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This story uses the same setting as my other story "Momon, Big Black Changeling". Essentially, Ainz Ooal Gown is the same type of creature as in that story, although this and that story happen in different worlds.

The Capital City of the Re-Estize Kingdom had been in a state of high tension for what seemed like a very long time now. It had begun quite a while back, in the aftermath of the disastrous war against the Sorcerous Kingdom and its new lackeys, the turncoat Baharuth Empire. To the many who lived in the capital it seemed as if the capital had never recovered. The scars left by Jaldabaoth's assault had been deep, and no one would ever forget the mysterious fates of those he had abducted. Many districts in the city remained deserted, becoming breeding grounds for vermin and their human counterparts who were always up to no good.

And then came news of the Marchers—traitors to the throne. The exodus of commoners and some well-to-do citizens began, as they were unwilling to become embroiled in a possible rebellion that would claim many lives.

After that came the declaration of war against the Holy Kingdom, and the exodus surged. Entire districts in the city were left empty or close to it, abandoned by fleeing families who no longer had faith in their King. They did not wish to be caught in a siege where hundreds may die from hunger and disease.

Ironically, by leaving, they left behind many gaps in society that could not be easily filled. Important businesses had up and left, leaving only the unscrupulous and desperate behind to take over. And when they did, the conditions in the city deteriorated. Prices rose.

Crime became much more rampant, and the city guard were nowhere to be found. Most of them had been conscripted in the war, and only a token force remained—and these men cannily chose to focus their numbers around the well-to-do districts, where they could be reinforced by the nobility's own private armies. Without discipline and order, groups of disgruntled citizens began marching as gangs, preying on each other like starved mongrels. The discontent grew like weeds, and soon those who were in the business of providing for the city found themselves robbed of everything they had. Only the taverns and inns remained safe, as the Adventurer's Guild had a stake in their protection, and hired many groups to act as guards and escorts to ward off the crowds. The Guild itself was like a bastion unto itself, impenetrable to siege. And yet it refused to commission adventurers to help police the city, and was merely content to let things happen.

At the very heart of this disorder and uneasiness was the royal palace, where many nobles loyal to the King now congregated, insulated from the chaos now brewing outside. The palace was regularly supplied and was well-protected by legions of hard-boiled veterans—as such, the rumors of anarchy in the lower city was treated as nothing but the baying of ungrateful rabble. So they elected to remain in the King's estates, offering their endless support to their liege.

Deeper still inside the heart of the Re-Estize Kingdom was the King's own chambers, where he presided over the governance of his nation. Chief of these was the War Council, a place now frequented by many nobles owing to the current situation of the war. No rumors of the greater city reached their ears, as their attention was ever focused outwards, towards the war situation.

It was to this place that Princess Renner one day arrived, followed along by her retainer. She walked up to the entrance, where two stern-faced guards stood watch. She smiled silently at them, as if she was expecting something.

The guards only stared at Princess Renner, then at each other. One of them, the brave one, bowed their head in contrition. "Our deepest apologies, my lady, but the War Council is in session, along with His Majesty the King. They have asked to not be disturbed for any reason whatsoever."

"I'm well aware," Princess Renner said smoothly. Like the guards, her body exhibited no wasted movement, and she stood poised like a serene, untiring, beautiful statue. "And that is precisely why I am even here. Our father has summoned me."

"Is this…" the guard hesitated, then glanced at his fellow. "Is that so? Please forgive us, Princess, but we must confirm it. Allow us a little time…" As the man spoke, Renner glanced silently at her retainer, who nodded and stepped up.

"You fools!" she said, glaring at the two guards, who were startled by the sound of the raised voice. "Why on earth would you ever dare to flout a royal command? You would waste the Princess' time, and the King's patience? Her Highness is no mere servant hiding blades within her doublet! Do you really intend to waste their Highness' time with such quibbling? Think carefully—your own lives may be at stake."

Renner smiled gratefully at her retainer, who stepped back to the spot behind her after delivering her tirade. She then looked back at the two guards expectantly, who each looked shaken by her retainer's words, eyes blinking rapidly like a pair of fools. For surely they had grasped the significance of her words, even if they seemed like uneducated commoners who had bought their trade in the army. Then, after sharing a panicked glance, they hastened to open the door. From beyond came the babble of many raised voices, the creak of wood, the sound of paper scraping together; the thick smell of burnt tobacco and pungent alcohol; and a fear so thick and palpable it could be detected by all the senses at once.

She glanced at her retainer, who bowed and stayed in her place. She flashed a radiant smile at the guards, as if to show her gratitude, then stepped forward past them into the War Council. The door shut behind her with a quiet click.

The Princess' gaze swept over the chaotic scene within, her eyes drinking in every last detail. One might be right in saying that this was where the living heart of the nation currently dwelled. Yet now it seemed its beating rhythm was trapped in miserable, uneven staccatos, as if it belonged to a man about to die of terror.

She did not need to be the man's daughter to notice the King first of all. He sat there at the head of the table; his fingers clasped before his chest. In this room of frenzied movement, he was at the center, unmoving, the only single constant. His wizened form and general dotage could not take away the sheer magnitude of the aura he exuded throughout the room. His presence was one that had been forged from years of ruling one of the largest nations in current history. He had overseen the course of battles since he was a young princeling up to the disaster at Katze Plain. He had kept a steady hand over the reins of the fractious nobles over his entire life, flattering and cajoling where it was needed, or smashing them with royal authority otherwise. His thin white brows were currently furrowed in thought, his eyes smoldering with a fire that belied his feeble frame. And yet she could sense a hint of an old sorrow within as well, as of the farmer who has sensed an oncoming drought.

So if her Father was the farmer, then what did that mean for the nobles who were currently in this room? They were his prized produce, and even when they spoiled easily, her Father still needed to care for them to garner some honest profit.

They were all on their feet: shouting, gesticulating, slamming their hands on the table or whatever surface they found, their voices raised in discordant unity as their respective tempers flared and simmered like the heat of a forge. There were those who affected calm, perhaps in an effort to mime the King, and yet they could not restrain the impassioned words that came out of their mouths. These were the planners, those of eminent houses who had planned the war like they had set up a game of chess on a lazy afternoon. And yet she had not found one among them with the wit to match their age, or the venerability of their house, which had been most disappointing when she had been canvassing for prospective husbands. None had seen through her intention to live quietly and love Climb secretly on the side: they all saw her as a pawn in the game, and that was just so tiresome.

Then there were the firebrands, scions of lesser houses or those who had taken the mantle of greater ones too early. They were the ones most vehement in their arguments, though their oratory was fragmented and juvenile. She had tried canvassing these as well, but they were too volatile and greedy. Poor fits for husbands for she who was seeking a quiet life.

The last group were the quietest in the room, but their tasks led them to be the most chaotic. These were sons and daughters of minor houses with ambitions that sometimes exceeded their grasps. They worked hard to fulfill the commands of their superiors like common workers at a merchant's office. They shed no complaint on being treated this way—as they all knew that they were at least trusted enough to be summoned near the King, when no other commoner would ever suffice. And they would dream that one day it would be their turns on the table, lending their voices to the violent cacophony. Renner had also considered them, thinking that one would at least be content with their role in the hierarchy. But when she had come inquiring, they had all failed in their own little ways—their lives were almost guaranteed to be interesting, and Renner did not want that.

All who were assembled here in the War Council knew of her brother's mission. They had argued about it before. And now they were to argue about it again.

From the start of the war she had been content with sitting it out, while she quietly advanced her objectives in secret through the many clandestine avenues now open to her. Her brother kept her apprised, as if he could glean some military insight from her brain, and also because there were now a few people he could really trust as a Crown Prince. The siblings had shared an understanding about her desires, which her brother found unfathomable. And yet, like a good sibling, he had kept her secret, and in exchange he could attempt to ply the rich bounty of her mind from time to time.

She had watched with detached interest as the war went sour, then went very bad for her brother and his cabal of self-interested, vainglorious nobles. Yet again she could offer nothing but advice on how to handle the now restive nobility, who had quickly turned their opinion on the Holy Kingdom war now that they were on the backfoot. It had become necessary for Zanac to keep a close eye on those who had become most disgruntled. Several conspiracies had been silenced in this way—all of them discovered by her and her new means. That was all she could provide him: war was not something she had studied too well, though she could grasp the fundamentals enough.

Then there had come this idea of a mission: an expedition into foreign territory in order to seize some advantage in their losing war. Yet again she could not offer any insight along the military side of the matter other than the fact that it seemed a good enough tactic. But since it involved the Sorcerous Kingdom to a degree, she had to be a little circumspect about things. It was an audacious plan on paper, but she knew that it would never succeed.

Adding to this, she also knew that many of the Sorcerous Kingdom's plans were already in motion, which guaranteed her brother's failure. Had she been of a mind to attempt to dissuade him—and she did not—she would still need to furnish proof that his plan was anticipated. But any proofs she would give would only raise some unpleasant questions for her, so her hands were tied.

So she watched him go and lead his army, in the hopes of earning some glorious victory. She duly reported the mission back to her new masters, even if she knew they already had many other sources. She did not want to be seen as negligent, after all.

She had bid good bye to Zanac a few days ago. Now, as she had predicted, the War Council had discovered that something had somehow gone wrong. She could guess that her brother had failed to report his status on time. Now her father was sure to be worried, and the rest of his council would be buzzing around, desperately looking for answers.

At first, only a few retainers noted her arrival. These nobles, who had been commissioned as servants and aides for their betters, bowed and curtsied towards her, before returning to their frantic work. She received their compliments with the grace of a true royal as her steps guided her towards her father.

Coincidentally, it lay right in the path of where Marquis Raeven was lounging on a different, smaller table, nursing an unfinished glass of sherry in his hands. The man seemed half-drunk, as he raised his glass to her in a salute that was less appropriate than normal for greeting a royal princess. But she was not one to mind such lapses in decorum, especially when it did not presently benefit her in some way. She walked towards the Marquis silently, as the argument continued on the other table.

"I bid you greetings, dear Princess," he said. He seemed to be exercising tremendous restraint, as his words did not appear slurred at all. The only sign that the liquor was lurking in his veins was the slight unkemptness of his blonde hair, which meant nothing as that was shared with nearly everyone in this room.

"Marquis Raeven," she said, after curtsying. "It appears I am not too late to the gathering. I hope I am not intruding?"

The Marquis chuckled. "I am not the warden of those doors, Princess. If there is anyone to whom you must apologize, it is yon Father." His smile softened. "But I am sure he will appreciate your coming regardless."

"I can only hope so." She turned to look at him sitting there, his wrinkled face sunk in thought. It should be proper decorum to go and greet him now, but she judged that the time was not right.

And she also knew he was aware of her coming. If he did not acknowledge her, then that meant his mind really was occupied with many thoughts, difficult thoughts.

"What is it they're arguing about?" she asked, her eyes flickering towards the War Table, upon which were the many small wooden figurines, denoting armies and other representaitons. A retainer came along and offered her a seat beside the Marquis, which she took with the flash of a smile.

