A/N) Wanted to keep up the habit of posting. Losing the habit is how we get another unplanned 7-month hiatus. So... A little rushed. It's been a busy month. This chapter was written over the course of two days? Maybe three? Didn't keep count. As such, I've not looked through this chapter too thoroughly, with characters likely sounding a little OOC or expository here or there until I have the time to trim the fat. In other words; things might be subject to change.


Chapter 16 - We Lived

Nine in the evening was quite late, by Taggart's standard. ...Or maybe he was just starting to grow old. His salt-and-pepper beard and his wife's teasing comments certainly enforced that idea. ...That, and the fact that nobody other than him seemed to care about the time all that much.

'...Another three hours until I can return to the missus.'

The stench of alcohol was pungent, and the atmosphere more boisterous than it ever was during the day. At least, that was the case where he sat. In the hybrid between a bar and a reception. ...The front entrance of the Rhakyuu-Iéll adventurers' guild.

'Young people just have too much hot blood.' He complained, amusedly noting how that was something only the old would say. '—A good thing, no doubt. Without a little spring to their steps they might not last long.' A few youngsters were here of their own volition ...Others were drafted, being assigned adventurer's duty with a contribution-quota. Either way, they seemed eager to lose themselves in inexpensive drinks and friendly company.

...Not that Taggart judged them for that.

He used to be in their shoes, after all. Easier times, back then— to simply pick up a request and go off with a merry band to accomplish whatever task you set out to do. ...Obviously, things weren't just sunshine, murder and rainbows, though the atmosphere was undoubtedly lighter compared to how it has been as of late. There wasn't any war looming over everything like a dark cloud, smothering any instance of levity and joy.

Nevertheless, he remained steadfast in his task. It was his job as a guildmaster and he was damn well going to do as much as he needed to do. ...Even the mundane things, such as filling in paperwork or standing around the front desk, chatting with the ambitious young men and women who came and went.

Currently, however, he remained by the reception with tankard in hand. Taking into consideration the griping about his health, it wasn't every day he'd simply get to simply drink an ale. So... Really, the guildmaster just enjoyed his occasional guilty pleasure. —Seated comfortably by the front desk. ...A luxury afforded only to the guildmaster. Apparently.

As drab as things could be at times, Taggart allowed his weathered face to smile, with the constant droning of joyous conversation in the background. Not a whole lot of jobs were being accepted or turned in round around this time, for the locale had entered into something of a lull period, where actual productivity was very low. Even still, for the odd few that came here late to turn in a request, the adventurer's guild only closed well past twelve. For most people, however, now was the time the adventurers' guild was a bar and nothing else.

Almost every table was taken. Loud conversations going on everywhere. Nightlife was a thing that was made easy with magical-lighting on every street and in every building. And so, people drank. People cheered. And people made up reasons to celebrate. ...It was a sad truth, but this really was the best place for many of these young men and women to be.

'So frivolous. ...Good. The day this play is as quiet as a grave, is a day after the Draconic Kingdom has fallen completely into ruin.'

When bringing the sizeable mug to his lips to take another sip, a barely stifled yawn reached his ears. —One that originated from the young receptionist not five steps away. A shy little lady that seemed to be easy enough to converse with. Taggart grinned, scratching his bearded chin as he shot her a teasing look.

"...Tuckered out already?" He asked, causing the lady to flush and nod, covering her mouth to choke another yawn. "Seemed like it. And here I thought I was the stick in the mud, wanting to head to bed by sundown."

"Sorry sir." She— Alyssa— apologised. "...Things have been..." The receptionist grimaced as she sorted out a stack of papers, almost immediately returning to filling them in. "...A bit of a headache, as of late."

"That really your responsibility?" He spoke, nodding towards the messy stack of papers the young woman held.

"Some of it." The lady bit out. "—I'm mostly filling in the things I can, and passing along what I can't to... Uh. You."

"...Me? Let's hear it then!" The guildmaster laughed, taking another sip of lukewarm ale while meeting receptionist's eyes with his own kind blue ones. "Anythin' in particular?"

"Er- no." She admitted. "Just the usual. Metallurgists and smiths wanting more payment for minting adventurer plates. A lack of raw material. That sort of thing." Alyssa sighed, running a hand through her long chestnut-brown hair— looking to be moments away from tearing it out. "The demand for Chai's Tears have gone up again."

'Ah. More alchemical ingredients to aid the war-effort. Flares and healing potions, most likely.'

Inevitably, that made Taggart's mostly sober mind drift towards one person— one team— in particular, when he heard about the potential profit to be turned through herbs. As a guildmaster, he was quite familiar with the higher-ranking teams in the guild, being on first-name basis with many of them. ...And a whole lot of weaker teams as well— something that he was very proud of. Really, the old man wanted to know everyone in the guild by name. But something like that was a fool's endeavour. An unrealistic thing to strive for.

"What a waste." He mumbled. "—I swear, if we have to put a gold-ranked team on herb-picking duty again—!" The guildmaster let out a tired sigh. "Ain't that just a hoot...?"

"I... Suppose it's a poor use of powerful individuals." Alyssa conceded with a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "...But it'll do a lot of good, right?" A fair bit of her fresh amusement hailed from knowing what adventuring team that the guildmaster was talking about— with her recalling how one particular rose-scented ranger insisted that his team-leader could "totally cover your shift" while the two of them ran off to grab a drink.

Contrasting her somewhat chipper mood, Taggart found his own serenity slowly drain away.

Things were currently mess, have been a mess for a while and will probably keep being a mess in the foreseeable future. —Just a whole bunch of grey cloud with not the slightest glimpse of a silver lining.

The fatigued guildmaster sighed, well and truly feeling the weight of his years in that moment. Gods, there were young men possibly dying in his stead just because healing spells could not chase off the burden of old age that weighed on him so. And perhaps more crushingly, he knew that what they were doing here mattered, even if it started to feel as though it didn't.

But looking at his surroundings now...?

With the rambunctious crowds of young men and women, wiling away seemingly without care?

Well.

It was something worth preserving until the very end.

An iron-ranked team— one whose members he knew by name— met his eyes, with expressions brightening. The team-leader waved, and a warrior turned around in his chair to shoot Taggart a courteous nod with a flagon still pushed against his lips. At this, the guildmaster merely raised a steel mug of his own in a silent toast before turning back to the reception.

He snorted.

Yeah.

Hot blooded youth. People he had surface-level attachments to, and people he'd die for in the very same breath.

So he simply sat there, drinking it in.

Ale and atmosphere alike.

Just... The smell of cheap food and cheaper spirits. Whiskey-soaked boards of wood that made up table and flooring emanating scents that stung at the back of the nose.

—And something sour. ...Like a slab of pork that had been left out under the midsummer sun.

Taggart's expression scrunched upon catching a whiff of the foul odour that permeated the air.

The light frown that Alyssa now wore indicated that he wasn't the only one that picked up on this. Energetic conversation grew a little more restrained, and a few coughs could be heard— more than just a couple adventurers standing up and looking around like meerkats to seek out the source of the smell. Such a thing... It spread much too quickly for it to be a completely natural occurrence, making the guildmaster wonder if this could be someone's poor attempt at a prank.

He wasn't left with a lot of time to ponder the possibilities.

...Not as the front entrance to the adventurer's guild swung open with a click and drawn-out creak.

What came first was mostly inoffensive.

The smell of rainwater and mud tracked in from gutters. —The distinct smell of someone who had been kicking around the less hygienic of Rhakyuu-Iéll's intercrossing avenues, streets and backstreets. ...An almost comfortingly familiar scent of wet leather and soil after a storm.

—Though, the overpowering stench of rotting flesh quickly took over everything else.

