes.
One of them was dressed like an arcane magic caster. He(?) wore an evil-looking mask to hide his face, and a pair of iron gauntlets on his hands. He wore a expensive-looking black robe, suggesting he was a person of some status.
The other one was dressed in a suit of jet-black full plate armor. It looked very impressive, and it was certainly some sort of masterwork magic item. One look at the exterior was enough to tell that it was a high-end magic item.
The last one, a 'Child'? wearing a blue Jacket, hands tucked in his pocket with his hood one, compare to the other two person next to him he looks out of place, could be their slave with the plain clothes it wear
The beleaguered Gazef and his men were gone without a trace. In their place were these two mysterious individuals. It seemed to be some kind of teleportation magic, but he had no idea what kind of spell had been used here. He had to be wary of the mysterious magic caster.
Nigun called the angels back, ordering them to form a defensive perimeter on their side. His assiduous gaze studied their movements, and then the magic caster stepped forward:
"Pleased to meet you, gentlemen of the Slaine Theocracy. I am Ainz Ooal Gown. I would be glad if you could call me Ainz."
He was some distance away from them, but the wind carried his voice over clearly.
Nigun did not respond, and thus the mysterious man called Ainz continued:
"The person behind me is called Albedo and the other one is called Sans. I would like to make a deal with you. Might I have a moment of your time?"
Nigun tried to attach some meaning to the name Ainz Ooal Gown, but it was no use. It might be an alias. Perhaps trying to glean some information from him would be more productive. With that, Nigun raised his chin, indicating that Ainz should continue.
"Wonderful. Thank you for taking the time to listen to me. Then, I would like to start by making one thing clear to you gentlemen. That would be — there is no way you can defeat me."
He could hear the absolute confidence in that statement. This was not a bluff or a boast. This was something that the man Ainz Ooal Gown believed from the bottom of his heart.
Nigun furrowed his brows.
In the Slaine Theocracy, nobody would dare speak in such a way to their betters.
"Ignorance is truly deplorable. You will pay the price for your foolishness."
"...Really now. Do you really think that will happen? I observed your battle earlier, so my presence here would indicate that I am confident of victory. After all, if I was not sure that I could beat you, would it not be wiser for me to leave that man to die?"
He was right.
An arcane magic caster would be better suited to different kinds of confrontations. Arcaners, sorcerers, and wizards could only use light armor, so they would want to avoid melee combat, using 「Fly」 to repeatedly launch 「Fireballs」 and other such spells from afar. Yet Ainz had chosen to face them head-on. He must have a trick up his sleeve.
After a period of silence, Ainz spoke again:
"I have a question for you, if you can understand it. The angels you have brought with you should have been summoned by third tier magic. Am I correct?"
He was stating the obvious.
Ainz went on, ignoring Nigun's puzzled expression:
"The monsters you summoned are similar to those in YGGDRASIL, so I was curious as to whether the names were the same. Many of YGGDRASIL's monsters were derived from mythology… monsters like angels or demons should be no exception. Said angels and demons are most commonly associated with Christianity, but it seems quite unnatural that something called an archangel exists in a world without Christianity. That would mean someone like myself must exist in this world."
Nigun had no idea what Ainz was talking about and his ire was rising. He asked:
"That's enough of your self-absorbed prattle. Now tell me; where is Stronoff?"
"I teleported him to the village."
"...What?"
Nigun had not expected Ainz to answer. He thought of why Ainz would say that and replied:
"How foolish. Even if you tell a lie like that, a quick search of the village will—"
"—It is not a lie. I merely answered your question. Well, there is another reason for why I answered your question."
"...Could it be that you want to beg for mercy? If you help us save some time, I can consider it."
"Nonono… well… the truth is, I overheard your conversation with the Warrior-Captain. What a lot of balls you have."
Ainz's tone changed suddenly, and he continued speaking as he looked at the mocking Nigun.
"To think you would dare say that you would massacre the villagers that I, Ainz Ooal Gown, took the time to personally rescue. I cannot think of anything that is more offensive than that."
Ainz's robe rippled in the wind. That same wind blew across Nigun and company.
