A/N: Slightly shorter chapter and I know it took a while but it's here and it's interesting.
Editng software broke so this took far longer than I wanted.
Chapter 10
A Story
Long long ago there was a princess, a princess who was adored by not just her family and friends but by her whole kingdom.
From a very young age, this princess would study as much as she could so that when the day came for her to be crowned she would care for her people with grace and humility.
She would study etiquette for days at a time so she would never make a fool of herself promising that she'd never allow another nation to think I'll of her people.
She studied politics every day so that when the time came no noble nor merchant could sway her court against her people.
She also studied tactics and war for she knew that despite the peace disaster could strike at any moment and never would she let her nation fall to invaders.
And lastly, she studied magic, something quite strange for a young girl not even twelve years of age, however, for her family it was all too common as they and they alone could stop armies single-handedly by wielding this magic.
But like many stories involving princesses our dear heroine's story is wrought with sorrow and depression.
For she never did fulfill her promise to her people as now she was the last one alive.
Or rather, something else.
Dark magic had filled her nation stealing the lives of all those she held dear not a thing spared as even her favorite flower in the gardens was now wilted and dead.
However, she had lived forced to carry the legacy that was her fallen kingdom and the memories it held.
So she continued to study, and study and study.
For years she did, so long she'd long since forgotten her own parents' faces but not once did she forget her duty.
Long after the tragedy she had mastered the magics once wielded by her parents and teachers and with this power, she set out determined to find the cause of her grief.
What she found however was something much worse.
It was a world set ablaze by forces much much stronger than her.
But she was no longer alone, finding the strongest people in all the lands they set out to stop the forces that had laid waste to all that was around them.
Thirteen heroes, heroes whose names continued to be sung for hundreds of years later.
They had miraculously defeated the dark gods that threatened the world and with that, she felt she'd given peace to her nation and its people.
It was far from a safe world though as monsters and dark forces continued to threaten humanity despite the greatest of threats being vanquished.
So she sought to fight those forces as well, banding with some of her old comrades they began to push the darkness back slowly but surely giving hope to the world.
Today was like any day.
She and her latest comrades, her sisters, and her family, were to push back undead monstrosities, not unlike those who'd destroyed her home.
But just as her happy start had been met with sorrow so too was her new life to be ruined.
Keno,
Landfall,
EvilEye.
Fell for the second time that day.
But she did not die.
No for she was long since dead since that fateful day two hundred years ago when she'd lost it all. Now she was a member of the very forces she'd fought to defend humanity from.
So while the lightning that struck her body had killed her and those around her were turning to ash she used what had saved her so long ago.
{Soul Stealer}
Those already dead would get revenge just as her family had they would receive justice for the lives that had been stolen from them.
But she couldn't fight this new foe for they were far stronger than even the gods she once fought, she would need help and of those heroes who remained she knew just who to seek out.
But like always fate, Fate is a bitch.
"So Lakyus I need to explain a few things."
My hands feel heavy as I lower my mask, it's the first time I've done so in two hundred years so I hope she understands.
"Lakyus I'm, I'm a vampire I've been one for years now and I'm sorry for not telling you sooner but things have changed and if I didn't tell you now I'd never get another chance.
I should have told you the moment we'd met but I was scared, scared of losing the closest thing to family I've had for a long long time."
She looks at me her eyes are sunken and her face isn't the one I used to look to for comfort.
It's tired and sad and what pains me is the look she sends my way, it's pity, pity that she has only ever shown to those she was forced to slay.
"If whatever foul magics he's used has left even the tiniest bit of you, please don't put up a fight."
Her words are confusing for the briefest of seconds as I watch her draw her sword. Its legendary status means nothing to me not that it won't harm me it would slice me to ribbons, I won't raise a hand to her.
No matter what.
The dark blade somehow shines even through the rainy night.
"I'm not with that mage and you should know that, I don't know how you survived but it doesn't matter. What matters is that we're alive, we can still stop him but fighting will only make things worse."
