The Undead King

by Kugane Maruyama

  “No, no, no…”

  “Oh God!”

  Several of the other knights, driven nearly insane, began to scream. The moment they ran they’d be killed, but to stay put was a fate worse than death. They knew both those things and so were helplessly paralyzed.

  “Pull yourselves together!” Londes roared, cutting their shrieking short. It was so silent it felt like time had stopped. “We are retreating! Signal the horses and mounted archers! Everyone else buy us time until the whistle is blown! We’re not going to die like that! Now, go!”

  Everyone sprang into action at once. They moved in such perfect coordination it was like the paralysis of the previous moment had been a lie. They acted with the force of a waterfall. By following their orders like machines, they ceased thinking and could perform miraculous feats. They would probably never achieve such exquisite order ever again.

  The knights confirmed with one another what each of them would do. There was one knight with one of the whistles they used to communicate—they had to protect him. He backed away a few steps, cast away his sword, and went into his haversack for the whistle.

  “Yarrrrrgh!” As if in response, the death knight charged. He was heading straight for the key knight. Is he aiming to destroy our means of escape and plunge us further into despair? Everyone was chilled to the bone.

  The raven-black flood surged closer. It was clear to everyone that whoever stood in its path would be killed, but they formed a breakwater anyway. They replaced their fear with an even more terrible fear, fueling themselves to act.

  The shield was brandished and a knight went flying.

  The sword flashed and a knight’s upper and lower body were severed.

  “Dazen! Maurette! Take your swords and cut off the heads of those who’ve been killed—quickly or they’ll come back as monsters!”

  The men who were named hastily ran toward the dead knights. The shield was brandished again, and one was bashed and sent flying; the other attempted to block the flamberge coming down on him and was cut, sword and all, in half.

  In the space of a few breaths, four of Londes’s comrades had lost their lives. Shuddering, he watched—like a true martyr—as the storm of raven black bore down on him.

  “Yahhhhh!” Though he had no chance of winning, he couldn’t go down without a fight. He screamed a battle cry and swung his sword as hard as he could at the oncoming death knight.

  Perhaps the extreme situation had pulled out all the stops in Londes’s body. Even he was astonished by what a powerful attack he’d unleashed. It was the best swing of his life.

  The death knight countered with his flamberge.

  One swing sent Londes’s vision spinning. Below, he saw his headless body crumple to the ground. His sword sliced the air, making not so much as a scratch.

  At the same time, a horn resounded through the area.

  At the sound of the horn, Momonga—Ainz—looked up. Around him were scattered the corpses of the knights who had been on watch. Enveloped in the thick stench of blood, Ainz had been performing experiment after experiment, but wasn’t prioritizing the right things…

  He cast away the knight’s sword he held. The beautifully polished blade was dirtied when it fell to the earth. “And I used to always be so jealous of people with abilities like Reduce Physical Damage…”

  “Lord Ainz Ooal Gown.”

  “Ainz is fine, Albedo.”

  His simple reply seemed to confuse her. “Oh, tee-hee! I-is it really all right to be so rude as to abbreviate the name of our Supreme Ruler?!”

  Ainz didn’t think it was such a big deal. It did make him happy, however, to hear that she held the name of Ainz Ooal Gown so sacred. His tone naturally softened. “I don’t mind, Albedo. Until my old friends show up, this name is my name. So I allow it.”

  “Understood, b-but I will still attach the title. A-ahem…my master, Lord A-i-nz, tee-hee-hee! B-by the way…” She squirmed a bit, perhaps out of shyness. But since she was covered head to toe in full plate armor, none of her beauty shone through. The sight was so strange it was a bit awkward. “C-could it be that, tee-hee-hee, you’re letting me specially call you by this shortened—?”

  “No. Being called such a long name every time would be annoying. I’m going to have everyone call me the same thing.”

  “Oh. Of course. I assumed…” Her mood suddenly darkened.

  Next, Ainz asked her a question with a bit of anxiety, “Albedo… Do you find anything wrong with me calling myself by this name?”