Taggart was forced to bite back a retch, and looking over, he could clearly see Alyssa— who had become about three shades paler— forcefully press a hand against her mouth as though fighting off the urge to vomit. ...Her eyes were wide in shock, but with the way she looked, the receptionist was focused on whatever came through that door rather than the smell itself.

It had been a mere three seconds since the door had swung open, and yet those three seconds stretched into eternity, with Taggart's free hand tightly grasping the wooden counter with whitened knuckles before he finally turned around.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting.

—A gold-ranked team certainly wasn't it.

"...What in gods' names...?" Those words slipped out from under Taggart's breath as he drank in the sight.

Cherry Stem. One that he knew well. One of the higher ranked ones so far removed from the demi-human war. The hall had once been filled with the sound of chatter, joyous conversation conducted without a care for volume. ...This stuffy silence pushed down on the room like a leaden blanket.

This was... A lot. A lot to take in. They looked... Terrible. No other way about it.

Run ragged.

Utterly wrung out.

Covered head to toe in mud, soot, ash and foul-smelling blood. Cloth and leather torn, armour buckled, weapons worn— an almost distant look on every face.

Nobody spoke up. Neither Cherry Stem nor adventurers lounging around in the guild.

With stench momentarily forgotten, Taggart let out a breath he didn't realise that he was holding, absent-mindedly setting aside his mug. A dozen questions sprung up, yet he managed to ask none of them. Not as a newcomer clad in dusky armour— one he wasn't the slightest bit familiar with— stepped forth, and in a single swift motion, threw a rope-bound load over his shoulder.

The baggage— a corpse, Taggart realised— hit the ground with a dull thump. ...A downright deafening sound in this atmosphere. ...Upon laying eyes on the presented luggage, every single muscle in his aged body tensed up like they did in his youth. The guildmaster's mouth pulled into a thin line, and his jaw was wired tightly shut at the sight. The source of the smell, an overlarge body, contorted and tied into a more compact size.

It was a terrible thing. ...Delivered in terrible shape, as well.

Gangrenous limbs, far too long— fetid skin, blackened with decay and dotted with gaping holes.

Warped forms like abstract shadows moulded into biological matter.

Distorted sharpened edges— protruding claws and bones.

The head of a deer, unblinking eyes set forward, adorned with a maw far too large— and filled with manifold teeth far too sharp.

...A demon.

Small, quiet murmurs broke out. Strained whispers that were kept quiet amongst the smaller groups that filled the locale— wide eyed stares flitting between the horrid body and the battered new arrivals, be it the more well-known Cherry Stem, or the two unknown factors. Taggart swallowed thickly. These were the moments when he well and truly felt out of his depth as a guildmaster, unable to formulate any question and too paralysed to make any proper decision— torn between rushing to offer medical assistance and merely inquiring as to what had happened.

"...You..." Taggart managed lamely, carefully considering his next words with a look of pure concern on his face, though he didn't have a chance to follow that up with any meaningful question.

Not as Bard stepped forward.

The ever-formal leader of Cherry Stem. Though Taggart received no greetings this time. The man looked... Worn, for the lack of a better word. His mostly pallid skin covered in a sheen of soot, mud and blood that had only partially been washed away by the light rain. His dark hair was greasy, likely having soaked up a mixture of foul substances during his trek through whatever hell they've been through. ...With robes ripped, frayed and stained from the ordeal.

...Meeting the man's eyes, the guildmaster couldn't quite tell if those dark bags under his eyes were residual grit or a recently acquired feature— nor could he tell if that distant gaze was mere exhaustion or something more.

The mage shifted, shakily gesturing towards the unmoving body of the desecrated demon, with several sets of eyes flitting between the spellcaster and unmoving devil. Bard looked at his companions, with some averting their eyes, others meeting his with steely determination and with the hitherto unfamiliar dark warrior offering a shrug. His mouth opened and closed, faint syllables tumbling out and fading before managing to be shaped into proper words.

At one point, Taggart was half convinced that the man would begin crying, though that moment passed as quickly as it appeared. Nobody spoke. Merely looking between the ragged adventuring team and dead demon while waiting with bated breath for the leader to speak up.

The guildmaster had come to expect a fair few things from Bard. ...Among them was a concise yet detailed summary after almost every mission detailing many of the occurrences and happenings, as well as the final outcome. Admittedly something that was delivered a bit too formally, sounding like something plucked straight from a flattering letter sent by a noble suitor. This time, however, there was no such thing.

The caster merely cleared his throat. Looked Taggart dead in the eyes... And spoke curtly.

"...We lived."


x=x=X=x=x


A semblance of normalcy.

...Or at the very least, the closest one would be able to get to it, as things currently were.

It was ten in the evening, with most peasantry likely having headed off to bed to ensure that they'd be able to get up five in the morning. But right here? In the adventurer's guild? Things were outright uproarious— buzzing like a hornet's nest with excitement and trepidation alike.

Though, Bard wasn't really sharing in the elation that others seemed to be revelling in. Adventurers had flocked to Cherry Stem in droves. Congratulating them. Sharing meaningless platitudes and formalities. ...As though what they've managed was a triumph on any level. Frankly, he didn't consider it as such.

And evidently, his team-members were handling things a little differently. Karatus faced the horde head-on, engaging in lively conversation with large swathes of curious adventurers while also trying to get drunk with an almost manic desperation. Milla seemed contented with getting absolutely shitfaced in a quiet corner of the room, while Yon merely dismissed the approaching adventurers with a kind smile and a few polite words.

Bard found himself. Right by the reception. ...Waiting for the guildmaster to finish up. He had urged his teammates to kick back and relax. —Though he still had an important thing to sort out. Though he was mostly left alone, most likely due to his grave expression, the same could not be said for the fresh-faced new copper plates. (This time, his foul mood wasn't just due to the Avatar, but also a realisation that he had during the long road back home.)

Momon had been surprisingly amicable, taking the heat off Shizuka by shaking hands and smoothly conversing with whoever deigned approach, remaining quite modest about his role in the quest, as he correctly assumed that nobody would believe a copper-ranked rookie had saved the skins of his more experienced seniors. (Not that it'd matter much after Cassian's side of the story spreads.)

"Miyagi, was it? —Silver-rank quite so soon? Very impressive. You're sure to go far within the business—"

"Shizu is my daughter. Adoptive. I suppose the hair would give it away any other day."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"...Ah. Jannian— Yes, I do remember you— N-no. The name's 'Momon', not 'Mee-maw' —"

Cassian snickered.

That had been a few minutes ago now. ...Guess they retreated, once Shizuka began looking uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, things just got more rambunctious when guildmaster Taggart practically dragged an appraiser out here in what amounted to the middle of the night. And that clearly hadn't panned out too well. The spellcaster's forehead creased as he looked to the corner of the room, where behind the receptionists desk (and behind a very frazzled-looking receptionist), the "master appraiser" sat in clear shock, staring forward and repeatedly muttering 'legendary demon' under his breath. Things have apparently been quite bad— maybe more so than Bard had initially anticipated.

The master appraiser had shown up irritable and tired, likely from having been dragged out of bed by the adventurer's guild effectively going haywire. —Though that annoyance was very quickly replaced by confusion, before the confusion morphed into shock and realisation after having used a few high-tier diagnostic spells on the awful-looking corpse. But that was precisely it, wasn't it? ...A master appraiser, specialising in the evaluation of magical items and the remains of fantastical creatures— with this one particularly focused on goetia and occultism. ...And yet, he hadn't recognized the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot.

These creatures... They don't just appear out of nowhere.

