Note: This story is a work of fiction. It has many content of adult nature. If you do not want to read such content, please close your browser window or press the convenient back button.
This story uses the same setting as my other story "Momon, Big Black Changeling". Essentially, Ainz Ooal Gown is the same type of creature as in that story, although this and that story happen in different worlds.
Having no servant nearby to command, Zanac had to wipe the sweat from his face himself using the fabric on his arm. There was a constant ringing sound in his ear. He felt chills course through him; despite the heat of the armor constraining his body and from the horse he was riding. He felt as if something was choking his throat with invisible fingers, and for a brief, paranoid moment he grabbed at the collar of his armor.
He raised his head and squinted his eyes, all while his vision slowly started to return. The light above him was still so unbelievably bright, though it curiously emitted no heat whatsoever. As such, he was able to witness his own army, his men, as chaos descended on their ranks. Shouts of fear and anger came, joining the cries of surprise and dismay that rippled through the army like waves on the sea. The noisome din was almost enough to drive him deaf.
Zanac swore, as his mount started to buckle and jostle beneath him. Even the animals could sense the hysteria spreading through the ranks, afflicting the minds of even the most well-trained steeds. After a beat, he gripped the reins and pulled, dragging his beast back to its senses. It would not do to be thrown so suddenly from his mount, before getting squashed beneath the hooves of his panicking army for his troubles. He grunted, and for a few seconds he sat there in the middle of the bedlam, his mind suddenly, inexplicably clear. It was only then that he realized that he had lost his initial panic, leaving it clear. He clung to that state of mind even as he looked around to take stock of the situation.
The men around his vicinity were still moving around in a panic. For a brief moment, he feared the very real possibility of a full-blown rout.
But in the distance, he could already see lines being formed, saw men moving into familiar wartime formations. They were faced towards the horizon, towards their unseen foe, with their backs to the forest. It was highly inefficient, as they were not all intended to be a mounted rider force in combat. But it still displayed their complete dedication to discipline no matter the circumstance. The War Council had decreed that only the best could be sent on this mission, and now it seemed they were indeed the best.
Soon, the other portions of the army began to form up, as if following the example of their fellows. They gathered into distinct, if uneven lines, facing directly towards their perceived enemy on the horizon. Before long, they had settled in, though there was a constant buzzing noise that filled the night air: the sound of a thousand different voices speaking. It didn't help the buzzing in his ear, but at least it was a reminder of their constant readiness.
Zanac felt impressed by their capabilities. He was sure that any other army, faced by such an ambush, would have routed immediately. The situation was still completely dire and grim, but at least it wasn't unsalvageable. Perhaps there was still a way out of it.
He drew himself up and squinted into the horizon. The light continued to bear down on their army, completely illuminating them in the night-time darkness. It was as if they had been thieves attempting to steal through the night, and someone had suddenly flashed the light of a torch in their path. They were exactly as the thieves now, frozen and surprised and confused. When no attack seemed forthcoming, the "thieves" now had the time to think. To plan.
He opened up a Message scroll, and said, "Report". He tried not to let them hear the faint quaver in his voice.
One by one, his adjutants presented the status of their respective cohorts. All of them reported that their men were fine, though with varying degrees of jitteriness and anxiety. Though they had joined into a formation, there was still widespread, palpable uneasiness, as they had been caught "red-handed" by forces of the Sorcerous Kingdom. The Kingdom led by that tyrannical undead that could kill with but a single finger-snap.
Zanac licked his lips. Slivers of cold came back creeping into his mind. There were whispers of doubt, and faint tendrils of fear. He could feel his whole body trembling, with himself trying oh so very hard to suppress it. He wanted to draw his sword, to feel the comforting presence of its harsh steel. Then he noticed that almost all of his cohort had already bared their steel, their edges gleaming in the artificial light. It seemed to him a bit hasty, considering they hadn't decided whether or not to attack yet. Yet again he was reminded that these men were filled with the same panic as him, and for them it was reasonable to assume that battle was their only recourse.
He spoke to the noble who was in charge of the magic caster group. He had reported that the casters had been terrified at this sudden development, but otherwise they were still holding position as directed. Zanac was doubtful they would hold for long, and that was why he said: "Ask them to use their spells to help identify our foes. What are we facing, exactly?"
"Yes my lord."
He waited as the adjutant saw to fulfilling his command. Far in the distance he could still glimpse the movement of many bodies, as of an army. Whatever that force was, there was no doubt as to its purpose. A large gaggle of merchants was a fantastical conclusion to make, but it remained firmly in the realm of fantasy. No, it was certain this was really a great force. And it was standing firmly in his way.
But how had they managed to sneak up on them unawares? Even in total darkness, surely some man would have spotted some strange movements to their left. One man would have been completely missed, but to miss what looked like an entire army was impossible. It was as if this force had literally appeared on that moment, as if they had been summoned from the very darkness surrounding them. If such was indeed the case, then it would be just as expected of the Sorcerer King.
He wiped his face again; a second layer had built up and he'd lay odds it wouldn't be the last. He waited in tense silence, his senses attuned to everything. Finally, the reply came from his adjutant.
"My lord, the magic casters were not able to do much."
Damnation! He thought. "Well, what do they know?" he asked, his voice tinged with annoyance and impatience.
"They were able to identify the presence of undead," came the reply. Zanac shuddered, the mental image of shambling skeletons in a cold, desolate graveyard was enough for him to summon the specter of the Sorcerer-King himself, grinning at his failure. He had not seen the Sorcerer-King himself, had only the descriptions made by men such as Raeven. "They were also able to deduce that they have a large force, my lord. Very large." He snorted. He could almost see that himself, in that the dark shapes occupied a very long line on the horizon. Unless that was just a single row of undead.
And since it did seem a large force, then there was no mistaking the purpose for which they were gathered here now. It was nothing less than their complete and total annihilation. There was a chance—an extremely low chance—that despite the numbers they were just simple skeletons, which was somewhat more manageable. He'd heard stories of adventurers breaking a whole crypt's worth of simple, low-ranking undead using just cold steel and nothing else. And yet, with their magic casters' complete incompetence, they were still as blind to their foes' true nature as before.
"I see. Thank you." Zanac grit his teeth. His mind began to race, like a horse thundering through a plain. Now, what was he going to do? They still had a mission to execute. And that mission was to head back into their territory and accomplish a successful pincer attack on the Holy Kingdom.
From the start they had operated under the conceit of acting as a rogue mercenary band, so that if they were caught for whatever reason, they had a reasonable alibi to make. They would preserve the Re-Estize Kingdom's honor as much as they could, and various contingency measures were taken to accomplish that.
The men had been briefed to act on such a matter, to proclaim that they were just mercenaries acting under a united command. The prince and other high nobles, who would be the prime sources of information, were to flee from the enemy as quickly as possible, and work to evade pursuit. They should not be captured and tortured to reveal that they were working officially under the Re-Estize Kingdom.
Still, despite the meticulous preparation for such bleak scenarios, their mission retained its primacy. The army had to make it back, close to intact, so that they could make the difference in the decisive battle. That was why Zanac hadn't ordered his adjutants to just flee with him over the border just yet. They would certainly save themselves, and perhaps save the Re-Estize Kingdom's integrity. But their defeat to Roble would become an absolute certainty.
Retreat, therefore, was their most important objective. But with the enemy force this close to their position—such a retreat, no matter how orderly, would not be enough to run from the enemy. At best, they would be able to leave some hosts to hold the line in a desperate last stand while the others made their escape. However, any reduction in their force, even a mere tenth of their total number, would render their mission a complete failure. Their numbers were already small enough, by necessity. With losses that might be accrued from this kind of retreat, they could not fully assault Roble's flank that would be worth a damn.
One mad option in his mind was to order the men to abandon their steeds and run mindlessly into the forest behind them. While it would certainly make for an amusing prospect, it was never one he was going to contemplate. That was more akin to a rout than a retreat, and that meant that these men would no longer be able to follow his commands in the proper fashion. He did not have the power to gather them back together—assuming they managed to escape the Sorcerer King—and force them to fight for him. They would curse him for a fool and leave him, perhaps they would even capture him themselves to offer to the Holy Kingdom as a prize.
No, that was never going to be an option.
They could attempt to make a slow, running retreat, baring their steel while slowly making their way backward into their territory. By this point, the Sorcerous Kingdom still would not know (at least he hoped) who exactly they were. Should they manage to make it all the way back to their own then the Sorcerous Kingdom would have no right to cross over into Re-Estize territory, at least not without risking the condemnation of other nations.
Still, it would be difficult to achieve in an orderly enough fashion, as they were still some distance away from their intended destination. Right now, if they were to retreat, it would be into the forest, where their formation would be definitely disrupted. Not only that, their progress would be slow, allowing the enemy to possibly reach them and reap a great toll. After all, they still did not know the enemy's true capabilities. Their magic casters had detected the undead, which would imply these were reanimated skeletons or corpses—hardly a mobile force in that case. But what if they were faster? He did not doubt the valor of his men, but it was never wise to underestimate the Sorcerer-King. He had already proven that to be rash for those going against him. In the end, in all likelihood they would lose a certain amount of their men in the retreat, which would again leave them crippled for any true flanking maneuver.
Another option that made its way to the forefront of the Prince's mind was to immediately split the army into their respective groups. They would execute another form of running retreat, while also dividing the enemy's attention. Hopefully, the confused enemy, or whoever was leading them, would be distracted enough, unable to choose which group to attack. It would then allow the rest to execute a retreat.
But he could already see the flaws, even before he'd concluded it in his mind. This plan would leave entire groups to the mercy of the enemy. If the enemy had sufficient strength and speed, they could crush each splintered part through sheer weight of numbers, yet again depriving their forces of important numbers. It was too risky a plan, and there was little upside to adopting it.
He glanced up at the bright light above, which was still not fading even after all this time. He couldn't tell what sort of magical artifice allowed such a thing; he hadn't even heard of any such type of magic. And he was certain that his mercenary magic casters would not know better than him. He was only able to assume that the enemy would continue to keep it there, for the purpose of illuminating them. If it had still been dark, Zanac would have risked the army continuing onward in a near-run, fleeing the oncoming army as fast as their steeds could make it.
So if the enemy wished to grant them this blessing of light, then they would use it to their advantage. They could never hope to fight, nor less win a battle in the middle of the night, in pitch-black darkness. They hadn't even brought their own sources of light with them, aside from the gems each leader possessed. They were as liable to hit their own people with their steel than the enemy. But with this light, they could afford to array themselves into a suitable formation, as of battle.
They would then attempt to engage in a fight, and hopefully they could manage to bruise the enemy. Enough to create an opening, an opening which they would exploit. There was still the constant risk that they would find their numbers dwindled enough to mark their mission a failure. And yet out of all their current options, it was one that seemed at least feasible. It was also the one last plan in Zanac's mind.
He unrolled another Message scroll, and contacted his commanders once again.
"Prepare for battle." He told them of his plan, in quick, hurried sentences. "That is all that I have at the moment. Have any of you got any suggestions? Please, do not hesitate to speak your mind."
