Looking around, Sieg found the landscape surrounding Nazarick utterly transformed. Gone was the desolate wasteland beneath an eternal night sky—now, endless grasslands stretched toward the horizon beneath a star-studded, cloudless expanse. The air was crisp, clean, and carried the faint scent of damp earth and wild grass.
Sieg's eyes widened slightly. In both YGGDRASIL and his former life in the modern world, such untouched natural beauty was rare—especially in a place where even wearing a gas mask had once been necessary just to survive.
He lifted his helmet and took a deep breath. The realism of it all was overwhelming. This wasn't something a game could simulate—not with this level of sensory detail. Time travel? Alternate dimension? It hardly mattered now. What did matter was how Ainz Ooal Gown—a being of bone and magic—was functioning in this new reality.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[Communication Request – Ainz Ooal Gown]
"Hello? Can you hear me?"
"What is it, Ainz?"
"Ah—it actually connected! You're Sieg, right?"
"It's me. And no, I'm not a GM."
"Stop joking. What's the situation outside Nazarick?"
Sieg closed one eye. Beside him, a black, spherical orb materialized in midair—an Eye of Shared Vision, its surface marked with a stylized pupil.
"This is… a big problem," Sieg said quietly. "See for yourself."
The vision transmitted instantly. Ainz fell silent. For a moment, he truly hoped it was an illusion—but deep down, he knew better. The sight was too vivid, too real. He wanted to deny it, to retreat into comforting delusion… but as ruler of Nazarick, he couldn't afford that luxury.
Sieg gave him time. Without another word, he terminated the link and stood alone, letting the quiet beauty of the night soothe his thoughts.
Then—a rustle behind him.
His ears twitched. Too deliberate. Too obvious. Given the Guardians' skill, such a slip would be unthinkable unless intentional. They want me to notice.
"Who's there?"
"As expected of Lord Siegfried—you saw through my concealment effortlessly."
Siegfried—though inwardly puzzled—showed nothing on his face. This body's senses are far too acute. Every scent, every whisper of wind… it's overwhelming.
From the shadows stepped Sebastian, clad in a modified tailcoat, half his face obscured by darkness. "Albedo dispatched me to ensure your safety. Forgive my intrusion—I followed without your leave."
So cautious. Does she fear I'll abandon Nazarick? Given Albedo's obsessive devotion to Ainz, it was more likely she sought to assert control. But Siegfried no longer cared. After Rubedo, he was Nazarick's strongest—these petty power plays were little more than entertainment in his otherwise monotonous existence.
"I forgive you," he said calmly.
Sebas bowed deeply. "Thank you, my lord."
"You're a dragonkin, aren't you?" Siegfried added casually. "And you maintain your human form remarkably well."
The remark was meant as praise—but Sebas stiffened. A bead of sweat traced his temple. He thinks I'm hiding something… or worse, that I'm ashamed of my nature.
"Lord Siegfried," he replied carefully, "everything I am is a gift from the Supreme Beings. Your grace is perfection itself."
"No, I was complimenting you," Siegfried said, almost amused. Too earnest. Even more naive than Touch Me.
NPCs were shaped heavily by their creator's values—particularly their "justice" alignment. Fortunately, players like Siegfried weren't bound by such rigid programming. His own justice rating hovered just above neutral: pragmatic, detached, but not cruel. A true balance.
He turned away, muttering under his breath, disappointment coloring his tone: "Never mind. I was going to ask about your secret… but I suppose Touch Me designed you simply. Almost… crudely."
Moonlight caught his profile—and revealed it.
Dark, scaled skin. Golden, slit-pupiled eyes set in sockets of jet-black sclera. Two pairs of horns nestled within his silver-gray hair. A long, sinuous tail flicked idly behind him.
Sebas blinked in surprise. "My lord… is this your true form?"
"Half-form," Siegfried corrected. "I've suppressed most of my racial power. There are… reasons."