"It would be too long to explain," Marquis said, sucking in through his teeth in a vulgar manner. "But, as they're not even finished talking about it, I invite you to just listen in, Princess."

Currently, one of the lower nobles was speaking loudly over the buzz of conversation. He seemed to be reading off something on a piece of paper, which meant it was a dispatch from the front.

"My lords, Lord Pespea reports that the enemy forces have yet to be sighted by our scouts. The likelihood of them presenting battle on this day has been deemed unlikely. He is still preparing his camps for any possible raids." The man shifted, and glanced up at his fellow nobles. "He also wishes to express his opinion on the Prince's operation."

There was an assortment of grunts and murmurs from the assembled nobles. But no one, not even the King, said anything, so that was tacit permission to continue. The man turned to face the King directly, as if he were transmitting the message directly from the marshal to His Royal Majesty.

"Lord Pespea has expressed in this message that in light of the uncertainty regarding the Prince Zanac's fate, then all available resources must be committed to the secondary plan which this august assembly had decided before. With him holding the line, we must threaten the enemy's lands once more, and force them to disperse their forces. In doing so, we can begin crushing them piecemeal, thereby securing our victory without a doubt. This ends his message." The man put the sheet of paper away, as a buzzing silence fell on the room.

All eyes turned towards the King, to see what his reaction was. All were about to express their own opinions based on what the King would say, whether to support or deflect whatever Ramposa III had in mind.

Renner was sure about what her father was thinking on that very moment. He did not care a fig for what Pespea was proposing, and would be content in allowing the man to do as he pleased. Foremost in his mind was the fate of his son and last remaining heir, Zanac, who was the last hope for his legacy. Barbro's death had already weighed heavily on him, enough to keep him in bed for months and paralyze affairs of state for that same amount of time. If he should have been waylaid somewhere out there, then she was sure her father would not be able to withstand the grief that would crush his heart. If Zanac were to have died, then her father was sure to die in turn, and that would leave quite a confusing state of affairs in the aftermath. She fully expected to be taken hostage by some ambitious noble, to lay claim to the potential of her blood and forge a new dynasty.

Not that it would happen, of course, with her new masters in play, but it was always fascinating to consider the alternatives.

Presently, her Father raised his head a minute amount. He cleared his throat, and it was as if the river of noise flowing around the room had frozen.

"And what do my esteemed lords think of the Lord Pespea's words?" he said in a low, imperious rumble. "Speak in turn, and do not quibble like peasants at a fair. You know your places. One by one, present your arguments in front of us all." So he had chosen to hedge his opinions for now. That was a valid strategy, if his mind was still occupied elsewhere. It played marvelously towards the nobles' egos, too, as they loved nothing more than to overcome each other by the sheer quantity of words that came from their mouths.

"My lord, if I might be permitted to present my humble observations first," said one of the greater nobles, who stood against the table. "Today, we have confirmed that the Prince has not sent any message to our local network regarding the current status of his mission. Our network at Temion has therefore sent the emergency signals back to us as had been initially planned. It yet remains to be seen exactly what has happened to the Prince, or why he has failed to report as previously scheduled. We can infer any number of reasons for this, but nothing explicitly conclusive."

Renner knew that the possibility existed in their minds that Zanac had simply taken the army assigned to him and fled, perhaps becoming another one of those terrible Marchers that raised their flags in defiance of the King. Of course, one could see the dismal logic in such a course—as he was already the heir-apparent, and the King was of an age where he was entirely ready to pass on his crown. And it was ludicrous to even consider him fleeing for some other reason than rebellion—perhaps to found his own country in a far-away place—as he would be going against all common sense. Only a madman would consider such a course, and she had never seen him as such.

"Regardless of the true reasons," another noble of a high house said, "It cannot be denied that the mission for which he was sent has failed. We cannot tell lord Pespea to go ahead with the assault, and we must instead hold the lines. We cannot force the enemy to a decisive rout, not without the forces at the flank. And furthermore, we are weakened even now by the forces that had been sent. That is a fact, gentlemen, that cannot be ignored." He pumped out his chest in some manner of self-importance, and looked around the room as if daring to challenge his statements. Renner nearly smiled at that.

"And what of this plan of Pespea's? Should His Majesty approve it?" asked another noble.

"Lord Pespea is confident that it will work," said another noble, whom Renner knew was part of Pespea's little faction. Another sycophant.

"It seems rather too risky," observed another noble. "Are we not stretched too thin by this point? As long as the main enemy army is still intact, we cannot hope to both defend against them and send yet another expeditionary force west."

"Lord Pespea is, again, confident in the troops that will be sent," said the sycophant in reply. "Mind, I have not been given the full scope of his plans, but the gist of it is our usage of fast raiding groups to harass Holy Kingdom towns, and hopefully send word that their lands are vulnerable."

"And what if they've an army or two there, held in spare?" a noble demanded. "These men would be walking straight into the wolf's mouth!"

"And what if they lose control, like those damned mercenaries?"

The sycophant shook his head. "These raiding groups will be given their instructions. They will not attack when an army is nearby. They will only stick to harassing towns, not besieging them, and they will certainly not allow themselves to run rampant—they know they would just be killed. And if a group is foolish enough to ignore these instructions? Well, a foolish dullard will always get what's coming to him, I always say."

"You would throw away our precious fighting power just like that?"

Another argument ensued, but Renner could tell that some of the other nobles were already ignoring it. Fortunately, someone else spoke with urgency to drown out the petty argument.

"Pray allow me now to speak, and may I beg my greatest pardons from His Majesty for the presumption." This one came from one of the lower houses, the first one of them to voice his opinion after the King's order. He looked around self-importantly. "But I number among those who have only recently been made privy of the honored Council's plans. We shall not belabor the fact that the Prince's mission had been sent. Rather, we now question why it was even necessary to plan such an audacious, but risky stroke, in the first place. Surely there had been other alternatives considered? A flank attack from the other side perhaps?" He pointed down at the map, over near the border with the Holy Kingdom, which had seen them accept such grievous reverses as the war progressed. "Surely if we thought to catch the enemy off-guard, going through this path would have been a better stratagem? Instead, we risked waking the ire of our other neighbor, with its terrifying leader!"

"The point had been raised, you can be assured of that. We have discussed it endlessly while you were not aware—though for that we apologize, we needed the security," grunted another high noble irritably. Renner took a moment to pinpoint that this one had been numbered among those who hadn't been part of the original planning. Zanac had always kept her abreast of all the plan's details, allowing her to keep a tally of their names for use. This one had been a "security risk", according to her brother. "But it was not and will never be feasible. Even our honored King saw the folly in such a course, which was the exact reason why he did not agree." Ah, thought Renner. So this one was really a part of the Great Nobles faction. He was subtly prodding some of the blame back towards her Father. Whether or not Zanac's plan succeeded, the Nobles were adamant in letting the King share the blame if it failed—or if it succeeded then they would in turn reap the glories. She wondered if her father would take umbrage at such a play. But perhaps he did not have the stomach for that even now.

"But surely…!" the other noble sputtered. "If one considered the lay of the land and the terrain and all the other factors…"

"I do not wish to repeat arguments and statements that had already been made in the past," the security risk said, waving dismissively. "Let it suffice that your idea was raised, was discussed, and then was dismissed. And that the King chose the route that seemed best at the time."

There was a lull in the conversation after that, and she could feel the first noble's frustration at being completely rebuffed.

"Forgive me my King," said another low noble. "… And honored Council. Regardless of which plan had been chosen, there is still one incontrovertible truth. This was a waste of our precious resources, resources we could have used anywhere else. Surely such a daring plot from our Prince would have been benefited during the actual battle? Perhaps, by bridging some secret passage, and falling on our enemies from behind? This circuitous path seemed highly unnecessary." There were murmurs of agreement to that.

"And expensive," said another, nodding furiously. "Gold to pay the men, gold to pay their food, gold for their arms and armor, and gold to fund the horse dung that will inevitably drip from their mounts. A massive expenditure with nothing to show for it."

"And the men, too, are another resource we cannot easily recoup," said another. "I have heard that some of the best veterans had been sent to accompany the Prince, in order to ensure the success of the mission? That was unwise. The capabilities of our army have been drained without our proper enemy even having to lift a finger."

"My friends, we are being too hasty, I should think. May we also not consider the alternative?" said another noble from the lower house. He was old, but of a house that had fallen on hard times before the Battle of Katze Plain. Renner recognized him as someone who had cleaved to the Royalist faction with some sort of stubborn pride.

"Perhaps the Prince has indeed been waylaid, but in such a way that has made it impossible for him to adhere to the signals that had been planned. Such things have happened many times before. Especially in warfare. Indeed, are not our own current circumstances proof that the unexpected can never be truly expected?" The man seemed unlikable, as no one visibly reacted to his plea. Regardless, another noble took up the thread of the argument.

It was another old noble, but this time from a high house. Long an ally of Pespea, he was one of the proponents of the "mad" plan on which her brother had embarked. In fact, he had been a strong proponent, when even Zanac had had reservations about going up against Ainz Ooal Gown. The man did not seem to fear the Sorcerous Kingdom, which made him either stupid—or one with an agenda just like her. Could he be another of her new friends' plants? It would be interesting to find out.

"It is entirely possible that his current conditions exclude the possibility of giving us a signal. Any number of things could have happened. It is far too early to write things off as lost. Your Majesty, we must not lose faith. We must hold strong, and trust that Prince Zanac can carry his mission true."

"But surely we cannot be waiting forever on such tenterhooks," came the rejoinder. "And obviously, we cannot count on our enemies to act like obedient peasants and wait for us to be ready. Lord Pespea's position is untenable. We must either prepare to reinforce it or follow along with his plan."

"Then consider the timeline—"

"The distance needed to travel—"

"I am saying that, as a seasoned commander in my own time, there are—"

"There they go again," Raeven muttered beside her. "Just as soon as they someone gets to prickling their pride they rise up to defend their honors, forgetting themselves. And the King's own order." It was clear to Renner that her father had grown stern at the barrage of arguments that had erupted. She could sense him about to move to impose his will once more on the chamber, when there came a clatter from behind her.

Despite her ingrained self-control even she chanced to look behind her, as did the rest of the room's inhabitants. The door to the chambers opened, admitting one of the guards. The guard looked confused, but he nonetheless saluted the assembly by slamming the butt of his weapon on the floor loudly. Beside him was another noble, his face red, his breaths coming out in desperate wheezes, his dress crumpled and unpresentable. He moved sluggishly, like he was drunk, while waving a letter in his hand.

"My King! My King!" he shouted. His hoarse, desperate voice filled the chamber, almost shrill like a bat's.

"Contain yourself, fool!" snapped one of the nobles. The man stopped, wide-eyed, blinking and staring at the other nobles as if they had just seen them there. "Remember where you are, and who you are meant to be!"

"I… my apologies, my lords," the man stammered. He bowed, then walked towards the King as if he was standing on invisible stilts. He paused as the King's eminent gaze turned towards him. It was as if all his earlier fervor had evaporated from his body. "M-My King… A m-message has been brought that is to be given t-to you."

"A message?" the King repeated.

