AN: Thank You for reading, Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I dont own Overlord, that all goes to Maruyama-sama


The first thought to cross ones mind would be that of deja-vu, or perhaps that the designer of this city was lazy, as the pathways and routes inside were nearly identacle to that of Arwinter. Except a native of the Capital city would get lost by the placement of buildings, which was quite strange in comparison to the rest of the Baharuth Empire. All things, from trade to metal working; buildings that displayed their wares seemingly placed on a whim rather than any marketing strategy.

Nevertheless, this layout was translated from Arwinter because of the underground sewer system, recently, cities of the empire were undergoing similar renovations due to the innovations within sanitary works.

This was the city of Straeland, known more for its vistas of the Azerlisia mountain range that is seen towering above the horizon than anything actually found within its walls. The populace had been simply enjoying the prosperity of the empire, they had heard of the Empires sumbission to the newly founded Sorcerer's Kingdom and although most were seemingly apathetic to the situation.

Followers of the Four Gods preached daily to the denizens of the empire that their doom was coming, but as no one had been killed or wrongfully convicted by their new suzerain, the people had no reason to stoke an unnecessary fire, they had common sense after all.

Inside a room that was moderately large, furnished for comfort rather than appearance, a burly man stood up from his chair and walked to his window, he placed his scarred hand on its frame as he shifted his body weight, finding a comfortable leaning position against the window, he could faintly see his beige shirt in its reflection. He watched the crowds of people with a small smile, his father had watched this village become a city, and now here he was, watching the city turn into a central pillar of the empire, such ideas tickled his romantic side, as he always fantasized of the days past, dreaming of a better tomorrow.

This man was the Guild Master of Straeland's Adventurer's Guild, Amic d'Vressa. Stemming from the nearby village of which he owes his family name to, Amic's father had risen from his lot as a farmer to the same position Amic currently occupies. Such circumstances were not uncommon within the Empire; unless one had a keen vision and knew how to play the systems within Baharuth, it wasn't as easy as "work hard and you'll make it". Amic knew this perspective of his country's self-perceived exceptionalism inherent within its structure was toxic, but the fact that the average citizen had the opportunity to rise in society was an acknowledgeable benefit in and of itself.

When the empire became a vassal of the Sorcerer's Kingdom, Amic's work had been slowly getting lighter and slightly altering in its specific detail. He thought this was probably due to the gradual nationalization of Baharuth's Adventurers guild rumored to be happening as a consequence of their new vassal status, but he failed to comprehend how that would entail a lessening work-load at his branch within Straeland. He brushed aside his internal inconsistencies as something caught his attention.

He noticed something strange, standing like a lost animal was... an animal. Or at least that's what it looked like to Amic at first, before he realized it was some kind of mole-like Demi-human. People continued about their day whilst gawking at the odd creature standing in the street outside of the Adventurer's Guild. The creature seemed to makeup its mind before walking in the direction of the guild's door.

Amic was intrigued but also confused by such an unprecedented occurrence. Why was there a Demi-human inside the city, don't the guards know? Why would it come to the Adventurers Guild? Amic hadn't heard of any adventuring demi-human, for such a tale would've surely reached his ears had it been sung by the local bards.

The Guild Master went back to his desk, while scratching his chin which was now home to a 5 o'clock shadow in thought while he filed away the tedious managerial paperwork he had become so accustomed to. Amic then exited his office, walking to the gathering hall of the guild.

Standing on the threshold of the guild's entrance was a demi-human of a mole's likeness, the afternoon sun shining on its back, imbuing the already golden fur with that of the suns luminescence. A notable air of dread cast a shadow over the brilliant entrance, but the shadow of despair was not one that encroached upon others, rather it seemed to consolidate within itself.

The scant few adventurers who were chatting amicably in the guild gawked at the strange being. It was a fact that emotions of different races were alien to each other, but there was something about the Demi-Human that even the most uncouth of adventurers could see, the look of death. Eyes that have seen great pain looked around the guild hall tiredly, seemingly unsure of where to even look.

Amic rubbed the back of his graying hair as he made his way to the demi-human, he cleared his throat and said,

"Excuse me, are you lost? This is the Adventurer's Guild if you haven't noticed. Could I show you to my office?"

Amic was certain that the Demi-Human before him was undoubtedly lost, he just had to figure out how it got here in the first place.

The Demi-Human seemed to think about something before replying, scratching the side of his mole-like head and then simply nodding instead of answering with words.

Upon reaching his office, away from the probably still gawking adventurers, Amic had learned that the Demi-human was named Pe Riyuro, of the quagoa race, one he had heard little of other than the fact that they frequented the same environment as Dwarves and fed minerals to their young, thus as a result, making racial tensions between them and Dwarves quite unstable due to the competition of prime resources.

Amic never thought badly of demi-humans as they were just like humans in the sense of doing what they can to survive, but even then, such ideals had to be put aside when the random ogre or some other creature was actively threatening a population. Letting his fellow countrymen die wasn't justified from any stance he took.

Plus there was always the matter of damages to both people and property, Baharuth's designated "non-societal" demi-humans, like goblins or ogres often needed to be dealt with pre-emptively to stop potential damage. Even if technically a surprise attack, who is to say who is on the right side of life and death? Such was the way of Amic's thinking, he might not have been the smartest, but his open mind helped secure his succession into his fathers seat of Guild Master.

Guild Master Amic pulled himself out of his reverie as he asked the quagoa,

"Are you staying in Straeland or do you have somewhere to be?"

To which the quagoa answered with surprising swiftness, though it was laced with confusion, more so evident by the gruffy inflection at the end of his sentence.

"Arwinter, I believe, I was ordered to meet with the lord of this human realm.?"