The cold wind just happened to be blowing from Ainz's direction, but Nigun hurriedly brushed away the phantom image that loomed in front of him. Yes, that vision of death before him must have been an illusion.
"...What, what do you mean by "offensive", magic caster? What of it?"
Although he was obviously frightened, Nigun did not change his mocking tone.
He was the commander of one of the Slaine Theocracy's secret weapons, the Sunlight Scripture. How could he be afraid of a single man's name? It was impossible. It could not be possible.
Yet—
"I mentioned a deal earlier. These are the terms. You will hand your lives over to me without resistance. In exchange you will not have to suffer. However, if you put up a fight, then the price you fools shall pay is to die in despair and agony."
Ainz took a step forward.
It was just a single step, but Ainz's body seemed to swell massively before their eyes. Cowed by him, the men of the Sunlight Scripture reflexively took a step back.
"Ahh…"
Several hoarse cries came from around Nigun.
They were cries of fear.
His presence was filled with an unimaginable power. This was the first time Nigun had been faced with such might. Therefore, he could understand his men's fear.
Nigun was a powerful individual himself, a veteran of many battles who had grazed the edge of death countless times, who had taken many lives. He could feel the might radiating from the mysterious magic caster, an oppressive, potent pressure. It must have been worse for his men.
What kind of being was he?
What was the true identity of this magic caster? Who was the man beneath the mask?
Once more, Ainz ignored Nigun's panic and spoke coldly:
"That is why I did not lie to you and answered your question honestly. It is because there is no point in lying to those that are about to die."
Ainz spread his arms and took another step forward. He looked like he was about to hug them, but his evil-looking fingers reminded them of a lunging monster.
A thrill of cold ran from the bottoms of Nigun's feet to the top of his head. He had felt this countless times in his struggles along the edge of life and death. It was a sign of impending doom.
"Have the angels charge him! Don't let him get close!"
Nigun's voice broke slightly as he shouted his orders. It sounded more like a scream.
It was not to raise his men's spirits. He was simply afraid of Ainz Ooal Gown.
Two Archangel Flames flapped their wings in response to Nigun's command, launching an attack.
The angels flew straight up to Ainz and stabbed at him with their flaming swords.
///
Sans was watching the exchange between Ainz and the Commander with little interest, his hood shadowing his half-lidded eyes. He stifled a yawn, already bored of the formalities, when suddenly his eyes widened at the sight before him—two summoned angels lunging forward, their blades driving straight into Ainz's chest.
For a split second, his mind went blank. The oath he had sworn—to protect his family, to never let what happened to Frisk happen again—flashed through his head like a cruel reminder. Frisk had been hurt badly, and he had promised it would never happen to anyone in Nazarick. Not again. Not ever.
The thought of Ainz, one of his creators, turning to dust in front of him sent a sickening chill down his spine. His vision blurred with panic, every instinct screaming that he had already failed.
He swore. To protect them. But now. He. One of the powerful Guardian of Nazarick failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed. He failed.
Just then, something inside him snapped. Without even realizing it, Sans raised his hand, shadows bending unnaturally as a row of Gaster Blasters manifested behind him, their jaws splitting open with a mechanical hiss. A massive one loomed above the rest, towering like a beast of judgment.
In the next instant, the night lit up—
A valley of searing beams erupted, flooding the battlefield in blinding light. The angels didn't even have time to cry out. wings, and holy armor were swallowed whole by the storm of destruction, the angel wielding the mace included.
And just like that, the sky was silent again.
Every angel had been erased, reduced to nothing under the weight of Sans's wrath. The battlefield was silent, the air thick with the lingering hum of fading energy.
///
Albedo, who was standing behind him, should have blocked that attack. And so all of the Sunlight Scripture, who had been predicting that course of action, could not believe their eyes. It was not that anything happened. On the contrary—
Nothing happened.
Indeed, the man called Ainz Ooal Gown took no action. He simply allowed the angels to run him through. He did not dodge, block, cast a spell, or have his follower intercept it. Nothing happened.
Their shock became mockery.
