[ The Outskirts of the Elven Royal Capital ]
Content Warning
This chapter contains, horror, psychological breakdown, and extreme violence. Reader discretion is advised.
It was a scene of such absolute, overwhelming terror that the three elves—Egnia, Aris, and Sasha—were rendered immobile atop the towering canopy. It was not merely fear; it was a primal rejection of reality. Their limbs felt as heavy as lead, their breath caught in their chests, and their eyes bulged, threatening to burst from their sockets.
"What... by the gods, what is that...?"
"Oh... oh gods..."
"Is this reality? Or have we fallen into a world of nightmares? Surely, I am dreaming..."
Deep in their hearts, all three harbored a festering hatred for the humans of the Slane Theocracy. Aris and Sasha, in particular, had waged a guerilla war against these human supremacists for years. Their loathing was a fire that had kept them warm on cold nights. Yet, witnessing the scene unfolding before them, that hatred was extinguished like a candle in a hurricane.
In its place, a twisted, desperate prayer emerged—a blasphemous hope that the very humans they despised could offer even a fraction of resistance.
Because if the Theocracy fell instantly, what hope was there for anything else living in this world? The fear radiating from that thing was enough to shatter the soul of any mortal observer.
Egnia was the first to claw his way back from the brink of insanity. His fingers, white-knuckled and trembling, clutched the small sachet at his waist as if it were the only lifeline in a drowning ocean.
Give me strength, Lady Aura! Please, I beg of you, grant me the courage to move!
He forced the air through his constricted throat. "... Run! If that... that Sovereign of Death finds us, our existence ends here!"
"Y-yes," Aris stammered, his teeth chattering so violently it sounded like crushing bones. "Run! We must—"
Sasha suddenly stiffened, her hand shooting out to grip a branch, her voice dropping to a petrified whisper. "Wait! The undead... he's vanished!"
"Gone? That's... that's a blessing!"
"Is it?" Sasha's face was drained of all color. "Or has he merely teleported to the capital to continue the slaughter from within—"
Before the horrific hypothesis could fully leave her lips, reality confirmed her worst fears.
The atmosphere itself seemed to scream. The air pressure plummeted, and the very foundation of the capital city below trembled as if a god had slammed a hammer upon the earth.
Egnia jerked his head toward the city. There, floating in the sky like a tear in the fabric of the world, was the undead being. Clad in pitch-black academic robes that seemed to devour the light, clutching a golden staff that radiated a divine yet unholy aura, the monster looked down upon the mortals below. He made no attempt to hide. Why would a god hide from insects?
"No! No, no, no! I don't want to be eaten! I don't want to become a nest for bugs!!"
Aris screamed. It was the sound of a mind snapping under the weight of absolute terror. His eyes were bloodshot, the pupils dilated to pinpricks. Madness had taken him.
With a jerky, unnatural motion, he drew the dagger from his waist.
"Aris!"
"Die! I just want to die!"
Without a shred of hesitation, Aris plunged the blade into his own throat. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, painting the leaves. He slashed wildly—up, down, tearing at his own flesh in a desperate bid to sever his windpipe, to sever his consciousness from this hellscape.
But the body is resilient. Even as blood gushed like a broken dam, his battle-hardened vitality refused to let him perish instantly. He gurgled, choking on his own life fluid.
"Sasha! Help me restrain him! Do we have a potion—damn it!"
The struggle was too chaotic. Aris, thrashing in his death throes, slipped from the moss-slicked branch.
For a forest elf archer, catching a branch mid-fall was as natural as breathing. But Aris did not reach out. He did not flail. He fell like a stone, headfirst, surrendering to gravity with a grotesque willingness.
Crack.
The sound was wet and sharp, echoing sickeningly through the forest. Aris's body crumpled against the roots below, his neck bent at an impossible angle. He twitched once, and then was still.
"Ah... ugh... ahhhh!" Sasha clamped both hands over her mouth, but the sobs leaked through her fingers, a pathetic sound of utter despair. She fought to tear her gaze away from her comrade's broken corpse, forcing herself to look back up at the black-robed death hovering in the sky.