  “I think it fits you extremely well. I think it’s appropriate for the man I love—ahem—for the one who kept the Supreme Beings together.”

  “…Originally, it was a name that stood for all forty-one of us, including your creator Tabula Smaragdina. So how does it strike you that I leave all your masters out of this and take the name as my own?”

  “I realize this may invite your displeasure, but…I will be so bold as to humbly offer one thought. If it causes you to furrow your brow in the slightest, please order me to kill myself… If one of those who abandoned us were to leave you, Lord Momonga, who stayed with us all this time, out of it and take the name, I may have felt it was wrong. But if it is you, my lord, and all the others’ whereabouts are unknown, what else could I feel but happiness?” Albedo bowed her head in a swift motion and Ainz said nothing.

  Nothing after the word abandoned had registered. All his former guildmates had left for a reason. After all, Yggdrasil was a game, not something one could sacrifice reality for. That went for Momonga, too. But did he harbor some suppressed rage toward his guildmates? For “abandoning” him?

  “Hrm, maybe, maybe not. Human emotions move in mysterious, complicated ways. There’s no answer… Albedo, lift your head. I’ve understood your thoughts. Yes, this is my name. Until some of my friends come to raise objections, it will refer to me only.”

  “Understood, sublime lord and master. Nothing makes me happier than that the man I love should call himself by that sacred name.”

  “Love,” huh…?

  Despite his dark thoughts, Ainz chose to avoid the issue for the moment. “Ah… I thank you.”

  “Oh, but Lord Ainz. Are you sure it’s all right for me to be wasting your time like this? Of course, I am satisfied simply standing at your side, but…well, hm. Yes, a stroll might be nice.”

  That wouldn’t do. He had come to save the village.

  He already knew the girls’ parents were dead. Remembering their corpses, he clawed at his face. When he’d seen their dead bodies, it was as if he’d seen two bugs lying dead in the road. He’d felt no pity, no sadness, no anger—nothing.

  “Well, let’s put aside the idea of a stroll, but it’s true that we’re not in any particular hurry. It seems the death knight is doing his job.”

  “I’d expect nothing less of an undead you created, Lord Ainz. I marvel at his magnificent efficacy.”

  The undead made with Ainz’s powerful magic and skills were stronger than normal undead. Still, this one was only about level 35. Compared to the overlord wisemen and grim reaper thanatoses he could make using experience points, the death knight wasn’t so fancy. If such a weak monster was still out there fighting, it just meant that none of the enemies in the area were terribly strong.

  In other words, they weren’t in any danger.

  Realizing that, he wanted to pull a victory pose, but he suppressed the urge, knowing he had to act his part. He did, however, do a mini–fist pump under his robe.

  “It probably just happens to be the case that the knights who attacked this village are weak. Anyhow, let’s go check on the survivors.”

  Ainz was about to leave when he realized there were some things he needed to do first. For starters, he turned off the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown’s effects. The evil aura it had been giving off flickered and went out like a flame blown in the wind. Next, he went into his item box and took out a mask that would cover his whole face. Into it was carved a difficult-to-pin-down expres
sion—tears or perhaps anger. It was a bit ornate. If someone had told him it looked like the masks of Barong or Rangda from Bali, he would have had to agree.

  Despite how weird it looked, it didn’t have any powers. It was an event item, and it wasn’t possible to augment it. The only way to obtain it was to have been in-game for two hours or more during the period between seven and ten PM on Christmas Eve. Or rather, if one was there (and therefore dateless on the most romantic day of the year), it was forcibly added to the player’s inventory—a type of cursed item. In that sense, it was considered a cursed item. Its name was Mask of the Jealous, or the jealousy mask.

  “Are the admins on crack?”

  “We’ve been waiting for this!”

  “There are some peeps in my guild who don’t have it, but we can PK for it, right?”

  “Screw being human!”

  That was the kind of stuff that was written in the Yggdrasil thread on a major forum site about the mask Ainz now donned.