Because of their terrifying capacity for violence, demons and undead alike are extremely well-documented, with bestiaries going into extreme detail. The powerful ones are especially notable, with their innately destructive nature often netting them a great deal of attention. Soul Eaters, Death Knights, Demons of Song... Overeatings. And yet... The Abhorrent Avatar of Rot hadn't rang any bells. Neither Cassian nor the appraiser had recognised this monster. And from what he could remember from his days as a scholar leafing through records of legendary beasts, undead and demons, there hadn't been so much as a breath about any Abhorrent Avatars of Rot.

...Even still, Bard was convinced that the unholy thing that they've stumbled across in the woods was a creature far more dangerous than many featured in the bestiary.

Once again, his eyes found themselves moving towards a certain dark warrior, who has since retreated from the crowd with Shizuka, taking up a spot next to Milla and Yon. They wee allowed a brief respite courtesy of the guildmaster stepping in and dismissing the curious people who clustered around the tired members of his team like locusts.

'...Who are you, exactly?' Cassian just couldn't help but wonder, even if his experience screamed that such knowledge might fall under the category of things he'd be better off not knowing about. But even when his skin crawled when instinctually understanding that fact, his mind inevitably began ruminating— running through many possibilities, each more outlandish than the last.

Momon, who had an almost toddler-like lack of knowledge about the inner workings of the Draconic Kingdom (and sometimes the world at large). Momon, who immediately recognised the Avatar, despite the Bard's and the appraiser's failure to identify the demon as such— despite their supposed advantage in experience and scholarly pursuits. ...And Shizuka who so casually distributed "God's Blood" healing potions.


.

.

.


It had been during the trek back.

The slow trudge, with a tense and heavy atmosphere. With Milla giving Momon a wide berth— most likely due to him carrying the corpse of the Avatar, but Bard still had to wonder whether it was due to some other reason.

Rain had slowed to a mere drizzle, but the day remained dark and dreary.

Karatus led they way. This time without snide remarks or humorous comments. ...Something that Bard would have been thankful for, were it not for the fact that the party had been plunged into this uncomfortable silence— broken up only by the pitter patter of rain, and armour rhythmically clinking with every step.

Adrenaline had begun to fade. And the immensity of it all was slowly beginning to sink in, now that things had grown quiet enough to allow for it. Honestly, the caster couldn't fault anyone for feeling this... Deep-seated discomfort and light-headedness. ...Because he felt it too.

It was almost surreal, realising just how close they've all been to death, or a fate worse than it. He kept thinking about it. And also about the finer little details, such as the corpses that they fought off.

(A few small theories had begun forming. Something that further pulled down his mood.)

Momon and Shizuka lagged behind slightly. And Cassian couldn't tell if it was due to them intentionally keeping a bit of distance after that display, or if Cherry Stem was picking up the pace, anxiously wanting to get back to Rhakyuu-Iéll. Nevertheless, the mage slowed down his pace a little, eventually ending up side by side with Momon and Shizuka.

Neither party spoke up.

—Bard couldn't quite help the twinge of disappointment at how Cherry Stem and the two newcomers had grown apart a little again. It was hardly final, but he just had a feeling that things would be awkward for a while.

"Hello." The mage tried cautiously.

"Hey." Momon returned. Shizuka merely glanced towards him— keeping her face neutral as ever, though still seeming somewhat bothered by how they were making the dark warrior carry the corpse.

...

"...We need to talk."

Cassian could barely pick up on the slightest sigh that escaped the man. "Maybe." He agreed. "—If this is about our... Strength, then I can assure you that its something cultivated over the years. With plenty of experience to match." A somewhat redundant statement, as the caster couldn't quite think of any humans that were born so powerful. Then again, this wasn't what this was about.

"Not what I wanted to speak to you about."

"Alright. Do tell." The dark warrior hummed, and his little companion tilted her head, as if trying to determine what Bard was on about. Though the caster didn't immediately speak again. Instead, he merely presented an empty glass bottle that he had kept stowed away in a pouch. Momon seemed to recognise it. "...Potion bottle?"

"Indeed. Potion bottle."

Another pause.

"...I appreciate that you do your best not to litter, but..." The dark warrior shook his head and stuffed the ornate vial into a still functional hip-pouch— one of the few not completely ruined by the fire. "...Holding on to it just to hand it back was a bit excessive." He commented with a hint of mirth, more than the spellcaster had heard since the demon debacle started. Hearing that again did manage to relax Cassian, if only a little.

"It's... Not about that. It's the colour. —Of the potion, I mean."

"Is that a complaint?" Shizuka interjected, keeping her voice flat. Honestly, the little orange-haired girl was far more intimidating that she had any right to be, when she levelled Bard with a blank yet accusatory stare. Whereas Momon tilted his head inquisitively (an action that seemed almost cute, even with a fucking demon on his back).

'Damn it, Momon.'

"Er- no. It's not a complaint." Cassian stuttered as his face twisted into an expression that was slightly more pensive. "...I do hope that it wasn't too large of a drain on your resources." Maybe it was underhanded. Bard would simply tell Momon about the significance of red potions afterwards, first, he'd just see if the dark warrior had to say.

A brief silence followed, with Cassian being able to feel the vivid blue stare pierce him from somewhere behind the black visor of Momon's helmet.

"Those were the only ones we had. Found them in a ruin, and had them appraised." The dark warrior spoke evenly. "—But that's irrelevant. They saved lives in the end. Isn't that what matters?"

...But that first part was a lie. The caster was sure of it.

Shizuka gave it away, with how a singular green eye looked up at her parental figure with something resembling confusion. Momon had stolen a few glances at Bard, quietly gauging his reaction, and then tailored his reply accordingly. He had been non-specific as well. Merely "ruin", not going into detail about it being an ancient ruin or a dilapidated herbalist's hut. "Appraised", never clarifying just how potent they actually are.

Then... This was likely a private matter, just like everything else. And curious as he was, the ex-noble knew that it wasn't right to pry any further. But Cassian could still share a bit of information. Momon was out of the loop, not foolish.

"...I see. Then there's nothing to worry about." The caster sighed. Momon stared straight ahead, following the backs of Cherry Stem, but Bard could tell that he was still listening. "I'm sure that if that appraiser was worth their salt, they would have told you this already, but... Red potions. They're far more potent than the normal blue ones— being called 'God's Blood'. Some might even consider them an artefact of the gods."

Momon drew a shuddering breath. "Is that so?"

Bard merely nodded. "Well. I don't suppose it matters anymore. I'm sure nobody else caught a glimpse during the heat of battle... And I doubt you've got more to give, should the need arise."

"...Maybe not."

...

"Thank you." Momon said conversationally, making Bard freeze up slightly. —So he did know that Bard knew.

The mage let out a dismissive scoff. "...What for?" He questioned. "We should be thanking you two a whole lot more. ...The only way you could be more helpful was if you deigned to carry us all the way home. ...My sore legs aren't quite up to the challenge."

The dark warrior chuckled. "Would you be willing to share a spot with the Avatar?" He questioned rhetorically, jostling the hog-tied corpse of the demon with a shrug.

His chuckles grew into small peals of bright laughter at Cassian's offended expression.


.

.

.


Bard frowned slightly.

The foremost things he felt towards Momon and Shizuka were respect and gratitude. It was more Karatus' style to pry into things, not his. He valued secrets— his own especially— he'd not keep his true name of "Cassian" hidden while relying on the moniker of "Bard" if he was the transparent type, after all.

But in that sense, he was well and truly the inverse of Karatus.

Seeing Momon and Shizuka in action was sobering enough, and the ranger had probably come to terms with how the secrets that those two hold may be dangerous, or otherwise not in his best interest to pursue. ...Whereas Bard has realised that something truly fascinating has appeared. This wasn't just idle noble gossip, meaningless brain-melting chatter regarding raunchy affairs and saucy rumours about whatever big name those peacocks were so focused on this time.