None of his adjutants were able to offer anything substantial. Some were only able to echo his own thoughts and plans which he had discarded as unfeasible As such, he ordered his captains to begin mobilizing. The army started moving into position, as if they were preparing for a full-blown battle. Some pushed onward, ostensibly as a threatening spearhead that would charge into vulnerable positions. Others held back, wielding throwing spears and bows to support the oncoming charge. A group waited on the flanks, ready to crash into the enemy's sides. A reserve was kept in the back, to be used to reinforce and support the front as needed.
As Zanac was about to continue giving orders there came a harsh sound in his ear, as of a metal edge scratching against plate. It made his teeth hurt, an almost phantom pain blooming in his brain. He wondered if his ears had been damaged beyond repair. Then, the noise turned into a voice—a deep, booming voice that seemed to reach deep into his soul.
"Interlopers. You. Have. Trespassed. On. Exalted. Ground! We. Demand. To. Parlay. With. Your. Leader!"
"Aaaaah…!" Some of the men screamed. They were quickly hushed up by their superiors. But the palpable sense of unease that he could see in the men seemed to deepen. It sounded as if the Sorcerer-King himself had come to speak to their minds directly. Zanac's heart felt icy tendrils seep inside, choking his confidence slowly. If that was indeed the Sorcerer-King then they were all doomed. He had not heard the undead speak himself, so he didn't know for sure.
The others near him were now looking in his direction expectantly. He swallowed audibly. He felt as if something was holding him by the throat. Now that he had been called out, it would not do to refuse, or hide. Such cowardice would only break the men further, and would ensure that none of them would ever obey his commands ever again.
Quickly, he opened up yet another Message scroll, and commanded several of his most trusted adjutants to accompany him. Among the nobles that had been hand-picked for this mission, only they seemed like they would not immediately offer him up as a sacrifice for whoever it was that had spoken to them. At least, he hoped he had read their character right.
Prince Zanac rode forward from his line, and soon he was joined by his adjutants. Before long, they began to move to the very forefront of the formations. For the enemy who was watching, it would be clear—under the ever-present light—that these were the ones who would be talking to them.
"Very. Good," came the harsh, voice again. "Come. Forward. To. Parlay. At. Neutral. Ground."
Zanac could do aught but comply. When his adjutants had approached, he had seen it clearly in their illuminated faces. They were pale, their eyes frightened, their bodies trembling on their steeds even as they heeded the summons of their Prince. He was sure the very same expression was reflected on his own face.
Zanac had practically no experience with parlays, and his very first time doing so against an inhuman enemy was no less daunting a prospect. It was a delicate thing to consider, when his every word and action would be judged not just by the opposing side, who was free to interpret him however hey wished; nor by his own men, whose fates he held in his hand, but by the history that would come after. He knew this parlay would be no small thing, for upon his actions would he be judged by the scales of posterity. And so, a crushing pressure kept building up over his head, over his heart, over his soul.
"Let's go," he presently said, through a mouth that felt as if it had been sewn together. He led his mount forward, his heart beating fast and desperate in his breast. As they led their horses ever further, away from the small area of light that shone down on their side, yet another light seemed to bloom. A second sun joined the first, and this time it illuminated the other side of the field.
And from there he—and the rest of their army—saw what had been hidden in the dark. There stood a host of monsters that seemed to have crawled straight out of their nightmares.
There were rows of skeletal warriors, as expected, their grinning visages like mockeries of life. They bore weapons seemingly rusted by time. They were exactly as Zanac imagined them to be, from reports and tales that drifted up towards the Court from the Adventurers' Guild. They were ugly, frightening creatures, a reminder of the fate that awaited those bodies had not been properly insured against a necromancer's guile, or the capricious whiff of negative energy.
There were more skeletal figures in robes, floating in the air above them. When he saw the first one, he immediately assumed this was the Sorcerer-King himself. But there were many of them, and they looked rather ragged, like tattered banners waving on a desolate battlefield. These, then, must surely be liches—which did not make him feel relieved, not in the slightest. Liches were born of hundreds of years in isolation or from the ambition of fools who sought to conquer death. Either way they wielded power approaching that of Fluder Paradyne, which was a death sentence for their army.
Then there were other, more normal-looking warriors wearing an assortment of weapons. From afar, they looked like humans, but perhaps their true natures were something more sinister beneath their faceless helms, their burnished armor and their cruel-looking weapons. The light from above made their polished armor shine with otherworldly brilliance. Standing at their forefront was some tall warrior wearing silver armor. From afar that one looked like some paladin from the Holy Kingdom, and yet its identity as a servant of the Sorcerer King granted it an aura of deadliness, especially with it standing so close to the front. Was this some great lieutenant of theirs, some warrior whose only object was to be their destruction. He shuddered to think of the implications.
A moment later, what truly arrested his attention was the taller figure charging forward through the lines. No, it was not merely tall. At that distance, it was more like a giant. His eyes had immediately been drawn to it after they had managed to adjust to the sudden advent of bright light. It was some sort of blue-white colored creature, resembling a walking piece of armor. Its features were strange and alien, and for a moment Zanac almost thought it bore the mandibles of an ant. It rumbled forward, alone, unescorted—and it was here that Zanac realized that this was the one who had spoken to them. This was the enemy leader.
Despite the apparent doom that was arrayed against them, Zanac felt oddly confident. It was as if this bizarre situation of being called to a parlay had addled his mind, smothering the fear of his more rational mind and giving him a recklessness that was wholly undeserved.
As the two parties converged in the middle, conveniently where the furthest extent of the light from either side was able to reach, Zanac was able to get a closer glimpse of the enemy commander. It really did look like some strange species of insect, with a multitude of arms coiled at its side, each looking like sheathed blades. Its size was also all the clearer, cleanly dominating Zanac even when he was mounted. On foot it was very likely for the titan to crush him through sheer bulk alone.
"Now listen here," he said, muttering to his adjutants. The titan was only some distance away, so he had to make this quick. "Remember the plan, and don't you dare forget it, on pain of death. And it shall not be me who will execute it, but these things."
"… Yes, my lord," they said in a mumble.
They were to present their alibi that they were merely mercenaries in the employ of some group in the southern part of the Re-Estize Kingdom. Being mercenaries who lived from one job to the other, they had resolved to make a swift march through long miles to reach their destination. Though it would seem crass and disrespectful, they did not even deign to ask permission to cross into any nation's territory as they wished—they were mercenaries, after all. As long as they did not openly devolve into petty banditry, they could go as they pleased, such was the way of things—unless they encountered their employer's enemy.
"When you are asked, that is what you will say."
"Yes, my lord," they repeated.
We are mercenaries, Zanac thought. Just mercenaries. Mercenaries. That's all we are. If they were to be detained, he would not be able to send the all-clear Message back to the Capital on a predetermined time the next day, which meant that one of many contingencies would trigger. In the assumption that they had been captured, his father the King would direct their very last resource to ensure that old friends in the City-State Alliance would claim that a large group of mercenaries had indeed left several days prior, heading in their same direction. Hopefully, the Sorcerous Kingdom would then buy the excuse, and would then also hopefully just let them go—though he was sure there was to be some compensation involved.
Hopefully. Hopefully.
The two parties now stood together, under the flag of parlay—though of course there was no official flag. But there was still the expectation, as old as the concept of kingship and honor itself, that meetings under parlay where matters could be discussed with the guarantee that no blood would be shed. That two representatives of opposing forces could meet on equal terms. Still, it was clear just from appearance alone that one side was lopsidedly more powerful than the other. The large titan loomed above Zanac and his adjutants, its inhuman gaze staring pitilessly down towards them. It crossed one of its arms in front of its body. Zanac saw that just its fist alone was the size of his torso.
"Which. One. Of. You. Leads?" came its booming voice.
Zanac shuddered one more time, the harsh chill coursing through his body. The voice had been loud and demanding, and it echoed in his heart like nothing else. Still, his strange surge of recklessness was yet present, and with that he was able to take a few steps forward, presenting himself boldly to his foe without breaking down into a gibbering mess.
"I am the leader of our humble group, my good sir," he said, injecting confidence into his voice that he didn't even feel.
"I. See." He could feel the strange monster appraising him. "I. Wish. To. Know. Then. Why. Did. Your. Group. Come. Invade. My. Master's. Lands?"
Master? So this was indeed the Sorcerer-King's subordinate, or some sort of commander of his army. Zanac bowed. "My apologies if we have made offense. We are simply mercenaries who have been contracted to serve in lands to the far south of here. My lord, surely you can understand that for those in our profession nothing is more important than providing for our group's needs, such as our payment, for that which we do need to sustain ourselves. Thus, we needed to hasten down to our new employers, crossing many miles on our steeds. I assure you milord, our group do not harbor any ill for you or yours…"
"You. Have. Trespassed. On. His. Majesty's. Sacred. Ground!"
"And we do profess our most utmost apologies for the slight. Rest assured we did not know." Zanac paused, his mind racing as he tried to search for what seemed to be the best way to continue. "Truthfully, my lord, though we know that each nation holds its borders as inviolate, such a distinction has ever been relaxed for wanderers, especially those who wish to do business. And it just so happens… that our business is selling our swords, and so it has been a constant in this land that a mercenary group may come and go as they pleased—provided they do not suddenly raise their arms towards those who do not deserve it. If they did do so, then they deserve all the calumny and dishonor, and would such deserve to lose their charters as mercenaries." There. That seemed like a good enough explanation to make. Parts of it were not necessarily true, and Zanac had to make quick embellishments to ensure that they would remain guiltless—ignorant, perhaps, but the responsibility would not be wholly theirs.
No change of expression could be discerned from the great white titan, who seemed as a stern, forbidding statue. Then, it spoke, "Mercenary. Leader. You. Yourself. Acknowledge. The. Wrong. Of. Violating. The. Sanctity. Of. Bounds. And. Borders. So. Why. Insist. On. These. Other. Empty. Words? You. Are. Guilty. Enough. No. More. Needs. To. Be. Said."
Zanac swallowed. He was sure any human commander would have accepted it at face value, even with some small reservations. Yet now it was clear that the Sorcerous Kingdom operated on an entirely different level. "I… But—"
The creature suddenly turned, as if it had seen something to the side. For a moment, they all just stood there in disbelief as the titan just stood there, its side to him. If it were a mere human representative, Zanac knew he would have raised some inquiry or protest. But he kept silent, allowing the other its eccentricities for the sake of not having one of its formidable-looking fists punch through his chest and out his back.
After a time, it turned back to face them. It passed a hand over its head as if it was scratching it. "Hummm. Perhaps. He. Is. Right. You. Did. Not. Know. Nevertheless. Know. This. Interlopers." The creature spread its arms wide, as if to encompass the whole land. "Here. Are. The. Rules. In. This. Land. Should. Any. Foreigner. Cross. Into. Our. Border. They. Are. Required. To. Present. Themselves. At. The. Nearest. Settlement. For. Adjudication. And. Other. Affairs. The. Closest. In. This. Case. Is. E-Rantel."
The titan then pointed straight at Zanac, with one of its fingers outstretched. "In. This. Case. Then. We. Must. Ascertain. The. Truth. Of. Your. Claims. You. Will. Come. To. E-Rantel. The. Officials. There. Will. Affirm. Your. Story. Then. You. May. Continue. On. Your. Way."