She lowers her sword ever so slightly, I know she doesn't want to fight me.
But she's scared, her hand is shaking ever so slightly, and her blood pumps just a bit faster, it smells like home.
"It's too convenient! He is beyond powerful and his specialty is undead! I can't trust you even if you weren't a vampire!
I have an idea but it's not a good one.
"You've talked with her, haven't you? Rigrit is too strong to die even after all these years, that's how you know about what he is, isn't it?
Let me talk with her, she knows what I am she's known for years and she will vouch for me, if she doesn't, well I promise not to resist."
Her eyes harden of course she'd think I'm after her life but she's desperate for even the tiniest rays of hope right now.
It's a fucked up awful thing to play on her emotions when she's just lost everything but so have I and I too am very desperate.
"Okay.
I'll take you to her but please, for once, no lies."
Carne.
Rain bashed against the ground rendering it to mud in an instant.
Nfirea ignored it focusing on the task before him despite the bitter cold that pierced his thick cloak.
Beside him was a towering figure whose visage brought naught but the picture of death and dismay.
In its enormous hands was a basket whose contents threatened to spill to the ground where they would be ruined and lost to the muck.
Despite these conditions and the ever-present danger of the deep forest around them, the young man's mood was quite jovial. For today was a day of celebration and relaxation as today was the day he made good on a promise and received his long-sought-after reward.
His reward was one befitting his grand task, a task whose difficulty was something alchemists and scholars had worked toward for years now and he had done it.
As an alchemist himself, this task was one he once sought for the sheer knowledge that came with it, the act of doing the impossible and rendering what was thought lost back to the world.
Now however he was more interested in the reward a gift not unlike its price, to bring something back despite being long since freed from the world.
His reward was his life his goal and all that he still lived for.
His reward was his long-lost love, a girl cut from him in the most awful of ways but today that would change.
"Come on we have to hurry or the rain will ruin the herbs!"
He yelled out to the assistant he'd been gifted though the rain covered his words to the point not even he could hear them though the legendary beast surely could, however. Its pace quickened and so did Nfirea's.
The small building they rushed to had been his workshop for the past few months and as evident by the purple-colored smoke it was still in active use.
"Oh you're back, did you get all the things we need?"
Resting atop a wooden stool barely peeking over a massive cauldron was a girl only a few years younger than Nfirea.
The cauldron's contents being the same shade of purple revealed the source of the smoke from outside.
The girl was Ninya a mage injured by battle who'd stumbled to his small home while near death.
"Yeah and I think this should be the last batch before I perfect the recipe for Mr. Momonga.
He said he'd be by later to see the results for himself so I guess you also get to meet him for the first time!"
Ninya had been curious about Nfirea's benefactor the moment she laid eye on his assistant, though the fact she hadn't soiled herself was a testament to her combat experience.
Nfirea wasn't so lucky as when he'd been offered the undead he had been sure Momonga had meant to kill him.
The remainder of the day's work was relatively silent as neither one wished to lose focus on the task at hand.
Before long a knock came to the door.
Momonga was excited for the first time in ages.
One of his biggest issues at the moment was a distinct lack of renewable resources the biggest being his only way of healing his none undead summons.
Healing potions.
Normally a way of harming the undead Momonga not only couldn't make the potions but he couldn't replicate their effects either.
And so he sought out an outside source, a certain young alchemist who was desperate to revive the girl of his heart.
This brought forth a mutual trade and a quick revival for the steady supply of healing potions.
Knocking on the man's door he waited with bated breath ready for the good news.
What treated him however was unexpected, a conversation on the other side instead of the usual frantic greeting.
At last, the door began to creep open revealing not the blonde hair of Nfirea but instead a light chestnut and a young girl he'd never seen before.
Resisting the urge to cast [True Death] he stepped inside.
"So Nfirea I see you've found a new companion, I hope this has not interfered with our arrangement in any way."