This was big. Only Cassian's respect for the individual's privacy, and his respect for the father-daughter pair prevented him from digging further. Though that didn't prevent speculation. His current leading theory? Those two hail from an alternate world, just like those old stories from the time of the Six Great Gods. ...It'd certainly explain things, but the more he considered the idea of it, the sillier he felt. Wasn't it just a bit of a leap?

...It could just be that the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot migrated here from somewhere far away. Something that just coincidentally happened to be where Momon and Shizuka hailed from. (The blasted hellscape Momon described certainly felt like a place the Avatar would fit into.)

—And if the rot-demon truly was something otherworldly... Well. It wouldn't be the first time something like this had happened. A whole slew of new creatures were introduced during the advent of the Six Great Gods, another batch came along the Eight Greed Kings, and the last few entities that came through the veil came two centuries ago, with the whole catastrophe with the Demon Gods. ...So, if the Avatar has remained here for upwards of two years, was its early appearance the prelude to something bigger...?

No.

Unlikely.

These things don't just happen.

What were the odds of a god-level demon or some equivalent showing up in the next decade anyways?

'I... I'm just being paranoid, aren't I?' That was Bard's response to his stomach tying itself into knots over the idea. The Avatar was bad enough. He didn't even want to consider what "worse" would look like. E̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶"̶w̶o̶r̶s̶e̶"̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶a̶c̶e̶ ̶s̶e̶v̶e̶r̶a̶l̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶t̶w̶o̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶s̶. 'I have more important things to take care of.'

"Bard." Taggart spoke up— pulling the caster from his reverie. The old man, even well past his prime, had done well to sneak up on the absent-minded mage. "You still with us?" It was a joke, clearly, but the guildmaster didn't quite manage to keep the concern out of his voice. Bard merely offered a weak smile and nod. "Helluva thing, that... Demon of yours." The old man clicked his tongue. "—Dealing with such a beastie couldn't have been easy. ...Just ignore the few uppity naysayers, aye? Spewing their poppycock without having fought it themselves."

Cassian let out a deep exhale, leaning against the receptionist's desk. "Perish the thought. ...Haven't come across any such individuals."

The old man grunted, running a hand through his beard. "...Some folk are just reaaal eager to tear down others. ...Newbie-crushing wouldn't be a thing, otherwise." He mused.

"...I'm just peachy." The mage followed up dryly, aiming a fed-up look in the guildmaster's direction. Taggart raised his hands by his side in faux-surrender.

"Right. Glad to see that you've still got some spunk."

"A necessity in our line of work, is it not?"

Taggart chuckled, though his rough voice sounded more like raking gravel. "Well said. And... I'm sorry for not immediately getting aboard your line of thought, it's just very odd, the things you've said about the demon. ...And its defeat."

"I suppose it does sound a little unbelievable." The mage admitted.

"...Hate to ask, but are you sure ya didn't just exaggerate their contributions due to the heat of battle?"

"Karatus, Yon, Milla and I?" Cassian scoffed. "—Quite the feat, to pull wool over our eyes like that." The spellcaster's face pulled into a slight grimace as he recalled the messier parts of the struggle. "Besides. It was a very clear difference in terms of contribution. Don't let that freshly minted copper-plate fool you."

"Then I won't refuse, but..." The guildmaster once more adopted a more thoughtful expression. "...Are you certain that turning down a promotion is wise?"

"That's precisely it, is it not?" Bard managed, sounding increasingly tired with each spoken word. "We didn't do anything. ...It was all Momon and Shizuka. That's it. The greatest feat we can lay claim to was that we survived such an exchange— which I'd in all honesty consider admirable at this point."

...

"And I'd agree. Platinum-rank would suit all of you very well."

More silence, as Bard mulled over those words.

"I'll think about it." He eventually caved, and Taggart returned a contented nod. "...And what of sir Momon and miss Shizuka?"

And the bastard old man actually laughed at that. "My, my. And the amount of bellyaching you've done over Karatus being the 'mama-hen'. Here you are, fuzzing over this of all things."

Bard sighed. "You're dodging the question." And Taggart's mirth did seem to dissipate slightly with that.

"It's... A leap, I've gotta say. Can't just have 'em jump from copper to adamantine in one go."

"Figures." The mage spoke quietly. "...So?"

"Platinum." Taggart replied without missing a beat. "Best I can do. Even with the corpse of a legendary demon to their names, and even with a full gold-ranked team vouching for them, mithril is just a half-step too far. There'd be far too much dissent." Cassian nodded along, not really finding the energy to argue about it. Having known Momon and Shizuka for a day and a half, that was still enough for him to say that they'd likely hit mithril within the month and adamantine within the year— faster if they decide to head south.

"—Besides." The guildmaster spoke up again. "Climbing through the ranks this quickly... Why, it'll attract lots of attention. ...Particularly from the barefaced buffoons running this war into the ground."

"Yeah." The mage spoke under his breath, nodding along slightly.

"...But all this prattling on about promotions... It ain't what you're here for, is it?" Taggart prodded, and Bard did manage an earnest smile at the question.

"I'd like to ask a few favours."

Things got somewhat quiet before the guildmaster's snickering broke the silence.

"Already using the 'Vanquisher of the Demonic Scourge'-title to lord over this old man?" The guildmaster drawled sarcastically, drawing out an amused snort from the caster. "—Guess it can't be helped."

"Those people." Bard jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the group of adventurers that were flocking around and conversing loudly. "—They'll be sorting things out tomorrow?"

It was already late. But come morning, there had to be someone to clean up the mess that had been left behind. ...Be it checking on the burnt meadow, or keeping count of all the corpses. Everything to ensure that a detailed report can be filed. Time was limited, as was manpower. It was anybody's guess as to how much could be done, but at the very least, a damage report and body-count should be manageable.

"Aye." Was the agreement that came. "—And you are positive there are bodies to be reclaimed...? I thought necromancy twisted bodies beyond recognition."

"It... I hesitate to call it actual necromancy." Cassian spoke, eyes darkening at the memory. "Most of them are—" Another grimace. "—Were reminiscent of how they appeared in life. ...The demon employed something more akin to corpse-puppeteering rather than necromancy. They used to be somewhat recognizable—at least prior to being warped and burnt."

...

"...It'll be another mass grave, I reckon." Taggart spoke grimly, and Bard could do nothing but nod along. "So what's this about, really?"

The gold-ranked adventurer's face hardened slightly, as he leaned in close, speaking with a slightly more restrained tone. "Foul play."

"...Foul play...?" The guildmaster's features pulled into a scowl. "This ain't about to go the way I think it is, is it?" He asked with hushed voice.

The caster merely sighed. "I can smell a political cesspool from a mile away." He spoke curtly. "The Avat— the demon, if I had to guess, got its corpses primarily from caravans travelling along mostly unsupervised paths. If this is mere paranoia... Then it'd just be a few too many merchants trying to sneakily avoid a toll. ...Or it could be a major smuggling ring."

Taggart took a seat next to the caster, crossing his arms and staring down into the bottom of his emptied tankard— seemingly in deep thought.

"...There's... A chance. J-just a small chance, that there's more." Bard continued. "The insignia emblazoned on the uniform worn by a fair few of the corpses we fought... It's a particular branch loosely associated with the merchant's guild. They handle exports and imports from Baharuth, being there to rearm their standing army come the yearly war, and resell what doesn't get used."

Cassian looked around, seeming content with how nobody else was eavesdropping. "There should have been a request put up. Any request, detailing missing caravans, with an appropriate price-tag attached, unless someone further up deals with it by sending people. And yet... Nothing. Perfectly quiet. As though it was being kept under wraps, likely by some nobles possibly endorsing or engaging in the trade. —Obviously, it could just be a small-time baron attempting to illegally make a quick copper—"

"Try 'make a quick platinum', if that's the case."

