C5: Jests of fate
Badlands
"Hmph. They left after all." The prince muttered while he removed his helmet, exposing his fair clean shaved face and flowing blonde hair.
"As they should! Of course they would run away from me. Haha I can't say I can blame them for their cowardice." He said loudly to no one in particular.
Corsco Fanella rolled his eyes at his employer's antics. The Tilean fire mage adjusted his hat and turned to his friend and leader.
"Humble, isn't he?" The commander of the mercenary band sarcastically asked, to which the mage replied with a grunt.
The Lost Owls were one of the many mercenary bands that exist in the Old World. Commanded by Ludolf Starck, a former sergeant of the Imperial garrison of Grezanstadt. Being a site of constant Greenskin attacks, Ludolf had accrued years worth of experience fighting the tide. Experience that proved to be invaluable when he ventured into the Borderlands alongside like-minded subordinates.
It did not take much to join the Owls, fortunately for Corsco, Ludolf understood that magic is too big of an advantage to shoo away, however fickle it may be.
Philippe was by far his least favorite employer, if he had to be honest. For he never grew out of the bigotry that Brettonian dukes tend to display towards mercenaries and mages. During their meetings, Corsco noticed the not so subtle digs at his birth and profession, though it failed to boil his Tilean blood.
Professionals are made of sterner stuff after all.
The last few hours were spent checking the insides of the buildings present in this supposed outpost. When they had first entered, the quiet emptiness reeked of treachery. Indeed, such is one of the most telltale signs of an ambush.
Yet, even when the signs are obvious, their employer, the so-called illustrious prince Phillipe still seemed to remain oblivious, arrogant maybe, as his blue eyes could be seen scanning the weird flag above.
"Someone should tear down that eyesore already! This will make a fine fortress for Pontenne." He bellowed the order.
"That would be unwise."
Unexpectedly, the voice came from the air above. It wasn't loud at all, yet everyone heard it. The tone was noble and calm, but with a deep baritone, it was no less authoritative.
The source of the voice was looking down on him. He wore a red mask which showed a grinning expression, and dark purple robes, one made with the quality of royalty, perhaps even more. The pauldrons seemed to be made of some exotic beast's bones, and his black and silver gauntlets had clawed fingers.
Strangely enough, it was noticed that the skies got very cloudy. The bright sunny afternoon scene seemed to have turned into a moody atmosphere resembling winters.
"This territory is now under my rule. If you people choose to leave now, you have my word that no harm will befall you today."
"But know that I won't be issuing this warning a second time."
A black aura started to emanate from the mage, as it reached Philippe and his men, he could see quite a few of the mercenaries and almost all of the men at arms trembling.
Philippe and the knights however, were made of sterner stuff as it could be seen. Even then, in the corner of his eyes, Corsco could see the prince gripping the reins of his horse tightly in response.
Standing near the frontline, among the handgunners, he could also feel the effect with clarity. It was certainly something forced upon them rather than being a mere natural phenomenon and reaction. If he was more "ordinary", he might have just fallen into its effect, but with a mental fortitude honed for years within the College against all sorts of darker things, he too was able to resist it.
'A practitioner of the Purple Wind perhaps? That would have explained the unnatural dread and the theme of his attire.' Corsco thought, his mind and squint burning eyes remained focused on the mage above them even after that, warily. 'But I swear, they were always far more modestly dressed, at least when I was still bound completely to the College… Not even the High Priests of Morr were like this. Not to mention, rarely ordinary human mages go alone, it is simply not a strategically sound move. And if he truly is alone… Something's not right here… Not right at all…'
With realization dawning upon him, he instantly shot at Ludolf with a gaze full of warning, his hands signaling him, requesting him to split and spread out the troops as much as pragmatically possible. Noticing it, in an immediate and experienced response, the mercenary general quietly gestured to his men to take position and the troops followed with pace.
"Your threats are nothing more than hot wind, mage." Philippe said confidently and seemingly unshaken. Aware of the movements behind him came to a halt, he then raised a hand and gave the signal for the dogs to attack.
Lined up and guns already preloaded, barrages of iron and steel were unleashed upon their target. With each volley, a line backed down for a new one immediately came forward, took their aim and delivered their shot. As expected of the unit composed mostly from those who were trained in the Imperial way, the sequence was repeated seamlessly, with only a relatively calm and harmonized unison of motions and discipline could be seen across the ranks.
Yet, the fact that this happened for the next few minutes was, however, far from being good news in the slightest.
Normally, it shouldn't take this long to shoot a human to death, mage or not. Yet, beyond the screen of thick white gunpowder smoke, he could see their target still standing there, doing nothing… impervious to any damage thrown at him, as bullets seemed to bounce off or disappear into thin air just before it could hit the target, seemingly for no reason at all.
As if his thoughts and emotion was a contagious substance, noticeable were the hints of confusion and fear that had started to spread among the ranks, painted with clarity on their faces and in the hesitation in some of their actions. And as expected, from his horse back, overwatching the whole field, Ludolf also noticed everything. Then, in a normally surprising but very timely manner in this one instance, their general shouted loudly.