Nfirea turned a bright shade of red at the comment.
"NO!"
He coughed.
"I mean no, it has not changed in any way.
I can show you the results right away if you'd like!"
Momonga motioned toward the mass of beakers and tubes that faintly resembled the sets in Nazarick.
Nfirea rushed over to the table and began describing the exact process behind the creation of a potion.
An explanation that never seemed to end as he went on and on only stopping when the still unknown girl let out a fake cough.
"Oh, right, this is Ninya I found her injured nearby and she agreed to help out since I saved her.
She's been a great help and is the main reason I finished the potion so early!"
Momonga watched the girl for a moment swearing he'd seen her before.
"I believe we may have met already but it's no matter, I am Momonga a pleasure."
As he finished he stuck out his gauntleted hand in greeting.
The girl however seemed to freeze for a moment before accepting the handshake.
'Oh shit oh shit oh shit!
No no no no no no not like this please not like this!'
Ninya had been startled when Nfirea had revealed his quote 'assistant' to be one of the legendary undead she'd been fighting for the last two months.
When he then mentioned he'd just been given it she slowly became pissed.
Now seeing the man whose face, mask rather, was plastered on wanted posters from here to the coast she was sure she'd pissed herself.
Mentally confirming that no there was not in fact a puddle forming beneath her she reached out to join hands with the mage.
"A-a pleasure to meet you sir Momonga, Nfirea has said quite a lot about you and your magic though I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm curious about being a mage myself."
The nation-ending mage seemed to pause for a moment no doubt thinking about whether he should just kill her or not.
"I suppose I could show you a spell or two, consider it payment for assisting in the contract between me and Nfirea here.
Speaking of which may I see the final result?"
Nfirea nearly through his equipment to the ground he was so excited.
After ensuring his priceless kit wasn't about to shatter he began searching the many cabinets for the result of their efforts.
Pulling it free from its locked cabinet Nfirea placed it on the table with such care it was as if it were a piece of art and not the vial of strange liquid.
Momonga's jaw dropped.
Placed on the table was a bright red healing potion.
His expectations had been met far beyond his hopes all he had to do was test its validity and he'd gladly use the staff stored in his inventory.
"Nfirea you have done far beyond my wildest hopes.
There is but one issue I must address before I grant you your payment."
Nfirea looked nervous for a moment but Momonga could tell by his face, he was steeled for anything.
"Forgive me for this."
A scream pierced the room.
The Roble Holy Kingdom.
A field of green was dyed a sickening crimson as wave upon wave of screams and shouts could be heard.
The world itself poured down in sheets as if crying over the sheer loss of life below.
The rain and blood had long turned the land to mud but now upon the fifth hour of combat literal rivers had begun forming washing those not strong enough to resist to their doom.
Corpses piled high acted as vantage points for archers picking off targets no longer caring whether they hit friend or foe.
It was one of these such archers that stood out among all the others as this human and he alone stood higher than all the rest.
Pabel Baraja, a man whose skill had granted him the highest of honors his country could gift, a place among the colors, the best of the best.
Every country did things differently when it came to its elite units and Roble was no different in anything but the name. For their near fanatical devotion to their gods, they had decided to name their strongest after these deities.
Pabel was known as the black, one of nine he alone could proudly state no archer could beat him.
Although now he'd long since damned his skill and instead wished to return to his boring days of meaningless patrols and busy work.
Now he stood atop a mountain of corpses of his own making acting as a breach to allow what few soldiers remain to return to the safety of the wall.
He swore though none could hear it against the chaos.
His daughter was likely the only member of his family not forced to fight at the moment and he prayed as yet another arrow was loosed that if he could just delay long enough they would not send for even more reinforcements.
He knew this to be impossible.
The war had started as a simple invasion, nothing so unusual for the nation beset by enemies on all sides.
What was unusual were the attackers themselves.