"From…" the man licked his lips. "From the Sorcerer-King."

A hush fell over the room. Just the mere mention of that name seemed to summon his dread specter, as if he had suddenly materialized there in their midst. Even Renner could not help the rising of her brows, as she processed this new development quickly inside her mind.

It took a while until someone spoke. Renner was not surprised to find that it was the King himself.

"Give it to me," said the King, his eyes haunted, his wrinkles stark and clear on his pale face. The man mustered his courage, and walked the remaining steps towards her father. The King received the envelope, then turned it over in his hands gingerly.

"Your Majesty… is that…?" asked one of the nobles, breathlessly.

"It bears the seal of the Sorcerous Kingdom," the King said in a somber, quiet baritone. He closed his eyes. Then he looked up and raised the envelope for all to see. Stamped on the surface was a peculiar seal—that of an embossed black skull. It was clear that no normal dignitary had sent such a macabre-looking letter. "This is the exact same sigil which greeted me when I was presented with terms during the aftermath of Katze. Thus, I know this to be genuine. This really did come from the Sorcerer-King." He turned back to the messenger. "Tell me, how did you come by this?"

"The embassy, my lord. They sent their messenger to the Palace," the man replied. "I was chosen to carry it here, to the War Council."

Since the last war, the Sorcerous Kingdom had indeed been allowed to establish a small embassy of sorts inside the Capital. It had been proposed by that adjutant of the undead's, that beautiful woman Albedo, with the stated reason of "improving the relations between our countries". But they all knew the truth: this was their way of keeping watch over their defeated prey. The area and the building that had been given to them was kept was routinely avoided by the fearful citizens, though there were many an eye that had been set to watch them.

"Surely they can't have already known," said one of the nobles fearfully. "It would have taken many leagues by horse, no, even by carriage it would have taken close to a week!"

"Perhaps they have dragons? I have heard that Arwintar itself is now a nest for a whole brood!" cried another noble.

For once, the King narrowed his eyes and glanced with a hint of contempt at them all. "The man, who has slain thousands of mine own people through his unholy artifice, will surely have the means of sending his will fast over the leagues through whatever miraculous means he possesses. I think it is time we all accept that fact and focus on more important things." And with that said, the King broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. His eyes fell on the writing for a few seconds before he dropped the sheet, and placed his face against the palms of his hands. A strangled sob came muffled from the man's throat, which surprised them all.

"Your Majesty!" One noble, who was closest, swiftly grabbed the fallen paper. It was against decorum, but there was little heed for the proper way of doing things at the moment.

This noble, too, read the paper. He looked up, and all could see the hopelessness in his eyes.

"The Prince… They have captured him… He has been caught."

Their response was as a silent wave that crashes onto the shore with a mighty tumult. For one brief second, all was silent—then the noise erupted like the fury of a wrathful volcano.

"What on earth-?"

"The prince? But how—?"

"How could they have—"

"They must have—"

"What else is in there?" demanded one voice. The demand was soon followed by the rest, carried up above the cacophony of voices. "What else? What else?"

Renner watched as the noble who had read the dreadful words loosened the collar of his suit, then peered back down at the letter. Behind him, the King was bent over, looking quite inconsolable.

"Hey, shouldn't you be going over there, Princess?" the Marquis asked beside her.

"I would dearly love to, but I do fear I would only be making things worse," she said. Raeven snorted, but said nothing else as he turned back to his drinks.

So, her new friends had ended up capturing Zanac after all. She had thought that would be the case, though some part of her had wondered if they would dispense with that and instead kill him outright. Then again, she was not privy to the ultimate plan, which had been kept rightfully secret from her as an outsider.

"The Prince's army was captured!" cried the noble presently, his eyes drifting back and forth between the crowd and the piece of paper. "The Sorcerer-King had detected the arrival of the Prince's secret army, and ambushed them. Many of our men were slaughtered, and the rest were captured, including Prince Zanac."

Another storm of arguments came hurtling forward. This time, the King's presence was no longer there to stem it.

"The Sorcerer-King considered the Prince's arrival as a severe desecration of his nation's sovereignty. Further, it says here that it was a complete violation of the treaty of friendship which the two nations share. The Sorcerer-King has been roused…" he trembled, and held out the paper, as if fearing to complete the statement.

A young noble snatched up the paper, and completed the sentence. "My lords… he has been roused by this great insult, and has begun to marshal his forces for a great war against us. He claims that he will begin marching directly for our own borders as we have—unless his demands are met."

"An ultimatum?"

"An ultimatum."

Ainz always wondered if it had been good to leave the writing of the ultimatum to others. It rather felt like cheating, as if he was putting off hard work on subordinates while he went around doing something else.

But he had no other option really, as doing the writing himself would have exposed his shoddy writing for all the world to see. He was no dab wordsmith, able to weave words into something coherent—or even better, something that would be taken seriously by other people as the words of Ainz Ooal Gown.

He had tried doing it before, when Demiurge had asked him to write the terms for the peace treaty that concluded the war with the Re-Estize Kingdom. But the most he had been able to do was a few sentences and a wasted night as he scrambled his brain for the right words to say. Eventually, he had allowed Demiurge and Albedo to compete to write the damned thing for him, as a "test" for them. Then he had combined their works, added a few flourishes, then presented the hastily forged paper as his own work, thereby claiming the words for his own.

They had applauded him for his wisdom, though he always felt guilty about appropriating other people's work so shamelessly like that.

This time, the new ultimatum had been prepared beforehand by Demiurge, as a sketch of all the things they could demand. It had been part of a series of other sketches, belonging to nations which Nazarick might have to fight in the future. When the time had come, he had gone to his office and retrieved the paper that said "For the Re-Estize Kingdom", perused it, and started paraphrasing some of the terms for the new ultimatum that was to be sent.

He made pretty sure that the demands fit the current situation. They were not too harsh, so as not to appear too antagonistic to the Kingdom—as well as other nations who might hear. He didn't want to show his friend Jircniv that he was some sort of mad tyrant who had more power than sense. While technically true, he wanted to preserve the peace as much as could be possible, which meant he had to tone down Demiurge's more extreme demands to things that were more reasonable.

On the other hand, since this really was an unprovoked attack on their nation, he also knew he couldn't just be too soft on them. This was real life, and actions needed to have consequences. He had been forced to send his NPCs on their people, to kill most of them to set an example. Such was the reality of this ugly business of war, and as such he had to ensure that it was never to be repeated again.

"A firm hand to punish, and the silk glove to caress," had been one of Punitto Moe's oft-quoted maxims, and while he didn't really know how to apply it to real life, he could still understand its intended meaning.

With the ultimatum thus prepared, he sent it away to be passed along to their embassy. He felt the sense of burden on his shoulders lift. Though he would never know what exactly would happen next, at least he was assured that he had done all that was necessary to avoid needless bloodshed and slaughter. If they could be reasonable, then all the better.

The room once more devolved into anarchy. Arguments and recriminations were flung and discarded like arrows. There had been one such ultimatum that had come from Ainz Ooal Gown before, and that had only led to much tragedy and disaster for them.

"Peace, my friends!" one of the old guard nobles cried. "While the word itself brings dread as it falls on our ears, let us not be too hasty in jumping to conclusions. Please, let us hear everything first before we deliberate." He turned to the one who was reading the letter. "Pray continue, and let us not interrupt you."

"I thank you, my lord," the man said, his face had turned a pasty sheen. He returned to reading loudly from the letter in his hands. "The first condition will be our… our affirmation of the status of the disputed territories that form the border between the Sorcerous Kingdom and the Re-Estize Kingdom. All such claims are unanimously rendered invalid. Any owners of said territories must renounce their ownerships of these lands in a separate document, and these territories will be annexed to the Sorcerous Kingdom forthwith."

There was much grumbling to that, as no one wanted to give up any ounce of territory to any nation, at least not without a war. But this time the need to defend their honor ran against the implacable wall of Ainz Ooal Gown's terrible might, and so their minds were temporarily silenced.

Renner then realized, after a quick review of the facts, that those territories had all belonged to noblemen who were suspected of being Marchers, or who had already publicly declared their rebellion against the Crown. So the Re-Estize Kingdom wouldn't really lose much in giving those territories up, if one were to look at it from that perspective. The rebellious nobles, having been left to their own devices, would have to contend with the Sorcerer-King themselves.

Though judging from the rebellious looks on the faces of the nobles already here, even contemplating such a move was already an insult unto itself.

"Second, after the rightful transfer of said territories, a large portion of the territories on both sides of the border is thenceforth added to a 'special zone of peace' where citizens from either side are forbidden to bear arms, nor to muster in numbers larger than ten men for the purpose of warfare. No great fortifications shall be maintained in this area, and all citizens journeying there are to be guaranteed safety and protection from both nations forthwith. It is the great wisdom of the Sorcerer-King that no such dastardly incursions are to ever happen again in the future, and thus this zone will serve as both a deterrent and the reminder of the costs of war."

There was another great wave of murmuring here.

"What does this 'zone' mean?"

"Is he insulting us?"

None of them seemed to even know what a "zone of peace" was, or what its real purpose was going to be. The foreign sounding term held as much weight as an actual insult, which meant that despite the clarification offered, all the nobles still seemed rather hostile towards it.

Not even Renner had any idea what this zone meant, though she had a slight inkling just from hearing all that had been said. If it really meant all that had been said, then it was a rather emasculating condition, as that would mean that outside of an actual declaration of war, the Sorcerous Kingdom was effectively enforcing a treaty that no one in this chamber was willing to support. It was quite a presumptuous condition, and as such it would only be seen as a slap in the face for everyone who really understood—well, if they really did understand.

"Thirdly," the man continued. "There is to be a peace conference held immediately between the Re-Estize Kingdom and the Holy Kingdom, to be mediated by the representatives of Ainz Ooal Gown. It has now been made all the more apparent that this war between your two nations has more than deteriorated your own lands, but is at a danger of affecting the affairs of other, unrelated nations, as had already happened with the invasion of the Sorcerous Kingdom. If they had been willing to violate the neutrality of a nation that had heretofore been uninvolved in their squabble, then the war itself threatened the stability of all nations surrounding them. Therefore, in an effort to push for the principle of peace and to re-establish the profitable relationship that had existed before the onset of hostilities, preliminary negotiations are to begin immediately."

"Peace?" roared one of the nobles from the lower houses. "After all the blood we have shed, we are to make peace?"

"Madness!"

"Preposterous!"

Unlike before, there came another general outcry that filled the room, once more reducing the assembled nobles into a rabid crowd frothing at the mouth, faces filled red with anger, and brandishing their fists impotently in the air.

Now that part was something that the nobles here understood better. And judging from their reactions, Renner was sure that this condition was going to be receiving the fiercest complaints. The war with the Holy Kingdom, after all, had been made primarily to force their neighbor to give them food and other resources as tribute to make up for their own deficiencies. There was also supposed to be some sort of trade deal that was to go into effect, where the Re-Estize Kingdom would keep receiving those resources for little or no cost.

Of course, those ambitions were contingent on a swift and decisive victory as Zanac and all the initial planners had desired. Reality had frustrated them thus far, with the "decisive, lucrative victory" now turned into a "victory where the status quo would be maintained", owing to the many reversals they had suffered.