"—But... The path here isn't the only unchecked one into the Draconic Kingdom."

...

The caster's words were slowly starting to sink in.

"—So, theoretically, if this has been going on for several years, with dozens of smuggling paths... ...Wouldn't there be an exorbitant quantity of unchecked weaponry in the nation not used for the war? Presumably under the control of noble cabals not operating under the watchful eye of the crown?"

Taggart's blood ran cold.

There was only a small possibility, of course.

Negligible, really.

With the nation already being torn to shreds by beastmen, the possibility seemed almost laughable and illogical.

One in a million.

But in the theoretical worst case...

"...A coup?" The guildmaster whispered. With most of the soldiers loyal to the crown fighting elsewhere, a hypothetical coup d'état would be made easier.

"Not necessarily." Cassian said just a bit too quickly, fingers rhythmically drumming against the hard wood of the desk in an attempt to alleviate some nervousness. "It... Doesn't have to be. Could just be a noble-endorsed smuggling operation, but... Can you keep hush hush about the clean up? —In case there's a cover-up..."

"I... Yes. Of course." Taggart swallowed thickly. Ultimately, adventurers weren't supposed to get involved in wars and politics. That was what their neutrality was all about. —But this wasn't the talk between an adventurer and a guildmaster. It was a conversation between two people who loved their nation— and who abhorred the constant back-and-forth power-struggle behind the scenes. It was an unspoken secret that Bard was an ex-noble with plenty of experience. That fact alone lent some credence to this train of thought, elevating the theory above paranoid rambles. "Looks like this one isn't going by the books." He muttered. "So this is it, then?"

Cassian nodded curtly. "...Yes. Just... Keep an eye out? Please? It may be well worth keeping tabs about whose fingers are in whose pies."

"This is... This is a lot." The older man bit out. "—And not a lot of people to turn to, in case that hunch of yours proves correct."

Not quite. If this truly was a problem... Cassian doubted that the crown would be oblivious to such unrest. ...They'd likely lack the evidence or means to act. The public was merely out of the loop— and due to him not really having a spot in the queen's court, the mage also belonged to the 'ignorant public' category. He wasn't about to fight a civil war. ...But maybe he could run damage control. Prepare for the worst, in the event that something does happen.

Bard pursed his lips. Staring idly at the jolly crowd of adventurers.

Between the external threat and internal strife, the Draconic Kingdom's dark days seemed to grow darker yet. As though the legendary demon was the least of their issues. (Not that it'd stop the Avatar from haunting his dreams for the coming years.)

This was it.

The best he could do was to hunker down and hope for the best.

—Not like he had anybody to turn to, anyways. Such privilege disappeared with his noble title. Maybe he had reliable allies in the form of Cherry Stem, and powerful acquaintances in the form of Momon and Shizuka, but... This was big.

And help was a kindness as mythical as the Avatar— something that just doesn't come out of nowhere.


x=x=X=x=x


'Huh.' Ainz grumbled internally after receiving a briefing from the Shadow Demon. '—I suppose there's merit in leaving it in Bard's shadow for now.' The summoned demons weren't brought along for the trip, but were instead left to prowl the adventurer's guild and its surrounding area— reporting in when finding out about anything interesting, at least until their master returned.

Ainz leaned further back in his chair— savouring the relative quiet in this little corner table, with Shizu right next to him.

Clearly, not everything was right in the Draconic Kingdom, even if one were to disregard the whole entire mess with the demi-human invasion. ...Though, how the hell were these people supposed to execute a coup while there was a war going on? Sure enough, with the ongoing war weakening the current leadership, a violent takeover could be possible. But that may leave the vulnerable kingdom at the mercy of ravenous beastmen.

The Draconic Kingdom alone didn't have the strength... But what of external factors?

(There was one nation in particular that the Supreme Being knows has a history of being a destabilizing factor.)

'I'll have to ask about that when I've got the chance.'

Ainz attempted to run a gauntleted hand through his hair, but was stopped by the helmet. Instead settling for merely fiddling with the visor.

...Fresh off the heels of fighting a mid-level demon, and now this. Ugh. It wasn't even his fight, and he still couldn't help but feel somewhat uneasy over the idea of even more war.

It was a mess. And not one that Nazarick was likely to involve themselves with.

—Disregarding the woes of this foreign nation, the Fallen Angel found that he had plenty on his plate already. He'd have to return to the Tomb soon enough. Return to the strange little routine he had adopted in the past week or so. ...It was almost comforting, in a strange way, to have something familiar to go back to. Like a steady cliff to lean on when new things eventually grew exhausting— despite having thoroughly enjoyed this brief excursion.

'There's... A lot to think about.' Momon's mood dampened a little when looking back over things.

The Avatar... It was prepared in a way that shouldn't really have been possible. Going way over a few limits imposed by the game. It wasn't really tied down in the way Ainz had been expecting, and his combat-performance had suffered slightly because of it. ...Additionally...

'—It wasn't really working off an HP-system, was it...? The Avatar still had health-values and stuff, but just stabbing it in the chest seemed more like an inconvenience than anything else.'

This... Made a small amount of sense.

If Ainz were to slice a level 3 peasant's pinky toe clean off with [Reality Slash], they wouldn't necessarily die. Sure, the spell's damage-output would far eclipse their measly health-bar, but in actuality, just losing a toe wasn't an immediately lethal injury. Sure, you could bleed to death or potentially die of shock, but the toe itself wasn't a vital component of the human body.

...So when Momon repeatedly stabbed the demon in the chest... It just refused to die. Because there was nothing in its chest that was vital— and none of the slashes ended up bisecting or otherwise destroying the body beyond recovery. Merely stabbing hadn't been enough, even when the sword punched through flesh and bone with casual ease. It wasn't until the body suffered grievous injury that the Avatar's health saw a significant drop— and not until the the skull was crushed that it finally perished*.

'...There was a pretty wide gap between the Avatar and I, but if this had been an enemy within the same level-range as me...? Something like this might cost me the fight.'

That... Stung a little bit to admit, but it was the truth. He'd have to experiment more, when back in the Tomb. No point in remaining wilfully ignorant.

And then finally... There was something else.

Shizu sat next to him.

Very close, yet silent. Stoic.

As though the little Pleiade was content with simply remaining there.

Looking back at things... It had been nice. Whenever thinking of the battle-maid, the Supreme Being couldn't help feeling quite fond of their short time together. ...As though interacting with Nazarick's denizens seemed a less daunting task, after having gotten closer to CZ.

Those little moments, however short, felt intimate. And frankly, the Fallen Angel liked the idea of having more of them with others from Nazarick. Those NPCs have been there for so long, and the idea of getting to know them like the real people that they've become... Well. It didn't seem as scary, after having had some time to adjust.

Then again, nothing goes off without a hitch.

...Looking at Shizu, Momon was able to pick up on a few tumultuous feelings brewing beneath, just as he had yesterday when they signed up, though with more clarity this time.

His time with Cherry Stem had served as an exercise.

In Nazarick, his role as uncontested overlord often dampened the social interactions that he had, making them quite one-note or just plain one-sided. But this? This had been the most he has had to casually interact with other people in years. Be it engaging in casual conversations, or planning their next move (without him feeling out of the loop). ...Slowly but surely, when attempting to read others and when trying to get a deeper feel for them, that slight 'sensitivity' had increased. Most likely another racial trait he hadn't known about.

That ability to read others had grown more potent— though its 'transparency' still left something to be desired.

'Positive' and 'negative' were easy enough to separate— looking at things in broad strokes. ...But the more detail Ainz tried to extrapolate, the more muddled things became. He had to liken it to to a blind person experiencing colour for the first time, and then attempting to discern red from blue without any guidance— or maroon from burgundy, when trying to go into more detail.