The Demi-Humans had always tried to breach the wall whether for glory or food but always they had failed only ever forcing the watchmen atop it to retaliate.
Now however instead of retreating once losses accumulated they had nearly wiped their tribes from the world as they would push to the last, the damage to Roble was showing.
Siege weapons were far from effective against a wall a hundred meters tall and twenty thick but that didn't account for thousands of them firing nonstop for days at a time.
The wall now sported cracks in the thousands as ballistae bolts and boulders from catapults pockmarked the wall giving ample room for many races to climb its heights.
This meant a change was needed to prevent the swarms of starving beasts from laying waste to the innocent behind the wall.
So came the colors to defend their country.
Gods he hated his job.
As another arrow cleaved a head in two Pabel began to scan for any more survivors he hated his job but he'd be damned if he let even one more die that he could've saved.
His years as a ranger allowed him sight few others could replicate that's why his gaze now pointed toward the sky could see it.
Soaring higher than any Demi-human could fly was a solitary figure its dark silhouette only appearing in between the brief flashes of lightning that filled the sky.
Not wishing to risk the unknown he readied a new arrow and took aim.
Empowering it with his martial arts so it would meet its target he released.
The task was nearing its apex.
All that remained was but one final obstacle.
The gifts from its master would guarantee success even if those below weren't so pathetically weak.
And so it readied the magic it had worked so hard to replicate it was but a fragment of its master's power but it was far more than these mortals deserved.
The deaths it would cause only pleased it as the master would no doubt praise it for the effort it had used to grow.
In a sight, not fit nor mortal eyes came magic circles in the hundreds.
Ten meters in every direction they spread ready to fill the world with the glory that was its master.
But then came light.
An attack from below, a mortal had dared to interrupt its master's wishes.
The streak of light came closer and as it could not move from the magic circles it awaited so it may retaliate and decimate those that dared attack.
But instead of striking it, the light crashed against a barrier of magic shattering to pieces, not a fragment reaching it.
Oh, glory to the master how they thought ahead!
The gifts it had been bestowed were no doubt the reason behind this glorious display of power. Now with no interruptions, it could cast the magic of its master.
From a raspy voice came but four words, a grotesque facsimile of what it wished to imitate.
"{The Sword Of Damocles}!"
Pabel watched as one of his strongest attacks bounced off the figure now surrounded by magic.
Like glass to stone, the arrow shattered.
Then so too did the magic high above.
And he felt it.
But so too did the world.
Buser smiled to himself.
The war would be won thanks to whatever godly force had seen fit to intervene.
Who or what it was didn't matter when the enemy at his back grew closer every day, now he and his people could flee.
With a deep intake of breath, he readied to call for the next stage.
They'd held for so long the true force and now the weakest wouldn't fight, now came the strong.
Now he could show why he was the strongest.
Carne.
Momonga waited for the screaming to stop.
It didn't.
He sighed.
"Enough."
The room went silent.
On the ground was a man covered in blood who despite losing both arms was clearly still alive.
To the side of the room, both Nfirea and Ninya had dashed away the moment the de-limbed man had been unceremoniously dropped through a [Gate].
Then came the screams. First, it was the man, for obvious reasons.
Then Nfirea no doubt as he'd never seen a real injury, and lastly Ninya who was certain they'd come under attack and was now aiming a spell at the dying man.
Momonga didn't wait for the silence to end instead grabbing the red potion and splashing it across the still-bleeding man.
A green glow enveloped his body and as if he'd never been stripped of his extremities there they sat as if to mock his previous pain and fear.
"Congratulations Nfirea you've done far beyond what I asked and sooner than I could ever hope.
You are more than deserving of your reward and then some."
Nfirea still stunned by the gory display could only nod in affirmation.
Ninya now positive this wasn't an attack spoke up.
"I've been meaning to ask but what exactly is his reward?
He mentioned it once or twice but never what it was so if you don't mind I'm curious to know."
"It's rather simple actually, he's asked me to revive his deceased friend."