"TAKE AIM BUT HOLD YOUR FIRE!"
Taking in the order, even in the relative heat of battle, the handgunners followed without a spare action, as if they had already anticipated this inevitability and seemed to prepare beforehand.
With a familiar gaze that carried with it a familiar order, their eyes met and he gave him a solid nod. As a reply, Corsco confirmatively nodded in return. Turning toward their target, his eyes started to shine bright with a bright orange hue and his mind focused on what could only be seen by Witchsight.
On this dry ground where heat filled the air and the heart of men, with flows unlike that of intertwining rivers, the Red Wind of Aqshy stirred and gathered in abundance. Heeding to his attention and attracted to his fiery yet controlled soul, the red hot Aethyric current danced around him, caressed him, moving around and underneath his loose bright red sleeveless robe and chain of keys on his necklace, not unlike a wild passionate Tilean female dancer.
His flaming staff aimed at where his mind focused toward as his mouth muttered an Aetheric formulae, an incantation in Magick, a simplified version of the language of the elves, and carried with it was its name of the same language to give it a more specific shape.
{Flaming Sword of Rhuin}
With the eldritch words uttered, each of the guns began to seemingly burn in a sorcerous flame, the muzzles giving off a molten and hungry appearance.
In many aspects, it was a rather potent spell, especially on this scale. It was also one of the favorites of his comrades, despite their initial hesitancy when he first used it. With this, even the most mundane of weapons, made by even the crudest of hand and material, are temporarily imbued with the destructive power of Aqshy. When done en masse, it was the fear of many conventional enemies, for any of them would meet their doom in a tide of wrathful, penetrating Aethyric fire and mundane iron.
He however, did not stop with just one spell as his incantation continued despite how much his mind started to feel burnt out by the eccentric wind. No, he believed this abnormal target required a far more reassuring measure.
{Burning Barrage}
Another incantation was casted, and from behind him, five floating blazing balls of supernatural fire, each with the size of a small boulder, formed in a matter of instant, preparing to strike any target at the slightest of command.
To that, weird enough, the masked mage did not show a sign of disturbance or fear. Instead, with a thumb and a pointed finger placed on his chin, there was seemingly an academic curiosity to his posture… almost as if the scene in front of him and his effort was something interesting to him, mockingly amusing even.
Remaining unfaltered, if not, even enraged by the hypothetically mocking gesture, he immediately took advantage of this hubristic attitude. With his hands outstretched, the barrage of fire shot at his target with the speed faster than that of arrows. Considering it as a signal like always, standing in a properly prepared position that they had been trained with, the roaring power of the Aqshy and steel was unleashed in unison from the molten barrels of their arcane blessed guns.
Flung in a speed too much and too late for any protective measure to be casted and collective power strong enough to shred even a minotaur, they could see the blazing projectiles simultaneously reach their target with clarity, devouring him in a spectacle of dust, small explosions and scorching hot smoke, blocking away any sound beside that of continuous boom.
With the attack presumably a success, he could feel the fire stirring within their souls calmed down. With squinching eyes and various sorts of slight gestures trying to see beyond the dark gray screen of ash and smoke, a familiar mix of calmness, curiosity and optimism could be found preoccupied their minds and hearts.
Yet, unlike them, standing still, even as his body and mind felt the strain from overcasting, his gaze held on toward the cloud of ash and dust, wide open, unwavering. In his soul, his fire remained burning bright. But, it was not that of rage or the thrill of battle, it was that of restless impatience. For such an abnormal opponent, nothing is completely certain until the result is obvious.
Some seconds passed, another, then another, the smoke finally cleared.
In the place where their target used to stand so proudly, no one could be found and for a brief moment, small sounds of personal celebrations could be heard and calmness could finally be found within him.
In truth, his sense was nothing but a false prophet… For it was nothing but a false calmness before the storm… One that had already approached them without any detection.
"Impressive, quite a spectacle if I have to be honest." A familiar deep voice spoke out, clearer and closer to him than ever as collective gasps could also be immediately heard nearby.
Chill spread across his spine and the tendrils of dread started to take hold of his mind, his hand was trying to grab upon the sword on his side as his form spun around in a swift motion.
Yet, right when he faced the being and his blade unsheathed, a sudden suffocating metallic hand lifted him up by the throat with an unnatural strength, forcing him to unconsciously drop his blade and staff as his feets instinctively desperately tried to touch the ground.
From the corners of his eyes, the gunners turned around, reloading and took aim, while the nearby mercenaries immediately rushed in with their swords and spears in an attempt to save him. Normally, this could have been a sound strategy, yet for this being, taking from what just happened, by the time they could arrive, this being would have already killed him in several different ways if it wanted to and then easily moved on with them before most of them could even react. And even if Corsco still had had his sword, he doubted its edge could even reach the target right in front of him.
