The Dark Warrior

by Kugane Maruyama

  A goblin noticed Ainz looking around nonchalantly and called out to him, “Oy, full plate guy. If yuh could just not move, that would be great. We’d like to avoid combat if we can.” He must have seen him reaching out to stop Narberal. It was the hard voice of someone taking strict precautions.

  “Don’t worry. As long as you don’t attack us, we don’t plan on moving.”

  “That’s a big help. Those guys might be strong, but we’re not scared of them. But yer different. And the lady, too. I’m getting some unfriendly vibes, like, if we got on yer bad side, who knows what would happen?”

  Ainz just shrugged in reply.

  “If yuh could just wait right there till our lady arrives.”

  “Who’s your ‘lady’?! Are you occupying Carne?!”

  Dubious looks appeared on the goblins’ faces in reply to Nfirea’s threatening attitude.

  “Nfirea, calm down. I don’t even need to tell you who has the upper hand here. And if you think about what Nabe said after she looked at the village, there are still some things we can’t explain. Let’s avoid starting a fight before we know what’s going on,” said Ninya, but Nfirea wasn’t able to hide his anger. Still, the expression that said he might pounce at any minute softened into frustration and a bit of the tension went out of his balled fists.

  Seeing such a violent change in Nfirea surprised Ainz and even confused him a bit. Of course, we’ve only been traveling together for a short while, so I wouldn’t know his personality inside out, but I wouldn’t have expected him to be this excitable. Does this village mean something more to him than just a place to stay while he’s out gathering herbs…? While Ainz looked at Nfirea with these questions in mind, the goblins were glancing at one another—it seemed like they’d been thrown off by the boy’s rage.

  “Hmm, something’s not quite right here…”

  “We’re just guarding our lady’s village because it was recently attacked by guys dressed like imperial knights.”

  “The village got attacked?! Is she okay?!” As if in response to Nfirea’s shouting, a girl appeared at the entrance to the village escorted by a goblin. At the sight of her, his eyes widened, and he called out her name. “Enri!”

  In response, the girl shouted back, “Nfirea!” It was the voice of someone calling a close friend, overflowing with kindness.

  Then Ainz remembered something he’d heard before. “Oh, so the apothecary friend was not a girl but…a boy?”

  Intermission

  Demiurge walked through the ninth level of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. The clacks of his hard leather shoes were swallowed almost instantly by the silence. He had stationed several minions here for security purposes but was still unaccustomed to its mythical atmosphere.

  He looked around and smiled. “Wonderful…” His admiration was addressed to the ninth level in its entirety. These were the appropriate surroundings for the Forty-One Supreme Beings, to whom he would be loyal even if it meant abandoning everything, so he loved this view.

  Every time he walked the ninth level, his heart filled with joy, and his devotion to the Creators was renewed. No, it wasn’t just Demiurge. Even rowdy types like clowns and musicians would find themselves pausing out of respect, trying to melt into the silence. If there was someone whose heart did not fill with joy at this sight, it meant they were either not loyal enough to the Forty-One Supreme Beings or they were created that way.

  Demiurge thought on this as he turned the corner. He had almost reached his destination, the private quarters of the last remaining Supreme Being and ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, Ainz Ooal Gown.

  When the door came into view, it opened and some figures exited. They seemed to see Demiurge as well and waited while he walked over. One was dressed like a butler, but all of his clothes—except his white gloves—were black and more suited to combat than to service.

  He was one of Nazarick’s ten male servants. But Demiurge didn’t know which one—he couldn’t tell them apart because they all wore ski masks like generic baddies in a superhero show and only communicated in strange squawks.

  Then there was the guy standing in front. Inane thoughts like naked with a necktie flickered through Demiurge’s head.

  He was a penguin. There was no mistaking him—he was most definitely a penguin. And wore nothing but a black tie.

  “Long time no see.”

  In reply to Demiurge’s warm greeting, the penguin grinned (or something like that) and said, “Indeed, Master Demiurge.” Then, he bobbed his head.