"Huh?"
"Yes I believe she was killed by an attacking group of bandits and as you can tell by the summon my necromantic tendencies have allowed me to search for her remains."
Nfirea now free from the shock of the ordeal was positively glowing at the prospect of being reunited with what Momonga suspected to be far more than just a 'friend'.
"Now then let us proceed."
Ninya was speechless looking at the dining room table.
She'd seen gore in the worst forms and long since been hardened to it so the sight of a severed human arm wrapped in dirty linens didn't phase her.
Seeing this limb then grow its body back in absolute defiance of how she knew healing magic to work was. . . Interesting but again not very shocking.
What shocked her was how this body grown from a partially rotted arm was now snoring under a blanket as if they hadn't just spent the better part of a year dead.
Her golden blonde hair was perfect as if she'd washed it yesterday.
Her skin was free of scars and nicks something not possible for a village peasant whose days were spent farming under the harsh sun.
She looked, perfect.
Momonga quietly teleported away from the three.
Of course, he didn't forget his latest project though.
Despite the dismal results during his attack on the criminal group known as eight fingers, an opportunity had shown itself.
Over the past few months, he'd been power-leveling his summons to fill the empty shoes the floor guardians had left during Nazarick's transfer.
And while he'd succeeded in leveling the crypt lord to well past its Yggdrasil limits there was much to be desired.
Namely the complete lack of conversation. That and the less then optimized builds they'd received.
The gentleman who Momonga had 'gently' slung over his shoulder would be the key to a solution.
If he could level this world's inhabitants like he had his summons he could easily fill the gaps in Nazarick's defenses.
Other glaring issues aside the biggest issue to Momonga would be ensuring absolute loyalty and failing that a way to ensure they couldn't retaliate.
The gentlemen whose name he'd yet to learn would be an experiment in the latter.
During Nazarick's golden years, many of its members had been avid roleplayers Momonga himself one of them. This and the anti-human stance of the guild allowed for the creation of many rooms deep within the tomb for the sole purpose of creating an image befitting the evil theme.
None of these rooms had any real use back in Yggdrasil but here, here they could serve many purposes.
Re Estize.
A deep sigh rang out, one that had been held in for hundreds of years, well it felt so to those in the room.
Fluder Paradyne stood still as those around him recoiled in fear every time he so much as twitched a finger.
The mages guild of the Kingdom was abysmal and backward but neither bothered him as much as the sheer volume of waste among the city's inhabitants.
And not just materials but the people themselves, with his [Mana Sight] it became more and more frustrating to see the hundreds of people stuck as peasants begging for scraps when a simple education would easily turn them into second-tier casters. Or with his guidance much more.
Originally he'd wished to remain hidden among the slums before requesting an audience with queen Renner but his discovery had forced his hand and sent him straight to the guild.
After a solid minute of ranting about the horrible state of things, he finally took notice of the spear line around him.
"Surrender peacefully and we will spare your life!"
He sighed again.
Today would take far longer than he wished.
"Are you certain that's wise?"
He called out. From his recollection, the guards of Re Estize had left much to be desired.
Many were no more than second and third sons cast out from their homes hoping to earn coin one of the only ways an unskilled laborer could. Those that weren't were either low-end nobles hoping to climb the ranks and find glory in a job well done or they were those who felt a call to action.
His hope at the moment was for these to be the former, men who only cared for the pay and not the glory or chance of promotion that came from exceptional duties.
It wasn't as though his life would be in danger though as none but the strongest of individuals could hope to harm him.
The guards were nervous clear signs of inexperience showing as they swayed ever so slightly in their encirclement, aside from the leader of the bunch none looked much stronger than your average civilian.
Phweeee!
A whistle that glowed with the faint light of enchantment sounded out piercing the awkward silence of the moment.
"Remain calm the queen's pick will deal with this!"
The leader called out an unfamiliar group, one whose name brought a wave of calm that visibly hardened all the guards present.