Mercifully—or perhaps contemptuously—the entity did not seem to care about the tragedy occurring in the trees. To him, the suicide of an elf was likely no more significant than a leaf falling in autumn.
"Calm down... Sasha, look at me! We need to maintain our composure!" Egnia gripped his sachet so hard the fabric threatened to tear. His face was a mask of twisted agony. "If... if he intends to cast that spell again... we can always slit our own throats then. There will be time to die later. Not yet."
"Right... yes... you're right..."
As they spoke, they both drew their knives. They did not hold them in a defensive stance against the enemy, but reversed the grip, pointing the blades at their own hearts. It was their only remaining freedom.
At that moment, a chorus of chittering, shrill screams began to rise from the capital. The giant insect monsters were advancing. The sound—Squeak! Squeak!—carried a disturbing cadence, as if the creatures were mimicking the cries of the humans they devoured.
Then, the Ruler of Death spoke.
"[—To the Forest Elves, Dark Elves, and other kin of the forest dwelling within this city. Be at ease.]"
The voice was not loud, yet it resonated within their skulls, bypassing their ears entirely. It was a profound baritone, regal and cold, magnified by vast magical power to cover the entire region.
"[I hold no malice toward your kind. Nor do my subordinates. These insects shall not harm you. They hunt only the humans of the Theocracy remaining in this city. That is all.]"
Egnia and Sasha exchanged glances of sheer bewilderment. They were being spared? By this incarnation of death?
Suddenly, movement caught their eye. Below the floating undead, a group of humans burst from a hiding spot in one of the administrative buildings. Their armor identified them immediately—soldiers of the Six Scriptures, the elites charged with purging the elves.
They stumbled into the open and fell to their knees directly beneath the Sorcerer King. Though the distance made their words inaudible, their posture was unmistakable. They were begging. Pleadings for salvation, for mercy, for their lives.
The black-robed undead merely extended a skeletal hand. He pointed a single finger.
There was no flash of light, no explosion. The soldiers simply collapsed. They writhed on the ground, clutching their chests, their mouths opening in silent screams of agonizing cardiac arrest, before going swiftly still. Like puppets whose strings had been severed.
"Ha... haha..."
A dry, cracked sound escaped Sasha's throat. Her lips curled into a distorted, gleeful smile.
"[—There is no need to beg for mercy. There is no need to harbor thoughts of escape. Citizens of the Theocracy... your fate was sealed the moment you angered me.]"
The voice boomed again, carrying a tone of absolute finality.
"[Ah, and do not waste your final moments worrying about your families back home. Soon, the nation known as the Slane Theocracy shall be wiped from the face of this world. Forever. Utterly. Not even dust shall remain.]"
"Hahaha... Ahahahaha!" Sasha's laughter grew hoarse, bordering on hysteria. She lowered her knife, her eyes gleaming with a dark madness. "Did you hear that, Egnia? The Theocracy... it's over... It's all over! Hahahaha!"
"Ah... yes... it is finished..." Egnia muttered, his mind struggling to process the scale of the destruction.
"[Oh—forgive my lack of manners. I have yet to introduce myself properly.]"
The undead spread his arms wide, the gesture encompassing the burning city and the terrified elves alike.
"[I am the Sorcerer King, Ainz Ooal Gown! My fellow elves, I regret that time does not permit me to formally greet you before I complete the annihilation of this country. However, should you survive this day, you may find sanctuary within the Sorcerer Kingdom. That is, of course... assuming you have not been frightened to death. Hehe...]"
With a light chuckle that seemed to mock the absurdity of existence itself, the Sorcerer King vanished as abruptly as he had appeared, leaving only the screams of the dying in his wake.
That day, the world learned a simple truth: some calamities do not arrive to conquer… only to erase.
Author's Note
This chapter depicts the destruction of a nation as seen by those powerless to intervene. Fear, madness, and despair take precedence over action, as the presence of the Sorcerer King alone is enough to shatter mortal resolve.
From this point onward, the world changes irrevocably.