  Of course, he was no mere penguin—he was a type of grotesque called a birdman, as well as the assistant butler, Éclair Éklair Éklare.

  Normally birdmen would, like the Supreme Being Peroroncino, have the head and wings of a bird of prey, as well as bird parts from the elbows and knees down, but for some reason this man was a penguin. Demiurge didn’t question it.

  “Is Albedo in there?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Albedo was in charge of the Great Tomb of Nazarick while Ainz was gone, but it was widely known that she couldn’t be found in her own quarters and was instead holed up in Ainz’s. Since she had Ainz’s permission to be there, no one objected except for Shalltear Bloodfallen, who was about to leave the Tomb.

  When Demiurge had suggested that a good wife’s role was to guard the house and wait for her husband’s return, she had retorted, “What’s wrong with a wife guarding her husband’s room?” so there wasn’t much he could say after that.

  Demiurge nodded an I see and chatted with Éclair. “It’s rare for you to be out here, Éclair. Don’t you generally work around the guest rooms?”

  “Since Master Sebas is out, I need to perform his duties as well, so I was just meeting with Mistress Albedo to discuss some details.”

  “Oh yeah. If Sebas is gone, the ninth level depends on you.”

  “Exactly. I need to do a good job in preparation for the day when I will rule the Great Tomb of Nazarick.”

  There was no change to Demiurge’s smile, no matter how strange a thing was just said. It was widely known that Éclair was plotting to rule the Great Tomb, but that was because he was created that way by the Forty-One Supreme Beings, so there was no problem. Of course, if the order came down, they would liquidate him, but until then, there was no problem at all.

  “Indeed, do your best. By the way, what are you going to do first?”

  “Clean. What else is there? No one can clean so thoroughly as me. When I scrub the toilets, you can lick the bowl!”

  Demiurge nodded in satisfaction at Éclair’s overflowing confidence. “Wonderful. Your work is critical. If this floor were to become dirty, it could be taken as an insult to the Supreme Ones.” He nodded emphatically and then asked a question. “I’m well aware of how important your work is now, but who is it that is in charge of administrative operations on this level while Sebas is away?”

  “That would be the head maid, Pestonia; she’s received orders from Master Sebas. ‘Administrative operations’ isn’t such a big job compared to cleaning…”

  “I see… Two NPCs built by the same Supreme One with a clear division of roles. …By the way, isn’t it hard to clean with penguin hands?”

  “It’s precisely because I can do it that I am me.” Éclair puffed out his chest to demonstrate his overflowing confidence and then continued, sounding slightly offended, “But Master Demiurge. That doesn’t sound like something you, second in cleverness here only to me, would ask.” He smoothed the golden decorative feathers growing on either side of his head with a comb he took from the male servant behind him. “The Supreme Lady Ankoro Mocchi Mochi created me as not just any penguin, but a proud rockhopper penguin. Make no mistake! And these are not hands—they are wings!”

  “Do excuse me.”

  Demiurge bowed in apology, but Éclair told him not to worry about it and then turned around to give an order to the servant. “Carry me!”

  “Eee!” The servant tucked Éclair under an arm.

>   Éclair’s way of walking was to hop forward, and from a certain perspective, it was extremely slow. So whenever he had to go somewhere on foot, he had a servant carry him.

  “Well, Master Demiurge, I take my leave.”

  “All right. See you again, Éclair.” Demiurge glanced over once more as the assistant butler was carried away like a stuffed animal, and then he knocked on the door.

  “It’s Demiurge. I’m coming in.” Of course, the master was not in. But what did that matter? To Demiurge, the rooms themselves were worthy of his respect.

  There was no reply, and he entered. Looking around, he noted that, as expected, Albedo was not there, either. He sighed lightly and opened a door to go farther in.

  The Forty-One Supreme Beings’ private quarters were designed as royal suites. There were innumerable rooms including a large bathroom in the back, a living room with a bar and a piano, a master bedroom, guest rooms, a kitchen for their private chef to cook in, a dressing room, and so on. Out of all of these, the room Demiurge proceeded toward with no hesitation was the master bedroom.