  Then, he took out some gauntlets. They were the typical, unsophisticated iron gauntlets one could get anywhere, with no outstanding features. They were known as járngreipr and were something the guild had made for fun. Their only effect was to boost the wearer’s strength.

  He equipped them, and with that, all of his skeletal exterior was covered.

  Naturally, there was a reason he was taking pains to conceal himself. He finally realized the fatal error he’d been making.

  Ainz was used to his bony body from Yggdrasil, so there was nothing horrific about it to him, but it seemed to strike fear into the hearts of the people who lived in this world. That must be true, because it wasn’t only the little girls who thought he was there to take their lives—the armed knights had been frightened, too.

  In any case, by changing his equipment he succeeded in downgrading his impression from evil monster to evil caster…hopefully. He wondered what to do about his staff but decided to take it. It wouldn’t get in the way.

  “If you were gonna pray to your god to save you, maybe you shouldn’t have been massacring people?” Ainz spat a line only an unbeliever could spit in the direction of a knight who’d died with his fingers knit together in prayer. Then he cast a spell. “Fly!”

  He glided lightly into the air and Albedo followed him a moment later.

  Death Knight, if there are any knights left alive, leave them. We can use them. In response to Ainz’s thought came compliance. He understood what the death knight was feeling and what kind of situation he was in, even at a distance; it was a vague sensation, difficult to describe.

  He flew quickly in the direction the horn had sounded. The wind whipped at him—he hadn’t been able to go this fast in Yggdrasil. His robe got twisted around his body in an irksome way, but the flight was brief.

  Soon he was above the village; he looked down. One part of the ground in the square was darkened as if it had gotten wet. It was scattered with corpses. A handful of knights were left barely standing. And the death knight stood with perfect posture.

  Ainz counted the surviving knights, who were breathing weakly; it seemed like moving was too much trouble for them. Four. More than he needed, but that was fine.

  “That’s enough, Death Knight.” His voice seemed to boom a bit, out of place. It was nonchalant, like someone who’d gone to the market and was telling a merchant what they’d like to buy. That was about how this situation registered to Ainz.

  Accompanied by Albedo, he touched down gently.

  The knights, despondent, stood stock-still staring at Ainz. They’d been holding out for a savior, but instead the worst possible person showed up, crushing their hopes.

  “How do you do, gentlemen? My name is Ainz Ooal Gown.”

  No one replied.

  “If you surrender, I’ll guarantee your lives. If you still want to fight, then…”

  A sword was tossed to the ground. This was followed by the rest, and soon all four had been readily cast aside. No one said a word.

  “…Well, you all seem quite exhausted, but your heads are held awfully high for being in the presence of this death knight’s master.”

  The knights silently dropped to one knee and hung their heads—not as subjects, but as prisoners awaiting their beheading.

  “I’ll send you gentlemen home alive. And I want you to tell your boss—your owner—” Ainz glided over to one of the knights using Fly and, with his free hand, slipped the kneeling man’s close helmet off to look into his groggy eyes. Their eyes met through Ainz’s mask. “Not to cause trouble here. Tell him if you cause any more trouble here, I’ll bring death to your country next.” The knights nodded over and over, their entire bodies trembling. They were so desperate it was funny. “Now flee! And make sure to tell your master.” He jerked his chin, and the knights practically fell over themselves as they scrabbled away.

  “Acting takes so much energy…,” Ainz murmured as he watched the knights’ silhouettes grow smaller and smaller. If the villagers hadn’t been watching, he would have wanted to rotate his shoulders. Just like inside the Great Tomb of Nazarick, acting this dignified part was a huge burden on a normal guy like Ainz. But the act wasn’t over—it was time to put on a different hat.

  He suppressed a sigh and walked toward the villagers. He knew Albedo was behind him because he could hear the clank of her armor. Clean up the squire zombies, he mentally ordered the death knight on his way. As the distance between him and the villagers closed, the mix of horror and confusion on their faces became clearly visible.