Corsco's survival instinct kicked in with full-force and desperation started to guide his mind and actions, it however was still not enough to make him into a completely mindless, desperate beast. With his hand still remained tightly on his foe seemingly meatless, fatless arm as an instinctive reaction, he decided to do the only thing he deemed suitable in this situation.
His adrenaline pumping, his mind raced fast as if the previous fatigue seemed to be no more, he drew the fire in his soul and quickly uttered another formulae, a trump card perfect for the emergency situation like this that he had already used far too frequently.
{Boiling Blood}
He waited for the masked monster to explode in glorious molten blood, yet the man did not elicit any reaction for some reason.
"Hm, that was…awkward. No matter, for your previous effort, I will show you mine."
'...What!?'
[Widen Magic-Grand Fireball, the masked mage said, his words were not that of Eltharin nor was it a formulae, but rather more similar to an order from a Lord to his servants. In a gentle but forceful move and done in quick procession, his other palm that was held open pointing to the clumping disorganized group of gunners and the charging mercenaries, appeared what could only be described as a circle of arcane origin. And from their reaction, somehow they saw the circle too.
From it, a huge, wide fireball bigger than the size of a large boulder was hurled towards his comrades. As fast as a bullet it was, and when contact was made, a loud explosion ensued, one greater than that unleashed upon the caster and with a wider radius. Corsco watched in horror as many of the mercenaries incinerated into ashes while others were still burning to death.
Their death screams were bloodcurdling. The Tilean had a feeling this day would give him nightmares for all the days to come. If he survives, that is.
However, such a result is what you would normally get when dealing against a mage, it was to be expected. What turned dread to horror for him more was the fact that the being in front of him conjured more than one Wind of Magic - an impossibility for an ordinary human mage according to the teachings of the Elves, graciously given to them by the Great Teclis.
"You monster!" He cried out. A mix of horror and righteous fury was evident in his raspy, suffocating voice. Perhaps it was Corsco's own bias at the moment but, even if the being in front of him was not a servant of Ruinous Power, he was no different than the dark elves he had heard in tales or an undead in the perspective of a Morrite priest.
"You only have yourself to blame. I gave you a chance to run, now you shall help me in my endeavors."
"Vaffanculo! As if I would ever-"
He did not get a chance to continue his reply, as if the masked mage was annoyed, he casted another damnable "spell".
[Paralysis, another word was spoken and he lost all feelings from his body.
"That was not a request."
The mage let him fall sideways, so that he could still see the carnage in front of him. He could see the Pontenne knights round up their forces to attack.
'The fools. Run while you still can!'
Suddenly a horse charged from their right. The helmed rider had his lance ready, seemingly with the intent of driving it through the mysterious magic caster.
As soon as the lance collided with his chest however, the weapon stopped in its tracks, splintering. The momentum of the charge continued, and the knight moved past the mage while holding the broken weapon.
'Two and perhaps even three lore of magic!? Don't tell me…' His mind screamed, but then, he immediately tried to steared himself, trying to ponder about the situation in a clearer, thorough manner. 'Yet somehow, the Winds still remained dormant, undisturbed in the slightest bit even…"
It was strange indeed. The tempestuous winds of magic tend to react when a mage casts a spell, but no such thing was felt from the masked man here. For instance, there was no trace of the Red Wind when he threw that "grand fireball".
'Perhaps I was just overreacting, my mind was not clear, everything was in the heat of the moment and that dark presence. Perhaps it was the result of some sort of special magical item… Yet if so, to have so many of them on him and to be able to use them so freely…'
He was jolted from these thoughts upon hearing the knight's scream. He was not in his field of vision at the moment, but from the sounds he could make out, he is fairly certain it was something akin to lightning bolts.
'At the very least, someone or something very strong is backing him up. At worst… I… I don't know anymore.'
Then, in front of his eyes, the familiar dark silhouette appeared right in front of Corsco, not facing him, but facing towards the reluctantly rushing pikemen with not a bit of movement. Although the mage did not glance at him, he could still somehow feel the cold gaze and temperance of a ruthless predator from under that crimson mask, one that was calmly waiting for a bountiful amount of prey to fall right into the trap.
Out of nowhere, whirling dark portals appeared on all four sides of the pikemen. Freezed up and immediately stopped in their tracks, they immediately proceeded to change to a more fitting formation and point their weapons at the large assailants that may come out of them. Hindered down by the overall cumbersomeness of their pikes and caught by surprise, despite their effort, the process was a slow one, if not, relatively clumsy even. After all, pikes are not meant to be a flexible sort of weapon.
Before a proper formation could be formed, from each portal, the forms of five humanoid structures of shiny metal gradually appeared at a quick pace. Towering approximately three meters tall, built with thick sturdy metallic plates as their body, and the general design seemed to have been inspired by Imperial knights, they were awe inspiring beings to behold, and potentially nightmarish to deal with, especially with the current situation.
Although inspired, unlike the extravagant decoration of the knights, these beings bore a far more plain but pragmatic appearance with glowing blue runic inscriptions marked on their torsos. Meanwhile, on each of their heads, a circular yellow light seemed to act like their eyes if he had to guess.
