[The First Day of Destruction, 7:11 PM] [6th Floor: Amphitheatre — The Great Tomb of Nazarick]
The connection severed.
The tactical display in Ainz Ooal Gown's mind, the sensory feed from the Eternal Death, faded into static and vanished.
The engineered climate of the 6th Floor swallowed the chill of the Holy City's night air. Around the obsidian throne, the Amphitheatre's familiar hush reasserted itself, but the lingering taste of the battlefield clung like soot.
Ainz let out a breath he did not possess. A heavy, phantom sigh seemed to shudder through his ribcage.
(That was… exhausting.)
He settled back on the throne, resisting the urge to hide his skull behind his hands. Directly controlling a summon via [Sensory Link] inflicted a strain that no idle command could replicate. The Eternal Death possessed a crude combat AI, sufficient for basic engagements, but it remained, at heart, a mob. Left to its devices, it would have either slaughtered indiscriminately or blundered into a trap.
To pull off the plan, terrorize, cripple, and allow chosen survivors to flee, Ainz had micromanaged every strike, every dodge, every theatrical pause.
(I feel like I just ran a six-hour raid with a laggy controller.) A faint complaint flickered through his mind. (Acting like a villainous mastermind is tedious work.)
Fatigue was one thing. A colder thing gnawed at him now, an old, mechanical dread he could not shake.
Ainz flexed his skeletal fingers; the bones on his hand creaked.
"I never expected this," he said, voice low and implacable. "To see a silhouette resembling Longinus… here, of all places."
Silence in the Amphitheater contracted.
Albedo and Demiurge, stationed dutifully below the throne, stiffened. Their usual masks; Albedo's adoring devotion, Demiurge's composed intellect, cracked into expressions edged with unease.
Since the Shalltear incident, Ainz had drilled his guardians about World-Class Items. They knew the names, and they knew the terror attached to them. Longinus the Saint-Slaying Spear was among the most fearsome of the Twenty.
"Longinus…" Albedo whispered; her wings trembled.
"The World Item that deletes its target from existence at the cost of its wielder?" she added.
"Correct," Ainz said, forcing steadiness. "In YGGDRASIL, it was the ultimate trade. Use i,t and the user is erased. Resurrection becomes impossible without another very specific counter." He allowed the memory to pass through him like a draft.
When he had glimpsed Clemence, the First Seat, wielding a black spear, his passive suppression had gone into overdrive in fear. The outline and aura were disquietingly similar to that legendary weapon.
(If that boy had driven that spear into the Eternal Death… if it had been Longinus…) The thought lodged coldly in his mind. The Eternal Death could be sacrificed. But his Guardians were not expendable.
He will not allow it, even the faintest possibility that a Floor Guardian might be lost forever. They were not mere subordinates, but the cherished legacy of his friends… their children, entrusted to him. The mere image of their absence sent a cold tremor through his hollow bones, a phantom shudder no undead body should feel…
Demiurge was the first to disturb the hush, his tone steeped in devout admiration.
"My Lord, deploying a summon as the vanguard was an exquisitely prudent decision. Had one of the Guardians advanced incautiously, we might have stumbled into a calamity beyond recovery… a loss that could never be rectified."
He lowered his head, a smile of absolute conviction tracing his lips.
"Your foresight alone averted such disgrace. Ainz-Sama, your strategic depth borders on the divine. By this single stratagem, you flawlessly nullified even the remotest possibility of permanent erasure."
(Ah… so that's how it looks from their perspective.)
Ainz felt a flicker of hollow amusement echo within the empty cavern of his mind. What he had considered nothing more than a cautious, almost clumsy experiment had been elevated, polished into brilliance by Demiurge's unwavering faith.
(Prescience, was it? If only you knew.)
Behind the immovable mask of the Sorcerer King, the remnants of his human self could only offer a wry, silent laugh at the misunderstanding he had neither the courage nor the reason to correct.
"U-umu. Exactly," Ainz lied smoothly. Better to lose a pawn than risk a Queen.
He tapped a bony finger against the armrest, thinking.
"Yet there were inconsistencies. That boy did not use the spear's erasure. He fought with martial skill. Even when cornered, he refrained."
"Perhaps he feared the cost," Albedo suggested. "To use Longinus is to commit suicide. Humans are lowly creatures, both weak in flesh and mind. Perhaps he lacked resolve."