Renner knew this was part of the ultimatum that would be hotly contested, especially if the peace deal ended up giving them nothing.

It took some time before the raucous din was pacified, before cooler heads ye again intervened, despite their red, stony faces. There was, after all, more to the ultimatum that had not yet been presented.

"Next, the Re-Estize Kingdom will declare in a separate document that it will forfeit any and all current claims on territory belonging to the Sorcerer-King, or to the other lands mentioned in this ultimatum that will henceforth be transferred to his control. All of these lands shall belong to the Sorcerous Kingdom in perpetuity, and its transfer is to be formally witnessed by all the other observing nations and recorded for posterity. Thus, in order to aid those who would be greatly affected by the transfer of so many territories, the Sorcerous Kingdom is willing to extend aid in the relocation of so many displaced families. Should they also wish to remain under the aegis of Ainz Ooal Gown, then they will also be automatically granted the status of citizen."

When compared with all that had come before, it did not seem that drastic a demand. But when it was combined with all the terms that had already been read, it was just one more notch in the humiliation that was to be heaped upon them and their Kingdom. Not even the Sorcerer-King's purported magnanimity and generosity would ever outweigh the ills he was enforcing upon them. And the mere suggestion that any of their peasants would wish to remain under the undead's thrall was galling to say the least.

Renner hid the grin from her face. It was obvious this was sort of open-faced kindness was akin to useless chaff in the harvest. A filler to divert the attention from the fact that the Sorcerous Kingdom was slowly extending its reach over greater pieces of land. It was probably one of the conditions that were meant to lull the enemy into thinking that they were reasonable and that their demands were not completely harsh. She would not put it past her new friends to do something like this, as it was a common enough tactic to apply against humans who were always enslaved by their petty emotions.

"Lastly," the man continued. "In relation to the question of compensation, the Sorcerous Kingdom would like the Re-Estize Kingdom to give the appropriate recompense for the release of Prince Zanac and the other soldiers in his army that have been captured. The King and everyone else are to be assured that they are being treated properly as befit royalty and men of valor, and that not even a rejection would endanger their lives. However, a rejection would also mean that they would not be released for the duration of the conflict, which is something that the King… and all of us… are to remember." The man swallowed.

For once, Renner did not doubt that the Sorcerous Kingdom did really mean what it said. Keeping Zanac as a bargaining chip, no matter their response, was always valuable, especially since her brother was known to be the heir apparent to the whole Kingdom. In the past, whole wars had been waged and ended in similar circumstances. In this case, just having Zanac as a hostage would mean that her father was now more pliable in the negotiation, to the point that accepting all the ultimatum's demands was already a bygone fact. It would also mean that he would be doing so over the protests of the nobles who were even now discussing urgently amongst themselves. If her father were to trample over their wishes just to get Zanac back, then the next few years were going to be an interesting one for the royalty.

Well, if they did manage to get that far. Her new friends were already angling to take over, so this was all moot in the end. Renner just wanted to know how this new development fit into their grand plan. She just wasn't seeing it yet.

The man spoke one more time. "This is the last, my lords. 'A diplomatic mission has already been sent here from the Sorcerous Kingdom for the intent of further negotiations, and a copy of this ultimatum has also been supplied to the Holy Kingdom. The Sorcerer-King awaits our… favorable response'."

For a moment, there was complete silence in the room. Then, it exploded once more into loud, buzzing noise.

"Preposterous!" shouted one of the nobles. "How dare they send this humiliating drivel to the enemy?"

"My lords," said another. "We can assume that the Holy Kingdom knows, and further than that, everyone will know. If we are seen to reject such favorable terms—"

"Favorable?" cried another noble. "Favorable?" his voice was highly pitched enough to be a shriek. "This is highway robbery, you fool! We are to be left with nothing but scraps and a full-blown hiding, all while we are left to lick our wounds! And in the meantime, all of them will be pointing and laughing at our dreadful condition. The King would not suffer that outrageous submission! I know I wouldn't!"

"Better to die proudly on our feet than succumb to fear!" shouted another, in agreement. His cry was echoed all over the chamber, some from even the retainers.

"But I do not know if we should be as foolish as that," demurred another noble. "The contents of this ultimatum may indeed be too much, but there is room for negotiation. I am sure that in this meeting we can present other, less debilitating conditions we can definitely accept, if only so we can avoid a hopeless war against this creature."

"Yes, yes," said another in agreement. "It is fortunate that the fool has not attacked yet. We can delay him just enough for us to end this war with the enemy, allowing us to focus on this problem later. Mayhap we can still use some of our leverage to our advantage and secure better terms."

"Do you really think we have that sort of luxury?" came another question. "If all else fails we would be absolutely destroyed. Not even when we were still one and whole could we defy him—and yet now, even when we have defeated our hated enemies. What other choice is there but to surrender, and negotiate, and pray for better terms?"

"And what do you think about this ultimatum Princess?" Raeven asked, idly swirling the liquor in his glass. He took a swig and braced. "Do you think the Kingdom can afford to bend, even slightly, in this case?"

"Are you asking my perspective as a Princess, my lord? Or as an individual citizen of this nation?" She turned her head to smile at the Marquis. "Or am I to take their perspective, as a noble whose vested interests are under a great, unfathomable threat?"

Raeven shrugged. "Whichever perspective suits your whim, dear Princess."

The smile never left her lips. "Well, speaking as a Princess, and a citizen of this great nation, I would say that the ultimatum is not unreasonable. We have a chance now for a renewed peace, even if it is brokered by something as fearsome as Ainz Ooal Gown. Finally, we can put aside this war with the Holy Kingdom and return to our peaceful lives. Speaking personally as a Princess, that means we can get more resources towards fixing our own troubled lands, like the issue with the Marchers, or the bandits that are ravaging our poor people living in the outskirts of our kingdom. I believe that the King should pursue peace at any cost, and leave this sad chapter of our Kingdom behind."

She paused, and then glanced towards the assembly of nobles. She tilted her head, as if she were some predatory bird scrutinizing some prey in the distance. The smile was still on her lips. "But if I were one of those privileged to be a noble of this great council, as you are, sir, then my perspective is quite different. This ultimatum is the greatest insult that can ever be levied on this great, and honorable Kingdom, and as one sworn to the exalted throne through which this Kingdom flourishes, I too am honorbound to defend it with all I have. What is this terrible creature that dictates terms to us? We will not simply lie back and expose our bellies like mongrels. Hundreds of years, entire generations of my household have helped forge this Kingdom, have helped turn it into what it has now become. I have sacrificed the blood of my subjects on this war against the hateful enemy, and now this undead wishes to interfere? No. If we are to have peace, then let it be at their expense. They have slaughtered too many of our people, cost us too much of our precious treasure. If this creature intends to slaughter us just for that, then let it. The whole world will see it for the monster it truly is, and our sacrifice on that altar will see our names etched onto history forevermore."

She had unleashed this long and word-filled tirade in the same placid tone as before, so much of the rhetoric lost their intended effect, if they were intended to rouse an audience hearing it. Still, only the Marquis hard heard it, and he still stared at the Princess like he was scrutinizing an inscrutable problem.

"Is that really what you think?"

"Whyever not, my lord? Is this not what you also feel? Is this not what you have dedicated your life to upholding, that the deeds of your house may ever bear fruit, that they may never be forgotten, and that the royal line of Vaiself may always continue?" The Marquis said nothing to that, though the grim lines on his face deepened.

Her tone didn't change even when she continued, "And let us not even go into the Prince leading us all into this mad adventure. Though we are honorbound to free him from the creature's clutches, we must be… circumspect in this manner. He was reckless, and to the eyes of many he will be the root cause for awakening this dragon sleeping right outside our doors. So we will not be too hasty. After all, we would not want to be tainted in the same brush as him. That would be… unwise."

Raeven snorted. "Is that what you think of Zanac, my dear? I'm sure his heart would break if he ever heard his dear sister saying such things."

"I was only playing a part, good sir, as you have said. The part of a noble whose interests lie only in themselves and none other." She waved a hand, to indicate the nobles before them.

Raeven shrugged. "What? They're not all so bad. Well, I cannot speak for all of them, but I am sure there are some in their number who love our Prince."

"Some yes. And that still leaves those who do not."

As if by coincidence, the topic of conversation currently shared on the table had turned to Prince Zanac.

"There is still His Royal Highness to consider," said another noble, this time one whom Renner knew belonged to the Royal Faction. He was also one of Zanac's secret supporters. "Since we know that he is alive, we must first do all that is necessary to secure his person from the clutches of this damned undead." He turned to the King, who was still out of it. "Your Majesty, surely you too can see the urgency this time? After all, Prince Zanac is your last—"

Yet another noble spoke, this time in clear opposition to the previous speaker. "With respect to His Majesty, we cannot move against this ultimatum if we let ourselves be hobbled by considerations of the Prince. He is a hostage, to be sure, but he is as much a liability in the Sorcerer-King's custody. As long as we cannot 'trade' for him, then this Ainz is obligated as per the words in his ultimatum to keep him safe, no matter what happens. If he violates that, then it shows him for all the world to see as a simple brute. It's quite simple, isn't it? I say we leave him be, and focus on our more immediate concerns."

"It is not that simple!" roared the speaker from before. "How dare you disregard the Prince's life in so cavalier a fashion? You disgrace yourself, sir!"

"What? Now listen here you brainless oaf—"

"And if you were in the same position, would you also wish for others to treat you—"

A great round of fisticuffs was about to brew as each noble sought to leap onto the other with the ferocity of a wild cat, but each was restrained just in time by a nearby colleague. That did not stop the conversation from continuing unabated despite them—indeed, it seemed to have intensified to such a degree that the walls of the chamber shook from their combined voices. The meat of their argument had spread like a fire to the others nearby, who each championed one side. Then there was more shouting from those who wanted to impose order on it all. And then there was even more shouting from others who just wanted to add their own opinion to the mix, even when there was no longer a chance it could be heard.

In fact, it seemed as if nothing had changed from when she had entered the room.

Marquis Raeven made a sound beside her as if he was suppressing a burp. "Well, that's no good. With the King in that way, this place is bound to get worse than a tavern full of commoners deep in their cups. By your leave, Princess." He looked like he was about to stand, his face a mask of determination. He was perhaps looking to wrangle the squabbling nobles.

But then, he was pre-empted by a single voice that rang out, clear as thunder from a blue sky. "Silence!"

The King had risen. His wrathful countenance was plain for all the world to see, his wizened brows unfurled like smoke rising from a war camp. One could see the conviction of his bones plain in his upright stance, so different from his normal stooped appearance; his shoulders were set like formidable cliffs, his fists were clenched like a pair of small boulders, and the fire in his eyes were as a forge newly started. For a brief moment, Renner wondered if her father had returned to his younger state, as the man who had ordered thousands to their death just for the sake of his kingdom.