Zanac was thoroughly taken aback. Whatever his expectations were of this parlay, being told to "report" to their former city as part of some sort of bureaucratic function certainly wasn't it. And as his mind worked furiously to process the information, the one most prominent thought that surfaced was the fact that he couldn't afford to accept. It would delay their mission by however many days it would take to come to E-Rantel and confer with the Sorcerous Kingdom's people there. By then their mission may well become a failure in truth. And even then, he could not guarantee the silence of his men—not all of them had been briefed on their contingency. If they were made to talk through whatever means, it would mean the start of something awkward, to say nothing of the diplomatic blow the Re-estize Kingdom would receive.
He considered coming clean, to prostrate himself and present the entire truth of their cause. Some mad part of his mind thought that it would be enough, that they would be merciful. Such audacious, unlikely acts would have been worthy of song when they wrote of his story… But such things were merely fantastical. This was cold, harsh reality, and the reality was that the half-truths in this situation were preferable. Anything else would lead to a confrontation between his Kingdom and Ainz Ooal Gown's, and they already knew what the conclusion would be.
As such, he said, a bit hastily, "My good sir, I must protest…" He thought for a moment. "We are mercenaries, I must remind you. Other than selling our swords, there is one other thing to which we stake our honor—our word. Our word must be as precious as the gold paid to us in exchange. If we breach it, we cannot hope to remain in good standing across the land as a group to be employed. And we have already promised our newest employer that we will reach them as soon as we are able. If we fail to do that, for whatever reason, we would lose our way. We could not feed ourselves, or the families we leave behind. Please, my lord, allow us leave. The border to Re-Estize is just close by. We can simply move there, and we need not trouble you or your lands forevermore."
There was a pause, as the creature seemed to be considering his words. "The. Master's. Word. Is. Law. You. Will. Comply. Or. We. Will. Treat. You. As. Hostile."
"Please, my good sir…!"
"I. Shall. Give. You. Time. To. Deliberate. But. Be. Warned. Once. This. Parlay. Is. Over. I. Expect. One. Thing. Only. You. Returning. Here. And. Your. Men. Following. You. Back. To. E-Rantel." The giant paused, and Zanac thought that was the end of it. Then it continued, to pronounce one final set of words, as if it was laying down solemn judgment.
"Otherwise. Prepare. For. Battle."
And with that, the titan turned and lumbered away, and it was as if he was carrying back the last of Zanac's hopes. Indeed, he felt dizzy and would almost certainly have fallen were it not for his adjutants.
"My prince..!"
"My lord…!"
"Damn…" he muttered. His mind was left in a literal daze, and he could no longer see, nor less think. "Damn…!" he kicked at the ground. He stood up, and turned back to his horse. "Let's go!"
After they returned to their side of the field, Zanac was quick to summon the commanders to his side. He did not want to dispense with using the Message scrolls; he wanted to talk to them face-to-face. As they all gathered there in a group, he told them of their meeting with the enemy commander, and the terms he presented.
"Needless to say, gentlemen, we are in quite a conundrum," Zanac said grimly, to pale and trembling faces. "Either choice seems to leave us in a worse state than before. There is no right choice. It is only the lesser of two extremes."
Their current conundrum made him want to scream. To tear out his hair, and give himself to the furor of madness. All his best-laid plans had hitherto been dashed to the ground; all his earnest attempts to make something of the throne and the own that was going to be his. In that moment, he hated the Sorcerer-King with every fiber of his being, even if the undead's presence had allowed his rise in the succession through Barbro's death. And yet that same undead would hinder the second son even now, as if he was reaching out through the distance of space to smother the royal line of Ramposa.
Well, he would not fail. He would not be the one who stumbled at the end of the journey. He would claim his birthright. He would seize the power he deserved. He would carve his name upon history.
"My prince," a noble said. "Perhaps we should use this opportunity to seek clemency. It's still not too late. The mission is a failure regardless, aye?"
"What treacherous words you speak!" Zanac exclaimed. "Do you lack valor, sir?"
The man opened his mouth, but could not utter a word in reply. He looked around at his fellow nobles, finding himself suddenly at the center of attention. No one wanted to be called out as craven by the Prince, to be named as such in front of the men. Despite their precarious situation, they were still duty-bound to carry out their orders in the name of the King. When the future was still a murky unknown, and one found oneself right in the middle of such nascent history as this moment, one could not be sure how to proceed. To defy the Prince's orders was to risk inviting shame and recrimination on him forevermore—assuming they triumphed this day.
"But my prince," he then said. "We cannot be sure we can overcome such odds!"
Having thrown the gauntlet back to the Prince, now everyone's attention returned to Zanac. The man pursed his thin, bloodless lips. He looked around at each of them. "Great nations are not cobbled together by the mewling of the weak. They are forged by strong people, with strong convictions, who acted against the impossible. And though we do now face the impossible my friends, it is not as if we are doomed to fail."
He gestured to the enemy, illuminated by the light opposite. "The Sorcerer-King himself is not here. And that shall be to our advantage. They cannot summon any horrors upon the battlefield, nor can they kill scores of men with but a snap. Perhaps in a brawl we would surely be mauled, badly." He shook his head, his thoughts a storm coursing through his mind. "But we shall not fight to defeat them. We fight to withdraw. We fight to run, and go to where our duty needs us most!"
Everyone's eyes widened. "Then… my prince…?" one of them asked, in a near whisper.
"We will fight," he repeated emphatically. "But our aim is ever to run. I want you all now to use this time to plan. Thankfully, the enemy has—perhaps in its hubris—decided to illuminate its own side. We will examine the enemy, and from there we can form up a battle plan that will ensure that we are able to perform our mission as the King expects." The question of the losses that would be incurred was now far from Zanac's mind. At this point, he no longer cared if he could even perform the mission at all. He just wanted to survive to live another day, and he would leave that day's problems to the Zanac who had managed to live to that point. But now he had to survive. Going meekly was out of the question; he would be exposed, and the consequences would be even direr.
"He's right," said another noble. "The prince is right. It would be cowardly to submit meekly to their demands. We would not deserve to be called warriors of the Re-Estize Kingdom, if we were to meekly allow ourselves to be judged by this foreign power. We are warriors true!"
"You speak wisely, my friend," Zanac said, with a grateful smile. At least he did not need to justify his true, inner thoughts to the others. He let them draw their own conclusions as they pleased.
"Aye, I would not wish to be called craven," said another noble. It seemed he had found his own courage. "More than that, to just throw down our weapons without argument would be the greatest shame I could ever experience." There was a chorus of agreement to that, along with oaths of fealty, of duty, of bravery.
"Good, yes," Zanac said, nodding. "Now, come, let us plan! We only have a small window of opportunity, let us not waste it, gentlemen."
For the longest time, it was as if the two opposing armies just stared blankly at each other. The tension continued to mount, despite the many different changes that happened on the Re-Estize Kingdom's side. The men started to move, shifting positions and changing their formations as their Prince and his men commanded, following what their scheme had envisioned.
The Prince's adjutants had determined their best strategy and were now disseminating it to their men. They emphasized the mission, while also stating that this group, while indeed fearsome looking, was not the Sorcerer-King's creation. And so, it was reasonable to assume that they would be able to put up a valiant fight, and still manage to accomplish their missions. Their goal this time was to fight and buy a chance for an opening through which they could escape in good order, after which they could ride as hard as their horses managed, leaving these unnatural horrors and monsters in the dust.
Far on the other side, Cocytus waited, his inner eye closed in meditation. Standing visibly in the midst of the army he had been gifted by his Lord and Master, he was as a sculpture chiseled from hard, unbreakable glass, a giant at rest. Yet even at repose, his outward senses studied everything around him—from the whispers of the night wind and the rustle of the grass to the movements of the opposing army. The human horsemen were moving around, shifting their positions like many pieces on a large board. Thanks to their illuminating craft, another gift from his Wise and Generous Master, it was easy to see what they were doing even in the depths of night.
His own side on the other hand was left to wait, as he willed it. He was satisfied with the arrangement of his army, even if he was less than pleased with its current composition. Back when he had been tasked to choose exactly who he would command, he had contented himself with a simple task force to defeat a marauding army. Behind the formidable shield wall of Nazarick Old Guard and the Warrior chaff that supported them were two Spirit Rider regiments, which could streak through the battlefield as fast as a hawk could fly, invulnerable to conventional steel, and with the ability to sever the very souls of mortal creatures. In case the enemy indeed took flight, he only needed to raise his hand, and they would pursue them over long, unnumbered leagues, slaughtering these intruders to the last man.
Lower-level liches rounded off the army, each commanded to hang back and counter enemy magic—he did not want that long-ago fiasco to repeat itself. Under his command no liches, whether from Nazarick or not, would ever be allowed to assume nominal command of any of his forces. He had added them as support and support they would remain. The only commander who could reasonably be trusted with control was his fellow Guardian Pandora's Actor, and that was only because he was Ainz's own, which meant that part of his Creator's glory and wisdom could definitely be ascribed to him as well.
Yet now when he regarded this interloper army, he thought his decision a mistake. He should have foreseen that they would all be completely mounted on steeds, which meant that his own foot-soldiers would nearly become a non-factor should they decide to flee. Though the Riders would unleash a devastating toll, enough could escape through the Re-Estize border, preventing him from annihilating them all. And the Master's order was absolute: the sovereignty of borders must be protected, even those of the human kingdoms.
That very command was why he had refused to grant these interlopers leave, even if their story sounded plausible. When he had consulted with Pandora's Actor during the parlay, the other Guardian was content to let them leave, as they did not seem threatening to Nazarick. While Pandora's Actor was on the other side of the field, disguised as a warrior clad in silver armor, they were still able to communicate through Message.
"But I shall follow your lead on this, Cocytus. You have the overall command, after all."
He had decided that the Master's words were the wisdom he would follow. And so he had given the interlopers his ultimatum: submit or be destroyed. He only hoped that his decision would be judged in a positive light by the master, if only to finally wash away the stains of his previous failures. Though in his honest opinion, such a small skirmish as this was still a long way from his redemption.
Moments passed. The humans continued to move. Were they attempting to make an escape, or were they going to attack? So far, their formation could point either way. He put himself in the role as commander of the human force. If they were looking to fight, then it would be standard to mass their forces together and charge forward, crashing into his army with the full force of several strong cavalry charges. While he knew that Nazarick's forces would not be defeated so easily, if they had their own valiant countermeasures then it was not a certainty. Still, attacking would also allow his Spirit Riders free rein—so to speak—to wreak carnage on the enemy. Victory would still be his in the end.
If he, as the enemy leader, were looking to escape, then he would also be in an advantageous position. Though tireless, his own undead forces could not catch the entire army in time, and the Riders would not be able to perform to their fullest potential. At best they could rout the enemy through fear, but perhaps these humans had some ways of mitigating that. "Always be prepared for the unexpected," was Ainz-sama's constant reminder for him.
Personally, he wanted the enemy to commit to the first possibility. He relished in the prospect of a good fight, and a battle against an enemy willing to brave themselves against him was always welcome. It did not matter that they were enemies of Nazarick or not, the true warrior in him would not be denied a dance of steel and blood, the cacophony of hundreds of weapons swinging in the air.