  He knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. There was only one bed inside, but it was a magnificent king-sized one with a canopy. Inside it was a bulge slightly bigger than one person, squirming.

  “Albedo.”

  In response to Demiurge’s disapproving tone of voice, the peerless beauty poked out her face. In fact, she was out to her shoulders and didn’t appear to be wearing any clothes. Perhaps because she had been under the covers, her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink.

  “…What are you doing in there?”

  “When Lord Ainz returns, I would like for him to be enveloped in my scent.” Apparently all that squirming was a form of marking.

  Demiurge had no words; he just looked at this most elite NPC created by the Forty-One Supreme Beings, the captain of the floor guardians of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, and shook his head weakly. He didn’t say, Lord Ainz is undead, so he probably doesn’t sleep in that bed, or, Even if he could sleep, I’m sure the sheets would be changed. If she was satisfied, that was fine with him. “Well…don’t overdo it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by ‘overdo it,’ but okay… Right, Lord Ainz?” Suddenly there was a face cheek to cheek with Albedo’s. For a split second, Demiurge was shocked into silence—because he thought it was actually Ainz Ooal Gown. But it wasn’t thick enough and didn’t have even a fraction of the presence of their supreme lord.

  “Is that a…body pillow? …And who made such a thing?”

  “I did!”

  At her immediate response, Demiurge cracked open his closed eyes. He didn’t think she had that kind of skill.

  “I may not look it, but I’m a pro at cleaning, washing, and sewing!” Delighting in Demiurge’s surprise, she boastfully continued, “And I’m making clothes, including socks, for our child who will surely be born! I’m done with everything for the first five years!

  “Tee-hee-hee,” she giggled, grinning, and Demiurge wondered, a bit drained, if he should really leave her alone in this room.

  “Boy or girl, either way! Oh! But what if it’s intersex or sexless?”

  Demiurge was once again at a loss for words and just watched as she moaned and groaned. To be sure, she was brilliant as the head of the Great Tomb of Nazarick’s administrative operations—far better at that sort of thing than he was. But there were some doubts about her ability when it came to military affairs, such as handling defensive battles. That was where Demiurge came in.

  There was no issue at present, when they hadn’t detected any immediate enemies. Demiurge forced himself to swallow his anxieties and believe that. His departure was an order from their master; there was no way he could voice any objections. “Very well. I’m going to leave soon, as Lord Ainz commanded. That means the only floor guardians left in Nazarick at liberty to move freely are you and Cocytus. I don’t think I need to remind you, but please take care.”

  “First Aura, Mare, Sebas, and Shalltear, and now you, huh? Yes, things will be fine. If it becomes necessary, I’ll go to my sisters for support. And I’ll have the Pleiades go all out. If I do all that, we’ll be plenty able to buy time for everyone else to return.”

  “…Surely you would need Lord Ainz’s permission to deploy your little sister, even in an emergency. And for the Pleiades as well. In the first place, two of them are out, so you can’t even get the whole team together. If the situation is as dicey as that, why not just station Victim on a higher level?”

  “Things aren’t that bad… Anyhow, we’ve made preparations to take countermeasures, but if the time comes, please hurry back. More importantly, what are you going to do with the surviving members of the Sunlit Scripture? You got permission from Lord Ainz to be in charge of them, right? It’s fine if you take them, but I just have no idea what you’re planning…”

  “Oh, them? Lord Ainz gave me permission to experiment.” Demiurge smiled happily, and Albedo’s shapely eyebrows crinkled. “First, a healing magic experiment. A severed limb will disappear if you cast a healing spell on a stub. So if you heal the stub after force-feeding a human an arm, what happens to the nutritional value? If repeated, would the subject starve to death?”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “And that’s not all! I had them vote on who will be eaten and who will be hacking off limbs with a dull saw—using their names!”

  “And why would you do that?”

  “It’s obvious. It creates a hierarchy among the prisoners: food, cutters, and eaters. This, of course, causes hate to blossom between onetime comrades. Then, right when the critical level of hate is reached, I’ll call out ever so sweetly to the food. To expose them. They’re very hard workers, these creatures full of hate.”

