I guess I should make one more. I’ll see if I can do it without using a dead body this time, he was thinking, when someone came through the still-open gate just as it was beginning to expire and fade away.
The figure was covered head to toe in demonic black armor. Not a single patch of skin showed among the thorny raven-black plates. It was equipped with a raven-black kite shield, and in its hands, wearing gauntlets with spikes like claws, it casually held a bardiche giving off a faint, sickly green glow. Draped over its shoulders was a mantle the color of fresh blood, and its surcoat was also bloodred.
“My apologies. Getting ready took some time.” From beneath the horned close helmet came the charming voice of Albedo.
She had learned all the classes that had good defensive abilities or seemed appropriate for an evil knight to know—like dark knight. For that reason, she had the best defense out of all the level-100 warrior-type NPCs (Sebas, Cocytus, herself) in Nazarick. In other words, she was the best tank they had.
“Oh, that’s fine. Actually, your timing’s perfect.”
“Thank you. Then, how will you dispose of these lower life-forms that are still alive? Would you rather I dirty my hands in your place?”
“…What did you hear from Sebas?”
Albedo said nothing.
“He didn’t tell you? We’re saving this village. Our enemies at the moment are the ones in the armor like that guy lying over there.”
Albedo indicated her understanding and Momonga looked elsewhere.
“Let’s see…”
The two girls shrank and tried to hide themselves under Momonga’s unreserved gaze. Maybe having seen the death knight is what is making them shake so hard. Or was it the howl? Or what Albedo had said?
Maybe all of it.
Momonga thought he would first try to show them he wasn’t an enemy. Healing the elder sister’s wounds seemed like a fine way to do that, so he reached toward her, but the girls didn’t see it the way he did.
A wet patch appeared between the elder sister’s legs. And then the younger sister’s.
“…”
The smell of ammonia drifted into the vicinity. Waves of fatigue Momonga wasn’t even supposed to experience surged over him. He didn’t know what to do. It seemed like asking Albedo for help would be a bad idea, so he decided to continue as he had been.
“…It looks like you’re injured.” As an adult, Momonga had been trained to look past all manner of things.
Pretending not to notice they’d wet themselves, he opened his item box and took out a bag. An infinity haversack, unlike its name, was limited to around a thousand pounds. The items inside could be given menu shortcuts, so it was Yggdrasil basics for players to use a bag like this for things they wanted to use often.
In one of his many infinity haversacks, Momonga finally found a red potion. It was a minor red potion, which healed 50 HP in Yggdrasil. Every player ended up using them early on in the game. But to Momonga, this item was useless—this type of potion used justice energy to heal, but for an undead like Momonga, justice had the opposite effect and worked as a poison. However, it wasn’t as if all his guildmates were undead. That was why he hadn’t thrown them away.
“Drink this.” He casually thrust it toward her.
The older girl grimaced in horror. “I-I’ll drink it! Just please don’t make my si—”
“Sis!” The younger girl tried to stop her, looking like she was about to cry. Momonga racked his brains.
Why the tender family drama when all I did was save them and then offer a potion out of the kindness of my heart? Seriously…what the heck!
They don’t trust me at all. I was going to ignore them, but instead I saved their lives—it wouldn’t be weird at all if the three of us were tearfully hugging right now. Or rather, that’s what it would look like in a movie or a manga. But this is the complete opposite!
What’s the problem? Do you have to be good-looking to get that kind of ending?
As various questions came up in Momonga’s fleshless, skinless head, he heard a gentle voice. “He tried to give you lower life-forms a potion out of kindness, and you refused?! You deserve to die ten thousand deaths…” Albedo instinctively raised her bardiche. It was clear she was determined to promptly chop off both of their heads.
Considering how he was being treated after risking danger to save them, Momonga understood how she felt, but he couldn’t allow her to go through with it or the whole point of coming would be lost.
“W-wait. Don’t be too hasty. There’s an order to everything. Lower your weapon.”
“…Understood. I obey your word,” she replied in a velvet tone and returned her bardiche to its former position.
Still, the thick air of violence coming off Albedo was more than enough to scare the two girls so much their teeth were chattering—even Momonga could feel it in the pit of the stomach he didn’t have.
Anyway, we can’t get out of here soon enough. There’s no telling how bad things will get if we stay.
Momonga offered the potion again. “This isn’t dangerous; it’s medicine that will heal you. Hurry and drink it.” His tone contained a bit of kindness even as he tried to compel her, implying she’d die if she didn’t.
She reacted by opening her eyes wide, grabbing the potion, and downing it in one go. Then came surprise.
“No way…” She touched her back. She twisted around and whacked herself a few times as if she couldn’t believe it.
“The pain is gone, right?”
“Y-yes.” She nodded, looking utterly astounded.
So a minor healing potion will do for a wound like that.
That was fine, but Momonga had another question. There was no avoiding it. Everything depended on her answer.
“Do you two know what magic is?”
“Y-yes. There’s an apo-pothecary who sometimes comes to our village, my friend. He can use magic.”