Fully stepped out from the portals, they immediately charged out like bulls, right into the lines of semi-disorganized soldiers, proceeding to swing their large metallic fists around with precision and an inhuman strength. Within just the first barrages of attacks, quite a number of pikemen died on the spot, necks broken, heads smashed or split from the rest of the body.
As they continued their onslaught, the soldiers adapted and he could see a golem was surrounded by a circle of pikes. Seemingly aware of its situation, Its rune glowed bright and a round barrier of expanding lightning was formed, electrocuting a large number of surrounding men in a spectacular blue flash.
The knights were doing comparatively better, using their horses to outmaneuver the living hunks of metal and attacking them with pommel of their swords at each opening. The clang of metal on metal was almost rhythmic as they targeted the joints of the entities, hoping to stop them from moving at least, from the looks of it.
Four knights encircled one of the golems, taking turns in trying to gain its attention while the others tried to hit the structural joints of the entity.
The clang of metal on metal was almost constant as the mounted harassment continued in earnest. The golem's fists failed to find their targets as the knights gracefully weaved through each attack.
The golem as usual, readied a haymaker. A knight spurred in, seemingly ready to avoid the punch.
However, with a speed that looked far too wrong from a cumbersome monster, it performed an uppercut using the other arm, while turning its torso in an unnatural way.
Corsco had seen similar maneuvers in many incidents from taverns and saloons back home - a feint it was called, and unfortunately it was done far too well here.
The metallic fist connected with the knight's head, sending it flying towards the sky. The headless body fell off of the horse with a thud.
Corsco caught sight of another knight who seemed to be trying to make up his mind. He had just finished turning his horse around for another charge, before freezing on seeing his headless comrade. He then stared at the golem responsible, the fire of rage burnt bright in his soul. Seemingly sensing the knight's hostile intent, the thing turned to face the mounted warrior.
He threw down his broken lance and took up a mace from his leather sheath. With a war cry, he spurred the horse to no doubt avenge his fallen comrade.
The warrior's armor glinted warmly in the sun, as if lined with silver. Despite the grime and mud splatters on his charger, it still appeared vivid and powered up the route with a quick, yet weighted grace.
It was always a magnificent sight to see one of these knights charge, it reminded Corsco of the many stories of the famed Grail Knights of Bretonnia, blessed warriors who have drank from The Lady's chalice.
To be a Grail Knight, one has to face the hardest of tasks and threats. Be it slaying orcs, dragons and even the many minions of The Ruinous Powers, and performing other heroic deeds, only then would an aspirant get a chance to ascend. As a result, few succeed, and fewer still survive a taste from the blessed waters of the chalice.
Would this knight be given the chance? The Tilean had to wonder as for the moment even he was sure the attack would at the very least dismember the golem.
Suddenly the golem changed its stance to something akin to a runner's. Without warning and with a sudden spurt of ungodly speed, it shot towards the charging knight with its thick armored shoulder, which coincidentally bore a series of glowing red runic letters.
As metal and man collided, his armor was shattered and asundered, flesh and organs crushed and splattered. What once a knight and his steed was now nothing more than a gory unrecognizable crimson mess.
Whatever magic the runes possessed, combined with the natural force a thick heavy entity is expected to have with that kind of velocity seemed to have been enough to treat heavy armor of both man and beast like soft flesh.
It did not take long for the pikemen to waver and start running for the gates, expecting the common folk of Pontenne or the remaining of his comrades to fight to the bitter end would have been very naive. Not that the Tilean could blame them of course, to stand and fight here would be akin to suicide, and not even for a worthy cause.
Some of the remaining knights were trying to round up the fleeing foot soldiers, their pompous voices shouted words of vainglory and shallow impractical honor, while the others shot towards a specific direction. Their target was not in Corsco's field of vision, but he was pretty sure who they're aiming for.
He gave a short prayer to Myrmidia, they will need it.
…
Philipe and five other knights whizzed past another Golem as it missed a cumbersome haymaker. Its body was caked with the blood of its victims as it had rolled over a group of foot soldiers a minute ago. The thing's attention was turned to another group as a couple of remaining gunners tried their luck.
It had become obvious that these monsters won't be going down like this. Painfully so, in fact.
'And so it falls to us, the chivalrous and righteous, to save the day! Why am I not surprised? I wonder what kind of sorcery compelled me to trust a bunch of Imperial rejects and a backwater mage.' He pondered at the series of events that preceded this fateful encounter.
'It's a shame that I've already paid for them too. Oh well, we could always take it back after this situation is dealt with, I could call it a fair price for our generosity.' He thought with a grin.
"On me!" the prince said while waving his hand at the individual who had been causing the most trouble this day.
The golems proved they were invulnerable to all conventional forms of damage. As for magic, the Tilean seemed to have been indisposed rather too quickly to be a factor now.
'Although I do have another trump card that might have worked. I'll use it if I must.' He thought, glancing to his ancestral greatsword that was firmly sheathed on his back.