  “See, that’s just disturbing. Nazarick was created by the Supreme Beings; there’s no way we could betray Lord Ainz. Yet humans would betray their master… They have zero loyalty.”

  “That’s why they’re so interesting. I think it might be good for you to have some fun with that side of them. Just think of them as toys.”

  “I don’t understand that way of thinking one bit.”

  “That’s a terrible shame. Anyhow, if I stand here gabbing, I won’t be able to carry out Lord Ainz’s orders on time, and we can’t have that. If anything happens, get in touch and I’ll come right back.”

  “Sure. I don’t think there will be anything I can’t handle, but if there is, I’ll call you.” She slipped a willowy arm out from under the sheets and waved good-bye.

  “Then if you’ll excuse me… Oh, but if you’re making clothes for a male child, I should warn you: It seems as though the Supreme Beings dress boys as girls…”

  “…Huh?”

  Chapter 3 | The Wise King of the Forest

  1

  Clementine had returned to Khajit’s hideout, the shrine beneath E-Rantel’s graveyard, and her irritation was practically spewing forth as flames. Her gait was erratic, her brow knit. And her mouth was twisted into a frown that warped her shapely face so much she looked ugly.

  Of course, her true nature was far uglier.

  Khajit whispered in his head and sent the latest zombie off to the undead holding pen.

  “Ohhh? A new zombie? We already have more than a hundred and fifty—the Jewel of Death’s power sure is amazing!”

  The number of undead a caster could create and control with the tier-three spell Create Undead depended on the caster’s ability. Making more powerful undead meant being able to control fewer, but if they were bottom-of-the-barrel zombies, someone like Khajit, who specialized in controlling undead, could handle far more than normal—more than a hundred. And the reason Khajit was able to rule even more than that was the power of an item he possessed, the Jewel of Death.

  “It’s because you’ve been playing around.”

  “Sorryyy!” She gave a quick bow without seeming the least bit apologetic. “But why’d ya make all these guys who die so easily? You coulda tried a litt
le harder…”

  “Maybe if you hit them they die easily…”

  “Adventurers won’t go down without a fight, y’know.”

  “I’m not worried about adventurers. Regular people will die just fine… Is it a hobby of yours to go on and on about trivial things you already know?”

  “Okay, okay, okayyyy. I’m sorry! I won’t say any more, so please forgive me!”

  Khajit clicked his tongue. “I can’t trust you, but for now, don’t kidnap any more humans—I mean it.”

  “Okayyy!”

  Khajit wrinkled his brow at her lighthearted reply. He gave up on saying anything else because he knew it was futile, but he frowned as furiously as he could to convey his feelings. Of course, it went ignored.

  “But I’m just so bored, ya know? I mean, where’d he go, anyway?”

  “He hasn’t returned yet?”

  “Nope! Man! Maybe I should just kidnap the old lady after all?”

  “Don’t. That old lady may not look it, but she can use tier-three magic, not to mention that she has a prominent reputation in the city. There could be trouble if we meddle with her.”

  “Huh? But—”

  Khajit thrust a hand into his robe and clutched a black stone. “Clementine…I’ve spent years preparing to turn this town into a city of death. I will not have your stupid games ruining my plan! If you make any more trouble for me…I’ll kill you!”

  “Spiral of Death, was it?”

  “Yes. Our leader performed it.”

  There was a trend for stronger undead to be created in a place where there were many undead gathered. And when stronger undead were gathered, it was possible to create even stronger ones. Spiral of Death was a ritual that took advantage of that principle to build a series of stronger and stronger undead, and it was powerful enough to destroy a whole city.

  It was a sinister ritual that had once turned a city into a place where the undead went unchecked. Khajit’s objective was to turn E-Rantel into a second city of death and, by harnessing all the power of death concentrated there, turn himself immortal. And he’d been preparing for a long time. He wasn’t about to have it all go up in smoke because of a girl who’d only showed up a few days earlier.