“I see. That makes things much easier to explain. I’m a caster.” He cast some spells. “Anti-Life Cocoon. Wall of Protection from Arrows.”
A glowing dome appeared in a ten-foot radius around the girls. There weren’t any other visible effects, but changes could be felt in the air. Normally he would perfect the setup with an anti-magic spell, but he didn’t know what kind of magic this world had, so he just left it. They’d just have to consider themselves unlucky if another caster showed up.
“I used a spell that puts up a barrier that won’t let any living things through, as well as a spell that weakens projectile attacks. If you stay there, you should be pretty safe. And just in case, I’ll give you these, too.” After giving a simple explanation of the magic he had cast, he took out two shabby-looking horns and tossed them over. Apparently the Wall of Protection from Arrows didn’t register them as something to be stopped, so they fell near the girls. “These are items called Goblin General’s Horns. If you blow them, an army of goblins (little monsters) will appear and obey your orders. You should use them to protect yourselves.”
In Yggdrasil, apart from some consumables, most items could be customized by inlaying them with data crystals. However, there were also “artifacts,” which were dropped as fixed data and couldn’t be augmented. These horns were a lower-tier example of one of those.
Momonga had used one once: It had summoned about twelve fairly strong goblins, two goblin archers, a goblin mage, a goblin cleric, two goblin riders with wolves, and a goblin leader.
For an army, it was pretty small, not to mention weak. To Momonga, these items were junk; he was surprised he hadn’t gotten rid of them. This had to be the best use for them.
And yet, there was one good thing about the Goblin General’s Horns. The goblins it summoned didn’t disappear after a set time, but stuck around until they died. They would be able to buy the girls some time.
Having given his brief explanation, Momonga set off, referring to the image of the entire village still in his mind, and Albedo accompanied him. However, before they had got
ten more than a few steps, a voice called out to them.
“U-umm, th-thank you for saving us!”
“Thank you!”
Hearing their voices put their appreciation into words, Momonga stopped. He turned to look at the two teary-eyed girls and replied curtly, “Don’t worry about it.”
“A-and I know it’s shameless of me, but…we don’t have anyone to rely on but you. Please, please save our mom and dad!”
“Got it. If they’re alive, I’ll save them,” he promised casually, and the older sister’s eyes widened. She seemed stunned, as if she shouldn’t believe he’d just said that. Then, she returned to herself and bowed.
“Th-thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much! And may I ask…”—she swallowed hard—“…your name?”
When he went to give his name, “Momonga” wouldn’t come out. “Momonga” was the name of the guild master of Ainz Ooal Gown. What am I now? What is the name of the last player remaining in the Great Tomb of Nazarick…?
Oh, I see.
“You would do well to remember my name. I am Ainz Ooal Gown.”
4
“Yarrrrrrrrrgh!”
The howl set the air vibrating. It was the signal that one slaughter would give way to another. The hunters would be the prey.
Londes Di Grampp cursed his god for the umpteenth time. In the past ten seconds, he’d probably cursed him enough for a lifetime. If God really exists, he should get down here right now and smite this evil being. Why was Londes, a pious believer, being forsaken?
There is no God.
He had always made fun of the unbelievers who spouted such nonsense, asking them where the magic the priests used came from, then, but he was beginning to be convinced that he’d been the foolish one all along.
The monster before him—if he had to give it a name, he’d call it a “death knight”—advanced a step, looking pleased.
Londes backed up two steps instinctively to put more space between them. His armor was rattling as he trembled. The tip of his sword wavered in the air. It wasn’t just him—all the swords of the eighteen men surrounding the death knight were shaking.
Though their bodies were ruled by fear, no one fled. But it wasn’t out of bravery. The chattering of their teeth proved that if they could, they’d forget everything and run away just as fast as they could.
They simply knew it was impossible.
Londes shifted his line of sight slightly, seeking salvation. They were in the center of the village. The sixty villagers they’d rounded up were watching them, terrified, from around the square. The children were hidden behind the slightly raised wooden platform used for events. Several people carried clubs, but they weren’t ready to fight—not dropping their weapons was the best they could manage.
When Londes and the other knights attacked the village, they had come from all four directions and driven the villagers into the center of town. Then, after searching the empty houses, taking care not to overlook level hideouts, they had planned to douse them in alchemical oil and burn them down.
There were four knights still on their horses stationed in the area. They were on watch with their bows at the ready so they could kill anyone who tried to flee the village. This was a plan they’d used many times with no weaknesses.
The killing was taking a bit longer than expected, but it had been progressing smoothly. They had gathered the remaining living villagers in one area. After some moderate culling, they would release a handful.
At least, that’s how it was supposed to have gone.
Londes remembered the moment things took a turn. Elion had tried to slash at some straggling villagers from behind as they were running to the square and gotten sent flying into the air.
It was so absurd no one could understand it. His armor may have been made lighter with magic, but it was still heavy, and he was a grown, built man. Who could make any sense of the sight of him arcing lightly through the air like a ball?
He flew more than twenty feet before crashing to the ground. The crash made a hideous noise, and then he didn’t so much as twitch.