His intuition compelled him to decide that if the master is killed, his monstrosities should be shut down. If not, he could always come back later, looking at their speed, he would have enough time to prepare. Perhaps, he could even ask the dwarves for assistance.
Setting the thought aside, he gave the order to charge.
Their lances were couched, and their horses spurt forward in a sudden gust of speed.
[Negative Burst]
Before the pointed tips found purchase, a sphere of purple and malevolent energy exploded from the mage, engulfing him and his knights.
He found himself thoroughly unhorsed from the spell.
He got up after several minutes, the bodies of his fellow knights laid motionless like corpses. The prince took off his helmet and threw it away just in time to be able to vomit black blood.
The golden armor he wore was a family heirloom, the specifics of its legends lost to time. But it was said that Philippe's ancestors used it in battle many times against many foes of the supernatural nature. Be they undead or chaos, some blessing enabled the armor to protect him from foul sorceries.
The same blessing, Philippe guessed, allowed him to stand mostly in one piece, albeit harmed. Although, from the perceived lost lustre of the armor, he felt no confidence about taking another such sorcery head on.
'Praise be to The Lady! I knew you hadn't forsaken me.'
His relief dimmed when his eyes fell to his dead comrades who weren't so lucky.
His hand gripped the handle of his greatsword, upon seeing the masked mage in front of him. Retribution shall be swift and severe.
"I hadn't expected you to stay alive after that, congratulations." He said in a dark and noble voice befitting a monarch.
Philippe's eyes burned with intense hatred. Truth be told, the earlier spell still hurts, but he is able to stand due to pure nuclear venom coursing through his noble veins, otherwise known as rage.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.
"Before I finish you off, would you mind telling me who you are? The bards need a name for any self respecting villain after all, and I'll make sure you have the privilege to be a footnote in my tale." The prince said while drawing the greatsword and quickly moved to a middle sword stance.
"Hehe such bravado reminds me of someone. Very well, I am Ainz Ooal Gown, supreme master of Nazarick."
"Phillipe Rousseau. Prince of Pontenne." He replied and pointed his weapon at Ainz. There was a yellowish golden energy that implied its enchanted nature.
"Phillipe? What a coincidence." He heard the mage mutter.
The prince took a second to ponder on what the man meant before leaping towards him with a thrust aimed at the masked one's neck.
And what a thrust it was! A picturesque and perfect form that would make any fencer roar out in applause. The power behind it would have certainly penetrated straight through the target's neck.
Unfortunately for the prince of Pontenne, fate would not smile on him.
At the next moment, he fell face down onto the ground. The sword landed just next to his hands and made a clang sound.
Upon trying to get up, it was coincidentally brought to his attention that he was unable to do so.
'What's happening? Why can't I move? Why can't I speak?' He panicked internally upon hearing footsteps.
Strong, clawed hands picked him up by the shoulders. Even with his armor still on, the mage seemed to be carrying him like a piece of baggage, effortlessly. It was at this point that he noticed that the sounds of fighting were dying down.
Save for the death screams of a few stragglers, the scene was quiet.
The mage went over to the limp body of the Tilean.
[Gate] he casted, resulting in a whirling dark portal in front of the mage named Ainz. He then dragged the other mage by his collar and walked towards the newly opened portal.
….
Nazarick, 7th floor
"Clear". The archfiend heard the raspy voice of the Lord of Envy through [Message].
Three hours had passed since the incident involving the Orc. In that time, Demiurge saw it fit to recall the twins and their expeditionary forces back to Nazarick, for there is always a possibility that the intruder was not alone, and it was best to be prepared for the worst case scenario.
Yet it had seemed the situation was as he had suspected. Most of the floors, including the 8th, had been scoured for more of what he theorized to be the native demons of this world.
Lord Ainz was informed of this course of action of course, however before Demiurge could explain, the Supreme Being deemed it necessary to meet in person.
A frown appeared on his face on recalling that message. If he had to be honest, Demiurge was more than nervous regarding said meeting.
That human invasion Aura mentioned also had to be dealt with by his lord, much to his shame.
'I hope those rune enhanced golems perform as useful reinforcements.' He thought back to his reaction when word reached that Ainz engaged the humans. The rune enhanced golems were an experiment from the runesmiths of the Sorcerous Kingdom, it was their first venture into their application of more complex "runic grammar".
This is not to say they were mere prototypes. No, they were considered finished products.
"Clear." He heard another message from one of the mercenary NPCs on the first floor.
"Acknowledged." Demiurge replied.
'Hm. That should be the last of them. So it wasn't a mass summoning spell. In that case, an escape or substitution spell?' He pondered before turning his attention towards a [Gate] that was formed in front of him.
He immediately took to one knee.
The last Supreme Being emerged from the portal, carrying an armored male human on his shoulder and another one wearing strange bright colored robes. He tossed down the armored one unceremoniously.
"Rise, Demiurge. I believe you owe an explanation as to why you recalled the twins. Did something happen here?" Ainz asked. Contrary to Demiurge's expectations, Ainz's tone did not indicate any particular displeasure, yet there was a slight hint of worry.