King Ramposa III, ruler of the Re-Estize Kingdom, started to speak in a quiet voice that did not hide the clear burst of emotions that lay just beneath the surface, clamoring to escape like demons from a forbidden seal. "We thank you all, my lords, for contributing to the discussion of the topics in a calm and measured manner. Rest assured that all of your opinions have been weighed, and it only remains for us to discern the only rightful course for our nation.

"We would also humbly beg our pardons for allowing you to see our most unsightly and irresponsible self, upon the delivery of the Sorcerer-King's ultimatum. Know only that it involved, as you all know, a topic which is nearest to my hearts than almost everything in the world. We crave your current understanding, and if you can find it in your hearts to forgive us this slight, then we shall be glad for it.

"We are truly grateful that you have discussed the contents of this ultimatum for all to see and understand, and for giving it the same wise and dignified consideration as all the momentous decisions that will shape our country. Indeed, 'twould be a lie to claim anything less: that this small piece of paper carries portents graver than the shadows cast by the Greed Kings, nor the unrivaled malice of the Demon Lords. The ultimatum carries with it the weight of thousands of souls, screaming to us through the wind, of the thunderous footsteps of hundreds of soldiers moving in the distance; of the awful, gnawing knowledge that here we stand, living in history as it is being written, bearing the burdens of our forefathers and their forefathers, and the responsibility of ensuring that our names will pass on in perpetuity. Yet now we are all called to act, as those many thousands in the past have, charting the course of our histories, ever fearful that in their eternal eyes we shall be found wanting."

The King paused, and took a deep, deliberate breath, as of a swordsman who grips one's sword before the decisive strike. His grave eyes peered out over the room, piercing all who looked upon them; and perhaps, even beyond, as if the king was looking into the great veil of eternity to discover his intended fate. All felt in that moment that something great was about to happen, and so they waited—watching and listening with bated breath. This was the privilege of the truly great Kings, worthy of their crowns twice over, like Ramposa III.

"Hear me now. We henceforth announce that we shall be abdicating our throne forthwith, in favor of our son, Zanac Valion Igana Ril Vaiself, the Crown Prince of the Re-Estize Kingdom."

She did not even notice the brief pause of incredulity that ensued, nor the storm of noise that erupted mere moments afterwards in the wake of the King's declaration. Princess Renner just stood there, with her well-ordered mind turned into a blank canvas, as if someone had suddenly doused all the torches that had lit her mind.

The moment of sheer, paralyzed disbelief took a while to pass, and fortunately for her, no one, not even the Marquis had noticed it. The Marquis himself was occupied venting his surprise at the King along with the others—he too had not been immune from the shock generated by the King's announcement.

To the Princess' credit, she was able to peer into her father's mind and deduce his reasoning in a flash. Certainly, abdication had been one eventuality she had foreseen, but she had thought she knew her father more. She had expected him to fight to take back Zanac foremost, and only after securing him would he then speak of abdication. That he would immediately turn to abdication, even at this point was too hasty. Too emotional for such a King as her father, who had been forced to make his fair share of hard decisions in his past. She had certainly expected humans to act predictably according to their emotions. But she had never expected the true depths to which these emotions would bring them; that was why she had been surprised. She felt something in her mind she couldn't quantify. It was interesting, but she would return to it later. Now, with her confusion dispelled, her mind resumed its orderly function once again.

In the meantime, her father just stood there, weathering the shouting, the pleading, the demands that swirled around him like a maelstrom of living noise. For a brief moment she thought his gaze had turned towards her, or perhaps he was glancing at the Marquis. Then his attention returned to the nobles as he began to speak.

"Silence!" he shouted. "I have my decision. And I will abide by it. As should you all." He had abandoned his royal speech, as if he had already discarded such pretense when he had announced his abdication.

"But my lord—!"

"Surely this is too hasty—!"

"This is unprecedented—"

He raised both his arms in the air, as if he could physically push back the tide of furor that was crashing against his body. And through it all he remained serene, assured of his own power, holding a tight rein over his emotions. She was reminded of what Lakyus had said, of the great divide between an adamantite rank and a complete newbie. When faced with impossible-seeming odds the low-ranker would "shit themselves" and maybe do poorly, or even nothing at all; on the other hand Blue Rose would not only fight to survive—they would fight to win.

"Surely you can understand the reasons why I did this," the King continued. "It is simple. With my abdication, it is Prince Zanac who is the de facto King of the Re-Estize Kingdom. And that will mean that the Sorcerer-King has in his custody the ruler of an entire state. Now, this is a terrible state of affairs for those in war, as it means the end of any ambition. But we are not in war, yet. It is not as if he has been captured by the Holy Kingdom. With my son over there, he can negotiate directly with his captors, and perhaps form a favorable impression with them."

"My King," a noble cried. "But that would only be affirming our weakness to the rest of the world!"

"You don't know what this creature would want! They would ask for more than we can give!" cried another.

"You must reconsider…!"

"With my son as de facto king," the King said, emphasizing the words, "And armed with all the wisdom he has learned at my knee, it will become his prerogative to seek out the best terms for the nation as he can find. I know he will—you have all seen the brilliance of his mind. He may be yet inexperienced, but so was I when I took up the throne."

"We would not be abasing ourselves to some monster!" a noble protested.

"So does this mean you are already agreeing to this ultimatum, Your Majesty?" another said.

"As your former King, I do not," her father said. "But as I am no longer your King, then it is Zanac who must weigh the decision in his mind now. He may have a mind to oppose it, maybe even defy it. Perhaps he will. But he is the King now, by the blood of my veins and the House Vaiself, so however he chooses to act with this ultimatum will be entirely up to him. I only pray, and suggest to you all, my former subjects, to support him as best you can."

"Do you really think the Holy Kingdom would accept this, Your Majesty?" asked another noble. The chaos had dwindled, but there was a clear undercurrent of something cold and nasty brewing through all of those assembled there, like lightning sparking inside a thunder-cloud. She could even almost taste it, like the scent of blood in the air.

"Yes, I have not forgotten our war with the Holy Kingdom. In fact, having Zanac there to speak directly as King would perhaps be beneficial for us. Remember that the Sorcerer-King is putting himself as mediator. We might stand to lose little, or perhaps nothing at all, if Zanac plays his cards right. So have no fear on that regard. We can all find a little bit of rest after this. And I am sure your faith in the new King will not be squandered."

"My King," this time it was Marquis Raeven himself who walked up to speak. The King, or former King as he now purported himself, turned to face the man directly. In this room, outside of Renner he was perhaps the only one whose opinion the King regarded closely. Though a part of the Noble's Faction, his real loyalty had always been to Ramposa himself behind the scenes, and her father was ever grateful for that. "Pray forgive your servant's presumption. I still wish to call you King, well, at least until the coronation is all squared away. And that'll be some time away if I reckon my time right."

Raeven cleared his throat, as if his attempt to make a feeble joke had not been something he had intended. "While it will be an honor to support the new King at the start of his new rule, is it not perhaps a bit too hasty to be doing all this right now? I can see your point, in that your abdication will certainly help smooth things over. But please, let it not begin at this junction. Certainly let us confer with the Sorcerous Kingdom, let us negotiate to have Prince Zanac returned. Then, perhaps, we can proceed with the abdication—at least in the proper manner. But to do anything else is highly irregular, my lord. There are many who would not look favorably on such an action. And even if you deny being their King, would that same sentiment not extend to your heir as well? Please, my lord, rethink this course. Your kingdom, your people depend greatly on your wisdom."

It was clear to Renner that Raeven was doing this not just as a member of the Noble Faction, but as a friend to the King. Her father also seemed aware of it, as his eyes gleamed with understanding, and perhaps a little sadness. Yet the resolute lines on his expression did not fade.

"I thank you, Marquis Raeven. Ever you have been a friend, an ally to me; ever could I count on your support, even when you opposed me with all your being. For I know that such actions were only intended in the spirit of protecting the Re-Estize Kingdom, and not just myself. And indeed, my responsibility to the nation is paramount. I can see why you would wish to dissuade me from what you see is a foolish course."

Her father paused; his eyes closed. Then he opened them, and stared out at the multitude of nobles with a clear, untroubled eye.

"But, I have my decision. And I shall stand by it. I shall formally present the papers at Court tomorrow. At the same time I shall also contact the Sorcerous Kingdom's embassy, and speed the news over to Zanac and the rest. I only hope that the Holy Kingdom will not attempt to secure a battle just yet—we are about to discuss peace, after all." He stood to his full height, and even when he had seemingly discarded his royal title he still seemed larger than life. "It has been my honor and privilege to rule the Kingdom hand-in-hand with your support, my lords and ladies. Now I must go to prepare everything."

The King turned and left the chamber through the entrance that was reserved for the King. They all watched him go silently, each with questions in their hearts.

Renner felt as if she had witnessed the movement of the stars up in the sky from up close. The moment had been charged with so much significance that she could not fail to look away from it. Was this what it was like for her cute little Climb, when he stood in the battlefield?

She was also still considering the apparent change in the plans her "benefactors" had given her. While it was true that plans were bound to change no matter what, this was still a deviation that she had not anticipated. The Lady Albedo had also not indicated that this would be the primary plan they would be using. Did it speak to her father's unpredictability to foil even the most cunning of minds? But then again, was this not perhaps part of their master's grand scheme? He had captured Zanac, after all. Was this what Albedo had meant, that in the end no matter their current schemes, they would ultimately have to "leave it to him"?

As the room descended into a storm of chattering, little different from before, Renner turned and made her own exit out. She was sure that news of the abdication will have already spread even before she had decided to leave, and was even now coursing like a wild fire throughout the nation. By nightfall, all in the Capital will have heard the rumors, and it would only be substantiated by the King's formal ceremony by the next morning.

At the threshold she turned her head slightly to glance at the War Council she was leaving behind. It was clear from all their brooding, frowning faces that the King's own words had not been received quite well. Some were even shooting dark looks at the door through which her father had left.

Her father had thrown down the gauntlet. Now how would these nobles react?

"How big is this place?" Edstrom muttered, her gaze sweeping over the long corridor. They had passed through many such corridors from the time they had separated from Sebas Tian. Nearly all of them had been identical in appearance: long carpeted spaces with mysterious paintings hanging from the walls and the many flameless lamps that lit their way forward. She was beginning to feel a little uneasy about the place, as it made no sense from what she had already experienced. They had not even met a single soul. It was as if she was traveling through the Eight Fingers' many tunnel networks, which were buried in many places throughout the land. They were smuggling routes, and were useful for bypassing toll roads and petty brigands who paid no respect to the ruling criminals.

And then her mind traveled to the other place here where she had been imprisoned, and all the bad things that had happened to her there. She shuddered, and almost bit out a curse.

"Hm? What's that you're saying?" said Tuare, the one she was escorting. The blonde girl was still walking along while humming to herself, looking as if she was lost in her own world. Her long blonde hair swayed from left to right with her every step.

Edstrom sighed in response to her question. "Are we there yet?"

"Oh, just a little bit more," Tuare replied cheerfully.

"Someone's in a good mood," Edstrom muttered with another curse, looking away from the girl's stupid face. Still, she didn't look apprehensive in the least, which meant that all of this was still relatively normal, and that she had nothing to worry about.