—And when they were swarmed by adventurers earlier... The overwhelming mixture of intertwining emotions from three dozen people had doused the Angel like a tub of ice-water. It was far too much. But after quickly figuring out how to tune it out, he could go right back to old instincts, politely greeting and talking to the people who approached— deriving some comfort in a process Suzuki Satoru had learned during his time as a salaryman.

Now, things were quiet again.

With the two of them sitting there in relative peace.

...Even if those less-than-positive emotions emanating from Shizu prickled him somewhere beneath the skin.

Another problem.

Assuming he was able to correctly identify an emotion using only this empathy, figuring out who or what it was directed towards still required too much fine control. So, if someone was disappointed... Were they disappointed in him or disappointed in themselves? Because there was a large difference between the two that he wasn't able to discern just yet.

Ainz sighed.

The most understanding he has ever had about other people, and it just further muddles communication.

Fantastic. Just... Fantastic.

So when Shizu seems 'questioning', 'doubtful' and 'disappointed'...

Is she disappointed in him, questioning his leadership while doubtful of his competence?

...Or— if the knowledge that he had accrued about her over the past few days was correct— was it the other way around?

Most likely, yeah.

Part of him felt somewhat relieved over that epiphany, though that relief was replaced by shame pretty quickly. So, all he needed to was to talk to her, right? That's... Not too bad. He has had to reassure lots of people in just these past weeks.

With a slight metallic clatter, the armoured warrior turned towards his companion. "Shiz—"

...She was holding a cat.

The very same tabby cat from yesterday. And not a wrung-dry ragdoll this time.

"Cat came back." The automaton stated simply, gently holding the fluffy animal while stroking its fur. ...It seemed to have stayed put in the adventurers' guild. Maybe enjoying being fed...?

"Ah. Well... That's good?" Momon stated lamely, receiving a few eager nods from his Pleiade companion. With the contentment rolling off Shizu in waves (and undercutting her more dreary emotions), who was he to refute? He didn't even have the heart to muster up a 'Stockholm Syndrome'-comment about how the damn thing willingly came back. No matter. All he had to do was get right into the crux of the issue, adopting his typical 'business' tone. "—Oh, and Shizu?"

"Mm?" —Just a hint of dread, likely from the "Supreme One" addressing her in a more formal way. With that, Ainz's voice almost immediately softened.

"You did fantastic, matching my pace and following commands." He followed up suavely, looking her straight in the eye. "...Good job."

These "praise-sessions" were becoming more commonplace. But Ainz would be lying if he said he disliked them. ...If the Nazarick-dwellers felt more at ease, maybe they wouldn't resort to offering their lives the second they slipped up once.

Her face remained neutral. But Ainz's smile twitched upon seeing how her grip on the cat tightened— with the poor thing trying desperately to wriggle out of the battle-maid's choke hold.

'...Never heard of "once bitten, twice shy"?' The Fallen Angel quipped internally. And as if the tabby had heard his mocking, the feline pried itself loose, fleeing the automaton for the second time. Though Shizu didn't even turn to look at it leave.

"...Thank you. Momon-san." Flat voice. Emotionless face. —And veritable torrent of unseen emotion just beneath the surface. Unfortunately, the complexity has increased somewhat, leaving the Supreme Being unable to effectively sort it out.

'Still seem a little troubled there, CZ.'


Shizu understood well that the Supreme Beings were never wrong. ...So she'd just have to convince herself that she had done no wrong in turn. —There were a lot of places where she had fallen short in her eyes. Her master seemed intent on keeping his divine might under wraps. If she had been the slightest bit more competent in finishing the fight, then this outcome wouldn't have been necessary, right?

There were times that the automaton merely acted with the intent to protect, though not considering what Momonga-sama's intention might be. Was the Supreme One not disappointed? Rightfully angry over her unneeded interference? ...The [Terrawatt Storm-Bullet] had been purely reactionary, with her spontaneously defending the lord during a brief moment of stressful duress.

Then... Was her choice the correct one?

In truth, she was just glad that her master didn't end up touching upon the discussion they held last night. —Referring to the Supreme One as 'father' was much too informal, though using such a connection as a cover worked fine. So while their relationship remained mostly unchanged, the idea of him deciding to retract his approval...? It... It was his choice. And Shizu had no say in it. As was right. Of course. What else?

Poke.

'Eh?'

Shizu's scanners and sensors went into overdrive, with her sole exposed pupil dilating and constricting— a wide-eyed green stare moving to fix itself on Momon. The dark warrior had at some point lifted his visor to expose the lower half of his face, which was now displaying a sly, lopsided smile.

It took a few moments to piece it together. Her master had unequipped a glove for the sole purpose of (gently) poking her forehead.

For a moment, Shizu's voicebox failed her.

The battle-maid wasn't quite able to hide her confusion, inquisitively tilting her head. Quietly, so subtle that Shizu nearly missed it, several anti-scrying and anti-eavesdropping were activated.

"...So focused." He commented, smile growing less teasing and more sincere. (...More comforting.) "I dare say you were overthinking things."

"Sorry, Momon-san."

Her sensors barely picked up on his fond exhale. "—Don't be. There's quite literally no reason for you to be. Whatever your perceived issues are... Do you believe yourself better than a Supreme Being?"

The Pleiade tensed, with her singular eye widening slightly.

That was... A rather severe accusation. One that would have drawn out panicked refusals and desperate pleas that it wasn't the case, were the question not delivered quite so airily.

"No." Shizu refuted with absolute certainty, capable of keeping her voice perfectly stable courtesy of her nature as a construct. "I do not believe myself to be anywhere near a Supreme Being. ...They are far beyond the Floor Guardians, let alone us Pleiades."

"Hm." A noncommittal hum. "—And who do you suppose I used to work with on a regular basis?"

...

"...The other venerable Supreme Beings." The automaton tried cautiously. (Sounding— and feeling— more uncertain than Ainz could recall.)

('Venerable?')

"Correct. Which would imply that I hold quite the high standard for my allies. Would it not?"

"...Yes, Momong— Momon-sama." She spoke.

The ball had begun rolling down the hill, gaining more momentum. Though limited to this small corner of the room, the Supreme One's presence flared, becoming outright impossible to ignore— lending each word an enthralling quality. Try as she might, Shizu found herself physically incapable of uttering any honorific less respectful than 'sama'— even as her tongue nearly tied itself into knots.

She had experienced it before. During the fight with the demon. ...Though the exalted Supreme One had been so far away that such a sensation was easily ignored. —And the gravity of the situation had been enough to pull her out of being outright entranced.

"So, if I— with my preestablished high standards, and history of working alongside Supreme Beings— am impressed by your contribution... Then you should be really proud of yourself. ...Right?" He reasoned.

...

"I... Yes."

It was a little overwhelming.

This... Was above and beyond anything she had experienced within the hallowed halls of Nazarick.

CZ was used to ambivalence.

A sort of... Numbing neutrality that never, ever changed.

It was natural.

She— alongside her sisters— were created to defend the 10th Floor. The absolute greatest honour. ...Of course, no invader has ever reached that far. As such, this had been her very first battle, where she was guided along by the skills instilled by her creator. Her first fight.

One fought outside the Tomb.

For the glory of Nazarick.

For the sake of the Leader of the 41 Supreme Beings.

...Alongside the Leader of the 41 Supreme Beings.

And to think... She did well? Enough to be commended so?

—For her to connect with the Supreme One himself, over the course of just two days...?

To have found a kindred spirit of sorts in her master?

(...With this level of closeness that she only had with her sisters. ...Supposedly. But no matter how much she searched the strangely muddled corners of her memory-bank, she found no recollection of having experienced such warmth from anyone.)

This...

It—

...S-she—

Too much.

Too much to take in.