That act, pretending to be some mighty figure, was nothing but a bluff. It was not that Albedo did not wish to block it, but that Albedo could not respond in time to the high-speed attack of the Archangel Flame. Now that the truth was out, they did not seem like anything special at all.
His men breathed sighs of relief. Nigun, who felt quite silly for being so afraid, turned to Albedo.
"How unsightly. To think he would try to scare us with a bluff…"
Suddenly, a question came to mind.
Why was Ainz's corpse not falling?
"...What are you doing? Call back the angels. He can't fall down with those swords stuck in him."
"But, but we've already given the order."
His subordinates' confused voices startled Nigun, and he looked at Ainz again.
The angels were desperately flapping their wings, like butterflies caught in a spider's web.
The two angels slowly moved to the side. However, their movements were very strange. It looked as though someone was pushing them aside.
Following that, the body of Ainz — which had been blocked by the angels — appeared once more from the gap between them.
"...I told you, didn't I? There is no way you gentlemen can defeat me. Shouldn't you heed the warnings of others?"
The calm voice filtered into Nigun's ears.
He could not comprehend the sight before him.
He was stabbed through his chest and abdomen, but Ainz was still standing, as though nothing were wrong.
"Impossible…" one of Nigun's subordinates moaned, giving voice to the words in Nigun's heart.
Judging from the angle of the angels' swords, they had to be fatal wounds. Even so, Ainz did not seem to be in any pain.
That was not the only shocking thing.
Ainz was gripping each of the angels by the throat. The angels struggled against him, but Ainz did not let them go.
"Impossible…"
Someone was muttering to themselves. Angels summoned from magic had bodies created from their summoners' mana, so they were definitely not light. They weighed more than a grown man, and then there was the weight of their armor to consider as well. There was no way they could be lifted up by the throat so easily.
Granted, a well-trained warrior, with a stout and muscular body, might be able to do it. But the man before him, Ainz, was a magic caster who should have focused on training his intellect and arcane powers over honing his physique. Even if he were enhanced by magic, he would not be able to do anything if his base strength was low to begin with.
Then, why was this happening? Why did he seem completely unfazed, even after being impaled?
"...There must be some sort of trick."
"Ah, definitely, how could anyone be fine after being run through by a sword!?"
Panic and fear spread through the Slaine Theocracy's special forces unit. They were all veterans of numerous battles and had experienced many dangers in the past, but this was a sight they had never seen before. Not even the angels that Nigun could summon were capable of such a feat.
The doubtful mutterings about how he did not seem to be in pain and was speaking normally crept into Nigun's ears.
"High Tier Physical Nullification — a passive skill that negates the attacks of weapons with low data content and low tier monsters' attacks. It only protects against attacks of up to level sixty — in other words, attacks above level sixty can harm me. It is an all-or-nothing ability… to think it would actually see use here. Well then… these angels are in the way."
Holding an angel in each hand, Ainz slammed them both into the ground. There was a thunderous crash, and the earth trembled from the impact — a testament to Ainz's supernatural strength.
The angels died instantly, reverting to countless dancing motes of light which vanished into the air. Of course, the swords stuck in Ainz vanished as well.
"If I learn how you named these angels, I can then understand how you can all use spells from YGGDRASIL. But let us leave this aside for now."
As Ainz slowly straightened up, he was still talking about things which nobody could understand.
However, that only intensified the Sunlight Scripture's fear of his mysterious power.
Nigun gulped.
"All right, we'll end these pointless games here. Are you satisfied? Since it looks like you aren't willing to accept the deal, then it shall be my turn."
But then, he felt a surge of energy flare behind him. Turning his head, Ainz caught sight of the formation of Gaster Blasters materializing out of thin air, their jaws opening wide as they locked onto the angels still lingering above.
A heartbeat later, the world was drowned in light.
And within a single second, every last one of them was gone, erased by the overwhelming might of the barrage. Ainz's gaze shifted, and there he caught the one responsible—Sans.
The sight left him conflicted. For all of Sans's laid-back demeanor, the dry humor and careless tone, he possessed terrifying power. More than that, his intelligence should have told him such attacks were meaningless against Ainz's own undead body. So why? Why unleash such wrath here, in front of mere humans and angels who could not hope to stand against Nazarick?