That was why he had ordered that their own side be illuminated. Pandora's Actor had told him it was recommended to extinguish their light after the parlay, as that would allow the enemy to gather information on them. It was a reasonable strategy, but it would mean he would attack the enemy under cover of darkness, which meant it would be a slaughter instead of a battle. Although he would carry out a massacre if his lord commanded, he had not been ordered in this case, and so he would use the authority given to him to insist on an honorable clash.
Now. Come. Humans, Cocytus thought, his mind still steeped in pre-battle meditation. Show. Me. Your. Steel!
The Re-Estize army began the fight with little scouting movements. Small bands of horsemen rode out, approaching Cocytus' steadfast lines. After reaching a certain distance, they would immediately turn, riding back for their origins. They went back and forth in this way, each alternating with another band who would ride out as soon as the other came back.
In this way, the Prince and his men were able to ascertain what their magical casters could not—some information on the enemy. It was not complete, so they were determined to work with what little they had available. They were able to confirm that there were rows of undead waiting to be unleashed. Some looked garbed differently from the rest, which did not mean anything to them. They also noted the appearance of the silver-armored warrior, who stood out from its fellows. They did not know it was an undead, but they did reason out that it might be some powerful lieutenant, with strange powers, as the Prince had already reasoned out himself.
The liches were given special attention. Unfortunately, they could do nothing about it. There was a definite possibility that they would end up inflicting some casualties, in the same, gruesome manner of their ultimate master. A group of archers possessed the capability of using fire-tipped arrows, which was their only defense. For now, those men were held in reserve, to be unleashed when the situation called for it.
The scouts were also tasked to observe the lone figure seated at the center, the titan who could be clearly seen even from their position on the far end of the line. They did not know what to make of him just sitting there, but it was a given that he was dangerous. The Sorcerer-King would surely not allow nothing less than the most powerful beings to lead his armies. At best, they would instruct their men to avoid that creature at all costs. There was nothing to do but pray to the heavens that their own lives would be saved from being killed by that thing.
Still, even after repeated scouting attempts, there were still some unknowns. Thanks to an unfortunate elevation in the terrain, the scouts were not able to see beyond two or three lines into the back of the enemy's formation. Learning it would've required the scouts to ride further, something which none of the men wanted to do. So now they did not know if the enemy had other forces that were arranged behind the ones presented to them, which would indicate their having greater numbers than expected.
With that said, the Prince and his subordinates gathered one last time. Zanac affirmed everyone's conviction to stand and fight. At the same time, they ironed out the last details of the plan they had hastily made up. Everything was to be executed to the best of their abilities, for they would only have one chance.
After their last meeting, the commanders dispersed to give their orders to their men. Horns were blown, and orders were shouted; as men began to march their horses. Slowly, the whole illuminated mass of the Re-Estize army began to move. It was here that Zanac finally drew his sword, and steeled himself against the worst. He had done his best; now to see what the future would bring.
Far off from his position, Cocytus saw all. He saw their movements. He read their intent. Suddenly he stood, and drew his weapons, one for each hand. "So. You. Choose. To. Fight," he rumbled. "Very. Good." If Ainz had been there listening, he would have noted that Cocytus sounded pleased by the prospect. As he rose to full and began issuing commands, certain elements of the human army began to move forward.
Battle was soon to be joined.
The first move went to the Re-Estize Kingdom. At the Prince's command, the army started to act. Several bands of horsemen sallied forward, intent on charging into the fray with their swords and spears. At the same time, the rest of the army began to move—but not towards their expected enemy. They moved as if continuing their previous course, in a long unbroken line.
Cocytus saw it all in an instant. They would sacrifice a few men to delay him as they fled. He ordered his front line forward, lead by Pandora's Actor in a running march—to crush this diversion and give pursuit. In the meantime, the grim, menacing Riders began to sweep behind his left wing, slipping into darkness beyond the light from above, ordered to stamp on the head of the fleeing snake. Cocytus himself ordered the palanquin he rode to move, and it did, carrying him forward into the fray through the use of his Master's powerful artifice.
When Zanac's men saw the initial charge of the enemy, they blew their horns. It was a predetermined signal to start the next phase of their plan. The charging horsemen, who were supposedly riding towards their doom, seemingly exploded in a cloud of black smoke. The thick, choking cloud thoroughly obscured the field, shrouding all in a darkness so complete that no light could be seen by any mortal eyes.
It had been their strategy—ordering their magic casters to ride with the "doomed" group before having them cast a smoke screen spell when the time came. At that, the riders immediately wheeled about to the right and fled just as their fellows had, pounding away from the confused enemy.
Unfortunately, Cocytus was not confused. His army continued to run, their unholy frames knowing no fatigue and moving with surprising swiftness. The long mass of raggedy Warriors, who were not burdened by the heavy, ornate armor of the Old Guarders, were already at a considerable distance from their fellows. And Pandora's Actor was at their head, handily beating them in speed as only a Guardian could. In just a few minutes they had already overtaken one of the horsemen groups, without their realizing it, as they now rode hard through obscuring darkness. But Pandora's Actor led them ever more forward still, towards the furthermost outrider, prepared to intercept.
In a few moments, Cocytus ordered more lights to bloom—a second one to illuminate the enemy's side, and a second one to illuminate the battlefield between them. The spell instantly blew away the pathetic spells of darkness that the magic casters had used to shroud their retreat, like wind dispelling a puff of smoke. When it did, the first of the outriders screamed when they saw a literal band of skeletons standing in their path—with the silver armor of Pandora's Actor gleaming in the newly-made light.
Zanac and his men had fortunately not been blinded by the new light. Their eyes had adjusted, and the light had bloomed behind their heads. It was still a surprise, but he would still have urged them on. What stopped them was the sound of their men screaming from behind. The diversionary group had done their duties admirably. And yet when he turned his head, he saw that their smokescreen had somehow been dispelled. And then his heart sank when he saw the Sorcerous Kingdom's armies were almost on them. They had already completely blocked off the diversionary group's path.
When Pandora's Actor and the vanguard fell on the riders, the humans gave it their best. They used their horses to stomp and trample on fragile bones, while swinging their weapons wildly to bat away the undead's attacks. And yet Pandora's Actor was already among them, a tempest of steel, his sword cutting into the flesh of horse and man alike—slicing, slashing, stabbing, even pushing the riders into each other, to their ruin. In the time it took to peel and eat an orange, Pandora's Actor closed the iron jaws of his troops around the riders, snuffing them out to a man.
Behind them, the other group had been caught by the other side of the vanguard. Without a Guardian there, they were able to put up a more spirited fight. They fought to escape, growing bold and reckless from fear. They made to retreat right into the distant forest, the group wishing to run from the monstrosities as far as their steeds could make. Unfortunately, they would never make it.
A moment later, one of the liches materialized, and began to cast devastating curses on the riders. Their horses grew mad and unruly, their armor melting over their skin, their bones feeling as hot as iron in the forge. The mercenary magic caster in their group feebly cast some spells to ward off the lich, but to no avail. This group, too, buckled from the pressure of the iron cage shutting close over them, and they were eliminated to the last.
Zanac and his army had watched the massacre unfold. And yet they did not watch them die to the last. Before all the men had been killed, he had urged his adjutants sound the horns, to keep going. The diversionary group had given them this chance, and they would not waste it. By the looks of it, the undead had enough speed to match their steeds, and they needed all the advantage of their head start as much as they were able. The men were keen to follow him, forgetting their comrades behind them and urging them to flee, all to avoid the very same fate.
It was at that point that their own vanguard met with a mysterious force that crashed into the army with the strength of a storm. As they had already passed beyond the reach of even the newly-made lights, they could not see what was in front of them. Only that it was quickly killing men left and right, blunting their advance and forcing them to stop—to the detriment of people riding behind. Soon, horns started to blow as a nobleman wisely called a stop after sensing the chaos in front of him.
Cocytus then ordered even more lights to shine, allowing them to see what was happening. Right in front, they saw the vanguard's corpses littering the ground, as ghostly, terrifying apparitions of horsemen massed forward in a charge, their mouths opening wide to utter an inhuman scream. Fortunately, the adjutant had more sense to temper his terror, and called for the horn to signal the Prince that something was amiss-and that they had to stop, or die.
Zanac was already on his Message scroll, demanding to know what was going on. Behind him, the massacre of the two outrider groups had been completed, and now they could see the leader himself, marching before his undead minions with cold purpose.
Cocytus had dismounted his palanquin and had begun to run on his own legs, leaving patches of ice on the ice behind him as he led the charge into the enemy's rear. He ordered the rest of his army, including Pandora's Actor, to ride further, to completely pen the bulk of the Re-Estize army before they could change course to escape.
"The Prince!" men shouted, almost in his ear.
"Protect the Prince!"
"My lord," said some captain whose name he did not know. "You have to move to the side, my lord. You shouldn't be caught here." Nodding, he urged his mount as they asked, moving through the ranks of men to be protected from the oncoming charge. Men he did not know were willing to die to let him leave. He almost laughed to himself, as the perilous situation slowly sunk in.
That self-same lieutenant, who sought bravery from selflessness, led the counter-charge of the rear-guard right into the advancing force, smashing against Cocytus and his part of the army with the full force of a cavalry charge. The man was fearless, and led his horse further than even his subordinates. With sword raised he charged straight at Cocytus, who saw him coming. He silently commended his bravery, before slicing him in two. So ended his charge, and his was the only blood his sword yet tasted. The others fell, crumpled by the great, unholy strength of the Old Guarders, who were more than a match for normal human soldiers. They had the cunning to spread apart and allow the majority of the charge to sift harmlessly through their ranks like water through a sponge, before closing ranks like a trap, sealing them in.
As Cocytus' group was mopping up, the rest of Nazarick's army had completed his orders, pinning Zanac's army in place and preventing them from escaping. And all the while, the Spirit Riders were carving through their ranks in front, sowing fear and devastating the ranks to a near rout.
Seeing it all, and seeing their now hopeless situation, he called up his adjutants for what seemed to be the last time. A grim mood was on him. "Run," he told them. "Go for the trees. If you can find a way to tell my father, tell him his men fought bravely. Tell him… I am sorry."
It did not take long from the announcement of his order before it was disseminated, and the remaining men in the army, whose spirits had been crushed so decisively by the Sorcerer-King's unnatural soldiers, scrambled to fulfill their orders. They rammed their horses into the woods, crashing through the darkness like frenzied wild boars. Some even went so far as to abandon their horses in their panic, fleeing with only their armor on their bodies, hoping that they could at least hide in some shadowed part of the forest.
Then Zanac next addressed the men who were right there next to him. "Go!" he shouted. "Run for the trees! That's an order! Save yourselves!" He held up Razor's Edge, the blade that was once Gazef Stronoff's. One of his Kingdom's most prized relics, granted to him to ensure his safety. Now he would bare it in one final battle.
Back in those days, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, he had been greatly honored by the gift his father had given him. Razor's Edge had been an heirloom of the Ramposa line, used either by their more martial-minded kings or their most loyal retainers. It had strange enchantments on it. Many were the whispers that it could cut anything in the world, even the scales of the greatest Dragon Lords. He had wondered if such a gift meant he had been blessed by the gods.
Now he knew it was not the case.