  The reason they weren’t upset about him letting the knights go was that a more terrifying monster had arrived, he eventually realized. Since he was strong—stronger than the knights—he hadn’t thought of things from the point of view of the weak. Ainz reconsidered and pondered a bit.

  If I get too close, it’ll probably backfire. Ainz stopped at a reasonable distance and addressed them in a kind, familiar tone. “Okay, you’re safe now. I hope you can relax.”

  “Wh-who…a-are you?” A man seeming to present himself as a representative of the villagers spoke without taking his eyes off the death knight.

  “I saw that this village was being attacked, so I came to help.”

  “Wow…” Relieved murmurs went around the group, but Ainz could tell they were still uneasy.

  Oh, well. I guess I’ll change tactics. He took a tack he didn’t particularly like. “Of course, it’s not as if I did it for free. I’d like to get paid some amount times the number of lives I saved.”

  The villagers all looked at one another. The looks said they weren’t sure they could come up with money, but Ainz could see that their skepticism was reduced somewhat. Saving people with the base aim of money made him less suspicious.

  “I-in this state, I don’t—”

  Ainz cut him off by raising a hand. “Why don’t we discuss that later. On my way here, I saved a pair of sisters. Give me a little time to bring them here.” He would have to ask those two to keep their mouths shut. They’d seen him without the mask.

  Ainz headed off at a leisurely pace without waiting for the villagers’ reply, wondering if memory manipulation magic would work.

  Chapter 4 | A Duel

  1

  The village headman’s house was right off the square. Inside, the floor was dirt. The main room was big enough to serve as a workshop, and there was an adjacent kitchen. Some shabby chairs and a table had been set in the middle of the open area.

  Ainz sat in one of the chairs and looked around the room. The light coming through the latticed door banished the darkness to the shadows, so he could see fine without Night Vision. He observed the woman working in the kitchen and noted various agricultural implements. There was no machinery to be seen. He judged that science hadn’t advanced very much in this world, but realized immediately how superficial he was being. In a world with magic, how far would science even need to advance?

  Ainz moved his arms, setting them lightly on the table to move them out of the
sun. His gauntlets weren’t that heavy, but the table was shoddily made, so it rocked and clattered. The chair made a horrible squeaking noise under his weight whenever he moved.

  Impoverished was the word for these people.

  Ainz leaned his staff against the table so it wouldn’t be in the way. It sparkled in the light and, especially in this plain room, made it seem like they were in the land of mythology. He simultaneously recalled the villagers’ speechless amazement; their eyes had practically fallen out of their heads.

  He was bursting with pride that the staff he and his guildmates had made caused such genuine awe. But Ainz suppressed that buoyant feeling to the level of faint happiness and furrowed his nonexistent brow.

  He couldn’t force himself to enjoy the forced chill out. Granted, it would be difficult to get through this situation feeling giddy. With all of this on his mind, Ainz prepared himself to use his brain—they were about to start negotiating the price of the rescue.

  Of course, Ainz’s aim was information, not monetary compensation. But just saying, “Please give me information,” would be terribly shady.

  In a village this small, it probably didn’t matter, but if more people—especially those in positions of authority—interacted with him and realized he knew nothing about the world, it could be used against him.

  Am I being overly cautious? he wondered, but this was like trying to cross the street by just running into it—at some point he’d get in a fatal accident. That fatal accident would be a collision with someone stronger than him.

  Ainz was stronger than anyone he’d met in this village, but that didn’t mean he’d be stronger than anyone in this world. And he was an undead. He’d gotten a pretty good idea of the standing of undead here from the way the girls had reacted. Humans would revile him, and he stood a good chance of being attacked. He couldn’t be too careful.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” The village headman sat in the seat opposite Ainz. His wife stood behind him.

  The headman was tan with deep wrinkles. He had a brawny physique, and it was clear from one look that it’d been built by hard labor. Much of his hair had gone white—almost half of his head. His cotton clothes were dirty, but he didn’t smell. Judging by the look of deep exhaustion on his face, he was probably in his late forties, but it was hard to tell—it seemed like he’d aged considerably in the past hour or so.