The demon stood up as per his lord's order. He then started to detail the series of events that transpired on the 7th floor in the last few hours. He carefully detailed the nature of the magic experiments as well as his observations, finally ending with the encounter with the red skinned entity that popped up from the Orc's portal.
"I had doubts about an invasion attempt, which is why I recalled them here. But it seems my fears were unfounded as there were no other hostiles to be found."
"I see. And why do you think this happened?"
A bead of sweat dropped down from Demiurge's face. "Truth to be told, I'm far from sure. But I have reason to believe that it was most likely an unintended side effect of this world's magic. While it is also possible that it was an escape attempt, the way it acted before getting sucked into the portal compels me to discard this way of thinking. That thing's surprise was genuine."
"As a result," he paused, taking the time to correct his glasses. "I'm afraid I have to put a hold on experimenting with this kind of magic. At least, until we know more about its rules and principles. Even then, it might be…safer to do these sorts of experiments outside the tomb."
Ainz remained unresponsive for a few moments before offering the demon a nod.
"Umu, yes that would be appropriate. I believe it would be most fruitful if you ask this man right here." Ainz said, gesturing towards the paralyzed human with the flamboyant clothes. His expression told of surprise, but most of all, absolute terror.
"He is a mage, after all."
"As for the armored one, he is a prince apparently. Send him to Neuronist, I'm sure he holds a lot of useful information about where we are, more than those orcs."
"As you command, my lord."
Barak Varr
The Storm Lord is considered to be a prestigious position in Barak Varr. One could say, it was one of Karnji's crowning achievements in his relatively long life. Indeed, he remembered the pride he had felt, being chosen for the position in front of his colleagues and friends.
The same friends, he believed, would probably feel the opposite of envy right now, as coincidentally Karnji Ravenbeard seemed to have found himself in a storm of dung.
True, it was his idea to bring the enigmatic mage here to stall him until the king could reach a decision. Besides, the Ironedge clan deserved to know.
However, opening up a portal here in Barak Varr under dwarf presence was not something he had expected. A man like him should be aware that such actions will not be looked upon with favor after all.
'So it seems my earlier guess about obsidian not working on this otherworld magic is true. Perhaps there was an emergency back at his base in Iron Rock? That would explain why he has not returned yet and why he needed to go in such an emergency.'
He thought to himself, an amusing thought started to surface in his mind 'If I did not know him any better through our previous talk, It may would have been as if he meant to say, "You hold no power over me, and it is only because of common courtesy that I have allowed myself to be policed by you." To that, well played, sir Ainz Ooal Gown. Or should I say King?'
As bad as his situation might seem to be, with an innate talent of hiding his presence even in the middle of the crowd without the need of external help, he was simply in the middle of that storm, not so much the target of it. Regardless, he was still in the radius of effect and could not help but feel bad for the targeted fellow.
The target individual, was no other than the beetle warrior named Cocytus, whom he was told by his troops to have been trying his best to calm the others down since the mage's shenanigans. Even after quite some time and even after he had arrived, the warrior could still be seen repeatedly assuring the elders that his lord is a man of his word and will return with a proper reason, and that the only thing left to do was to take his lord's suggestion, and allay doubts in him.
It was at that moment that Karnji picked up on a rather glaring detail. The warrior called his lord "his majesty". Whether it was by design or a momentary slip, he could not say, for the bodyguard had the best poker face anyone could ask for.
Be that as it may, the clan members did decide to wait for the mage's return. They passed the time by inquiring about Iron Rock's present state, its defenses and so on.
It had all sounded very promising, mostly repaired walls, elite personnel, as well as more golems, some of them being "enhanced by runecraft '', the latter of which drew raised eyebrows.
The general consensus was that they needed to see the place for themselves before committing to a decision. It seemed the initial excitement as well as the mage's antics forced them to be more…prudent here.
'Probably for the best. No need to rush things.'
Suddenly, a dwarf elder gasped.
A whirling portal appeared right next to him.
Acting on instinct and with the reaction of a flying dwarven bolt, he grabbed his hammer and raised it, trying to bring it down on the individual that stepped out of it.
Before he could say anything, there was a resistance. The hammer never reached the target.
An inexplicable air of cold, heavy pressure flooded the room. No one moved, their sense felt a blue gaze, staring at them with the calmness of still smooth snow but also a warning of a force of avalanche with the sharpness of Everpeak chill.
'What? I couldn't even see him move!' Karnji intoned, his face remained iron calm, or tried to as his eyes sprung wide open. Indeed, the time "he" took would have made an elgi swordmaster weep. Such was his speed, that there wasn't enough time to blink, let alone make a meaningful reaction.
Standing behind the elder, there stood the insectoid warrior, with one of his blue carapaced hands firmly gripping one side of the hammer head.
"Stand down, Cocytus. It is alright."
With the order given, he let go of the hammer and the whole room immediately returned back to normal.
Yet that could not really be said about those around.