"If you think I'm in a good mood, then you're a poor judge of people," she heard Tuare say in a singsong voice that sounded completely insincere.

"The hell was that?" Edstrom turned and locked eyes with the other woman, whose expression was now cold and angry. "What are you going on about now?"

Tuare made a clucking sound with her tongue. "If you think I'm pleased about your presence here, then you're sorely mistaken. I don't even know why you're here."

She shrugged. "Even I don't know that. But, I will do what Sebas-sama wants—whichever it might be. I am prepared for everything…" she enunciated the last word in a low, husky slur.

Tuare rolled her eyes. "I don't know what you hope to accomplish with Sebas-sama, but you will keep note that I was here first. So don't overstep your boundaries. I'm important. You're just a hanger on."

Edstrom goggled at Tuare. From the way she spoke it was as if… But no, that didn't make any sense…

"Well, I'm still grateful to Sebas-sama for your presence, at least as an 'escort'," Tuare continued, turning her chin up as if she was some up-jumped noblewoman. "So I can tolerate your presence, even grudgingly."

"Yessss… I am truly honored, my lady," Edstrom said, fighting the urge to bite her tongue off.

Tuare snorted. "I am glad you appear to understand."

Edstrom longed to break the girl's neck. It would be so easy to do, and it wouldn't even take long. Unfortunately, that would mean being thrown personally by Sebas back into the darkness from where she had been rescued. And that was not to mention the literal hell she might experience in retribution. By that point, she could only hope that Sebas would just go ahead and put her out of her misery.

So she kept her head cool, and kept on walking in silence, despite the urgent bloodlust in her veins.

Fortunately, she did not have to tolerate the girl for much longer. They soon arrived at another large chamber, which was another intersection for a number of other corridors. She looked around, surprised and dismayed that there was still much more to go. Still, there was now a remarkable difference in that several monstrous-looking creatures stood guard at the entrance to each of the branching corridors. They looked like they belonged to some noble's grotesquerie museum—gigantic creatures whose bodies were the size of full-grown ogres, with faces set in snarling, vicious forms like some unknown demihuman, and the long, thick spiraling horns ending in jagged, cruel tips. They wore black plate armor emblazoned with the unknown, uniform sigils, perhaps the marking of whatever master they served. Their weapons were bardiches appropriately sized for them, their blades thick and heavy like slabs of iron.

Tuare walked up to one in particular, confident despite the ugly and fierce-looking visages that were turned her way. Edstrom hurried along behind her in trepidation, unable to get rid of the nagging feeling that this girl was about to die a gruesome death.

Nothing of the sort happened. The two creatures flanking the entrance glanced at her and nodded—if not fawningly, then at least respectfully. She felt their eyes travel to her, and she braced, as if expecting an attack. But they glanced back down at Tuare before relaxing their poses. It was as if these silent guardians had already known she was going to be here, and had already written her off their minds entirely.

She should have felt a bit offended by that. But in her mind, it was more akin to a fearsome dragon dismissing her presence in its domain—it was far better for her to be ignored than to be considered a promising morsel to taste. In this particular case, she did not want to be crushed into a paste by that blade.

As such, she could not contain her haste in following behind Tuare as the woman went off on another corridor. She didn't even dare look behind her.

This time, it did not take long for them to approach a door on the corridor. There were other similar doors lining the hall way this time, which meant this was a more important place than the empty corridors they had just gone through.

"What the fuck is this place?" she once again muttered to herself, eyeing every wall with suspicion, as if something dreadful would emerge to attack.

Tuare walked up to the entrance and knocked on the door thrice. "My apologies for the rudeness. It is I, Tuare, and a guest."

After a few seconds, there came a voice muffled from behind. "Please enter."

The door creaked open. Without even glancing back at her, Tuare walked forward, forcing Edstrom to scurry after her like some fearful rat.

It appeared to be some sort of bedroom, with a large queen-sized bed on the very corner and another smaller bed right beside it. There was a divider on the far end of the room, where several pieces of clothing hung from hooks. Several candles, arranged in a peculiar fashion similar to those that could be seen in temples, were lit all over the room, giving it a sultry atmosphere that would not have looked out of place on a brothel. There was the heavy scent of incense in the air: something floral that was not too thick so as to overpower her sense of smell. There were several flags draped on the far wall—strangely enough, one was the flag of the Holy Kingdom of Roble, and on the other was some unknown sigil she had never seen before.

The first thing she saw was some sort of woman seated on a comfortable-looking chair burnished with gold. She looked stern and stately, her beauty like polished marble opposite the bright, uncut gem that was Tuare (and in her case a finely forged dagger with a wicked edge). Next to her was another woman, a bit less glamorous in beauty, but certainly pretty enough to not be written off entirely.

Right in front of them, initially with their back to them and facing the other two, was another woman. It was another blonde, short in stature, slender, pale-skinned, wearing some sort of thick, fur robe. As she glanced backwards at their arrival, Edstrom was struck by the stark crimson-hued pupils that swept over them appraisingly. Edstrom kept her face blank as the woman's attention turned elsewhere.

The one curious feature that the three of them exhibited, and one which she recalled had been present on that killer Clementine, was the obvious signs of their pregnant bumps on their bellies. The standing woman seemed to have the biggest of the them all, protruding from her body like an over-ripe hanging fruit.

"Ah, Tuare, you have come. Welcome, welcome!" said the seated blonde woman said with almost regal grace.

Tuare took a respectful bow. "My deepest apologies for missing our appointment! I was taken along with Sebas-sama on his mission."

"Have no fear, my dear, it is all in the past," the blonde said. She noticed her eyes glancing towards her in obvious curiosity. "And this is…?"

"Oh, right." Tuare rose from her bow and glanced at her with narrowed eyes. "This is an important asset to Sebas-sama."

"Edstrom, at your service," she introduced herself with a bow, making sure to look as perfunctory as possible. She had an inkling these were important women somehow, and it wouldn't do to spoil their first impression of her as something like a country bumpkin. She had class, and she had even used to dance with young noblemen.

"We are honored to receive you," the woman said formally. "Our name is Calca Bessarez. And this is Kelart Custodio, my companion. And…" She pointed, and was about to gesture towards the third woman, before the latter waved a hand to cut her off abruptly.

"It's okay, I'm heading off now anyway." That seemed rude, but who was she to judge people in this place? "I'll talk to you later then, Calca."

The seated woman, apparently named Calca, inclined her head. Her expression looked grave, as if the standing woman had just delivered some important news that she had to consider very carefully.

With that, the woman turned around and left, barely passing both Tuare and herself a glance as she left the room. After the door clicked shut to indicate her departure, Tuare now stepped forward, bowing.

"My apologies once more for being late to the appointment, Calca-sama."

The name rang so much in her mind that she even raised an eyebrow to herself. It took a while to put two and two together in her mind, as certain memories surfaced within. And yet, the conclusion she had reached was so impossible that she couldn't stop the surprise from showing on her face. Calca Bessarez and Kelart Custodio? But were they not…?

"Judging from your expression, you, along with many others had assumed we had died," Calca said, addressing her. She nearly jumped when she realized she'd been directly addressed. "The rumors are… exaggerated in this case."

Edstrom just stared. After a beat, she cleared her throat and said in the most placid, inoffensive voice she could muster, "Yes, perhaps that is so," then shut her trap completely. This was not something she had honestly expected, and she wished to digest this surprise on her own time.

Luckily, the so-called former Queen of the Holy Kingdom seemed to have lost interest in her, and turned back to address Tuare. "Now, please, have a seat, my dear. Come, come, let us enjoy a little conversation. Please, open your heart to us, and tell us what is in your mind."

Tuare took a seat as directed with a grateful smile. "My thanks, Calca-sama."

"Would you like refreshments?"

"No, I'm already… er—Sebas-sama already saw to that. Thank you."

Calca shifted in her seat. Edstrom wanted to ask why she had not been offered a seat herself or if she could also get a seat, but kept her mouth shut. This was too surreal!

She had heard the news before, about the Holy Kingdom's fall beneath Jaldabaoth's boot heel, and of how Ainz Ooal Gown had rescued them in the brink of time. Mixed in with all that tragedy was news of the unfortunate death of the Holy Queen, Calca Bessarez, along with that of the High Priest, Kelart Custodio during the start of the war. As one who was never that invested into their lives, she had taken that news at face value, much like a line written on a piece of paper. But to find these two people purporting to be the dead royals—alive, and pregnant—was something she had never expected.

If this was knowledge that was kept hidden, then she wondered what she was even doing here. This had the opportunity of leaking the news of these two's survival to the outside world. Unless… a flush came to her cheeks. Unless Sebas had already trusted her enough to allow her to escort Tuare, not caring that she would be witnessing something that was meant to be secret! Was that the point? Was he trying to see if she was worthy of his trust? If news ended up spreading, then they would know who exactly it was, and Sebas would be coming for her personally. Therefore, it was more reasonable to assume that this was an actual test of her loyalties and her usefulness to Sebas. As such, she could not fail it by blabbing her mouth like a fool. In any case, it would not personally benefit her to spread the news of their survival. And Edstrom had never been one to do things that did not have any benefit to her.

Presently, her charge, Tuare, was sounding quite despondent as she started to converse with the "dead" Queen.

"I've been trying and trying and trying so hard! But it's not working! Nothing's working! Oh, I don't even know what to do now!" she said, in-between gasps and sobs. "It's all just so hopeless, and Sebas-sama just keeps looking at me with those sad eyes of his, and I know he's just as disappointed as I am…!"

"Ssssh… shush now… calm down…" came Calca's voice, soothing and melodic. "Walk us through it, my dear. Take it slow… Though, truth be told I think we already do have an inkling as to your concerns."

"Y-you do?" Tuare asked, in-between sobs.

For the first time since she'd entered, Calca flashed a smile. It was an impressive thing, well-suited for someone claiming to be royalty. It was something noblewomen were able to pull out in a flash to put their impressive charisma on display. If she really was the long-dead Queen then she was an incredibly facsimile.

"Oh, my dear, you haven't exactly been subtle about it! Everyone in here knows all about your struggles with Sebas Tian, Ainz-sama's loyal servant. It's almost the only gossip we end up hearing around these parts!"

Tuare coughed, the red blush clear on her face. "O-oh, I'm sorry, I never noticed…! You must think me a terrible sort of woman…"

"Oh, nonsense! There's nothing terrible about being true to your feelings," Calca said. "Life is too short to waste, too precious to squander. Believe me, I know that too well." She glanced over at Kelart, who raised a brow. "If you can firmly achieve the goals you have set in your mind, then there is no reason to avoid it. You have a chance now to be happy, my dear. You need to grasp the opportunity when it's presented to you!"

"Th-that's true…" Tuare replied. "And… And I'm already doing what I can with Sebas-sama…"

"See? Then there's no reason to be scared. Embrace your love, and let nothing else dim it." Calca put her finger to her chin. "Though if you want my advice, you should definitely refrain from being so openly… enthusiastic about your attempts. Rather than becoming a center of negative rumors, you might just antagonize the whole of this place against you."