He urged his mount forward, and trotted it forward towards the enemy. His goal was the large, looming titan. All his fears were gone now. His conviction drew him to this last, fateful act.
And yet, despite his words, some of the men behind him followed. "My Prince!" they shouted, forming up behind him. "For the King!" others said.
"Fools!" he shouted, over his shoulder. "Run for your lives!"
And yet they kept on coming, riding behind him as he marched his horse forward. Unlike the rest, they did not seem keen on fleeing. They had watched him go, alone, his sword aloft, as if he alone could stem the tide that had turned against them. Bravery blossomed in their hearts then, and these few rallied to their Prince, determined to ride with him even to the afterlife.
Despite his outward anger, Zanac was flattered. That these men would instead follow him to their deaths rather than run as was their right—it made him sad that he would not be able to reward them as a King. And so, steeling himself once more, he kicked in his spurs and urged his mount along, all while he bellowed: "I challenge you, leader of the Sorcerer-King's army! I challenge you!" He did not know if he was heard, or if he would be even entertained. But he was determined to try, if only to give the rest of his army a head start.
And then, wonder of wonders, the approaching undead stopped in their tracks, all at once. Cocytus was the only one who marched onward, stomping on the ground like some giant. His blades bristled all around him like jagged ice.
He had heard the Prince's challenge. And though the battle should have rightly been theirs, he had gone to accept it.
They stood there then, facing each other, as in the parlay—which to the Prince seemed like so long ago. Zanac stayed on his horse, determined to use his mount as best he could.
"I. Salute. You," came Cocytus' voice. "You. Are. Worthy. Of. Your. Command."
All of those blades arrayed around him made Zanac sick to contemplate being eviscerated. But he raised Razor Edge in salute. "I am Prince Zanac Valeon Igna Lyle Vaiself. Crown Prince of the Re-Estize Kingdom! I challenge you, enemy commander!"
"And. I. Am. Cocytus. Floor. Guardian. Of. Sacred. Nazarick. And. Servant. Of. The. Wise. And. Powerful. Ainz. Ooal. Gown." He twirled his weapons. "I. Accept. Your. Challenge." He looked at the other humans who had followed their leader. "Come. At. Me. All. Of. You."
"What?" Zanac's eyes widened. "But this is—"
"I. Will. Allow. It."
Zanac smiled crookedly. It was certain that this Cocytus was confident enough in his own ability that he wasn't even going to be a dent in his armor. Still, if it could increase their own chances… "Alright then. You heard him, men. Let us fight him, for the glory of the Re-Estize Kingdom!"
There came a shout as loud as if the entire army had been with him. "For the King!" "For King Zanac!" came the men's shouts, as they all urged their mounts on to charge at the tall, looming monster. Onward to death, and to everlasting glory.
There came a knock at the door.
"Enter," said Calca.
"Please excuse me," murmured Kelart Custodio, who slipped through the door to enter her Queen's abode. Here, at the heart of Ainz Ooal Gown's citadel, nothing could touch them both—not even death.
Kelart approached her Queen, who was seated on a large, luxurious-looking divan, her small pregnant belly on display, and bowed in the proper courtly manner.
In response, Calca inclined her head, just so; and raised her hand in a gesture of acceptance. Kelart rose and sat at the chair opposite Calca.
Not even death, not even their resurrection, and not even their induction as mothers in Ainz Ooal Gown's growing circle would ever change their relationship towards each other. Though Calca had lost her title of Holy Queen, and Kelart her own title of High Priestess, they never let their prior relationship as master and servant lapse. Of course, this was all done in secret, and never under the eyes of Ainz Ooal Gown or the other mothers. They had not been born as fools, and as Ainz willed it, they would not die a second time as fools.
"Tell me," Calca said, with a slight smile. "Was the slaughter completed as promised?"
Kelart sighed, and shook her head. "When Nazarick is involved, you can be sure that there will be no mistakes." She hesitated. "I… didn't really look at the battle directly, my lady. But I'm sure it all happened as you predicted. It was a complete loss for the Re-Estize Kingdom."
Calca nodded regally, in the manner of one who has already seen all through the purview of Divine Revelation. Such a haughty, superior manner was not something to show to the other mothers, particularly those who would take offense to such impertinence. But here, when they were all alone, it was the expected thing to do. Even when she knew it was just a hollow illusion, a leftover of the pomp and ceremony from their previous lives.
A few hours ago, both Calca and Kelart had been in the so-called Mother's Hall in Nazarick, where all of Ainz Ooal Gown's mothers were expected to live a leisurely, worry-free life, with plentiful food, with servants pampering them every hour of the day. It was in this place that one could meet with the other mothers in an informal setting, though they were never expected to be best buddies. A minimum amount of civility was absolutely demanded of all mothers, particularly after news of Lupusregina Beta's fate had spread throughout Nazarick. No one wanted to be so publicly shamed and rebuked by their lord.
And of course, the Mother's hall saw the occasional orgy, which both Kelart and Calca had joined. In there, everything was bared, and nothing was hidden. All were united in service to their Master, the Wise and Powerful Ainz Ooal Gown, who could bring people back from death as He pleased.
Both Kelart and Calca had grown to adore this man who had entered their lives, not just for bringing them back from death, or his magnificent cock, but for the power he presented. Here was one who was by all rights a god, manifested in the mortal realm. He cleanly superseded all the gods that her Kingdom worshipped, and their previous piety was transferred cleanly to the man who had quite literally saved their lives.
Although the orgies had certainly opened her eyes to more pleasure than she had ever expected, they were not the one highlight of her new life. She more cherished the moments when she was alone with her lord, clinging to his thick, muscular body as they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking. They would spend hours just talking about things, with her mostly relating episodes and anecdotes of her old life to him as he listened patiently. If the mood took them, they would go for another round, and she would ride his powerful frame with the gusto of a woman ten years younger.
She also liked the moments when Ainz took her and Kelart both at the same time. While not as intimate as their personal evenings together, nor as raucous as the bacchanals, they were still moments she liked, as she was glad to share this wonderful man with someone she had trusted all her life. They would band together and do their very best to squeeze out pleasure from their new Master, double-teaming his cock using all the techniques they had learned. And in the end they would spoon together on the bed, their bodies tucked under either side of him, sharing in the power exemplified by his rumbling warmth.
Still, accepting their roles as "broodmares" for Ainz Ooal Gown did not mean that everything was all fine and peaceful. Calca was quick to recognize, even before she had received news of her pregnancy, that the petty divisions that used to divide people in her own life were reflected even here, in the deepest sanctuary of Nazarick. It seemed that conflict and conflict-seekers were ever a universal constant, and no god, manifested or not, could change that persistent fact.
Only years of reigning as the sovereign of an entire Kingdom had made her see the fault-lines that existed here. It was the same as her former court, where various individuals fought for their selfish need for dominance and control. She had been bred for the intrigue, had even become its creature.
And as this very same creature, she could easily see the many divisions that divided the mothers that had been attached to Ainz then, and who also joined after. She could also see them vie for the one power that seemed relevant to them—the ultimate prize of being Ainz's "number one". Having known ambitious men all her life, Calca herself doubted her new Master would ever name any of them formally; whether out of a boundless love for all of them, or from a reluctance to engage in petty things. And Calca could see that it was indeed a petty thing, for power still lay ultimately in Ainz Ooal Gown, and none of them had the means of undermining his rule.
Still, despite that understanding of her situation, Calca freely indulged in the various intrigues of Ainz's "court". It was, after all, one of the few things she had to stave off the evil of boredom.
There was no better example of this détente amid the mothers than what she saw in the Mother's Hall some time earlier.
She had been there first, together with Kelart, and they had taken up the "seats of honor"—in this case the seats that directly faced this great mirror of far-seeing that allowed them to watch and witness events from lands far away, as if they were seeing through the eyes of a hawk flying high in the sky. For the past week or so they had watched the events of the Re-Estize-Roble War unfold, watched men bleed and die by the hundreds, by the thousands; as they sipped their drinks and feasted as they wished. Were it not for the fact that it was her own people who were bleeding and dying down there she would have been more fascinated by the powerful artifice of magic. But alas, they were sad reminders of her failures to protect and safeguard her people from Jaldabaoth's devastation. It meant that despite Ainz's help, it yet lay open to the malicious eyes of ambitious, greedy men—though she could understand their reasons, as a fellow human.
She forced herself to watch the grueling, blood-soaked battles, no matter how bad it affected Kelart, nor of how each bleeding soldier or paladin made her cringe to herself as if her heart was being squeezed dry. This was her duty as their former monarch, to watch over her people: their struggles, their triumphs, until her second, true death.
And so she had sat on that cushion, feasting lightly on salted "crackers" and lukewarm tea, with Kelart to her side, also enjoying her meal in silence. The Mirror of Remote Viewing had been active, allowing them to watch what appeared to be a view over a marching force of riders in the night. The riders were entirely unaware they were being observed. Calca had idly questioned the wisdom of conducting such military operations at night. Kelart had been unable to offer much wisdom, as she was not experienced with military matters. Well, neither was Calca, but as Holy Queen she was required to gain some perspective.
Then the others had come, trickling in. They were drawn not so much by the food (for they had the right to order food to be delivered directly to their chambers if they wished) but by the chance to see Ainz there.
It was Lupusregina who came first, waddling into the room with soft, almost cat-like grace. She glanced over at the two of them and smiled, but she did not greet them formally. It was to be expected, but ironically it was a large improvement from her actions before Ainz's judgement. Before, she had always offered her unbridled contempt for them, couched in the wide, predatory smiles of some wild, capricious creature. Afterwards her constant smiles had remained, but it was tempered slightly, as if she had genuinely learned not to express contempt. In Calca's opinion her former attitude had been muzzled instead, thanks to Ainz's edicts.
She did feel some pity for the pregnant woman, as she had been publicly shamed by Ainz in front of the entire realm of Nazarick. That pleased Calca, in secret, for it proved that even when one was a mother, and even when one was not an Outsider to Nazarick, they could still be punished by its master when their actions warranted it. It gave her some relief, though she swore to herself that she would never be caught in such a foolish way.
The next mother who'd arrived was the mortal named Clementine, whom Calca had seen as some lowborn ruffian from the way she spoke. No noble of note in the human kingdoms talked the way she did, especially women who wished to rise through society. Hers was the speech of bandits and of thieves; of adventurers and workers, of commoners who placed one foot on the shadier parts of society. And her coarse manner reflected in her behavior as well. She acted so much like some tavern whore even when Ainz was not around, even dressed like one and totally exceeding the bounds of normal decency; ostensibly to attract him first when he came around. There was little chance it was a stratagem for some long-term plot—which definitely fit her low background. She just wanted to fuck or be fucked, and that lowered her estimation in Calca's eyes.
Lupusregina greeted the blonde with a bright, if genuine, "Hi!", to which Clementine grunted before taking some of the food. Lupusregina began a very one-sided conversation with the blonde, talking animatedly about some inane thing. It was entirely possible they were talking in code, but Calca could not tell.