The dwarf lowered the hammer, yet held his hostile gaze on the masked mage for a moment, before taking a deep breath and returned to his seat. For the other dwarves around, their postures and silent exchanging eyes spoke of caution and preparedness as well as what he could only describe as enlightenment as if a tough riddle had just been solved right in front of them. Then, their focus was visibly set upon Ainz, their old gazes were judgmental and demanding, eagerly waiting for him to speak up.
"Now, I believe I owe an explanation to my sudden departure. A subordinate had encountered an incident that needed my attention." He said in an even pace, as if trying to keep everything vague.
"An incident!? Bah!" One of the oldest of the elders spoke up in a harsh, questioning tone, his body leaning toward him. "Make it more specific mage, one does not simply just suddenly open up a Grimnir damned magical portal just to deal with some incident! At places and moments like this no less!"
A short blow of steam erupted from Cocytus's mandibles, and his body language stiffened. His gaze went to the speaker, yet fortunately, as if learning from past experiences, the insectoid uttered no word and performed nothing that could be considered hostile.
The other elders remained silent, as if he had spoken for them what they all wanted to ask the mage right now. Ainz seemed to be slightly taken back as he did not respond for a moment, as if this was something weirded him out, completely out of nowhere.
'Hmm, a cultural shock perhaps? It seems that the dwarves of the other world are far more inclined with magic and its users…' Karnji pondered, inquisitively. 'I wonder… Just to what extent and degree… Perhaps I could ask him about that on another date.'
"There was a Greenskin attack of an overwhelming number and I had to go back to aid the defense."
"Truly?" The elder questioned, his voice seemed to be softened, his eyes momentarily glanced at Cocytus. "I presumed it was an attack on Iron Rock?"
"Not yet actually," Ainz corrected, to the surprise of some of those around. "Rather, it was just toward our temporary outpost being built nearby, one meant to be a line of defense and to watch over nearby activities. But judging by the trajectory of their movements, no doubt, after the unfinished outpost, their next target would have been Iron Rock. Among their ranks, there was also a report on a potent magic caster of their kind. For that, I believe I had to act personally and dealt with it quickly."
"And all of them are dealt with, yes?" The elder persisted.
Ainz replied with a confirmative nod.
Receiving the information, among those around, there was an overall sound and exchange of understanding and approval, some even had a hint of respect even, as best as a normal non-dawi can be granted by one that is.
"Very well then, it seems like your reason is accepted. However…" the elder replied, he glanced at both Cocytus and Ainz. "If we are going to have a deal about Iron Rock, there must be some rules on the usage of those portals in the limit of that area."
"I see that portals are not something meant to be positive for you. May I ask, is there any particular reason?" Ainz replied with a polite, yet inquisitive tone.
"In the long and glorious history of our kind, nothing good has ever come out of portals." the eldest member replied, his grimace darkened and the grim wisdom of countless years shone in his eyes, one Karnji knew far too well what he meant. "It would also be very inconvenient to mobilize a throng each time just to make sure of things if you decide to show up that way."
"Very well. That is acceptable." The presumed King continued seemingly without hesitation, despite the fact that this limitation could be a hindrance for him.
"Anything else besides that?"
"While coming back is a certainty, for it is our oath to do so," a female elder spoke up, her voice was gentle but very firm and resolute. "We Dawi have very high standards of things so you know. For that we also need to see the place for ourselves before making any further decisions. You can never be too careful nowadays, after all."
"That can certainly be arranged."
Before anyone could say another word, Karnji stepped out from the shadows, his reveal certainly drew the surprised gazes of everyone. Yet, like many things about them, the two otherworldly travelers seemed to remain unfazed, presumably they had already been aware of his presence from the start.
With a resounding voice of a general he was known for, he decided to speak up at this point, for this seemed to be the most opportune moment and most importantly, he still had a mission to be done.
"I apologize for intruding, but I suggest you continue this afterwards."
"Ah Karnji, our bringer of good news," greeted Udraimm Ironedge - one of the youngest of elders, an honorable and jolly friend that he had had the honor to know, "As much our clan have to thank you for sending them here as fast as possible, certainly you can let this discussion finish first, yes?"
"As much as I don't want to interrupt the happy day of the clan too, my friend." He replied, his tone friendly but insistent.
"However, this is a royal order, for King Byrrnoth wished to see both of them. Now."
"Did they do something wrong?" His friend cautiously asked, surprised.
"Not at all, that I swear to you," he stated, assuring the elder concern. "I can not give you any further details however, but it is a matter of great importance nonetheless."
"I see … That is indeed unavoidable then." replied Udraimm, as both friends proceed to give each other a nod of understanding. Some of the elders seemed to have been irked, yet they stayed quiet. It is quite obvious that no one wanted to risk the king's ire.
They said their farewells, and exited from whence they came. Passing by fewer people downstairs than before.
Outside, they walked towards the giant building with braziers. For around thirty minutes, the party walked in silence.
After they left a considerable distance from the tavern, Karnji pressed on a certain hunch he felt back in the tavern.
"Say, did you leave out anything back there? My gut tells me that the story did not end with just the greenskins."
