“It goes down so smoothly and doesn’t leave any cloying sweetness in the mouth.”
Listening to the comments around him, Jircniv took another drink. He suddenly felt energy welling up inside him.
Is my body stimulated because the drink tastes so good? So Nazarick has extremely high-class drinks, as well. I guess I was inadvertently rude to those dark elves. If this is the kind of thing they drink every day, they must have thought what we served them was disgusting.
Jircniv smiled wryly.
Who knew a single drink could make one feel so defeated?
Ahh, my mind is at peace. Yes, I feel peaceful for the first time since coming here. Maybe I could just…go home now.
How long did he stay out of the sun listening to the sound of the wind rushing across the spring meadow? Eventually Yuri spoke the words Jircniv had been dreading.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting. Lord Ainz is ready now. Right this way.”
3
Jircniv arrived at a large dome-shaped room, and before him was a massive door. There were strangely elaborate carvings of a goddess on the right and a demon on the left. Looking around, he saw countless sinister-looking statues.
If I had to give it a name, maybe the Gate of Judgment?
Those were Jircniv’s thoughts as he stood gazing at it.
Silence dominated the room to the point that the quiet itself seemed audible.
Perhaps it was more that no one who had been brought that far had uttered a word. The only sound was the occasional metal on metal of someone moving in their armor.
It was less restraining themselves to observe good manners and more that the luxurious scenery they had passed through on their way had left them stunned.
Faced with this mythological realm, asking them to hold in their astonishment was too much.
Even Jircniv found himself unable to suppress the urge to glance here and there as they walked. Their surroundings were just that amazing.
He looked over his shoulder at the subordinates who had accompanied him this far: Baswood, ten select guards, Fluder and his disciples, his secretary Reaunet, and the priests of the knight order. Leinas and the other guards were keeping watch over the carriages.
All those behind him, with the exception of Fluder, apparently felt unworthy. They sensed keenly how small and insignificant they were—the result of walking down a hallway that the empire couldn’t replicate even if they exhausted all its cultural arts.
The Great Tomb of Nazarick, a tomb in name only, was a gorgeous world, a residence fit for the gods. Their impression of the caster who ruled over it, Ainz Ooal Gown, had become so colossal that it could hardly be described.
Jircniv wore a borderline self-deprecating smile. People have an instinct to bow their heads before anything superior to them. If there was anyone who was unmoved by this exceedingly grand building and its furnishings, surely they possessed a heart of stone.
…This is a real problem.
Ainz Ooal Gown, awaiting him beyond that door, surpassed Fluder as a caster and was probably unrivaled in all of history. The grandeur of his home surpassed human imagination, and his followers were immensely powerful. In other words, he was a being who encapsulated every manner of might.
Why has he been keeping himself cooped up until now? Jircniv didn’t know the answer but figured he would soon find out.
With the coming talks, he should be able to grasp at least some of the caster’s aims.
He wouldn’t make all these power plays only to ask for my apology, then send me home, right?
At first, his plan had been to investigate Ainz Ooal Gown’s desires and find a way to manipulate them to the empire’s advantage. The apology was no more than an excuse to meet.
But…
What could possibly motivate someone with so much power? Nothing I can offer would be enough.
There was a good chance that, just as a single-carat gem wouldn’t be enough to arouse Jircniv’s interest, anything Jircniv could offer wouldn’t inspire any desires in Ainz Ooal Gown.
For starters, money was out of the question.
As for military might and magic technology, there was no way Ainz Ooal Gown would be interested when the empire’s strength and development were so inferior to his own.
Enticing him with companionship would also be pointless, considering the presence of Yuri and the others.
So what does he want?
Jircniv had no idea. Maybe desire as humans experienced it wasn’t enough to move Ainz Ooal Gown.
He thought of countless ways of handling his adversary—then concluded that nothing could be done.
He figured the smartest course of action was to make sure things didn’t become hostile.
Victory this time means shielding the empire from harm and us making it home alive…
“…This might be difficult.” With those thoughts on his mind, his voice echoed louder than he intended it to. But no one reacted. That’s how transfixed they were by the world around them.
“The Throne Room is through here. That is where Lord Ainz is waiting for you.”
Yuri bowed toward Jircniv and the others, indicating that her work was done.
As if her words were the cue, the massive door slowly swung open despite no one touching it.
Someone gasped. No, not one person or even two. Probably more than ten. Most of the people with him. That they were shaken was proof they weren’t prepared; it was a manifestation of their desire to flee. It meant that many of them had been hoping the door wouldn’t open.
I guess I should be thankful it opened automatically. If he had had to wait for everyone to steel themselves, they may never have opened the door.
The room that came into view was huge and the ceiling high. The walls were primarily white with ornamentation done mainly in gold.
The magnificent chandeliers that hung from the ceiling were made of jewels in a rainbow of colors and cast a dreamy sparkling light. On the walls, hanging from the ceiling to the floor, were large flags.
It was a perfect realization of the idea of a throne room. Jircniv couldn’t think of a name more fitting.
Then he and all those in his entourage went pale at the presence that rushed out at them.