Still, despite Lupusregina's apparent friendship with Clementine, the latter held herself aloof from the conflict that brewed in the middle among the mothers. Despite her low intellect, she did have some inkling of her place, and of the ambitions around her. But she seemed content to do her own thing, openly mocking all sides fearlessly, which seemed to distance her from the rest of them. She demonstrated her ability to influence Ainz when she was allowed to accompany him outside Nazarick, which meant she was aware of her sway over the Master. Yet despite that, she had never tried to ingratiate herself with the other mothers, and the others didn't seem to regard her any differently than the rest. And she knew that such a standoffish attitude would lead nowhere when one wished to make allies.
As such, to Calca, the blonde was an inconsequential player in the game—alienated on the outskirts where she was satisfied with her own lot. If she had more power she would have been some wild card, but she was barely better than an adventurer, which kept her threat low.
Sometime later, both Calca and Kelart had already finished their small meal. The mirror showed those same riders being confronted by an army. It was then that the third mother arrived: Shalltear Bloodfallen. Now here was a creature that she would not dare cross in any other circumstance. She had heard it from a reputable source that she was some sort of super-vampire, from some sub-species that allowed procreation, despite being undead. She wasn't really sure of the details, but the proof of her ability was clearly shown in her large, distended belly, which carried another of Ainz's children.
She didn't need to be told to be wary about Shalltear, as her human instincts had made her feel as if she was staring at some sort of predator masquerading in human form. Yet while Lupusregina was dangerous, Shalltear was deadly, as if it would only take her but a simple application of power to turn a playful slap into one that would shatter bone and pulverize flesh. She remained wary of her, even during the orgies, as she was just one command away from turning a teasing caress on her skin to eviscerating her completely.
Shalltear had flashed a disdainful smile towards them, though she curtsied gracefully with perfect poise. She would have fit very well in the Holy Kingdom's court as an exemplar of a high-bred lady. Yet aside from being a dangerous undead, she also was as a harlot unfettered by "normal" conventions of sex. Many an idea—a new position, some new kink—surfaced from her mind during orgies, most of them things that even the secretly perverted Kelart would never have even imagined.
Lupusregina had moved from Clementine with the speed of a bounding rat, bowing deeply to Shalltear. "Good day, my lady," she said. Shalltear had inclined her head with majestic manner, before taking her spot on a distant seat. She'd then perched on the chair expertly, with no need to shift or move after sitting. She then surveyed the room with haughty, crimson eyes, passing over her as they did as if she was not worth giving a second glance. Calca had refused to entertain the shudder that coursed through her body, and kept her face impassive.
Shalltear had made her dislike of Calca and the other "outsiders" clear from the start. She was opposed to their presence at Ainz's side. Outside of orgies, she never let a moment pass before deriding her or Keeno or Neia or Clementine, calling them unworthy to their face. Normally such an obnoxious player would be easy to manage, but Shalltear was herself powerful. More than that, she seemed to command her own small faction in Nazarick, something which Calca didn't have. Only Ainz's command prevented her from overwhelming the other mothers with her hate and the support of her "faction"—well, that and the presence of other factors.
One of those factors sauntered into the room just then. She had not missed the quick change in Shalltear's eyes, the widening, the narrowing, the flash of pure, undiluted hatred. Zesshi Zetsumei, a half-elf hailing from the same nation as Clementine, was also an outsider just like them. But unlike them, she seemed to be on the same level as Shalltear or Ainz himself, though in her own unique way. In the world outside she would have been treated as some sort of hero, and perhaps she was exactly that in the Theocracy. It was another reminder of that foolish nation's stubbornness of hoarding the blood of heroes, and never utilizing them to create an empire such as that of the Greed Kings long ago. A human empire that would have withstood any threat. Instead they preferred to remain aloof, using intrigue in the shadows to meddle in other nation's affairs—plots which she had known in her time as Queen.
Zesshi possessed something different among the outsider mothers in Nazarick. She held herself as Ainz's "chosen", and would not hesitate to dispute it with Shalltear and any others. And unlike Calca, she had the backbone (and perhaps the ability) to stand her ground against even the vampire, taunting her openly to the point of infuriation without even needing to fear.
Apparently, she was first among them too, for her pregnancy was the furthest along. It was said that she was about to give birth any day now. She would always boast about her status as "the first" the others, as if she was tweaking their noses insolently like some mischievous matron.
And she had a most unique world view aside from that. She welcomed all other mothers to share in Ainz's glory—and his bed—claiming that she alone could not occupy the space in her love's heart. Among them all she was the most adamant in integration, in uniting all the "factions" into one adoring mass, fervent in their worship of Ainz. Her belief was almost fanatical, to Calca's eyes, reminding her of those nobles in Roble who were also firm in their belief of her being descended from the gods.
And yet something about Zesshi made Calca hesitate to throw her lot in with her "faction" or her ideals. There was something missing here, which she did not know. It was as if Zesshi was plotting something behind her façade of an idealistic matron.
Zesshi had greeted them all in a lazy, if regal wave. It spoke to some degree of highborn training, though not enough to erase the naturally uncouth manners.
She had spoken to them first. "Greetings to you all. I trust you're all doing fine?" she asked, looking from her to Kelart.
"We are, thank you," Calca had said, with a practiced smile. "And we should extend our same concerns to you."
"My babies are ready to pop," Zesshi had said, patting the top of her belly fondly. "But it doesn't look like it's time. But I thank you for your words of concern. They are certainly appreciated."
"We are all hopeful for a safe birth."
Zesshi had nodded. "As are we all."
"If it is not a burden to ask," Calca said. "But would you happen to know where Tuare is?"
Zesshi quirked a brow. "I… suspect she is with Sebas, as usual. Why? Did you wish to speak with her?"
"Yes, we made a promise to converse. But so far, we have not managed to secure a meeting. I wonder if she forgot."
"In that case I should be happy to direct her your way if I manage to meet her."
"Your help is appreciated."
Zesshi smiled as she then turned her attention to Clementine, who was closest. "Good greetings to you too, Clementine. I see you're looking fine as well."
The blonde had grunted. "I'm in no mood, elf."
"Ah, that does take me back," Zesshi then said pleasantly. She'd sighed, dramatically. "There were a lot of times when I wasn't in any sort of mood."
Clementine snorted, pointedly ignoring the half-elf. Zesshi had taken that as her cue to move on, greeting Lupusregina next.
"Biiig~ Hello~ Zesshi-sama~ You're looking fat and healthy today~"
"And you're looking absolutely scrumptious yourself," Zesshi had gushed. It was strange to see something akin to genuine emotion on Lupusregina's expression, but perhaps Zesshi had some control over her. One could almost imagine the tail wagging behind Lupusregina as she talked with the elf.
After the two had exchanged their pleasantries, Zesshi then turned to the last of the mothers who were present in the Hall. "And a pleasant day to you, as well, Shalltear."
Shalltear then made a sound in her throat that made Calca's eyes widen. She hadn't heard such a monstrous sound before, particularly when it came to so refined a beauty as Shalltear. The vampire had grinned, showing off her sharp, pointed teeth, a sure sign of her hostility. "We greet you, impudent fool, but we do not wish anything pleasant for you. Do not anger us any more with your presumption."
Zesshi then bowed. "Why, I dare not dream of making you angry, Shalltear! It would never do to mar your beautiful face. I have heard that repeated frowns would permanently keep your face warped and twisted. I would not want Ainz-sama to be disappointed. I dare not imagine he would simply just… throw you away, poor thing. But have no fear! I shall certainly vouch for you and your hours of service to Ainz-sama, no matter how ugly you become!" She'd seemed entirely unperturbed by the other's threats. It was very telling that the same Shalltear who could form a duo, a trio, or even a quartet with other mothers—including Zesshi herself—during an orgy would wear a different face in public. To Calca, it had spoken to the one thing that united the mothers: their mutual desire to please Ainz.
Shalltear had said nothing in response, but this was in itself her refusal to engage in any more conversation. Calca then watched Zesshi shrug as she moved towards the food. On the Mirror of Remote Viewing, the battle between the two armies was intensifying—though it was clear that one side was losing badly. To Calca it had been an amusing reflection of what was happening on that moment. She would have laughed if she had been in private.
On that very moment, there were arrayed the various "factions" that comprised the mothers of Ainz Ooal Gown, as Calca perceived it. There were the outsiders, those who had ended up here and pledged themselves to Ainz for their own respective reasons. Aside from herself and Kelart, there was Keeno, a mysterious waif, and Neia, a squire from her own country. Though they had never pledged themselves formally to cooperate, instinct alone would push them towards each other, as a way to endure.
The minor Nazarick faction was represented by Lupusregina, and was composed of those "maids" like her who had been chosen by Ainz as mothers. They represented the chief opposition to them as the outsiders, as evidenced by the hostility shown to them by the likes of Narberal Gamma and Solution Epsilon. They were also firmly supportive of the other Nazarick groups, even to the detriment of their own, as if they were all too eager to suborn their wills to them.
One of the major Nazarick factions was exemplified by Shalltear Bloodfallen herself, who was said to command respect among the rest of Nazarick's inhabitants. It was something that could never be given to the outsiders, and was something that was used to keep them isolated.
There was some dubious fortune in that she was not the only major faction of Nazarick. The other great faction belonged to Albedo, who had not appeared at the Mother's Hall that moment. Albedo was yet another dangerous being, but where Shalltear wore her brutality nakedly on her sleeve, Albedo was keen on hiding it beneath a veneer of respectability. She could not get a read on the dangerous woman, as she hid her inner thoughts just as well as any born to a lifetime of court intrigue—in fact it was as if she had been born to do it. She would have been a dangerous element in any normal, human court—here she was tempered by Ainz's ironclad degree, though she expected the woman to subvert it eventually to her own scheming ends.
Though the two were united in opposing the outsiders' "influence", they were also opposed to each other directly. As she understood it there was some sort of long-standing rivalry between the two high-ranking members, which kept them from presenting a truly united front. Even an alliance seemed like it was the furthest thing from either of their minds.
Clementine did not belong to any one faction, so mentioning her was a waste. If she ever did lend her support, Calca did not feel it would be effective. Her skills seemed tuned for assassination—which was forbidden in Ainz's halls.
Therefore, the last faction in consideration was the last mother who had been present—Zesshi Zetsumei. As one who professed to have a large part of Ainz's heart, it meant she kept herself aloof from even the outsiders. Yet being an outsider meant she was not welcome in any of Nazarick's factions. Still, if there was anyone who would be annoyed at the notion of "factions" it would be Zesshi. She truly seemed to believe that all should be united in their devotion to Ainz, and looked down on such divisions. It felt immature, in a way; and to Calca it seemed her fearless nature was only bolstered by her power. If that was taken away, would she be as helpless as them?
It was thanks to these fault-lines that she could see so easily that she never felt comfortable living in Nazarick. In fact, she confessed she felt just like her fellow, the one named Neia, who was a jumpy sort; and seemed to think that the whole of Nazarick—except for Ainz—was out to get her. There was perhaps some truth in the girl's paranoia. Calca would always feel uneasy being lumped together with those of Nazarick, whose monstrous sides lay just beneath the surface.
Eventually, as the scene in the Mirror wound down, Calca had shaken her head, and stood.
"Calca?"
"Stay here," she ordered with a practiced yawn. "Keep watch on the battle, and tell me how it goes, hm?"
"I… Of course…" Kelart kept from actually curtsying at the command, which had been couched as a friendly request.