"You are correct. There is one thing I did hide, for it might have caused an uproar of some sort. I will reveal it to you, if you give me your word that you can maintain your composure."
"Hm. Very well, get on with it."
'It certainly can't be that bad, now can it?'
"The orc magic caster I mentioned seemed to have accidentally summoned a bunch of hostile red skinned entities with crude swords. Were those…the so-called Chaos daemons?"
The party stopped right in their tracks.
'This early?! Are the gods playing a cruel joke on both of us?! ' Thought Karnji. His eyes sprung wide open and expressions told of astonishment, but most of all, horror, pity and anger.
'Not to mention, the sheer audacity to casually utter something like this in this place! Right after my warning no less! Is this some sick joke he thought of from our talk in the tunnels?! Is he even serious?' the dwarf glared at the grinning visage of the mage, silently wishing it was just some extremely poorly made joke.
Ainz in contrast, looked as if it was an innocent, genuine question, something akin to "hey, how's the weather these days?"
When thinking about it, the coincidence of that description was simply too much to be a mere random guess.
He massaged his temples for a bit before seemingly composing himself. 'Well, I can't say he didn't warn me, what a pain..'
'Keep it simple, ya wazzock and tackle one issue at a time.' He recalled the words of his mentor back when he was a mere beardling fighter. An advice that seemed to have gotten him through almost all obstacles, whether it be pitched battles, or dangerous clan disputes.
"It seems like fate has given both of us a cruel irony, Ainz Ooal Gown." Karnji finally spoke up, whisperingly. "For that is certainly a lesser daemon, belonging to one of the more straightforward sorts, one among countless."
"I see." His reply was no different from a silence.
"Quite frankly Ainz Ooal Gown, I pity you." The Storm lord continued. "Most people of the more modern era don't have to see one in the entirety of their lives. Yet here you are, seeing one right on the first day in this world."
As a response, there was only a perfect silence, one more closely aligned with wordless lamentation of one's own fate more than anything.
The steeliness of his voice then returned, breaking the silence as his gaze turned and stared right at the mage, demanding and strict.
"But judging by your tone, am I right to assume they have been dealt with as well?"
"Yes they were. When we put them down, their bodies just disappeared completely into thin air, almost ripped apart piece by piece by some unknown force."
"Good." The Stormlord grimly nodded, his worst suspicion completely confirmed.
"We'll discuss this later, but for now, there are more…immediate concerns needed to be attended to."
-xxx-
AN: Welp, that took longer than I thought. Again.
Credits to my wonderful co-author Remembrancer of )/ Inquisitor of the Sorcerer King(Grand Library of Ashurbanipal discord server)/ Ainzooalgown412(on SpaceBattles) for his much needed help.
Thanks to the Usual Gang of Drunken Perverted Idiots from the Grand Library of Ashurbanipal discord server for the beta reading.
Feedback response:
Female dwarves having beards: That part was about the Overlord NW dwarves, not the dawi.
Underground warfare: Yeah Ainz could just collapse or flood the tunnels, but it would be a temporary or last ditch effort. Besides, the skaven could just make them again.
No longer the big fish: I agree, Mallus is an ocean with dangerous predators unlike what we've seen from NW. While it may feel like they're stomping right now, it's not going to stay that way.
(This is from Inquisitor/Remembrancer)
NWers are weak:
Oh boi, there are so many things to unravel about this. Even the TLDR below is somewhat long.
Hah, classic Maru, really knows to throw in some illusions of how things truly are. The truth is… they are not weak… at all. Climb for example is considered among one of the weaker NW. A joke for many of the fans too. And guess what? That guy is capable enough to defeat a tiger (or a bear) all by himself. And mind you, that is just some guy with some constant training at level 20. Overall, the GENERAL populace of NW with some training can make the general populace in Mallus a run for their money hilariously enough (beside Mallus Lizardmen, they are special). And we have only seen the BACKWATER corner of that world.
Heck, give Brettonian lords a more trained up Re-Estize conscripted army and some adventurers, they will be mopping up normal Greenskin Waagh and they will be considered as Lady's gift to their chivalrous self.
The only reason why we see them as weak is MOSTLY because they are mostly a mere lake in comparison to the almost depthless sea that was Nazarick.
However, that doesn't mean the general populace of Mallus are completely weaker. Oh no, individually, they are in fact VERY dangerous, mostly in a very "non-Overlord" way. There is a reason why witch hunters and their equivalences are needed to investigate cults and heretics after all. For one seemingly ordinary man, with no martial prowess or magic ability or whatsoever, can just call upon the apocalypse on a regional scale should they put their genitals in the wrong place or simply eat too much and eat the wrong thing. And that is probably just some of the more common ones out there.
Overall, each world has its own strengths and weaknesses. There are many things belonging to NW that Mallus denizens would be more than welcome if granted upon them and vice versa. Imagine only Tyrion had Martial Art on his world from an early age, that probably would have made Malekith have second thoughts on facing him directly and alone (and Morathi thirsted on him even more).
Thanks for reading and the support.