There was a red carpet running down the center of the room. Along either side stood beings whose power was so great there were no words.
A demon, a dragon, a strange humanoid creature, an armored knight, an insect on two legs, a spirit—they came in all shapes and sizes, but the thing they all shared was next-level strength. They were lined up along the sides of the carpet. Jircniv couldn’t bring himself to count them.
All of them stared at him in silence. It was said that people of a certain class and authority had powerful eyes, but this was the first time Jircniv had felt physical pressure from a gaze.
From behind him he heard a hoarse shriek and rattling metal—signs that his subordinates were afraid.
But let’s be honest.
Jircniv didn’t feel like scolding them for making their fear known; on the contrary, he very much wanted to praise their self-control, since none of them had run away. No one had fled from this being who struck instinctive fear into humans.
Jircniv bumped his alert level up another ten notches. His guard was higher than ever, because he realized even that was an underestimation.
He had come to the conclusion that Ainz Ooal Gown was a danger to the continued existence of not only the empire but of entire races—not only humans but subhumans as well.
Jircniv looked to the end of the carpet.
Off in the distance were some stairs with several people standing around them. He guessed they were aides of some sort. A beautiful girl with silver hair. A pale-blue monster like an upright insect. A man in a suit who seemed half-human, half-frog. There were also two dark elves, the sight of which put Jircniv slightly more at ease. If the two who had instantaneously killed so many of his men were mere grunts, he probably would have lost his min
d.
Shifting his line of sight to the top of the stairs, he saw a gorgeous woman with wings and beyond her…
“So that’s…”
Seated on a throne made of crystal, holding a curious staff, was a horrifying embodiment of death.
A monster with its bone head exposed.
It was as if darkness had focused on a single point and coalesced into this being.
That’s—that’s Ainz Ooal Gown.
On his head was a splendid crown-like object, and he wore a luxurious raven-black robe. Numerous rings gleamed on his fingers. Even at a distance, Jircniv could tell the brilliantly made accessories this creature adorned himself with would be impossible for any artisan in the empire to make.
Flames the color of spilled blood lit the vacant orbits of Ainz Ooal Gown’s skeletal head. Jircniv felt those flames licking over him and the others.
He wasn’t at all surprised Gown wasn’t human. On the contrary, he was glad.
Since Ainz Ooal Gown was an inhuman monster, it was easier to accept his transcendent abilities.
“Phew,” Jircniv exhaled lightly.
It was an exhalation of determination.
Not much time had passed since the door opened. It probably was still acceptable to not have spoken yet, but he couldn’t just stand dumbstruck at the entrance forever. So…he stepped forward.
“Let’s go,” Jircniv said in a low voice that only his subordinates behind him could hear. Anyone who was looking probably would have been surprised to hear the words, since his mouth hadn’t moved. It wasn’t magic, just something he’d learned to do. Of course, at times like these it was a precious skill.
But he didn’t sense anyone moving in response.
Standing before Ainz Ooal Gown meant walking past all the grotesques lining the carpet. Even if they knew they weren’t going to be attacked, it would take courage to walk past so many.
It wasn’t simple optimism that convinced Jircniv they wouldn’t be attacked.
It was a well-known truth if a throne room was being used, it was usually for something ceremonial, to demonstrate a nation’s authority.
In other words, choosing this location meant his aim was to impress Nazarick’s power upon them; he wouldn’t kill them here. If he wanted to slaughter them, he would have taken them to a slaughterhouse.
His subordinates should have understood that, too. Yet they still couldn’t step forward. More than anything, their instincts were probably forbidding them to go any closer.
Beyond the grotesques were the aides. The power within them was enough to break any scale of levels.
Then on the throne, Ainz Ooal Gown.
Jircniv finally realized—that Gown must be what they called a god.
Even with the mental defense item Jircniv had equipped, the pressure he felt was extraordinary. If he wasn’t careful, the man known as the Fresh Blood Emperor would end up on his knees.
But that was precisely why he had to press on.
Just as Jircniv was observing Ainz Ooal Gown, Gown was observing him. If the emperor failed to make an impression here, what would happen to his country? He had to at least get Gown to recognize some measure of his worth, then connect that to the continued existence of the empire.
Jircniv smiled wryly.
Verbal warfare? Ha.
This is the very definition of regret. Anything I do now is meaningless. I should probably just try to minimize the damage.
“Let’s go!” Jircniv ordered forcefully. It was for those behind him but also to steel his own body and soul. He sensed them following him.
The carpet was soft. Considering how he was feeling, it was altogether too fluffy. Shrugging off the countless ghastly presences surrounding him, he walked forward focusing only on Ainz Ooal Gown. His instincts told him that if he took his eyes off his objective, his feet would stop moving.
It wasn’t as if Jircniv was a brilliant warrior. He was able to lead the way, even though his guards were frightened, because of the mental strength being emperor had fostered.
Soon he reached the base of the stairs, where the aides were standing.
“Lord Ainz, the Baharuth emperor, Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix, is requesting an audience.”
The winged woman attending the crystal throne had a lovely voice that suited her beauty. Jircniv noticed that detail in spite of himself.