The battle, and her own thoughts, had soured her disposition, and so she had retreated to her chambers to be by herself. There was also the chance that Ainz would drop in, as he desired—that was an outcome she also desired in turn.
"Already leaving, Calca?" Zesshi'd called out. "But we're just getting to the good part! I think." She peered at the Mirror. "Can't really tell… it's all dark."
"I thank you, Zesshi," she then said, inclining her head. "But if you'll excuse me, I'd rather rest for a moment."
Zesshi had bobbed her head in understanding. "Of course, of course. I, too, was in your position. Take your time and make sure to rest."
"Thank you." She addressed the rest of the room. "Farewell, everyone." As she expected, no one else responded.
Now, some time later Kelart had returned, bringing news from the Mirror, which confirmed Calca's thoughts.
"As expected, they could never hope to defeat Nazarick," Calca remarked.
"It appears so, my lady," Kelart said. She had looked distracted, and to Calca, a little dispirited. She had not seen her retainer in such a way since the time directly after their resurrections. It had been a time of shock and uncertainty, when all they had known about the world had been flipped on its head.
"You seem troubled," Calca then said.
Kelart looked surprised, though she of all people would have long been aware of her Queen's perspicacity.
"It is… just a concern," Kelart replied delicately. She squeezed her fingers with her hands, a clear sign of her anxiety. She then rose and started pacing around the room.
"The Re-Estize Kingdom," Kelart said after a long moment of silence.
"Yes? What about them?" Calca asked.
"Well they… They were the ones who we saw just now. They were… invading the territory of Nazarick. Why… Why would they do that? It just doesn't make any sense!"
"I am sure Ainz already knows," Calca said, with brow raised. "But was that really what you're concerned about?" She giggled.
"Your Majesty!" came Kelart's rueful voice.
"Oh, do forgive me, my friend," she trilled, holding a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggling. "Such anxiety is not good for you, you know. I have heard it from reputable sources that it would be bad for your baby." After a beat, she placed her hands down, folded on her lap. "Now tell me, what are you really thinking about?"
"I don't know," Kelart said, with a whine. "I'm just overthinking it, maybe. But I just can't help but focus on the fact that the Re-Estize Kingdom attacked! It reminds me of when…" she shuddered, no doubt recalling the circumstances of their first death. "I just want the baby to be safe."
"Safe?" Calca shrugged her shoulders. Though she also held the same concern, she was more aware of things that Kelart could not see, in her fear. "Of course the baby will be safe. And you will be safe. Everyone will be safe here." She scoffed. "What, were you thinking that someone would come and invade this place? Attack us? When you know our Master is already a god unto himself? My dear, that is quite an unfounded worry."
Her eyes then widened, as she looked at a spot behind Kelart, just above her shoulder. "Oh, Ainz-sama!" she cried.
"What? Ainz-sama?" Kelart all but shrieked, whipping her body around so fast that a small gust of wind fluttered Calca's dress. A moment later, when her deception had been disproven, Kelart turned back to face her, gazing at her with full reproach.
"Oops, sorry," Calca said, laughing with "hohohoho".
Kelart's face tightened up, ears glimmering, her face drooping. Calca recognized the signs, and immediately rose to gather up Kelart in an embrace as she broke down in tears.
"Your Majesty…!" Kelart cried out, in-between sobs.
"There, there," Calca said, making cooing sounds, as she led the other woman back to sit at her chair. It had been well-documented by Nazarick's healers, and by her own collected knowledge from years of idle gossip, that mothers should expect their moods to shift easily like water in a creek as their pregnancy continued. Calca could well sense the changes in her own mood sometimes, though her royal training allowed her to present her mask and prevent anyone from seeing her vulnerabilities—aside from Ainz. So she quite understood Kelart's situation, even if she didn't agree with her assertion.
"I'm sorry for teasing you. That was perhaps too unkind of me. I shall now answer you now in the proper manner." She paused. "Do not be afraid, Kelart Custodio. We are under Ainz's great, benevolent aegis. This is the same Ainz Ooal Gown who ended the Re-Estize armies on the Katze Plains, not too long ago. And the very same Ainz Ooal Gown who saved our nation from ruin, though admittedly too late to save us in the initial days." And that was a thought that stayed with her in her idle moments. How Ainz could have helped her Kingdom in the start of Jaldabaoth's invasion. How she might have still been the Holy Queen. But perhaps she would never have invited Ainz. She thought of him as some bloodthirsty undead, who viewed the living with the same pitiless regard as his fellows. And the Holy Kingdom, her Holy Kingdom, would not have stood for an alliance with the undead. Even still, if she and Kelart had survived, would she have gained the happiness she possessed now, under Ainz's protection? A life free of responsibility, of want, of care. A life full of love? Such were things she had to ponder.
"I… Yes. Thank you, your majesty," Kelart said, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief. "I admit I overreacted. I was just… How can the Re-Estize Kingdom just do that? Violate the sovereignty of another country's borders without permission? It's like they were asking for war."
"Perhaps they were," Calca said with another shrug. "Who can know the mind of Ramposa? Or if it is indeed Ramposa who gave the orders." She knew that the realm of Re-Estize had to contend with a large faction of the nobility. It was similar to Roble, but in her home the nobles' influence had been balanced by the temple clergy, to whom the paladins were sworn. With the nobles unfettered in Re-Estize, it was reasonable to assume that they would force their King to do things which would be insane for any leader with a brain. And she pitied the man, even as she commiserated on the burden of rulership.
She had been groomed from birth to learn all there was needed to lead her country wisely, even when she had not yet been named and anointed as the next Holy Queen. She had learned at the feet of philosophers and administrators, from even old generals and paladins. They had all declared her precociousness, as she had taken to each of the lessons with great gusto. But she was no great genius, and had relied most on the advice of her friends and retainers to steer the ship of Roble while she was yet Queen.
Calca remembered an inquiry of hers long ago, when she had wondered to her tutors why Roble alone should bear the weight of resisting the demihumans for so long. The Abelion Hills had long been a scourge of their country, and it was only the intervention of their valiant peoples, who each bore the responsibility of raising the shield of defiance against these monsters. Why then, did the Re-Estize Kingdom not help them, when they were just close by? Why had not the Theocracy helped? Surely, they would not wish to see humanity wiped out if the demihumans ever managed to throw off their internal disputes, uniting their clans together, and forming a mass so great that even they could be overcome? And it had even happened, in her own time, when the creature Jaldabaoth had arrived to cobble their scattered forces into one coherent whole.
The answer they had given was incomplete, confused, contradicting each other. The other nations were selfish, as they must be. They had their own problems, and could not be bothered to raise their hands for interests that were not theirs. Roble must look to their own, she was told, or else they would have to sell themselves to survive, as of a whore in the city. Her rule and her power over the nobles and the people rested on the authority that had been vested on her by the gods above, and if she could not exercise it for Roble alone, then her rule was suspect. For that matter, Roble must stand alone. For they were "greatest and holiest in the land."
From there, her education had went to the theoretical, where her tutors tried to hone her mind. In the matter of foreign politics they talked of the balance of power, of keeping enemies weakened, and yet not so much that another power could take its place and thereby become stronger than before. Extra care must be made, through diplomacy, through intrigue, or failing that, at the tip of her warriors' spears, to ensure that the Holy Kingdom's authority and sovereignty were preserved at all costs. They pointed to the histories, dating back to the rise of the Six, when mankind had been almost united, to the barbarities of the Eight, who reshaped the land forever. They spoke of nations that had once existed a mere hundred years ago, now destroyed with nothing to speak of them but in the dry tomes of scholars and historians. As Queen, she shouldered the responsibility to ensure that Roble endured. And that even when she had long ascended to the gods' embrace she should still take steps that those who came after her would find it easier to perform their duties. Capricious rulers, who only thought of their own whims and wills above all else, were little more than barbarians, whose legacy would perhaps not outlive his children, nor even his own.
"If only we could take you to Eryuentia, my lady," they had told her. "There, we could show you that even the mighty must take care."
"What is in Eryuentia?" she had asked.
"Nothing," they had replied. "Nothing but dust and bones and regret." (She would later learn that it was guarded by a particularly fearsome dragon lord, and yet the lesson was pertinent still).
Now she had lost her realm, and though she had died and returned to life, she could never return. And she had ascended, in a way, into a different sort of existence, which meant that her time was done. And she could only watch as her nation, which had still been licking its wounds from Jaldabaoth's rampage, was drawn into yet another conflict. Brave sons and daughters of Roble, fighting to ensure the sovereignty of her nation, even when she was no longer there.
Sovereignty… She wondered if the Re-Estize Kingdom's "gambit" was not as it appeared, as some mad gambit by a desperate fool. She could also see it as some sort of ploy, to draw the Sorcerous Kingdom into a fight it might find hard to win. It was plain to see that such a large, heretofore unknown state would cause much consternation in the other great nations, even when they were separated by leagues of distance. They too would have been taught what Calca had been—that the existence of a hegemon could not be tolerated. It had to be resisted, or they would find their own nation as a sacrificial lamb to be butchered on the altar of whoever warlord rose with ambitions of blood and fire. It was easy to see this Sorcerous Kingdom, which had so neatly defeated the Re-Estize Kingdom, as a nascent threat, one that had to be stopped. Worse still, the Baharuth Empire, which had once occupied that plinth in their minds since Jircniv butchered his nobility, had even submitted to Ainz as a vassal, which brought a whole swathe of territory unto the Sorcerous-Kingdom without bloodshed. Such events could not be tolerated, and Calca would be only denying herself in thinking that she would have also taken steps in her own way.
The wolves would therefore start to gather, eager to cow Ainz into submission, possibly even annihilation. Alliances would be made in secret, and information would be gathered, even under the guise of friendly faces and diplomatic embassies. Spies would be harnessed, sacrificing lives in the beginning of this hidden war, a war that did not burn hot as a forge but as cold as a winter breeze, stealing through Ainz's window unseen. Countermeasures would be formed, from the knowledge they had gained, to be passed down to the next generation just in case they would not live to see Ainz's ambitions rear its head.
And then, when it was the right time, the wolves would strike. It would be a coalition unlike any other, not even during the time of the Greed Kings. For the Greed Kings had conquered all and sundry, without any chance of resistance. And yet memories were long, and many had learned. No longer would they be caught unawares by some foreign power. It would be a grand war, on a scale that not even Calca could imagine, for she was never one for military matters.
But she had no doubts that her lover would prevail, in the end. His power and wisdom were extraordinary, for all that she believed him a god sheathed in flesh. And she knew that his Sight was long and patient, and His Reach was too vast and implacable for any mortal kingdom. That Jircniv, who might otherwise have been his first, great enemy, was suborned so early meant that even those would-be warlords were as nothing against Ainz's vision.
As a mortal, she knew she would not live to see the day her love held the world in the palm of his hand. Ainz could not reverse the slights of time, it seemed, and she knew she would not wish to be revived as an old crone, again and again. She would also need her final rest, when she could leave everything to those who would come after.
But as before, as she had done as a ruler of a nation by her own right, she could still take steps. Her children, and their children after that, would be her legacy. She would teach them everything they needed to know: the wisdom that had been passed to her, the love they would need to keep for their lord, and the determination to see His ambitions succeed.
