Hooch! Hooch!
Anri's feet pounded against the dusty earth, each step sending jolts of agony through her exhausted limbs. The village of Carne, once a peaceful haven, now echoed with distant screams and the acrid stench of smoke from burning homes.
"Huff.. huff..." she gasped, her voice raw and broken, as if the very air conspired against her. In her arms, her younger sister Nemu clung desperately, her small body trembling like a leaf in a storm. The bloody air filling Anri's lungs felt like razor blades scraping her flesh, bringing searing pain that blurred her vision with tears.
She dared a glance back, her neck twisting painfully. In her peripheral vision, two knights were following her at an unhurried pace, their armored boots crunching leisurely over the trampled grass.
One of them watched her with mocking eyes, his helmet's visor raised just enough to reveal a cruel smirk. Blood stained the tip of his sword—a vivid crimson that dripped slowly, leaving dark spots on the ground.
That was her father's blood, the man who had fought so valiantly to protect them, his final cry still ringing in her ears.
"Big Sister…" Nemu sobbed, clutching Anri's tattered clothes tightly with both hands, her tiny fingers digging into the fabric as if it were her last anchor to the world.
Keep running.
At least Nemu has to survive.
The thought fueled Anri's resolve, pushing her forward despite the burning in her thighs and the sweat stinging her eyes. The forest edge loomed ahead, a promise of shadows and hiding places, but it felt impossibly distant.
Swoosh! Pfft!
The sound was sickening, a wet slice through the air. One of the knights strode forward with predatory grace and slashed Anri across the back. The blade cut through flesh like a hot knife through butter, leaving a wound so deep that bone was exposed, white and stark against the red. Blood welled up immediately, soaking her shirt and trickling down her spine in warm rivulets.
The intense pain nearly made Anri lose consciousness, a white-hot explosion that radiated from her back to every nerve in her body. She lost her balance and collapsed to her knees, the impact jarring her teeth and sending Nemu tumbling from her arms with a frightened yelp.
"Little girl~ The game of cat and mouse is over." The knight's voice was laced with sadistic amusement as he slowly raised his sword, the blade glinting with a chilling light under the harsh afternoon sun. It caught the rays like a mirror, casting fleeting sparkles that belied its deadly intent.
"Nemu!" Anri instinctively shielded her sister with her body, curling over the child like a protective shell.
She closed her eyes tightly, gasping for breath, her mind racing through fragmented prayers and regrets. The world narrowed to the pounding of her heart and the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.
At the very least, I have to buy Nemu time to escape! Determination surged through her, mingling with the pain. She prepared to lunge, to claw and bite if necessary, anything to give her sister a chance.
Just as Anri was about to make a desperate final stand, she heard a calm voice pierce the tension like a whisper from another realm.
"Heart Grasp."
Was it a hallucination? The words hung in the air, ethereal and commanding, sending a shiver down her spine unrelated to her wound.
In just a few short seconds, before Anri could even react, there was the dull thud of armor hitting the ground, a heavy, final collapse that echoed unnaturally in the open field.
Thump!
Anri cautiously opened her eyes, her breath hitching. Beside her, the knight lay on the ground, his body limp and twisted at an odd angle, clearly dead. His eyes stared blankly at the sky, devoid of the mockery that had haunted her moments before.
She looked forward, her gaze widening in awe and fear. A masked man wearing luxurious robes stood before her, his presence as imposing as a storm cloud on the horizon.
The fabric of his attire shimmered with intricate embroidery, threads of gold and deep crimson that spoke of untold wealth and power. Just by standing there, he exuded an inexplicable sense of oppression, as if the very air bent to his will, heavy with an aura that made her instincts scream of danger and salvation intertwined.
A magic caster? The thought flashed through Anri's mind, pieced together from village tales of sorcerers who wielded forces beyond mortal ken. But this one... he was different, more profound, like a figure from ancient legends.
"W-who are you!" The other knight stammered, his voice cracking as he kept retreating backward, his boots scraping against the dirt in frantic steps. He couldn't hold onto his sword; it clattered to the ground with a metallic ring, abandoned in his terror.
His companion's inexplicable collapse had to be connected to this person. The knight's mind reeled—magic? Poison? Whatever it was, it spelled doom. He could not fight. He had to run. He absolutely had to run, his survival instincts overriding all else.
Momonga watched the knight trying to flee, his skeletal form hidden beneath the mask and robes, his undead nature suppressing any emotion that might have stirred in his former human self. He said calmly, his voice resonating with an otherworldly timbre, "You have the courage to attack the weak, but not the guts to face the strong." The words were laced with a cold irony, a judgment from one who had transcended mortality.
As soon as he finished speaking, a bolt of lightning condensed in his hand, crackling with raw energy that illuminated the scene in electric blue hues. It struck the knight like a soaring dragon, a serpentine arc of power that roared through the air with thunderous fury.