Unease was all Fluder felt. Unlikely was it for any group of soldiers to pose a substantial threat to the mage but that didn't mean he'd end up unscathed. That also assumed they were regular soldiers and he could just fly or teleport away should his life be threatened at all.
His unease turned to mild fear as a small bead of sweat formed on his forehead.
Even the empire's own guards were useless against him but the elite groups among them could not only restrain him if they needed to but should a concise effort be made they could even kill him.
A slow deep breath left him.
A calm mind would be needed right now and panic over the minute chance of the kingdom creating units on par with the empire was downright ridiculous.
Even if they did he wouldn't be killed, no his mind was far too valuable for that.
Five figures ran with all their might toward the distress signal.
The leader's bright blue hair fluttered in the raging wind as they dashed along back streets and alleys hoping against fate the situation hadn't turned to bloodshed yet.
Brain's team had been the closest when the signal went and now he hope his team's exceptional abilities would end things quickly.
With one hand he gripped the side of a building pulling bricks from their mortar as he rushed past a corner not daring to lose his current speed.
Guards filled his vision as nearly two dozen of them had formed a spear line to hold whatever force attacked them back.
"QUEENS PICK STEP ASIDE!"
He shouted as loud as he could and like a river parted the guards shifted giving his team ample team to rush forward.
He froze at the sight before him.
Calmer then a stone as if he didn't have several blades a hair width from his face was Fluder Paradyne.
"I'd say this is an excessive use of force but I can hardly deny my prowess.
So then may I ask what happens next?"
Brain shook his head and stepped toward the legendary mage.
"Fluder Paradyne correct?"
"The same."
"Then I will ask you to come with us peacefully."
Pulling a pair of manacles Brain took a single step and when he wasn't attacked he pressed on placing the hundred-year-old mage into his custody.
"I suppose the queen will wish to speak with you."
"Oh, and I the same, sir?"
"Uh, Brain, Brain Unglaus."
'Delays! Delays! Delays!
Why are there so many delays!'
Hilma Cygnaeus was pacing her small secured and very hidden room.
One night was all it had taken for her life to crumble to pieces like so much horse shit.
Awoken by her guards in the middle of the night she'd had only seconds to torch her document before fleeing the now burning life she'd clawed to reach.
Now her only silver lining was going to be delayed by well over a week.
Of the members of Eight Fingers, so few remained it was a joke to even think the organization still existed, but it did.
Made up of now paranoid survivors none dared to reveal just how much they had lost nor who was still among the living.
She had good reason to suspect herself as the last true leader alive.
That reason was a certain mission entrusted to her.
The two people she'd sent out were now her last chance to regain her old life. If they did indeed find this yet-unknown mage then perhaps she could sway him to help her rebuild.
Of course, failing that he'd likely attack again and that would let her flee the burning city in peace.
But yet delays hounded her at every turn.
She glanced at an envelope on her desk.
Its contents telling of empty villages and hordes of unending zombies that threatened to force a drastic change in plans.
"No, no changes they find him or else!
Hahaha, and how would I even threaten that adventurer?
Haa, I need a drink."
Nazarick.
A floating blue screen.
A number.
And a small leather book.
Three things and at the moment each one brought on a new and ever-present sense of dread.
The book for the contents brought painful memories of days long since gone.
The number for the horrible truth of his actions and the consequences it brought.
The screen for the picture now showed.
Momonga placed his head firmly between his hands.
He could no longer experience many things now that he was undead the loss of eating in particular was nothing compared to the pain he now felt.
Actual pain mind you for Momonga, had a headache.
And no healing would save him for no healing would work on the undead.
Oh, woe to the undead king's plight.
Content with what little relief his hands brought him he now turned his attention to the screen, the simplest of his current problems.
It was a [Mirror of Remote Viewing] an object that allowed its user to gaze at any location from any distance away, the only caveat being it was a beacon for counterspells.