"I wonder if lord Ainz will have to fight now."
"Whichever his decision will be, we shall have to support him," Calca declared.
"Of course. Anything for our love," Kelart said with a blushing smile.
Seeing Kelart's lovestruck face reminded Calca of Tuare, who was Sebas Tian's lover. She was another outsider, though she was not of Ainz's circle. She was the head of many rumors—which included her attempts to replicate the situation with Ainz. Some time ago she had attempted to organize a meeting with them, an outstanding promise that had yet to be fulfilled. In a way, she was also Calca's attempt at finding some other ally in this place, for she was just as much of an outsider here in Nazarick as them.
It was almost the pre-dawn at E-Rantel, and yet the city remained awake. Torches that had been lit for the early evening businesses remained burning through midnight and through to the pre-dawn hours.
The recent influx of new trade coming from the Empire and the other regions now sworn to the Sorcerer-King had ensured that business would remain booming all day and night. Enterprising merchants had learned to use every one of their waking moments moving their assets around in the name of profit, of which there was many to be found in the wake of the Sorcerous Kingdom's rise.
The most recent war between the distant Holy Kingdom and Re-Estize was cause for little concern, as many merchants had still been able to turn a sizable profit there. The city's own entrepreneurs then had to fill the need of these traveling merchants, which meant that taverns were not the only places to remain open. Restaurants, high-class taverns, food shops, boutiques, even brothels and gambling dens also extended their hours of operation, all to service these merchants and their retinue.
Another factor was the addition of the demihuman elements, who were by decree equal in status to the humans in the city. Some of these creatures were nocturnal by nature, which meant that enterprising individuals of both human and non-human backgrounds could also cater to their needs as they saw fit.
As a consequence, E-Rantel's began living by halves: one half of its people worked on one half of the day, working while the other half slept, sleeping while the other half worked.
Sebas Tian, once the head of Nazarick's last line of defense, presently walked down E-Rantel's bustling streets, in the middle of a long mass of people. Night to him was no bother—he required little rest if his lord commanded it.
He carried many bags filled with various things in his arms, though he didn't look burdened one bit.
The human maid Tuare walked at his side, clinging a bit too close for propriety, though he didn't dissuade her. She was humming pleasantly to herself as she gazed in wonder at all the sights, lit up on even the darkest, moonless nights by a thousand torches arrayed all over the streets. He supposed that now their relationship had already developed to the point that it felt right for her to act in such a spoiled manner.
Originally, he was only supposed to come to E-Rantel by himself, but she had insisted no coming. Her pout had neatly overridden whatever reservations he'd had, as was the wave of affection he had felt for her earnestness. She had changed much from the broken, shivering wreck he had encountered at the Capital, and to see her bloom like this was a gratifying confirmation of his Creator's ideals, which was yet instilled in his heart and soul.
"Hey, Sebas, could we not take a break in one of these 'love hotels'? They look like they could be… fun." Tuare smiled bashfully, blushing despite the utter shamelessness of her suggestion. He knew about such places, of course, and there had been a rumor that his Master had made use of such places himself. It was a tempting prospect, as he was also curious about the interiors of such places. Still, at this moment, he had to refuse.
"My apologies, but I have several errands that needs fulfilling," he said, indicating the things he carried in his hands. "And you know full well how I take my duties seriously."
Tuare pouted, and gripped his arm harder. "Oh, alright. But you've got to make it up to me, later, okay?"
Sebas breathed out a short chuckle. "Yes, yes, very well. Perhaps later we can return. I shall try to ask permission" He would always be amused by her lovable-looking antics.
As they returned walking, Sebas' thoughts drifted.
This was not the first time he could not fulfill her demands. For the longest time she had wanted Sebas to join his Master in engendering the next generation of his line. While he had been able to perform the acts necessary for such a thing—Ainz-sama had advised him personally on this—no sign of any appreciable result came. As such, Tuare continued to seethe with ill-disguised jealousy as more and more women around Ainz grew pregnant, as their bellies grew fat with child every month.
The obvious solution to such a problem had been to double, triple their efforts, to which Sebas acquiesced—still with Ainz-sama agreeing vigorously—and yet there was still nothing. Privately, Sebas was worried that whatever she had experienced in her youth before coming to Nazarick had damaged her, but it was hard to make sure. Even the healers did not have the ability to discern it. And he did not want to broach the possibility with her, aware that he could possibly reopen old wounds. It seemed prudent to humor her for the moment.
Still, the apparent lack of successes did not deter her efforts. In fact, their attempts that had already been tripled from before had tripled further still, such that Sebas no longer had any reasonable time to perform his normal duties. Of course, Ainz-sama approved it when he came to him about the matter, saying something about a "honeyed moon". He was told to enjoy his life with Tuare to the best he could. When ordered like that by his Master, he had no choice but to comply, even if he felt like his time was consumed chiefly by procreating and nothing else.
He was thankful to Zesshi-sama, one of Ainz's lovers, for giving him the opportunity to work, even for just a little while. Even this small expedition into E-Rantel, to retrieve things that the other mothers had requested, was welcomed. It had been an opportunity to "stretch his legs", so to speak, while also giving him the chance to bring Tuare around for what Ainz-sama called a "date". Apparently that word was something significant, as Ainz-sama had said something about not being able to go on these so-called dates with his lovers. And apparently Zesshi also agreed with him.
"Go on, Sebas Tian," Zesshi had told him, when she'd given him this quest. "Enjoy yourself to the fullest. That Tuare should be grateful for such a boon. Even Ainz-sama doesn't have this privilege. And neither do we, worst luck."
Of all the mortals who had been invited into Ainz's circle, she seemed the most reasonable one to Sebas. In fact, it would have felt right if she had become Ainz's official "wife", even if he knew his lord's desire was to have as many mothers as possible. To him, Zesshi Zetsumei seemed more suited to be Ainz's primary companion than any of the mothers, even the ones who were from Nazarick. He could see himself supporting her in that regard, if a serious question would ever be raised.
Sebas and Tuare rounded a corner, slipping into a side street where there were fewer people. Tuare looked around uncertainly, having realized where they were.
"Sebas?" she asked. "What are we doing here? Are we not going home?"
"Yes, we are," he rumbled in reply. "However, there is something I need to do." He paused. "My pardons, I meant there is someone who wants to speak." His voice rose, loud enough to echo in the street. His eyes narrowed. "Isn't that right? Enough of these games. Show yourself, and explain yourself in good order. I mislike games."
Tuare looked like she was panicking, as she gripped the side of his shirt harder. "Don't be afraid," he said to her in a kind voice. "It's not something to be worried about. It's not even someone you need to fear."
She nodded at his reassurance, though her face still looked uneasy. Sebas sighed and turned around to face their tail. He had detected her shadowing them ever since they had exited the last shop. He had been curious why she had been hanging back, and not coming up to greet them—as if she had something to hide.
From a blind spot on the street, at an intersection of shadows cast by two torches, emerged Edstrom, former member of the Six Arms. The dark-skinned, slender woman sauntered forward with a smile. Her skimpy outfit was made of silk and fully intended to tantalize. Her golden jewelry—thick rings and bangles and bracelets—jingled with her every step. Her presence caused Tuare to relax her grip, though her face took on a different type of tension.
"Edstrom," he said in greeting.
"I greet you both, Sebas Tian. And you too, Tuare." Edstrom made an exaggerated twirl of her body, before bowing low at the waist. "As expected, nothing really escapes your sense, my lord."
"Why were you following us in such a manner?" he asked bluntly. "That would make anyone suspicious, even if you have already sworn your allegiance."
"My apologies, my lord," she said, fluttering her eyes. "I simply wanted to… observe you from afar. I had not thought I would be observed, but perhaps that is because you are indeed mighty, my lord. As expected of you." She groaned, as if she was in pain, then she smiled.
Edstrom had been one of those he had defeated during his assault on the Eight Fingers base at the Re-Estize Capital. In his haste to save Tuare from what he'd thought were dire circumstances, he had bulldozed past his opposition without a care for what he left behind. That was why he had not even realized—nor less remembered—that Edstrom had been one of those whom he had faced.
She had been captured by Nazarick during the latter's takeover of the Eight Fingers, and had spent a long time being used in various experiments. Her unique abilities had been of great interest. It was here that he had been introduced—or in her case "reintroduced"—to the woman, when he came to deliver a message. She had been a sorry sight, almost reminding him of Tuare in her bone-thin frame, skin almost hanging from her wraith-like form, her eyes haunted and bloodshot, with an altogether filthy appearance. She had pleaded with him, with tears in her eyes, asking him to have mercy, and to save her. He had learned from her jailors that she had just about used up her usefulness, which meant she was soon heading to Demiurge's cares.
Feeling conflicted, and feeling rather antagonistic towards Demiurge's frivolities, he had later brought the matter up with his Master. Apparently, he had said something that had made Ainz think seriously about his proposal, as he had later ordered Edstrom to be freed. After giving her some time to recover, he had then made her another of their undercover liaisons with the remnants of the Eight Fingers, which were now under their control. He had strangely tasked Sebas to be Nazarick's representative in meeting her as part of her new duties.
Now it seemed that Edstrom had gotten it in her head that he had been the one to free her. As such, she had now expressed her heretofore unknown attentions towards him. Despite him pointing out Ainz-sama's mercy and benevolence being responsible for her release every time, she had weathered his protests with the patience of stone. And then continued to shower him with attention that was quite inappropriate, especially when he'd already had Tuare.
Apparently Tuare seemed to have sensed the same thing, for she kept staring at Edstrom as if she was a predator about to steal her rightful meal.
"Well you've had your fun," she said. "So you can go away now."
Edstrom merely smiled at the blonde. It was a smile laced with something unpleasant, which served to twist her expression further. "My apologies, but I really had business with sir Sebas. I was not only idly watching."
Sebas grunted. "If that is indeed true, you could have chosen to relay that you wanted to meet." He frowned pointedly at her. "I do not approve of these impromptu meetings. They are foolish and ill-advised, especially when we have been told to to subtlety on every level. Please see that this is not repeated, as I will be forced to take drastic measures."
At least the woman had the decency to look apologetic. "I'm sorry, lord Sebas. It shall not happen again. I… overreached." She sighed. "Very well then. I shall give my report now. My contacts have told me that the Re-Estize Kingdom have invaded the Sorcerous Kingdom. They have even breached the border near this city."
"I see." He glanced down at Tuare, who was now looking nervous. "Thank you for bringing this information." In all honesty, this "news" was not news to Sebas, but it was one way to test the Eight Fingers' loyalty to them by making Edstrom report on them separately. In this moment in particular, Edstrom had just confirmed something that Sebas had only thought a possibility: the Sorcerous Kingdom was once again at war.
In that case, he had orders he needed to fulfill.
"We need to get back home. It's not safe here anymore," he told Tuare, who nodded firmly in response. He addressed the other woman. "Your information is appreciated. Come, there is a safehouse ready for you."
Edstrom made an uncharacteristic lady-like curtsy. "As you wish, my lord. Lead, and I shall follow."
Chapter commissioned by UltraSpink of Da USA, thank you. A reminder that the story is commissioned.
If you'd like a story commissioned, feel free to contact me here, or on archiveofourown under "RHoldhous".