Ainz's hollow eyes lingered on him, hidden behind the glow of crimson orbs. (What drove you, Sans? What prompted this display? Was it fear… or something else entirely?)
Sans stepped forward, his hood throwing his face into shadow, hands sliding casually back into his pockets as though nothing had happened. Yet the blue fire burning in his left eye told another story.
Then he spoke, his voice was low, resonant, and echoing with a weight that cut through the silence.
"I didn't think any of you would be dumb enough to try attacking the boss…" Sans muttered, his left eye flaring brighter, blue flames surging and pulsing with raw energy. Each word carried a weight that pressed down on the gathered men, cold and suffocating.
He tilted his head slightly, the lazy grin on his face twisting into something far more menacing.
"Try that again," he said, his voice low and echoing, "and I'll make sure the only thing left of you is dust in the wind."
The air around him rippled with killing intent, the faint hum of Gaster Blasters still lingering like distant thunder, promising he would make good on every word.
"...including you."
The words rolled from Sans's mouth in a low, echoing tone that silenced everything around him. Confusion rippled through those present—the mages, Nigun Grid Luin, even Ainz and Albedo—as his gaze shifted upward.
He stared into the heavens themselves, his left eye burning brighter, the blue flame surging with violent intensity.
Then it happened.
A single pulse of energy radiated from him, warping the air with a pressure that made the ground tremble. The twilight sky above groaned, splintering like glass under strain—then, with a deafening crack, it shattered into fragments of light, cascading down as though the very heavens had been broken by his will.
Behind the dark helm of Albedo's armor, a subtle smile formed, hidden from all but herself. Her golden eyes glimmered with satisfaction as she watched the last fragments of the shattered sky fade into nothing.
Inwardly, she applauded Sans. Quick, decisive, merciless—exactly what was expected of a Guardian of Nazarick. To strike down those who dared raise their hands against the Great One was not only duty, but honor.
Yes… this is as it should be, she thought, her heart swelling with devotion. The one they had all sworn loyalty to, the one she cherished above all else, remained untouchable. And Sans, in his own way, had proven that any threat to Ainz Ooal Gown would be erased without hesitation.
"That's enough, Sans."
Those words were enough to stop Sans in his tracks and look at Ainz.
"...But, but boss, they…they…" stuttering, not finding the right word to give an explanation.
"—It's fine, Sans … everything has gone according to my predictions, aside from the weakness of the angels. What else is there to be angry about?"
"…"
Sans exhaled slowly, the glow in his left eye dimming as he forced himself to calm down. The weight of what he had just done pressed on him. He had let his emotions take the wheel—fear, anger, and that gnawing memory of Frisk's suffering. Instead of sizing up the situation, he had lashed out without thinking.
Now that his mind was clear, the truth settled in. The angels' blades hadn't harmed Ainz in the slightest. Not even a scratch. And Albedo—always vigilant, always ready to defend her master—hadn't so much as twitched when they struck. That could only mean one thing: she had known all along that such an attack was meaningless.
Sans stuffed his hands back into his pockets, his shoulders slumping just slightly beneath the hood. Guess I jumped the gun… he thought. Still, the promise he made lingered in his chest, a heavy reminder that he would never allow anything—no matter how trivial—to endanger Nazarick again.
As confusion washed over Nigun, Ainz answered:
"Good grief… you know, you should thank Sans. It would seem someone was using divination magic to keep an eye on you, and it seems that Sans had teach them on a thing or two about privacy. Really, if I had known, I would have linked a higher tier attack spell to it."
Those words filled Nigun's eyes with realization.
The Slaine Theocracy must have been spying on him.
A wave of cold ran through Nigun as he picked up the hidden meaning in those words.
He, who had always been the oppressor, was now going to become one of the oppressed.
He was filled with an incomparable fear. The fear that he, who had taken countless lives in the past, was now going to have his own life taken. His subordinates saw his terrified expression and it frightened them as well.
He was on the verge of tears.