Tuare made a tiny, yelping sound. "Y-yes, I know…"

"What I'm saying is to keep things between yourself and Sebas. At this point, everyone already knows about your relationship, but I am sure not everyone wants to be reminded of it all the time."

"Yes, that makes sense…"

All that talk made things suddenly click in Edstrom's mind. She had only been assuming the truth based on how Sebas and Tuare acted towards each other, but to have it confirmed by a third party was another thing entirely. The two of them were more than a man caring for a woman and a woman fawning for a man—they were practically lovers at this point, if whatever this Calca was implying was the truth. And if that was true, then…

She averted her eyes, staring at something else in the bedroom to prevent them from seeing her expression.

"But it's so hard…!" Tuare was now saying. "That's the problem now! No matter what I do, or what I try, or however many times we do it, we just can't do it! I don't know what's going on!"

Calca made a humming sound, her expression contemplative. "So that's your problem, is it? I must admit, it does sound like a terribly inconvenient thing, especially for one such as yourself." She looked down and patted the small bump of her belly. "Allow me to admit something freely to you. Way before, way before I discovered I had been blessed by this new life inside me, I too feared the same as you."

"Really? You did?"

Calca nodded, her expression looking quite somber. She gestured towards the woman behind her. "And I can tell you that Kelart also experienced the same thing."

As if to affirm the woman's words, the brunette nodded and said, "I can confirm my lady's words, Tuare. For some time, we too were in the same position. We doubted our place at Ainz-sama's side, even long after we had devoted ourselves to him."

Ears twitching, Edstrom fought the urge to raise her brows. It was as if she was hearing one scandalous story after the other. Now she had heard confirmation, directly from these women's lips, that they were in some way Ainz Ooal Gown's pets, if not outright lovers if one wanted to judge their insinuations correctly.

But then, that Ainz Ooal Gown was said to be some powerful lich. Did that mean they were doing the dirty with some musty pile of bones? Or was there something else she didn't know? After all, those two were pregnant. How could that have happened with an undead?

She had no intention of leaking the knowledge she had gained here, knowing that something even worse than Sebas would come for her; but she nonetheless desired nothing more than to listen in even further.

"For the longest time we contemplated the fact that we were…" Calca's face twisted, as if she was tasting something unpleasant. "Barren." Tuare's face fell at the words, which made Edstrom understand her just a bit more.

"It happens to any woman," Kelart said, explaining. "It is known. Even the most wizened of midwives know this, and we abide by their wisdom."

"Once we realized that fact, our love for the Master did not dwindle, but we did feel the same as you did, my dear. The endless, all-consuming fear that we would not be able to get what we wanted most. It is... it is a lot of feelings we cannot really describe, but let it suffice that we do understand your current feelings all too well," Calca said.

"But you're not barren at all, right!" Tuare said with heated voice. "I mean, you managed to do something? Something magical? Mysterious? Something miraculous?" She clasped her hands before her. "Please! Please tell me! I have to know!"

"Please calm down, Tuare," Calca said. "Before we move on, we would like to ask you something. Now sit back down, dear." There was a pause as the two waited for Tuare to settle back down into her seat.

"Now please listen," she said patiently. "I do not wish to hurt you or cause you pain. Yes, we were in your shoes. And the first thing we did, was to go to the healers here. Have you…?"

"Yes, I already have!" Tuare all but yelled. "And they said there was nothing wrong with me! I may have been damaged, by the gods, but I am still whole! Healthy! I am fertile! So it is… it is… impossible… ohhh…" She broke down into tears yet again, as Calca and Kelart looked on with sympathy.

"Very well, my dear, very well. We were also told the same thing. They could not find anything wrong with our bodies, and for all intents and purposes we were also ready to bear a child, as you said. We had no choice but to find our solutions in another place."

"Yes?" Tuare asked, expectantly.

In what seemed to be a first in the conversation, Calca paused, looking quite flummoxed. Edstrom could spy the blush she was able to hide with a masterful effort.

"Well, I cannot really elaborate on our own case," Calca said. "But perhaps we can offer you a clue, my dear." She raised a finger. "You know the truth of Sebas' nature, correct?"

"I… yes," Tuare said, after a small pause of hesitation.

"Now, now, don't be squeamish about it dear. Have you really accepted it? That he's not everything he appears to be?" Calca pressed.

Tuare sighed. "Yes… Yes!" she all but shouted. "Of course I know. And that did not stop me from loving him regardless."

Calca beamed. "Yes, it is quite admirable that you feel that way. Now, to return to what we were talking about… With you knowing all that about Sebas, then you must realize that there is a chance your current problems are not as simple as it appeared, hm?"

Tuare closed and opened her mouth repeatedly, unable to form words for a few moments. Then she cocked her head. "I… I don't…"

"You're a smart girl," Calca said. "I know you can figure it out. Hm?"

"Is it because he's…" Tuare tapped her forehead. Then her eyes widened, as if she had hit upon some idea. "Is it really because he's…?" Edstrom wanted to know what was going on inside her head, but Tuare wasn't elaborating.

Calca nodded gravely. "That may be the reason. Now, we were fortunate in our case," she drifted off with a blush, and even Kelart looked embarrassed. "But our experience with the matter may be of use to you."

"How so?"

"We have been told that in such a case of partial compatibility between the two mates, there are certain potions that would help boost the compatibility further," Calca said slowly. "In your case, it is fortunate that Sebas looks to be more human than most, but don't take my word for it."

"It will be something that the two of you will have to find out for yourselves," Kelart said, as if she was pronouncing judgment.

"Do you… do you know where we can find such help?"

"Not I," Kelart said.

"Neither do I," said Calca. The two glanced at each other. "But there is someone who might be able to offer insight."

"Someone who has demonstrated the depths of his wisdom many times over."

For a long moment, no one said anything. Then, Tuare said, her eyes alight with passion. "Ainz Ooal Gown."

Calca gave a quick smile. "Indeed. Our Master is wise enough in the ways that he should be able to aid you. And if he cannot help you directly, then I am certain he can point you in the direction of someone who can."

Tuare looked uncertain. "But that's…"

"What's wrong? You look frightened."

"Well it's because…" Tuare said, her voice so small it could almost not be heard. "It's that Ainz-sama, you know? I'm not… I don't really know how to approach him."

Calca laughed. "Silly girl. He's not some monster who will chew you up for talking to him."

"He's kind and gentle when it is needed," Kelart said, sounding proud.

"In this case, it might help to set up an appointment, perhaps with one of the maids."

"Wait, no, there's something better she can do, my lady," Kelart said, and she now smiled. "She can always go with Sebas himself. Together they can go and find the solution."

"Oh, good point," Calca said, shrugging. "Well, there you have it. If you're feeling tongue-tied with Ainz-sama, then perhaps you can leave the asking to your Sebas. He'll talk to Ainz-sama about your worries."

"If it all works then…"

"It'll be… I'll be… Ohhh…" she broke down into sobs once more. The two looking on did so with soft smiles on their faces. The tears, after all, were shed from joy.

Just then, there came another knock on the door. Calca raised her head, and quirked a brow. She turned to Kelart, who nodded. She walked past Edstrom, and approached the door behind.

"Yes?"

"It's Cixous, milady," came a voice from outside, muffled. "We are here to deliver a message."

"We?" Kelart asked.

"I am presently escorting Neia Baraja."

"Oh, well do come in."

The door opened, and there entered two new people inside the room. The first one was a blonde wearing a maid uniform like the ones she had seen before. For a moment, she thought that the blonde from before had come back. But the face was different, and she didn't look pregnant.

Then the next one came in: another blonde, shorter, wearing some sort of purple sun-dress that failed to hide the indulgent bulge of her belly. This one looked rather plain and comely, with her eyes being the main culprit in looking quite vicious to Edstrom. The rest of her impression was someone weak and unsightly—not worth her time. But seeing as she was visibly pregnant, it was clear she was not someone to be underestimated.

When the second blonde saw her, she stopped, eyes widened. Even the maid beside her narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Be at ease," Calca called out from her chair. "She is but a guest of Sebas. There is nothing suspicious."

"I-if you say so, my queen," the pregnant blonde said. She practically sidled past her, giving her the look of a frightened puppy, before she approached Calca directly. The maid slid her gaze off Edstrom, but it was clear she was being watched from the way the maid interspersed itself between her and the seated Tuare.

"My lady," she said, with a bow.

"Neia," Calca said smoothly, inclining her head in acknowledgement. "It is ever a pleasure. What brings you here? Come to hide out here again?"

The short blonde glanced towards her, then swiftly looked away. From the glimpse of her actions, Edstrom could tell she was a nervous sort, someone who'd be prone to literally jumping at shadows. Yet as with Clementine before, she elected to stay silent like a statue, preferring not to disturb the dragon's lair right when she was in its very midst.

"I—It's Ainz-sama," she said. "I've been told that he's about to leave again. So there was an idea for all of us…" the one named Neia cleared her throat. "Well, all of 'us' to gather and give him a proper good-bye. You know… as a group."

Calca's eyes widened. "Why yes, of course! That is a brilliant idea. Who came up with it? Wait, I can already tell."

"It's… It's her," Neia said. Seemingly, the "her" was someone both knew without needing to elaborate, as both Calca and Kelart exchanged a knowing look.

"…We should go then, my lady. I'm sure Ainz-sama would love it if we all took part," Kelart said.

"Yes, that's indeed true," Calca said, trailing off. "Did you tell Keeno? Does she know?"

"No, but I was told that she would be the one to tell her. So she's coming, at least."

"Ah, well that's good. It is vital that we show our solidarity as a group. So everyone's got to be there, to complete the full set at least," Calca said, then she looked down at herself. Her face twisted. "Damnation, I need to prepare…" She looked up at Neia. "My dear, we shall need to do some things a bit more. Shall we meet again? At the mother's hall?"

"W-Well alright," Neia said. She stared down at Calca. "But what you're wearing is alright? I think?"

Calca laughed. "A deft jest, my dear." Neia flushed, then bowed. She scurried out of the room as fast as her pregnant body could allow. The blonde maid followed in her wake.

"Tuare, dear, I must sincerely apologize for cutting our little tete a tete short," Calca said. Behind her, Kelart had disappeared to a corner which Edstrom couldn't see, and seemed to be busy rummaging through something.

"Oh, it's nothing, Calca-sama!" Tuare said, rising. "And besides, you've already given me much to think about."

"We simply must talk again," Calca said. "And perhaps on that time you can tell us how it's going."

Tuare flushed, but smiled. "If 'it' does happen, my lady, then you would certainly be the first to know."

Calca chuckled. "Very good. Until next time, then."

"Good day, Calca-sama. Kelart-sama." Tuare turned and went for the door. She gave no word to Edstrom, nor did she glance her way. Nonetheless, she followed along, not willing to stay any longer inside this room alone. Her myriad instincts were telling her it would be a very unpleasant experience.

Outside in the corridor there was no sign of that Neia or the maid. It seemed they had already left to whichever destination had been on their minds. As Tuare lingered outside, her head bowed in thought, Edstrom stretched her body, which had grown stiff from standing like a statue for a while.

