Chapter 1: A Guild Master's Duty
[The Frozen Prison — The 5th Floor of the Great Tomb of Nazarick]
The cold here was absolutely a necrotic chill designed by a Supreme One to sap the will of any living creature.
Lying upon the black ice was the "Extra Seat" of the Black Scripture, Zesshi Zetsumei. She was broken, her legendary equipment shattered, her consciousness drifting in the dark waters of defeat.
Mare Bello Fiore stood over her, clutching his staff, [Shadow of Yggdrasil], with white-knuckled intensity. The Dark Elf Guardian's mismatched eyes, usually filled with timid shyness, were narrowed in a rare expression of grave seriousness.
"Ainz-sama..."
Mare's voice trembled. It was not out of fear of the enemy, but from the terrifying weight of the report he had to deliver.
"During the combat... she used them. First, she summoned the [Einherjar]. And then... she cast [The Goal of All Life is Death]."
The air in the prison seemed to freeze a second time.
The crimson points of light within Ainz Ooal Gown's empty eye sockets flared violently, trailing red, distinct trails like burning comets.
To a native of this world, these might be mistaken for random, high-tier abilities. But to a Player to Ainz, the implication was catastrophic. The timing. The sequence. It was a signature.
It suggested she possessed a Talent capable of copying the trump cards of others. And for her to have copied those specific skills, she must have been present at the most shameful, heartbreaking moment in Nazarick's history: the duel between Ainz and the brainwashed Shalltear Bloodfallen.
"I see."
Ainz's voice was a deep baritone, calm and devoid of tremors. It was the voice of the Ruler of Death. However, inside his skeletal ribcage, the frantic heart of Suzuki Satoru was pounding a phantom rhythm of sheer panic.
(This is bad. This is very, very bad. If she saw that fight, she knows my weaknesses. She knows I rely on cash items. She knows the limitations of my mana. But more importantly... if she was there...)
The realization clawed at his mind. If she was watching, then her masters were watching.
"I shall verify it myself."
Ainz extended a skeletal hand toward the unconscious girl's forehead. He did not hesitate. The safety of Nazarick was on the line.
"[Control Amnesia]."
The 10th-tier spell took hold instantly.
Ainz's consciousness dove into the murky sludge of the girl's mind. It was a chaotic mess a storm of recent pain and humiliation. But Ainz was an Overlord; he pushed through the mental debris with ruthless efficiency, swimming against the current of her thoughts.
Show me, he commanded silently. Show me the day you watched us.
The memories resisted, hazy and fragmented. Ainz poured more mana into the spell, forcing clarity upon the chaos. The image sharpened.
He saw it through her eyes. He saw Shalltear. But then, the perspective shifted. He saw the people standing next to her.
A group of humans in strange, elite gear. The Black Scripture. And in the hands of an old woman wearing a cheongsam...
Ainz's nonexistent stomach dropped.
It was a dress. A pattern of swirling silk that seemed to breathe. An aura that defied the laws of this reality.
[Downfall of Castle and Country].
The connection snapped. Ainz withdrew his hand as if burned, the spell fading.
The silence that descended upon the Frozen Prison was heavier than the ice itself. Even the ambient sounds of the prison seemed to die in the presence of the Supreme One.
Ainz finally knew.
He knew the identity of the insolent fools responsible for the Shalltear incident. It was them. The Slane Theocracy.
They were the bastards who had violated the sanctity of the Great Tomb. They were the ones who had dared to brainwash a Guardian, a beloved daughter created by his dear friend, Peroroncino.
They were the ones who had forced Ainz to kill his own friend's child with his own hands.
A sudden, violent surge of emotion erupted within him. It was not just anger; it was a roaring inferno of hatred, a visceral desire to grind their civilization into dust, to burn their history books, to make them scream for eternity.
Vwoom.
A gentle green light enveloped his skeletal body. The passive racial skill of the Overlord activated, forcibly suppressing the emotional spike. The roaring fire vanished, instantly replaced by a cold, crystalline clarity.
But the suppression only removed the agitation. It did not remove the intent. The sediment of hatred remained.
"Albedo."
…
"Yes, Ainz-sama!"
The Guardian Overseer stepped forward from the shadows, her golden eyes wide, sensing the shift in the air. She looked at him with an expression of intense anticipation, like a devotee waiting for a revelation.
"The Slane Theocracy is to be destroyed."
Ainz's voice was soft, yet it carried the absolute weight of a death sentence.
"Immediately."
Albedo's breath hitched. A flush of terrifying, genuine ecstasy rose to her cheeks. Her wings twitched. To receive a direct order for war total, unmitigated war from her beloved master was a joy beyond measure.
"Understood, Ainz-sama! I shall mobilize the forces of Nazarick at once! We will scour their land until not even ash remains!"
She bowed deeply, trembling with delight, and turned to hurry away, her heels clicking sharply against the ice as she rushed to execute his divine will.
Ainz watched her retreating back. The heavy door of the prison slammed shut.
As soon as he was alone with the unconscious captive and Mare, the emotional suppression wore off slightly, and the familiar, human panic of Suzuki Satoru bubbled up in his chest.
(Ah. Wait. Hold on. Was that too fast?)
His internal monologue began to race, his imaginary stomach doing somersaults.
(Albedo and Demiurge... they definitely had a plan, didn't they? A detailed, multi-year plan to subvert the Theocracy, incite civil unrest, and take it over economically? By ordering an immediate destruction, I've probably ruined months, maybe years of their hard work. I just threw their "Sasuga Ainz-sama" schemes right out the window!)
He felt a pang of crushing guilt. As an administrator, he was a failure. He had let his emotions dictate policy. He had just increased the workload of his subordinates exponentially because he couldn't control his temper.
(I really am a terrible boss, aren't I?)
But then, another thought surfaced. A colder, older thought that rose from the depths of his avatar's memories.
Even as the self-doubt of the salaryman lingered, the persona of the Guild Master refused to yield. Even if it was strategically unsound, even if it was inefficient... The destruction of the Theocracy was non-negotiable.
Before he was a Ruler of Death, before he was the Sorcerer King, he was the Guild Master of Ainz Ooal Gown.
(If a guild member is harmed by an outsider, the guild must pay absolute retribution upon the offender.)
This was the ironclad law of YGGDRASIL. It was the unwritten pact he had made with Touch Me, with Ulbert, with Peroroncino.
If they allowed outsiders to hunt them without consequence, the cohesion of the group would shatter. They were a guild of heteromorphic monsters, the villains of the game. They protected their own because the world hated them.
This fierce loyalty was the foundation of their strength. Upholding it was not just a choice; it was his greatest responsibility as the keeper of their legacy. To let the Theocracy survive would be an insult to the memory of the 41 Supreme Beings.
Therefore, Ainz's anger was righteous.
"The Slane Theocracy..."
Ainz spoke again. The temperature in the room seemed to drop to absolute zero. Beside him, Mare, a powerful Level 100 NPC capable of destroying armies, felt a genuine shiver run down his spine. The pressure emanating from his master was not magical; it was the sheer weight of his malice.
"We will show them the folly of their actions," Ainz declared to the empty air, his red eyes burning with a cruel, steady light.
"They shall learn, in their final agonizing moments, that there is one rule in this world that cannot be broken: You do not steal from the tomb of Ainz Ooal Gown."