Her duty in Nazarick was absolute. But this... This was above and beyond everything she could remember in her entire existence. It felt outright treasonous to say, but... The idea of returning seemed almost... Discomforting, in a way. Something in her chest clenched uncomfortably (painfully) at the idea of this adventure of theirs being a one-time deal. (...When her perfect master would return to his tasks, and her to her duties, never working together again. A return to status quo. To perfect silence.)

And... Clearly, she needed a mechanical check-up.

The breathing she did to keep up the appearance of a normal human had at some point grown uneven and shaky. —Warm pressure built behind her eyes, though her sensors detected nothing.

'Strange. If it's a bigger problem... Fix it. Can't inconvenience Momonga-sama.'

Shizu froze as a hand— warm and soft— brushed up against her head, playfully stroking her hair, with orange tufts messily sticking out afterwards. The automaton initially had a hard time looking in her master's direction, yet somehow managed it— finding a waggish grin awaiting her.

"Mm."

That sound escaped her against her will as the Supreme Being jokingly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear (after having so graciously messed up the previous neatness).

"Overthinking." He pointed out bluntly. ...And Shizu ensured not to apologize this time. "But what matters is... Feeling any better?" The Fallen Angel questioned gently, mouth curving into a something more reassuring than impish.

"Yes." She replied earnestly, voice not betraying a hint of that torrent of emotion she experienced just before. ...It seemed as though the Supreme One had a knack for pulling her back into reality, when things got a bit much.

Ainz seemed pleased by her answer if his widening smile was anything to go by. "...Well, I do hope these two days weren't too bad. —It's likely we'll be doing this again." He commented.

'Again'.

(Warmth built up somewhere within. The melancholic joy fading into simple elation, her head— against any logical reason— swimming slightly.)

...Yeah.

Shizu liked the sound of that.


Footsteps.

Approaching their little table in the corner of the room.

...The Fallen Angel's ears twitched, and he let all the eavesdropping countermeasures discreetly drop, slipping his gauntlet back on as he turned to look at the interloper. What met his eyes was the short but robust form of Yon making his way towards their table, three large mugs in tow.

"Evenin'." The dwarven warrior greeted, keeping a comfortable conversational volume that felt surprisingly loud in the mostly empty tavern-area of the guild. —With most people getting worked up over the demon, and subsequently participating in the scheduling for clean-up by the entrance-hall, things were left mostly empty elsewhere.

"Hello." Shizu returned flatly, with Momon following up with a hum of acknowledgement.

Yon just grinned through his thick, mud-stained beard, seeming not too bothered by the lack of a proper greeting from the dark warrior. "...Figured you'd be here. Not with sourpuss, though." The stalwart man shrugged, throwing a quick look over his shoulder towards one of the few occupied tables, where Milla drank in silence.

"...Will she be okay?" The copper-plated warrior leaned forward and asked with a bit of fret in his tone.

"Eventually." The dwarf grunted. "...Still got that determined look in her eyes. —Don't reckon she's actually crushed, just mopey." His gruff speech gave way to little bouts of laughter before he pressed on in a lighter tone. "Methinks you've lit a fire under her ass and in her heart! ...Showin' up and showin' off on the very first day! Doubt she can lay claim to being the strongest warrior in the guild anymore."

"So she'll try to compete with Momon-san." The battle-maid observed bluntly— managing to come off as both irked and smug, making the Fallen Angel exhale through his nose.

"Aye." Yon agreed with what Momon could only register as Schadenfreude, setting a trio of mugs atop the table before taking a seat of his own opposite of the dark warrior. With his visor still halfway up, Yon caught the slight frown on Momon's semi-obscured face. "Not to worry." The gold-ranked warrior assured. "...Pulled the 'we slew a demon'-card by the bar, and got the penny-pinching barkeep to cough up some apple juice. Tis' all on the house tonight."

The Fallen Angel's smile returned as if to match Yon's own, as he reached for a tankard of ale. "...Very well. Cheers." The taste was about as expected. It'd do well enough to simply get you drunk, though from Ainz's limited testing, that likely wasn't in the cards for him.

'—Man, it's bad.' Momon realised as he ended up biting back a cough. 'Enhanced senses. ...Tsk. I really lucked out that the Avatar's stench was considered a debilitating magic effect, or I would have fainted the second I caught a whiff.' The thought of fainting in the midst of battle due to sensory overload was equal parts funny and scary to think about— though with his overall control, it likely wasn't possible.

So too did Shizu sip on her own mug. ...Though not really enjoying the beverage, from what the Supreme Being could tell. ...Was it because it was swill compared to Nazarick's refreshments or because her automaton-nature didn't allow her to enjoy food?

Yon polished off his drink in one long sweep before setting the flagon aside and clearing his throat. "—Hit the spot nicely. Didn't think fighting horrors would leave ya so parched."

The Fallen Angel chuckled. "...You're right. Hadn't really considered it."

...

"So..." The dwarf began awkwardly. "—I was... Out like a light. ...Didn't get to see the tail-end of the struggle. Heard about it though."

"Momon killed the demon. Quick victory." Shizu added without inflection, drawing chuckles from Yon with her curtness. Once again, the stout warrior was reminded of how the little girl held Momon in such a high regard— and that all the talk about him being 'the strongest' ended up holding some weight.

"—And it likely would have fled, had you not held it in place." Ainz added matter-of-factly.

"But this... I've gotta apologise for—" The dwarf stroked his beard with one hand and gesticulating with the other one in a 'yadda yadda' motion. "—Clamming up, on the long road home. I had a lot to consider. ...In saving me, you've done me a great service, more than you know. ...I am in your debt."

More gratitude. ...Truthfully, the Fallen Angel was already expecting it, but it was still nice to hear.

"Make no mention of it." He sighed, setting aside his mug and straightening out slightly. "—Bard and I chose the mission. It wouldn't be wrong to say that the two of us were the whole reason we ended up in such a perilous situation. To ensure that no one perished... It was a duty at that point. A formality."

"One way to look at it." Yon noted. "—But the way I see it... There's always a risk. A risk that you take. Sign up fer, just to get paid. We... Drew the short straw. Yet there ya were, ready to drag us all out of the muck."

"Hm— you're welcome." The battle-maid interjected. "...Then please pay for the potions."

"...Shizu." Ainz scolded lightly as the dwarf cackled— somehow managing a few 'alright's between bouts of laughter. The Fallen Angel sighed. It was cute enough, and could be dismissed as a joke. Besides, it seemed as though the Pleiade had picked up on how miffed he was over using expendable items, and was acting in his stead. ...Not exactly something to get worked up over.

'Maxed out stacks look nice. ...Though that might just be the hoarder talking.'

"Love ta see it." Yon said— with the Supreme Being managing to pick up on a fascinating cocktail of emotions in voice. ...Longing. Love. Fondness. Nostalgia. ...This, coupled with previous words and interactions— particularly those involving Momon and Shizuka— painted a vague picture.

One wasn't really supposed to leap to conclusions or make wild assumptions, but... Ainz did manage to piece something together. A theory with limited evidence that he immediately ended up blurting out.

"...You're a father?"

Yon froze. Shizu looked between her master and their temporary companion.

"It ain't exactly a secret." The dwarven warrior sighed, scratching his forehead with a calloused hand. "—Don't recall having told you, though. How'd ya figure it out?"

"Nothing more than a gut feeling." The dark warrior dismissed with a slight shrug, once again finding himself reaching for the mug of ale. The gold-ranked adventurer raised an eyebrow, clearly figuring that there was more to it, but ultimately decided to drop it.