Amic had to use all of his mental capacity to keep his eyes from widening, he marked the term "ordered" in his mind. He needed to be careful if he was to possibly capitalize on the circumstances with the quagoa before him.

The Guild master started to quickly sieve through the file compartments of his desk, leaving Pe Riyuro unsure of what was about to happen.


Hammers pounded, and ore rang with its metallic percussion. The heat was sweltering as furnaces blazed materials into incandescence and allowed the hammers to do their work. A pair of tongs held firmly, within their grasp was a finished product still glowing. It was thrust into a barrel of water, the steam only adding to the almost unbearable temperature that the group had accustomed themselves to.

A group of dwarven blacksmiths continued their routine in slightly drunken harmony, their songs echoed through the heat vents of the now generalized Forgemaster's Workshop. Inside the mines which used to be a detrimental necessity which would slowly but surely contaminate ones lungs now were leased skeletons, working without food or sleep, no longer needing to resort to mining, Dwarves could chase their dreams.

The main roads of Feo Jura were many families cheering as they ate at the new food stalls, the beards of all were fuller than ever.

Quality of life had dramatically improved for the Dwarves since the Sorcerer King, Ainz Ooal Gown had graciously retaken Feo Berkana on their behalf and then instituted an extremely generous trade deal. Many Dwarves now sustained themselves almost entirely on goods received from the Sorcerer's Kingdom, while that wasn't necessarily bad as the quality of such goods were often unmatched; a certain dwarf considered the long-term consequences of such a dependency.

This Dwarf was the Commander-in-Chief, suited in fine armor crafted of Adamantite, he stroked his beard in contemplation. He knew that the Sorcerer King, Ainz Ooal Gown, had kept his word and that did help alleviate some concerns.

However the Dwarves were now almost de-facto a colony of the Sorcerous Kingdom as without the incoming trade, all of their newly renovated industries would fall apart. Which put a dent in his optimism as the Commander-In-Chief was unsure how to feel about, as on a whim, Ainz Ooal Gown could simply stop exports and they would have no recourse but to salvage what little of their old ways they had. Not to even mention the fact of the undead in the mines.

The Commander-in-Chief's thoughts came back to reality as he stood on the cusp of the Great Rift, his eyes scanned the area where the old bridge had been. Now in its place were steel beams, some cemented into the ground and some spanning the seemingly endless width of Great Rift. Thick wires were connected to the highest point of the steel pillars, with nothing yet to support, they hung limply against the length of the steel.

He felt an odd blend of hope and pessimism for the future, he looked away from the new bridge in construction and turned around to make his way back to the council room. Passing by the garrison whose gate was still being repaired from having the surrounding walls been caved-in upon when the Quagoa Invasion had reached its most dire, he reassured himself that they made the right choice.

Upon his entrance to the he noticed that the other members of the Regency Council seemed to have beat him here, he nodded at each before taking his seat.

The Master of Caves and Mines was the first to break the silence,

"Our leased undead are spectacular in the mines, we are breaking records with the amount of ore and heatstones we are able to excavate now."

That one sentence pretty much summed up all members of the Regency's thoughts on the matter of undead. The Director of Food Production nodded before adding,

" Even with the limited tests I've done with undead farming, they outmatch a regular farmer in terms of practical efficiency. No need for sustenance is a game changer."

The dwarves gathered at the table all grumbled in acknowledgement. The Merchant's Guildmaster tossed his beard with his hand making periodic eye contact with the Cabinet Secretary, who in turn was not-so-subtly tapping his hand on the table. The Commander-In-Chief knew from years of discussion that was a telltale sign that he had something big to say.

"We have received a.. Request to send a company of craftsmen to E-Rantel." The Merchant's Guildmaster almost coughed out the word 'request'.

Silence ensued, the Cabinet Secretary stopped his tapping, even if the workers in question were paid well, everyone knew this couldn't be seen as a 'request'.


Out of prying eyes, away from the role needed to be assumed by him, the Bloody Emperor cradled his head in his hands. He had a massive headache, one that decided to manifest from the overwhelming stress incited by the despicable Ainz Ooal Gown. Even a sliver of attempted comprehension of his plight was at the cost of his ever deteriorating stability.

Jircniv laughed at his folly. Why had he not thought to ask them to change their delivery destination? The Emperor of Baharuth had managed to assign fractions of the total undead to the neighboring cities like he wanted to do, but only at the cost of mass panic... maybe that wasn't so bad?

The now thinned blonde hair of Jircniv swayed as he shook his head. He gathered himself, taking a deep breath. Closing his eyes he tried to steady himself but he felt nauseous, his head pulsed in synchrony with his ever increasing heartbeat. He was gonna be sick.

The unwell emperor fumbled through the drawers of his desk, at one point almost tipping over entirely, but he managed to find what he needed.

Jircniv popped the cork and downed the potion in a seemingly practiced manner, after which he felt moderately better. He took a deep breath again and refocused himself on the task at hand, he needed to keep his mind away from the being who had caused him so much peril to begin with.

First, to find a way to calm down his population, as well as monitor how his newly "leased" undead do. On circling back to undead, he remembered how Nimble Arc Dale Anoc reacted upon the entrance of such a mighty force. Jircniv remembered tales of the Katze Plains as he recalled Nimble's personal anecdote, before he quickly diverted his mind away from the void that beckoned him or else he would've had to again drink another potion.

The Bloody Emperor was stumped, he didn't know what he could do to calm his people.

'Maybe some festival of sorts, showcasing that the undead can go unnoticed in the background.' It was almost just a passing thought, but it made perfect sense to Jircniv. He immediately latched onto the idea and started to plan.