Dragonkin possessed immense innate strength, near-universal resistances, and no class restrictions—but their greatest weakness was equipment capacity. Fully embracing their draconic nature locked them out of most gear slots. Most players compromised: staying in a semi-human state to balance power and versatility.
"I once reached race level 50 by accident," Siegfried admitted. "Touch Me warned me not to over-invest in race levels… but I never listened."
A 50/50 split between race and class was rare—most players stuck to 40/60. Siegfried was a true racial specialist, a relic of YGGDRASIL's hardcore meta.
"Lord Touch Me…" Sebas began, curiosity piqued—
—but a cold, smooth voice cut in.
"Sebas. What are you doing?"
Demiurge emerged from the treeline, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his Eastern features calm, professional… yet radiating quiet menace. To the untrained eye, he might pass for a corporate executive. But any veteran of the New World knew better: this was a demon of supreme intellect and cruelty.
Yet—ironically—one of Nazarick's most loyal.
He bowed respectfully. "Lord Siegfried. Lord Ainz has summoned the Floor Guardians to the Arena's Sixth Level. Shall I escort you?"
"Summoned" means "ordered." Loyalty theater again. Siegfried sighed inwardly. Best not to interfere.
"I have more pressing matters," he said evenly. "Ainz can manage without me."
Demiurge's eyes narrowed slightly. "Ah… you mean that task?"
Siegfried paused. What task? He'd only been surveying the perimeter. But before he could react—
"Given the current anomaly," Demiurge continued smoothly, "ensuring the Supreme Being's safety is paramount. Allow me to handle external threats. There's no need for you to act personally."
Siegfried was stunned. Wait—they think I'm off conquering worlds? To the NPCs, his solo excursions must look like grand campaigns. In truth, he was just grinding credits to afford better gear.
"Is this your personal assessment, Demiurge?" he asked carefully.
"Partly," Demiurge replied, neither humble nor arrogant. "But Lord Ulbert—my creator—spoke often of your capabilities. Sebas would agree."
Siegfried relaxed—slightly. At least it's not all of them. Then his stomach dropped. …It's Demiurge. Of course he believes it. He's the one who actually goes out and does things.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Touch Me and I weren't enemies, you know. This bias is unnecessary."
Sebas frowned, a flicker of something like jealousy crossing his face. "Do you doubt Lord Siegfried's loyalty?"
"That's enough," Siegfried interjected firmly. Their creators had been friends—so were they, by extension. He couldn't afford factionalism among the Guardians.
He offered a thin smile—sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. To the Guardians, it was a sign of approval, a mark of their master's favor.
"I'll join shortly," he said. "Don't keep Momonga waiting."
Demiurge placed a hand over his heart. "Your consideration honors us, Lord Siegfried. To serve is our highest purpose."
Sebas echoed the sentiment immediately.
Once Siegfried vanished into the night, Sebas finally voiced his frustration. "Why wasn't I permitted to guard him?"
Demiurge adjusted his glasses, smirking faintly. "Do you truly believe a Supreme Being needs a bodyguard? Our duty isn't to shield him—it's to ensure his comfort. And didn't he say he'd come to us himself?"
Sebas scowled. He hated riddles—especially from Demiurge.
"He seems… different lately."
"All the Supreme Beings are exceptional," Demiurge replied coolly. "But our master is Lord Ainz. Remember that. Don't embarrass Lord Siegfried with careless words—especially not about… those who left us."
The unspoken warning hung heavy in the air. Ainz was the acknowledged leader. To question that—even indirectly—was dangerous.
As the guardian created by Siegfried's closest friend, Sebas should've known better. That Demiurge had bothered to remind him at all was a rare act of… what? Mercy? Strategy?
Demiurge flicked his tail—a subtle, serpentine gesture—and turned to leave. "Continue like this, and I won't hold back."
Sebas's expression hardened. "I harbor no ulterior motives."
"Hmph. See that you don't."