After a while, she turned to the girl, who was still just standing there, her brows furrowed, her eyes deep in thought.

"Oi, you still in there? Shouldn't we be going? Well, on that note, where exactly are we going now?"

Her eyes blinked rapidly, as if she was trapped in some kind of trance. "Yes… It does make sense… Everyone else isn't human… Or at least only looks human… It does make sense for Sebas-sama to be the same…" She sighed. "Why did I not see it before…? But does it matter? No, it doesn't matter. He's still him. Sebas-sama is Sebas-sama."

"Oiiii…" Edstrom said, waving a hand before the girl. "Are you in there? You know I've been tasked by Sebas-sama to escort you. So, was there anywhere else you need to go? Or are we just going to stand here?" She didn't really mind in that case, but it was going to be a bitch standing all day.

"It's fine… it's fine…" Tuare said, seemingly oblivious to her words.

She clucked her tongue. "This girl ain't listening, what the hell…"

"I already have the solution… No matter what, I will have his babies. We will be happy!" Tuare said, her face now turning red, but not from shame; but from some other, deeper emotion. It was rather amusing to watch the whole range of emotions flash on her face, one after another, even if she was standing here being totally ignored.

Case in point, a moment later, her face fell, as if she had suddenly received grim news. "Oh, but I have to do that… Talk to Ainz-sama again… He's really scary… And I don't even want to think of the time I talked to him… What should I do…"

At this point, Edstrom had had enough. She patted the girl on the shoulder, causing Tuare to visibly recoil, as if she had been struck.

"What what wha-?" She blinked rapidly several times, before her eyes took on a gleam of recognition. "Oh, right, it's you." She frowned. "What do you want?"

Before she opened her mouth, she stopped. Wait a second. She realized she actually had an opportunity here. She would have to play her cards right. This chance was just too rich to pass up.

"Well, to start, I… overheard what you were talking about," she began carefully. "With those ladies over there. And I basically got the gist of it. It's about Sebas-sama right? And you wanting to get impregnated by the man?"

Tuare blushed, but her face still looked sullen and defiant. "I—I—I—Well that's… Yes, so? What's it to you?"

"Wait, wait, lemme finish. So you're angling to get impregnated, and it hasn't happened yet?" A reluctant nod. "It hasn't happened yet, because he's somehow a demihuman, correct? Well, partially, from the looks of him." Another nod. She could almost punch the air in celebration. Her instincts about him had been right all along. No human could get that strong. Now to push forward.

"So what you're looking for is a solution. Well, guess what? I might have one."

At that, her sullen look was replaced by wide-eyed surprise. She could even sense the small blossom of hope that shone thee, so bright it was almost blinding to behold. That was good. She had her hooked.

"Really? W-what, I mean, if you have—well, that would mean that—"

"Remember what they told you? The solution is a potion. A fertility potion, to be precise." She rubbed her chin, as she racked her mind. "A special variety, to help if one's partner isn't particularly human."

"That's iiit! That's it!" Tuare practically screamed. "That's it! Please! Do you know where to find one? Please? Please!"

"It's… not something you can just get. You'd need to have certain connections to find it. Underground connections. These things aren't exactly being peddled around by even those frauds selling fake dragon tears. These are potions for those with certain… inclinations. And I'm sure they are very relevant for your current situation."

Now she remembered. Those types of potions were generally forbidden in most "decent" human kingdoms, like the Re-Estize or the Slain Theocracy. Procreation between humans and non-humans was a crime to the many temples that had taken root in those nations. Though there was no capital crime to being caught engaging in such "heretical" behavior, the same would not be said of the spawn that would arise from the forbidden union, which were generally killed on sight in any village.

As such these potions were considered contraband, and were only commonly available in those nations, like the City-State Alliance, which had no qualms about intermixing the races. Due to their forbidden nature in the human kingdoms, it was therefore a lucrative trade to be exploited, which eventually fell under the auspices of the Eight Fingers. Their customers were commonly owners of elven slaves, as these were not only beautiful to the eyes, they could also produce powerful children who would be raised as servants, bodyguards, or even gladiators. Through the use of the potion, the chances of conceiving a child between a human and an elf rose to nearly one hundred percent, assuming the cock could stick the landing.

The potion also had its odd customers, those well-to-do people who led peculiar lives in secret. Typically, these were noblemen and merchants with strange ideas in their minds, who preferred fare that was more exotic than elves. Edstrom could recall the time she ran as bodyguard for one of their collectors, who had come to extract the unpaid debts of one particular fetishist in his home.

Down there in his basement, she and the rest of her crew had laid eyes on a literal breeding operation of various demihumans, some of which were even on the verge of giving birth. Thankfully, they were all professionals, and they paid little mind to the excesses inside that dungeon and focused on their task of money-collecting.

Though Edstrom felt little pity for others at the time, and had even less empathy for the poor demihumans; she could admit to a secret pleasure in breaking each bone in the man's fingers, when they discovered that the man had indeed gone to ground to avoid his debts. She was only too pleased to drag the man off as his assets were liquidated—which unfortunately for him included his stable of "lovelies". Fortunately for Edstrom, she did not have to do the task of cleaning up the mansion, which would not have been a pleasant experience.

But generally, the Eight Fingers did not begrudge them their tastes, and were only too happy to supply them with what they needed to fulfill their private fantasies. They were excellent targets for blackmail, though Edstrom was never quite sure of the details. The chances of conception didn't seem as assured as that of elves, but at least it was something.

Now if Sebas really was one of these types of creatures, then it seemed that these fertility potions were the solution that Tuare needed.

"Oh yes, oh please, oh yes!" Tuare cried, practically clasping her hands before her in prayer.

She grinned and put her hands on her hips. "I can help find it for you," she said. "But…"

"But?"

Her smile widened. "Nothing on this world comes free."

Tuare's expression shifted. It seemed like she was rapidly thinking in her head about what she was going to pay. "I… really don't have a lot to offer."

"Well, that's good, because there's something you can offer that will satisfy both of us." She leaned forward. "I want in."

She cocked her head, confused. "In?"

"I'll buy those special fertility potions…" she said. "If you'll allow me to join in on the next time you try."

She looked like she suddenly understood. "What? You?" Her expression morphed into anger. "You?"

She nodded back. She watched as Tuare started breathing heavily, her shoulders moving up and down distinctly. She had the look of someone who was suddenly betrayed in the last moment, and was now looking for a way out.

"But Sebas-sama wouldn't… You would have to…"

She chuckled. "Well, let me take care of that part. It's highly possible he won't even say yes. That's a possibility. Only a possibility. But that's the only possibility that gives you access to these potions. To the things that will grant you your deepest desires."

Tuare looked down, biting her lip. She clenched her fists and glared at her.

"Well?" Edstrom asked. "What will it be?"

The once proud city of Eryuentia, buried behind the sands of a distant land, now stirred once more. The wondrous city thrummed with activity, as its Master stirred it awake for the first time in many years. Its servitors, once bound to serve the Greed Kings of the past, now worked to serve its replacement—the Platinum Dragon Lord, who had taken the city for its new roost.

Within the floating city itself, which was the very heart of the Greed Kings' power, the Dragon Lord lurked inside a vast, majestic chamber, which glittered with strange technologies that no man of this land could ever replicate. But it could still be manipulated, as a man might cross an ancient bridge—unaware of how it had been built, nor of the immense work that had gone into making it. The Dragon Lord, though wise in its years, could but manipulate the strange systems that were left behind inside the Greed Kings' domain, but it could never fashion new things based on what was there. And such manipulation was difficult and incomplete: there were many vaults yet sealed to it, hiding the unknown wealth of Eryuentia from the Dragon Lord's gaze.

Currently, the dragon's attention was fixed towards a glowing orb attached to the chamber wall. The surface of the orb was silvery, and was as murky as a foggy day on the sea. Periodically, an image would reveal itself from within the fog, displaying the scene of a different place as if the dragon was staring at it directly from nearby. First there was the image of ships anchored at a dock, then a windswept field with horsemen riding at a gallop, and then a small village on the edge of a certain forest.

Presently, the image settled into one in particular—that of a man who was kneeling inside a room. The dragon seemed satisfied by the image, as its concentration relaxed, and it eyed the man in the orb intensely.

"My liege," the man suddenly said, as if he was talking to someone; even when there was no one in the room with him. "I bring news."

The man was one of a few whose families had long ago been sworn to the Platinum Dragon Lord. It had cultivated its ancestors many centuries ago, and had ensured their loyalties by guaranteeing their safety and their prosperity. The heads of their families were ever told by their forebears that they were always bound to serve "The Master". It did not matter what form it took in their minds, just that they remained loyal. And certainly, the Dragon Lord went out of its way to reward its servants, while also punishing those who strayed from their tasks. The families had each belonged to many kingdoms in the past, which had all fallen one way or another over the years, and the dragon had always come to their rescue, planting them in another kingdom to continue their lineage and their service.

In cultivating these families, the dragon acquired a network of spies all over the land that it could rely on for constant updates of any news and rumors. The watch on Eryuentia would always need to be maintained, and it could ill afford to venture far from the city for long periods of time. As such, at a predetermined time, each member of its network went to a private place and spoke aloud in silence as if they were conversing one-sidedly with an invisible being, telling of news, of rumors, of even the details of their own lives. In this way, the Dragon Lord remained informed—and would be able to act when it was needed.

"There have been numerous rumors that have been swirling throughout the city. It is difficult to discern the truth among the falsehoods. But the main thrust of these rumors remains the same, so the seed of truth must have some basis. I have been unable to determine if there were prisoners coming into the city, nor have there been reliable eyewitnesses who can claim to have seen the Re-Estize army. The only concrete proof that something has happened, is that the city is being prepared as if it was about to go to war. Many sentries have been sent to the walls, and certain districts have been locked down from travel. I fear that the worst has indeed come to pass, and that the meat of the rumors has the truth in it.

"My liege, the Re-Estize Kingdom has invaded the Sorcerous Kingdom."

The image on the orb disappeared, once more dissolving into murky fog. The dragon blinked, as its titanic form shuddered.

Through a command sent mentally, it summoned one of the few artifices of the Greed Kings that it had been able to appropriate, a weapon of mysterious power that had even impressed this old dragon. Not even the greatest artisans of the dwarf-folk of old had ever created something like it. And it would become important now in the conflict it had foreseen was coming.

The affairs of the Re-Estize Kingdom and its conflict with its neighbor was not something that would naturally draw the dragon's eye. Entire kingdoms had fought and died for foolish reasons known only to man.

Yet now the Sorcerous Kingdom had appeared on the stage, and with it a potential that needed to be watched closely. So when this news came of the Re-Estize's Kingdom's foolishness, the dragon was sure that this Ainz Ooal Gown would become involved once more. And with its involvement, the Dragon Lord could no longer sit idly in Eryuentia. The time had come to act once more, and see if the vampire it had encountered before had been a portent of many things to come.

Chapter commissioned by UltraSpink of Da USA, thank you. A reminder that the story is commissioned.

If you'd like a story commissioned, feel free to contact me here, or on archiveofourown under "RHoldhous".