"...Got myself two little 'uns back at home. And by the forgemaster's beard, they like to eat." Though needing to feed kids wasn't really something Ainz could relate to, he nevertheless laughed along good-naturedly. "Haven't... Had much time to help out at home." With each spoken word, the man seemed to grow more glum. "Well. Oughta put food on the table. That'll have to do. —And thanks to you... I've got more chances."

The Supreme Being did offer a genuine smile at that. "Sounds nice. ...Maybe this mess will pay well— give you some free time."

"Hopefully."

Things grew quiet again as the trio sat basking in the relative silence, with nothing but the indiscernible buzz of several conversations coming from the entrance-hall. Soon enough, Shizu and him will be heading back to Nazarick under the guise of a journey (or something like that). ...Which meant now was an excellent time to probe a little.

"Yon?"

"Hm?" The dwarf grunted, leaned back far in his chair with arms crossed.

"...What do you know about the Slane Theocracy?" Momon's asked with remarkable bluntness.

...

Yon merely stared blankly at the dark warrior. "Momon."

"...Yes...?"

"Are you psychic or somethin'?"

...

"I wish." The Supreme Being grumbled in complete deadpan as the dwarf bewilderedly shook his head. "...Why?" Really, the gold-ranked adventurer could only sigh at that.

"What do I know about the Slane Theocracy?" Yon repeated, speaking the name of the nation with clear mockery and scorn. "—Religious nutters first, self-righteous human supremacist bastards second. — And supposedly filled to the brim with namby-pamby mages that are supposed to be strong."

"Quite the summary. ...But unrelated to my supposed psychic abilities."

"I'd pay in gold to throttle one of 'em priests." The dwarf mumbled under his breath before returning to whatever derailed topic they were pursuing. "...There's a war going on."

"So I've heard." Ainz followed up with a bitingly sarcastic tone— patience waning.

The dwarven warrior rolled his eyes. "Wiseass." He remarked. "—It's sapping healers. Priests. It's like an open wound gushin' blood. ...And with our allies being what they are... Faithful devotees of The Six Great Gods take up the temples, taking care of healing for the common folk."

"Ah."

'The tally is up one for the "Hostile Takeover"-theory.' The Fallen Angel reasoned, considering what the Shadow Demon had said about Bard's observations. Replacing the domestic religion would be one way to go about it.

"...'Ah' is right." Yon hissed. "Most of 'em don't take kindly to non-humans."

Oh. And the 'psychic'-comment.

"This is about family." Shizu ascertained.

The dwarf nodded grimly before quickly adding a bit of reassurance. "...Nobody died, even if was a damn close thing. ...Refused to lend their aid when my youngest fell ill." The slight frown on the Supreme Being's face pulled into an outright scowl at the idea of a child dying over such a petty reason**. "The one to actually help? An adventurer."

Their eyes met.

"—Not Bard," Yon answered Momon's unspoken question. "...But close. A previous team-member. Just... A single copper. ...Got paid a single copper, and did what those lousy priests refused to do." A joyless chuckle trickled from his chapped lips. "Probably would have done it free o' charge, were it not for regulation."

"They're not here anymore." The dark warrior remarked dumbly.

"No. ...It was a year into the war, then. With the critical deficit in healers... Well. She was among the unlucky to end up conscripted. The balanced four-man team was no more after that." Yon grimaced as he shed some light on the generally unbalanced team that was Cherry Stem. "...This might be sheer guesswork, but... I somehow doubt it was bad luck alone, with her knack for altruism. —Either way, I filled an empty spot, and haven't seen hide nor hair of 'em since."

The atmosphere turned somewhat grave after that.

"Bugger." The dwarf swore, idly scratching his head. "...Sorry to put a dampener on the mood, but..."

"No, no. I was the one who asked. It's to be expected."

Yon sighed, tracing the handles on his battleaxes as if it'd calm him down some. "...Did ya learn much?"

"Enough." Ainz replied with a clipped tone, leaning back in his creaky chair.

"What's the plan, then? Cherry Stem seems a bit wrung out, but... You've got spring in your step yet!" Yon spoke conversationally, redirecting the topic to something a little more pleasant— voice regaining its chipper quality. Momon offered a smile in turn, opening his mouth to answer, only to be cut short by a particular sensation running down his spine.

[My lord!] A voice came from the other end of a [Message]-link. It was an enthusiastic greeting, belonging to a certain demonic zealot in a garish orange suit.

[Demiurge.] Ainz replied, inner voice now recovering a hint of elegant formality. [...Is something the matter?]

"—Momon, you okay?"

"Just fine." The Supreme Being offered a shaky smile as his hand gripped his metal tankard a little firmer— taking great care not to buckle it.

[It's a grave failing on my part to have to disturb you like this. ...Were it not for the severity of the situation, I'd handle it myself, but...]

[It's fine.] The Fallen Angel dismissed the Arch-Devil's concerns, taking another sip from the contents of his tankard to soothe the nerves. (...Not that he could get drunk anymore.) [Just... Brief me, and we'll decide on what to do.]

[Ah, first off, Momonga-sama... Your plan was a resounding success!]

'What.'

And just like that, Ainz was already out of the loop and out of his depth. Really... Aside from coming clean and straight up admitting that he had no idea what Demiurge was on about, he had only one real alternative. It was an old yet reliable method that he had employed several times in the past to great success. That method, of course, was called Lying Through Your Fucking Teeth™.

[I see. —As expected, then.]

[Fufufu~. ...Truly remarkable, to indirectly deliver your plan in segments. —Such grand thing, to piece together bit by tantalizing bit...!]

'If I still had a human lifespan, your antics alone would have shaved off twenty years.'

(Shizu and Yon shared a look, with the dwarf merely looking confused. The automaton offered a very helpful shrug.)

[...Demiurge. You said 'first off'. Does that mean that there's another matter that requires my attention?]

[There is. —The... Incident has passed. It's little more than a report, now. Had it been time-sensitive, it would have been the first thing to grace your ears.]

Ainz took a large gulp of cheap ale, and allowing the taste of alcohol ground him— head tilted back slightly.

[...Go on.]

[Shalltear has encountered a World Item.]

Yon could only look on in horror as the strongest man he had ever met proceeded to instantly drown in his tankard.


The Dark Warrior - End


Bard's new catchphrase is just "Damn it, Momon." (And I can just hear Demiurge cackling in the far distance when he makes the 'what are the odds' observation about demon-gods.)

*In the "Notes" chapter I did say that I'd take liberties with combat, levels, skills etc. It's around this time when it starts slooowly creeping in. ...Just my own take on Overlord combat and the logic of its power-system, because I find exploring alternatives to be more fun. It'll grow a bit more prevalent in due time.

**Oh boy surely Nazarick will be real nice when conquering the world and totally won't make or break my moral code


A/N) Personal take on Shizu in this one. I love canon Shizu, but daaaaamn considering how much the servants enjoy helping the Supreme Beings, and how neglected they must have felt just standing around the Tomb as the Yggdrasil-game faded into obscurity has got to be a little soul-crushing. So, hey. After the sheer brutality of the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot, I think a bit of fluff ain't wrong.

Also, one of my favourite tropes is using powers as a metaphor for character development. Using a relevant example... Koichi, from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure - Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable. He possesses a unique a Stand that evolves over the course of the show, gaining new powers and a new look in the form of "Acts", with his ability changing in tandem with him— thus serving as a super-obvious measuring stick for Koichi's progress as a person.

This is admittedly just a whim. One that I can afford precisely because this is fanfiction, and because I'm not super worked up over rock-solid consistency. —In short, I wanted this "empathy"/emotion-reading thing to be a hyper-literal metaphor for Ainz's confidence, developing as he grows more assured and when he learns to get along with Nazarick's denizens— peaking when he can casually navigate a conversation with just about anyone regarding any topic.

Aka Jircniv gets even more paranoid 'cause it feels like Ainz can read his every thought.