Even harder to believe was the sight where Elion had been moments before. The horrifying undead death knight slowly lowered the huge shield it had used to bash him out of the way.
That had been the beginning of their despair.
“Yeaaagh!”
A high-pitched shriek sounded, as if all hell had broken loose. One of his comrades in the circle, no longer able to bear the fear, turned tail and ran. In an extreme situation like this, with such a delicate balance, one weak link could break the entire group. But no one followed him, and they had a very good reason not to.
A black blur whipped through Londes’s peripheral vision. For having such a giant build, far surpassing the height of an average human, the death knight was certainly quick on his feet.
His comrade was permitted to run a total of three steps. As he went to take his fourth, a silver flash cut his body in two like it was nothing. The left and right halves collapsed to either side and his pink entrails slopped out, sending a sour stench into the air.
“Krrrrrr,” the death knight growled as he stood there bathed in blood, with his flamberge at the low end of its slash.
It was a purr of delight. That much could be read from his face, even if it was hard to look at because it was rotting off. The death knight was enjoying this. As the one with unquestionable authority, as a killer, he was enjoying the feeble resistance the humans put up—their fear, their despair.
Though they all held swords, no one moved to attack. At first, they had, despite their fear, but even if they were lucky enough to slip past his defense, they couldn’t put so much as a nick in his armor. And in response, the death knight didn’t even bother with his sword; he just knocked them flying with his shield, hitting them hard, but not so hard they’d die. His aim in holding back was “play.” It was clear he relished the pathetic humans’ frantic struggle.
He only swung his sword like he meant it when someone tried to run away. The first who had tried to run was Lilick, a good-natured enough fellow, if an obnoxious drunk. In a flash, all four of his limbs had been severed, and as the finishing touch, his head was lopped off. Seeing one of their own die was enough for the others to learn they couldn’t run.
Attacking was futile and they’d be killed if they ran. In that case, there was only one thing to do: Die as this monster’s plaything.
Everyone was wearing close helmets, so it was impossible to tell, but they all must have realized their fate. Some were sniffling, grown men crying like children. They’d been the strong who had robbed the weak of their lives, and they’d gotten used to it; they weren’t prepared to face the reverse.
“God help us…”
Some murmured between their sobs.
“Oh God…”
If Londes wasn’t careful, he felt like he’d soon be on his knees either praying or blaspheming.
“You bastards! Get that monster under control!”
A voice that grated on the ears like an out-of-tune hymn rang out among the supplicating knights. It had come from a knight right next to the death knight. Trying to tiptoe away from his comrade who’d been cut in half, he just looked ridiculous.
Londes frowned at the ungainly figure. Since the close helmet hid the face and the voice was strained due to fear, it was hard to tell who it was. Yeah, but there’s only one guy who takes that tone.
Commander Belius… Londes grimaced. He’d been chasing village girls out of vulgar desire, then cried for help after getting into a fight with their father. When someone got them apart, he’d taken his rage out on the father by stabbing him over and over. That’s the kind of guy he was. Back home he was a man of some means and only joined the company because he thought it would look good. They’d probably been doomed from the moment he was selected as commander.
“I’m too important to die here! Buy me some time! Be my shields!”
Of course, no one moved. Sure, he was commander,
but nobody cared for him very much, so there was no way they would risk their lives for him. The only one who reacted to the shout was the death knight, who slowly turned in Belius’s direction.
“Yeek!”
I’m impressed he could even get words out, much less get his voice to carry, standing that close to the death knight. Londes was oddly impressed.
Belius’s terrified voice thundered on. “Money, I’ll pay you! Two hundred gold pieces—no, five hundred!”
He was offering quite a sum. But he might as well have been telling them he’d pay them if they survived jumping off a 1,500-foot cliff. No one moved a muscle, but there was one response—well, half of someone moved.
“Oghabowww…” The right side of the knight who had been split in two grabbed Belius’s right ankle. He spluttered blood as he spoke in words that wouldn’t form. “Ugyahhhh…” Belius screeched. All the knights and villagers who were within view of the situation froze solid.
A squire zombie. In Yggdrasil, when a death knight killed something, an undead with the same level as the defeated opponent would spawn. The game had a system such that anything that died by the sword of a death knight would be loyal to it for all eternity.
Belius’s screech cut off abruptly and he collapsed onto his back, as if something inside him had snapped. He must have passed out. The death knight approached the now-defenseless commander and stabbed him with the flamberge. Belius’s body spasmed. “Agh—Aghghhhhgh!” Jerked awake by the pain, he screamed in a way that made everyone wish they could plug their ears. “Shabe—Shave me! Preazh! I’ joo amyfing!” He’d frantically grabbed hold of the flamberge sticking out of him, but the death knight ignored that and began sawing up and down. A chunk of his flesh, plate armor and all, was cut off, sending a heavy splatter of blood flying. “Gyak, gyak. I’ll—arhghghhg—I’ pay you. Urgghhg—shabe meee.” His body spasmed violently several times and then went limp. The death knight, satisfied, moved away from the meaty wreckage.
The Undead King Page 15