Dragon Lightning.
"Aaah!" The knight's scream was cut short as the bolt enveloped him, his armor glowing white-hot before charring. The smell of burnt flesh rose from his convulsing form, acrid and nauseating, as he lost his life instantly, collapsing into a smoldering heap.
Anri hugged her sister tightly, pulling Nemu close to her chest, feeling the child's rapid heartbeat against her own. She asked cautiously, her voice trembling with a mix of gratitude and wariness, "Esteemed sir… who are you?"
"My name is Ainz Ooal Gown. You may call me Ainz." Momonga's response was measured, his red eyes glowing faintly beneath the mask, a detail hidden from her view but ever-present in his awareness.
"Here, drink this." Momonga handed her a bottle of healing potion, the glass vial cool and smooth in his gloved hand, its contents swirling with a potent magic drawn from Nazarick's vast reserves.
Anri took it, staring at the potion hesitantly, her fingers brushing against the cork. The bright red liquid resembled blood spurting from an artery, vivid and unsettling in its intensity.
She involuntarily recalled the deaths of her father and mother—their bodies slumped in the village square, the knights' laughter echoing as life ebbed away. The memory brought a fresh wave of grief, tightening her throat.
He saved us, so he must be a good person… The logic pierced through her doubt, a fragile hope in the midst of despair. After a moment of hesitation, Anri suddenly opened the bottle with a pop and drank it in one gulp, the liquid sliding down her throat with a warm, tingling sensation that spread like wildfire through her veins.
"Big Sister, your back!" Nemu exclaimed, her small hands reaching out to touch the vanished wound in surprise. A layer of soft, delicate pink new flesh had already grown over it, smooth and unscarred, as if the injury had never been.
"Thank you, Lord Ainz!" Anri's voice cracked with emotion, tears welling up as relief washed over her. For the first time that day, a spark of hope ignited in her chest.
Just then, Sebas slowly approached from the direction of the village, his butler attire immaculate despite the chaos, his steps graceful and unhurried. He bowed deeply and said respectfully, "Lord Ainz, it has been dealt with." His voice carried the weight of absolute loyalty, his silver hair catching the sunlight.
Momonga nodded, acknowledging the report with a subtle gesture, his mind already shifting to the next phase. He said to Anri, "Let's go to the village."
According to Helant San's script, my next step is to wait in the village for someone named Stronoff, then give him a position exchange item, making it easier to save him later.
Momonga walked on while thinking to himself, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and adaptation to this new world. The Great Tomb of Nazarick's resources were at his disposal, but Helant San's foresight added layers of intrigue. "I'm supposed to appear later as Ainz Ooal Gown, the Sorcerer King. Interesting, Helant San."
...
Inside the forest not far from Carne Village, the air was cooler, dappled with sunlight filtering through the canopy of ancient trees. Birds chirped sporadically, oblivious to the human machinations below.
Negan fiddled with the crystal in his hand, its facets catching the light and refracting it into rainbows that danced across his palm. The artifact hummed faintly with sealed power, a testament to the Slane Theocracy's arcane prowess.
He recalled what the Chief Judge had instructed him, the elder's stern face etched in his memory. "You must kill the Kingdom Warrior Captain. Use this crystal if necessary." The words had been delivered in a chamber lit by holy flames, underscoring the gravity of the mission.
Negan carefully examined the crystal before him, turning it over with reverence. This was a supreme treasure capable of summoning a Seventh-Tier Judgment Angel, a being of divine wrath that could level battlefields with ease.
For the sake of a mere Kingdom Warrior Captain, the Theocracy had truly spared no expense, committing resources that could alter the fate of nations.
Negan leaned against the shade of a tree, its rough bark pressing into his back, a blade of grass in his mouth that he chewed thoughtfully. He chuckled, a low rumble that betrayed his confidence.
"Indeed, once the Kingdom Warrior Captain dies, the balance of power between the Empire and the Kingdom will be broken. The Empire will then annex the Kingdom, and the overall environment for humanity will move toward stable growth. This is exactly what we all want to see." His vision extended beyond the immediate kill—to a unified human front against the encroaching non-human threats that lurked in the shadows of the world.
The Slane Theocracy was a nation founded on the principle of human supremacy, its doctrines rooted in the worship of the Six Great Gods who had once walked among them. For centuries, they had constantly controlled the overall trend of human development, pulling strings from the shadows to prevent stagnation or self-destruction.
Their existence ensured that the powers of various countries did not become corrupt or backward, allowing humanity's overall strength to grow steadily, like a carefully tended garden yielding bountiful harvests.
It could be said that the Theocracy deserved most of the credit for humanity currently occupying such a large part of the world, their influence a silent guardian against the myriad dangers of the New World.