The being who seemed like a representation of death, created by the gods themselves, spoke in reply. “Good of you to come, Emperor of Baharuth. I am the master of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, Ainz Ooal Gown.”
It was a more normal—humanlike—voice than Jircniv had expected. He relaxed ever so slightly.
He had a chance at reading the emotions contained in those words.
“I heartily thank you for your welcome, Sir Ainz Ooal Gown.”
Since his face was a skull, his expression was a total mystery to Jircniv. He wondered what would be a proper way to begin.
The one who broke that silence was neither Jircniv nor Ainz.
“Lord Ainz. I feel it is disrespectful for a mere human to attempt to speak to you as equals.” Then the man said, “Bow down.”
A chorus of metallic clanks sounded behind Jircniv. He could imagine what had happened without looking. His attendants had probably yielded to the man’s command and bowed down. Perhaps they were desperately trying to stand? He could hear groaning.
They had probably been compelled by a powerful psychic attack.
Without the necklace that Jircniv never took off, he would have been groveling, too.
Countless eyes moved to the emperor, the sole visitor remaining standing. They were the cold eyes of someone observing an animal during an experiment.
“Cut it out, Demiurge.”
“Yes, my lord!” The somewhat frog-like monster, Demiurge, bowed reverently to his master. “You are released.”
With the invisible pressure lifted, Jircniv could hear sighs of relief behind him.
“…Sir Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix. You’ve come so far, but then my subordinate did something so impolite. I hope you’ll forgive me for not properly keeping him in check. If you so wish it, I will even bow my head to you.”
A disturbance rippled through the crowd of monsters.
Multiple emotions clashed inside Jircniv.
His feelings of caution stemmed from the realization that Ainz Ooal Gown wasn’t the type to operate through power alone.
His relief stemmed from the same.
Above all, however, he felt fear—stemming from the knowledge that Ainz Ooal Gown had a firm grip over the minds of every monster present.
At the same time, he had a bad feeling that everything was going according to Ainz’s plan, a strange feeling that everything had been arranged ahead of time.
“No need to apologize, Sir Gown. Subordinates often misunderstand their master’s intentions and act recklessly. It seems some people in the empire have been doing the same, I’m ashamed to say.”
One of the guards who had been freed suddenly rushed forward with an urn and placed it next to Jircniv. Really, he was supposed to act immediately, but he had hesitated.
Did Gown’s subordinate act in order to get me to do this? If so, then I may need to veer off the prepared route… No, I can’t. That would be the same as bringing a real sword to a sparring demonstration. If I go against the flow, I’ll get seriously injured… This is bad.
“I’m not sure if I should call this place a tomb or not, but…this is the head of the foolish noble who unilaterally sent raiders into your tomb… I’d like you to accept it.”
Inside the urn was Count Vemeer’s head. He was the noble Jircniv had indirectly instructed to dispatch the workers.
The reason he kept around aristocrats who had neither pros nor cons was to use them in situations like this.
Dead men told no tales. Jircniv wasn’t sure how much Ainz Ooal Gown knew, but he figured it was better to put a lid on anything that stank.
The reason Nazar
ick’s messengers came could very well have been a threat to force the master of the empire to take responsibility for the workers setting foot in Ainz’s palace. Which was why Jircniv would escape the situation by insisting he knew absolutely nothing.
The beautiful woman next to Ainz made a subtle gesture with her jaw, and Demiurge carried the urn up the steps.
Then he knelt before Ainz and took out the severed head.
Ainz took the head.
“I accept it. I wonder what I should do with this. It would be a waste to simply toss it.”
Hmm? Oh, he must be joking. I see. He must know that Vemeer was being manipulated. The important question is where he got that information…
Suddenly, the count’s head moved in the skeletal hand.
At first, he thought Ainz had moved it, but he soon understood he was mistaken. A thick liquid coated the head, which then dropped out of Ainz’s hand onto the floor.
That development was so shocking that Jircniv’s eyes stayed glued to the head, and as he watched, a fountain of goopy black liquid sprayed onto the floor.
When the liquid finished raining down, what was standing there was a large suit of black armor.
A death knight.
Strangled gasps rose from behind Jircniv.
“Th-that’s absurd!”
Yuri had certainly meant it literally when she said he “created” them. Jircniv willed himself to not bite his lower lip. He couldn’t bear doing something so pathetic.
“Go. Get in line.”
Following an order that seemed to resonate from the pit of the earth, the death knight descended the stairs and disappeared out of Jircniv’s view.
How many more death knights can he create? Can he create as many as he wants if he has enough human corpses? That can’t be! But if he can do this…then can he create an undead more powerful than a death knight? He might actually…be able…
“Now then, Sir Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix.”
Hearing that quiet voice, Jircniv came back to his senses and turned to Ainz with a pleasant face.
“Oh, Sir Gown. You can call me Jircniv. My name is so long.”
“Oh? Then I’ll do that, Sir Jircniv. First of all, I’m sorry you had to see that. Well, my subordinate’s rudeness earlier has canceled out the trouble the noble caused to Nazarick, so we have nothing more to discuss. I realize you took the time to come all this way, but you may go now.”
The Caster of Destruction Page 5
