Suzuki Satoru had read enough isekai stories to know that waking up somewhere unexpected rarely led to anything good. But being forcibly yeeted—there was no better word—out of Yggdrasil's shutdown sequence and into a thunderously loud, oil‑scented, smoke‑filled hellscape was pushing even his genre-savvy limits.
He blinked.
Or rather, his avatar did; the black pinpoints hovering in the twin flames of Ainz Ooal Gown's skull flickered.
He looked at his hands and and skeletal fingers was all he saw.
He looked up.
The sky above him was a shade of green that offended every aesthetic sensibility he possessed. The ground beneath him rumbled with distant explosions. And somewhere nearby, someone was shouting in a voice so guttural it sounded like a blender choking on gravel.
"WAAAGH! GET DA DAKKA READY, BOYZ!"
Ainz stood perfectly still.
'Ah. Orks. I appear to be in Warhammer. I didn't want to try out that new game. My life was Yggdrasil VR.'
He would've sighed if he had lungs.
************
The landscape was exactly how the tabletop hobbyists of Earth always depicted it: metal scraps welded onto other metal scraps, painted in colors that violated several laws of physics and taste, then scattered across a wasteland like some sort of cosmic toddler had built a civilization using only trash and rage.
Ainz lifted a bony finger, experimentally testing whether his magic still functioned.
A faint shimmer of condensed mana swirled around his hand.
'Good. I retain my abilities.
Also good: my emotions are seem to be suppressed. Otherwise I'd be panicking hard enough to commit tax fraud.'
"Oi!" a voice barked.
Ainz turned.
A lone Ork Boy—green, muscled, and wearing what looked like a stolen car bumper as chest armor—was staring at him with the enthusiasm of a dog that had just found a new chew toy.
"Wot's a skelly git like you doin' roamin' around heeer, eh? You lost, boneboy?"
Ainz considered several possible replies.
He chose diplomacy.
"No."
The ork blinked.
"Wanna fight?"
"Absolutely not."
The ork blinked harder.
"...Wanna be friends?"
Ainz had no facial muscles, but if he did, they would have twitched.
"I do not believe that is possible," Ainz said carefully.
The ork boy shrugged, disappointed but not deterred.
Then he brightened.
"Oi, wait! Youz is fancy-lookin'. Boss might give ya a job! Come wif me!"
Ainz, felt the divine urge to refuse. But he also had no real information about the world he'd been dumped into.
And following an ork, he reasoned, was probably the fastest way to learn what the hell was going on.
"Lead the way," he said.
The ork grinned, showing a collection of teeth arranged like someone had rolled dental dice.
************
The ork camp was a bustling hive of industrial nonsense.
Everywhere Ainz looked, orks hammered things onto other things, typically while shouting the word "WAAAGH" in a variety of tones: cheerful, violent, confused, or all three simultaneously.
One mekboy was welding a gun to a larger gun.
Another was welding a gun to a vehicle.
A third was welding a gun to a grot, who did not look thrilled.
Ainz quietly cast a defensive spell around himself.
The ork boy who had "befriended" him shoved him into a cleared area, where an especially massive ork—wearing a necklace made entirely of suspiciously humanoid skulls—sat on a crooked throne.
"Boss!" the boy shouted. "Found dis shiny new fing wanderin' around!"
The Warboss squinted at Ainz.
"Dat looks like a skelly wizard."
"He is a skelly wizard," the boy confirmed.
"Wizardz is sneaky," the boss rumbled. "But skellies ain't sneaky. Confusin'."
'This conversation could be used as an interrogation technique,' Ainz thought.
The boss leaned forward.
"Oi, boneboy! Youz look tough. You fight for me now?"
Ainz considered it.
Considering how Orks treated their 'employees'—violence, excitement, casual explosions—it would be terrible.
On the other hand, refusing might initiate a fight with an army of biologically weaponized mushrooms.
On the third hand, Ainz possessed overwhelming magical superiority.
Perhaps intimidation was the best approach.
He lifted one hand.
"Grasp Heart."
Ainz clasped his hand into a fist.
There was a soft crunch.
The Warboss froze.
Every ork in the camp froze.
The boss slowly turned a shade of green Ainz had not previously encountered—somewhere between "moldy bread" and "radioactive envy."
"...Ow."
He collapsed face-first into the dirt.
The entire camp erupted.
"DA BOSS IS DED!"
"WHO'S GONNA BE NEW BOSS?!"
"DA SKELLY DID IT! HE'S DA BOSS NOW!"
Ainz stared.
What.
The orks stampeded toward him in an enthusiastic frenzy, cheering and smashing things out of celebration or habit.
"BONEBOSS! BONEBOSS! BONEBOSS!"
Ainz raised a single hand.
They fell silent.
"Please… stop shouting."
The orks immediately resumed shouting, but now they shouted more quietly.
Ainz suspected this was the best compromise he would ever get.
************
As the newly appointed Warboss—against every shred of his will—Ainz was dragged into a "planning hut," which was less a hut and more a pile of corrugated metal sheets held together by grease and misplaced hope.
Inside, several ork Nobz were arguing over a crude map painted on what might have been a flayed grox hide.
"Da humies are over here."
"Naaaah, dey over here."
"No, YOU over here!"
Ainz raised both hands, magically amplifying his voice.
"Enough."
The hut trembled.
The orks looked impressed.
"Boneboss is LOUD."
"Real proppa boss."
Ainz cleared his nonexistent throat.
"Who is our enemy?"
All the orks answered simultaneously:
"EVERYONE!"
Ainz internally massaged the bridge of his nose.
'This is going to be exhausting.'
Still… he had to admit a tiny fragment of interest.
The Warhammer universe, was in many ways the perfect environment for someone as overpowered as Ainz. Here, unlike in the New World, he would not feel the constant need to restrain himself.
He could experiment.
He could flex his power.
He could—
"BONEBOSS!"
A smaller ork burst into the hut.
"Da boyz are gettin' eaten by a big spiky alien fing!"
Ainz paused.
"Define 'big spiky alien thing.'"
"It's got claws! An' a tail! An' a face wot looks like it wants ta eat another face!"
Ainz recognized the description immediately.
Tyranid.
Which meant this planet was not merely ork-infested.
It was ork contested.
And now he was in charge of one of the factions.
He looked out at the cheering warband.
He looked at the smoke on the horizon.
He looked down at his skeletal hands.
'Well.
At least this won't be boring.'
Ainz lifted his staff.
"Minions! Prepare for war!"
The orks roared, ecstatic.
Ainz felt the faintest hint of pride.
Or maybe that was dread.
With emotion suppression, it was hard to tell.