[The first day of destruction, 6:30 AM]
[Theocracy'sCommand Post, Northern Elven Kingdom Border]
"Ainz Ooal Gown... the Sorcerer King."
There could be no mistake.
As a high-ranking field commander of the Slane Theocracy, Valeria Ain Obinier had studied the portraits countless times. The intelligence reports, the sketches, the terrified whispers—they all converged on this singular entity. The skeletal figure floating above the army, draped in midnight-black robes, was undeniably the absolute ruler of the Sorcerer Kingdom.
His mere presence in the sky warped the atmosphere of the battlefield.
The cacophony of the surrounding soldiery—the clatter of armor, the shouting of orders, the restless stomping of horses—seemed to fade into a dull, distant buzz. It was as if Valeria's auditory functions had been severed.
Yet, amidst that muffled silence, a single sound rang out with terrifying clarity.
"Hmph."
The Sorcerer King looked down and scoffed.
The sound struck Valeria's chest like a physical blow. He understood immediately what was happening. His instincts, honed over decades of service to the Gods, were screaming. He was a small animal paralyzed by the gaze of a predator that stood at the apex of the food chain.
The world seemed to blur at the edges. The only thing that retained high-definition clarity was the monster floating in the azure sky.
The pressure... it is far more distinct, far more overwhelming than the reports suggested.
Valeria had frequently interacted with the demigods of the Black Scripture. He knew what power looked like. He had an eye for magical armaments. But his intuition, screaming in alarm, told him that the obsidian robes draping that skeletal frame and the twisted, golden staff clutched in its hand were artifacts that transcended the realm of humanity.
A Divine Class Item.
It was the pinnacle of equipment left behind by the Six Great Gods. A single such item could alter the destiny of a nation.
So, the Sorcerer King is also a being who possesses the artifacts of the Gods... A being who has stepped into the Realm of Heroes, or perhaps... the Realm of Gods itself.
Was he a "descended" one?
"No," Valeria muttered, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. The sharp pain forced his trembling nerves to stabilize. "This is no time for theological debate."
Although the vast majority of the conscripts were frozen by the Sorcerer King's aura—a probable passive fear effect—the veterans were reacting. Priests raised their holy symbols to the sky; archers nocked their arrows with trembling fingers. They intended to attack.
It was folly.
"Stand down!"
Valeria abandoned the composed facade of a commander. He activated a magical amplification item at his throat, his voice booming like thunder across the plains. He waved his arms frantically, looking less like a general and more like a drowning man.
"All units, hold your positions! Do not attack! I repeat, do not take action!"
His adjutants, snapping out of their stupor, echoed the cry.
"Stand down! No one is to make a rash move!"
"You are no match for him! Fall back!"
A young staff officer's voice cracked as he screamed the last order. Valeria winced internally. To shout 'You are no match for him' was a catastrophic error in command. It shattered morale. If they survived this, getting these men to fight again would be impossible.
But there was no time to reprimand the boy.
Because of the shouting, the burning red points of light within the Sorcerer King's empty sockets shifted.
They locked onto Valeria.
At that moment, Valeria felt the weight of the world settle upon his shoulders. The lives of hundreds of thousands of soldiers—faith-abiding citizens of the Theocracy—depended on his next words.
If we fight, we die. The Sorcerer King could annihilate this army as easily as a man swats a fly. Diplomacy is the only path to survival.
Valeria Ain Obinier was a man who had risen from the dirt to his current station. He cherished the lives of his men. The thought of them dying in vain caused him a heartache akin to having every hair of his beard plucked out one by one.
Suppressing the bile rising in his throat, Valeria bowed deeply to the monster in the sky.
"—Your Majesty, the Sorcerer King Ainz Ooal Gown. It is an unexpected honor. If it pleases you, might I request that you descend? Though our preparations are hasty, we wish to extend the proper etiquette due to a sovereign monarch—"
"You. You are the commander of this ant hill?"
The Sorcerer King's voice washed over them. It was a strange, deep baritone, devoid of warmth, echoing with a chill that seemed to freeze the marrow in one's bones.
Is he... angry?
Valeria's blood ran cold. The tone wasn't just hostile; it was suppressing a rage so profound it felt like standing next to an erupting volcano.
Why is he angry? He is the one who abducted Zesshi Zetsumei! He invaded our territory! How dare this filth... no. Calm down.
"Yes," Valeria replied, forcing his voice to remain steady. "I am Valeria Ain Obinier, Adjutant to the Grand Marshal of the Slane Theocracy and commander of this expeditionary force."
"I see. Then, capturing you alive should suffice for intelligence gathering, correct?"
"Huh? E-Excuse m—?"
Valeria's eyes widened.
Before he could finish his sentence, the ambient noise of the world vanished.
The colors of the forest, the sky, and the earth were bleached away, leaving a silent, white void. In that monochrome world, the Sorcerer King raised his hand.
A colossal, three-dimensional magic circle expanded around him. It was a complex fractal of light, spinning with geometric precision, resembling a star descending to earth.
Super-Tier Magic.
The secret archives of the Theocracy mentioned this—magic of the Eleventh Tier, the domain of the Gods.
Negotiation had failed before it had even begun.
Damn it! What fueled such wrath? Did Zesshi escape? Did we offend him by merely existing? It doesn't matter!
"All units—!!"
Valeria roared, his face twisting into a mask of desperation.
"ATTACK! Use the strongest means available! Fire!!"
If the ancient texts were accurate, Super-Tier magic required a long casting time. During that window, the caster was vulnerable. It was their only chance.
The army, battle-hardened from the campaign against the Elven Kingdom, reacted with disciplined fury. Fear was replaced by drill memory.
Arrows blackened the sky. Magical beams of fire, ice, and lightning erupted in a dazzling display. Siege engines hurled boulders through the air.
It was a storm of violence, all converging on the single figure in the sky.
And it was meaningless.
"Ridiculous..."
Valeria watched, his mouth agape.
The attacks didn't even touch the robes. They struck an invisible barrier a few centimeters from the Sorcerer King's body and dissipated. Arrows snapped; magic unraveled; boulders shattered into dust.
"High-Tier Physical Nullification. High-Tier Magic Nullification."
The Sorcerer King's voice cut through the explosions.
"As expected, knowledge of the Player's realm has been preserved here. You target the casting interval. A sound tactic... for YGGDRASIL."
The monster chuckled—a dry, rattling sound.
"However, the gap in our levels is simply too vast. It is... disappointing."
The Sorcerer King flipped his hand, making a gesture as if crushing a fragile insect.
"Enough play. Let us begin the experiment."
The massive magic circle pulsed, expanding until it covered the entire horizon.
"Wait! Please, Your Majesty—!"
The Sorcerer King ignored the plea.
"—[Creeping Doom]."