He wanted to kneel down and loudly beg for his life, but Ainz did not look like a compassionate man. Thus, Nigun fought back the urge to weep, trying his best to look for a way to survive. But no matter how he thought, he could not think of any way to get help from the outside. Therefore, his only hope was to throw himself on the mercy of Ainz Ooal Gown.
"Wait, wait a bit! Ainz Ooal Gown-dono, no, -sama! Please wait, we, no, I wish to make a deal with you! I guarantee you will not be disappointed! As long as you spare me, I will give you any amount of money you want!"
He could see his shocked subordinates out of the corner of his eye, but they were no longer relevant to him. The thing that mattered now was his own life. Everything else was of secondary importance.
Besides, he could find more subordinates, but his own self was irreplaceable.
Ignoring the countless angry voices of his men, Nigun continued:
"It must be difficult to satisfy the tastes of such a great magic caster as yourself, but I will definitely prepare enough money to please you! I have a position of some power in my country, so they will definitely pay any price to ransom me! Of course, if you desire anything else, I will do my best to meet your wishes! So I beg you! Please spare my life!"
Nigun panted as he finished his monologue.
"What, what about it? Ainz Ooal Gown-sama!"
A delicate, gentle woman's voice responded to Nigun's desperate plea:
"Did you not reject the compassionate offer of the Supreme One, Ainz-sama?"
"That is!"
"...I know what you want to say. You wanted to beg for your life because accepting his proposition would also mean your death. Am I correct?"
The black-helmeted head shook, as though it was tired of talking.
"You seem to have gotten the wrong idea. Since Ainz-sama, who holds the power of life and death in Nazarick, has already stated his will, inferior lifeforms like you humans should lower your heads and gratefully await the taking of your lives."
Albedo's forceful words were backed by an adamant resolve.
She's mad. This woman is mad. Nigun, who realized this, looked hopefully to Ainz.
Ainz had been quietly listening to them. When he realized that Nigun was waiting for his decision, he shook his head in exasperation and said:
"Indeed… it is as she says. Cease your pointless struggles and lie down quietly. As a final act of mercy, I will kill you without drawing out your suffering."
♦ ♦ ♦
As he walked along the night-veiled plains, Ainz raised his head. What greeted him was the beautiful sight of stars in the sky.
Ainz sighed at the scenery for the second time, and then he headed back to the village.
Sans had clearly gone a little overboard.
Ainz let out a long, hollow sigh, his crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Insubordination… I don't know why Sans acted without command, but striking without the approval of one's superior is dangerous. Recklessness can undermine order.
If this were an office, such behavior would have warranted severe punishment… perhaps even termination.
The irony wasn't lost on him. Nazarick was no company, and Sans was no mere employee—but discipline and structure were still the pillars of leadership. For now, Ainz held his tongue, but the thought lingered like a shadow in his mind.
"Still, Ainz-sama, why did you save Gazef?"
Why indeed? Ainz could not articulate his feelings at that time, so he tried to approximate them for her:
"This was a problem we caused, so shouldn't we try and settle it ourselves?"
"Then why did you give him that item?"
"I was laying the foundation for future plans. Letting him hold it would be a good thing for me."
Ainz had given Gazef a cash item from YGGDRASIL, but he had a great many of them. Although he could not replenish his stock of them, giving one away was not a great loss.
In addition, Ainz was actually happy to have less of those items.
That was because those were consolation prizes from the 500 yen gacha draws, which reminded Ainz of how profligate he had been with his spending and his poor lifestyle then. In addition, while he had spent countless 500 yen coins on finally getting the ultra rare item that was the top prize, his former comrade Yamaiko had gotten it on the first try. The impact of that incident cast an indelible shadow in Ainz's heart.
He had wanted to throw those consolation prizes away, but when he thought of the 500 yen it had cost… he could not bear to wastefully dispose of it.
"Well, it doesn't matter who ends up with that item in the end, or if it ends up being used or not. It's no loss to me."
"...Would it not have been best to let us take care of things? There was no need to trouble Ainz-sama to personally aid those inferior lifeforms… surrounding them was hardly a difficult task, which is why I submit that Ainz-sama did not need to personally take the field."
"Is that so…"