"Or," Ainz replied, "he did not know how. Or" He let the possibility hang. The red lights in his eye sockets dimmed with consideration. "Perhaps it was a fake."
Demiurge's brow knitted. "A fake, my lord? World-Class Items cannot be replicated. Their signatures are unique—"
"That was true in YGGDRASIL, Demiurge. Here, the rules are different." Ainz produced a small, empty potion vial and turned it in the light. "I have conducted experiments in the Dark Elf Village. In that world, I had no crafting jobs. Here, by physically mixing herbs and following local alchemical processes, I produced a crudely functional healing potion."
Demiurge's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "So… the physical properties and local magics allow item fabrication?"
"A novice circumvented class restrictions through mundane alchemy. If I can, skilled craftsmen, over six hundred years, could have analyzed relics left by the Six Great Gods and forged replicas using New World materials.
They would lack the true World-Class power but might replicate form and some attributes: a Legacy Class item masquerading as a World Item."
"A bluff… or a symbol of authority," Albedo breathed.
Demiurge's tail twitched in pleasure. "Sasuga Ainz-sama! Conducting field experiments to test replication hypotheses, your strategy is flawless!"
He bowed deeply, glasses glinting as his smile widened into something almost devotional.
"To perceive danger not in armies or spells but in the quiet spread of imitation… that is the vision of a ruler who governs causality itself. You do not merely respond to the world, Ainz-sama! You define its boundaries."
Albedo's golden eyes shimmered as she stepped forward, wings shifting in restrained excitement.
"My beloved Ainz-sama, your foresight is boundless. What appears to lesser beings as a simple potion experiment is in truth a layered operation, economic calibration, information gathering, and doctrinal control. Even the Supreme Beings could scarcely anticipate such elegance."
Demiurge inclined his head again, voice lowering with reverence.
"Indeed. By testing the reproducibility of your creation, you have exposed the axis upon which counterfeit authority might arise. To extinguish a threat before its conception… such methodology borders on the divine."
Ainz listened to their praise, but inwardly, he was dumbfounded by their explanation.
(I was just trying to see if I could make money selling potions...)
The thought surfaced weakly, almost apologetically.
Selling potions had seemed practical. Nazarick required currency, influence, and logistical independence. A simple economic venture, nothing more. Yet before Demiurge and Albedo, the modest objective had transformed into a masterpiece of strategic foresight.
Ainz coughed.
The sound echoed faintly in the chamber, a skeletal gesture attempting to approximate composure.
Their devotion was neither feigned nor exaggerated from their perspective. To them, every motion he made was intentional, every silence calculated, every coincidence evidence of transcendent intellect.
"Ahh! Yes. Precisely, Demiurge. You understood my intentions perfectly."
"Incredible," Albedo swooned, clasping her hands. "Your wisdom knows no bounds, my Lord. You saw through the enemy's potential deception before the battle even began!"
(You interpreted my small coin-making scheme as military genius.) A brief inward flicker of amusement passed.
Ainz coughed into his fist to hide his awkwardness. "Ahem. Regardless, we cannot be careless. We must appraise that spear immediately."
He gestured, and the Mirror of Remote Viewing showed the ruinous aftermath of the Eye of the Water God, smoke, toppled statues, scattered shields.
"Status of the captives?" he asked.
"Two secured: the First Seat, the spear-wielder, and the Sixth Seat, a paladin," Demiurge reported with crisp efficiency. "Both stabilised by Pestonya. They await transfer to the Frozen Prison on the 5th Floor."
"Good. Secure the spear from the prisoner. Have the Chief Blacksmith analyse it immediately. I want to know if it is truly Longinus or a forgery."
"At once, Lord Ainz!"
A satisfied smile, barely visible in bone, touched Ainz's face.
He sat back and watched the mirrored ruin. The opening piece had been played. The rest of the board awaited…
Author's note
Hi everyone! I had so much fun writing this chapter; the tension around Ainz and seeing how Albedo and Demiurge react. The next chapter ramps up the stakes and opens new story arcs I can't wait to share with you.
If you want Chapter 29, please help reach the 100 Power Stone milestone, once we hit it, I'll publish the next installment!
What did you enjoy most in this chapter, and which plot thread are you most excited to see develop? Leave your thoughts below and if you liked the chapter, drop a comment with Sasuga Ainz-sama!
Thanks so much for reading and supporting the story - your feedback and energy keep me writing!