"Report, Captain Negan. The informant has replied. The Warrior Leader will arrive at Carne Village around dusk." The adjutant's words cut through the air, crisp and professional, pulling Negan from his reverie.
The news instantly invigorated Negan, a surge of adrenaline sharpening his senses. He straightened, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Good. Kingdom Warrior Captain, Stronoff, prepare to die for the greater good of humanity!" The declaration carried a zealous fervor, born from years of indoctrination in the Theocracy's halls.
Over the past few days, he had sent out knights disguised as Imperial citizens to roam around and slaughter villages, their blades sowing chaos to draw out their target. Each raid was a calculated move, a pawn sacrificed on the grand chessboard of geopolitics.
Negan's gaze swept over the two dozen or so robed figures resting beside him, their hoods casting shadows over focused faces. Every single one of them was a magic caster capable of summoning angels, their spells honed through rigorous training and divine favor.
Any one of them could gain fame in the outside world, revered as heroes or feared as enforcers. They were the elite of the elite, the Sunlight Scripture's finest, bound by oaths to protect humanity at any cost.
Negan picked up the magic crystal again, feeling its weight, and could not help shaking his head with a wry smile. "For this operation, I doubt we will even need to use it…" The confidence stemmed from their numbers and preparation, a force that could overwhelm even a seasoned warrior like Stronoff.
Before he could finish, he remembered the Chief Judge's warning not to be arbitrary or complacent, the elder's piercing gaze a reminder of past failures born from hubris.
He immediately changed his tone, his voice firming. "Even if we do use it, it will certainly be foolproof. Could there possibly be a monster capable of instantly killing a Seventh-Tier Angel that suddenly pops out of nowhere?" The notion seemed absurd, a flight of fancy in a world where such beings were rare legends.
The very thought seemed impossible, dismissed with a scoff as he pocketed the crystal.
Helant concealed himself in a tree, his form blending seamlessly with the branches through advanced illusion magic, observing Negan with the keen eye of a strategist. He communicated with Momonga via a silent Message spell, their link undetectable.
"Momonga, this time I'll let you play the villain."
"Ainz Ooal Gown as the villain, Helant San? Who are we putting on this show for?" Momonga's response echoed in his mind, curious yet compliant.
"Based on my observations here, right now there is only the Slane Theocracy. This time, the goal is simply to mislead them, to let them know that 'Ainz Ooal Gown' has an enemy." Helant San's plan was multifaceted, weaving deception to protect Nazarick's secrets.
"Ah, Helant San is thoughtful as always. Laying out the plan from the very beginning. It will be hard for them not to believe it." Momonga's undead calm masked his appreciation for the foresight.
Momonga recalled what Helant had said earlier, during their clandestine meetings in the tomb. Nazarick would eventually be exposed, so it was better to start planning early and muddy the waters, creating layers of misdirection that would confound even the most astute observers.
"Momonga, dusk is approaching. The performance is about to begin." Helant San's words carried a hint of excitement, the thrill of orchestration.
Not long after he finished speaking, Momonga heard the sound of horse hooves approaching from a distance, a rhythmic thunder growing louder against the fading light.
A powerful swordsman clad in armor, his plate mail scarred from countless battles, dismounted with practiced ease. He scanned the panicked villagers with sharp eyes, noting their huddled forms and tear-streaked faces, before his gaze settled on Momonga, who stood out like a sore thumb amid the rustic simplicity. He said solemnly, his voice booming with authority, "I am Gazef Stronoff, the Kingdom Warrior Captain. By order of His Majesty, I have come to subdue the rogue Imperial Knights!"
The declaration hung in the air, a beacon of hope for the villagers who whispered his name in awe—Gazef Stronoff, the strongest warrior of the Re-Estize Kingdom, a man whose blade had turned tides in wars past.
…
"Report, Captain. The Warrior Leader has entered the village!" The scout's voice was urgent, cutting through the forest's hush.
Negan suddenly stood up, exclaiming with delight, his fists clenching in triumph. "Good. The rest period is over. Prepare for battle!" He gestured sharply, rousing his men who rose as one, robes rustling like whispers of impending doom.
"However, the knights disguised as Imperial cavalry haven't returned yet. I'm afraid…" the adjutant said with some difficulty, his brow furrowed in concern.
"Let them engage the Warrior Leader. The Theocracy and humanity will remember their sacrifice!" Negan gazed toward the direction of Carne Village, his eyes narrowing with resolve. The greater good demanded such costs, and he was prepared to pay them.
High in the sky, a faint magical fluctuation caught Helant's attention, a subtle ripple in the ether that only a master could detect.
"Star Gazing a Thousand Miles, huh? The audience has arrived." The spell's signature was unmistakable, a long-range scrying from the Theocracy's higher echelons, watching from afar.
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