Here in the throne room layered with dozens of counter-counter spells he had felt confident enough to finally use the mirror.
After hours of learning to control the object he set his sights on his first target, the crypt lord he'd sent out into the world.
Last he checked on the undead he'd gifted it a set of legendary gear to match its recent leveling, back then it was only level eighty-one.
Now as he glanced at the guild members list he saw a new number. Level Ninety.
In any other situation he would be overjoyed to raise a summon a full twenty levels higher than it was originally but its current state had ruined the mood.
The screen depicted an army of undead.
An army that was marching towards a massive wall. The wall itself was cracked in two with a large crater bisecting the engineering marvel.
Death knights, death cavaliers, soul eaters, and Momonga swore he saw at least one overlord mixed in.
That was the army now marching toward the defenseless unnamed country.
It would mean deaths in the millions. And Momonga's issue.
Whether to stop them or not.
The Crypt Lord was level Ninety its build was entirely summon based and aside from a few hidden classes and his spell repertoire he'd gained the same build as Momonga.
That meant the army he saw was all permanent summons. Reaching out he could feel the muted string of control that bound him to the thousands of undead confirming his idea.
Before he'd justified his attacks on villages by stating if he hadn't someone else would have, after all, what had happened to Carne was not his doing and far more cruel.
So this should be a similar situation, right?
A voice echoed from his side.
Its tone is condescending and full of disappointment.
"TouchMe?"
He glanced to the side.
Nothing.
"For the guild, for Ainz Ooal Gown, nothing is too steep a cost.
I'm sorry my old friend."
Guilt overwhelmed him as he reached out for his summon.
The master spoke.
Spoke of death and destruction, and glory.
It was praise!
But despite the magnificent words that came from the master there were a few far grander than any he could've heard.
He was to be gifted a name as commander of the master's new army!
A joyous day it was for the glory of the master!
Its new name was to be...
"One.
You will be the first of many successes wear this with pride."
The Roble Holy Kingdom.
A line, the last of its kind till the worst was to pass.
All five hundred paladins, two hundred mages and priests, and all nine colors despite many sporting fresh injuries.
Atop all this, ten thousand holy soldiers stood ready to die against the tide of horrors rushing ever closer.
Each one stood ready as their arms and armor gleamed in the harsh midday sun.
The armies of Demi-humans swiftly changed once the walls fell gone were the hordes of weak but endless combatants, now each one would take entire squads to kill.
They all knew something was wrong the first day of the attack as never before had so many appeared at once, perhaps they'd been blinded by the numbers and never sought to question why the enemy had fallen so easily.
It didn't matter now, the wall was gone, and should they fall so too would their country, they could only curse their hubris for underestimating a force they'd fought for so long.
Roars erupted across the blood-splattered plains, the battle was upon them and the enemy wouldn't wait for their resolves to harden. And so a second roar came from those who sought to defend what little they had left.
Deep down they knew, none dared say it aloud but every soldier there knew, Death had come for Roble.
Pabel sucked in his breath as a sharp pain shot through his side.
Not to be discouraged by rushed healing he loses another arrow not bothering to confirm his kill.
Nor does he check if he is bleeding.
He knows the answer and refuses to look down.
Another arrow flies toward a target, to his beside him a small chorus of cheers erupts.
He only glances toward their position, the captain of the paladins was dueling one of the many Demi-human lords.
From what he saw she was winning.
He allows himself a brief moment of hope before turning back to his killing field.
Two more arrows two more bodies.
Slowly ever so slowly the enemy was thinning out, it would be hours before any sign of victory but he could last the normal soldier however wouldn't.
The fight would only delay the main force any smaller groups would already be headed toward the nearest villages and towns.
In other words, they'd already lost.
A harsh truth but he and a select few already knew so.
All they could hope for now was as many civilians fleeing as possible or barring that a strong enough defense for the main force to provide rescue in the coming days.
A roar came from behind and without hesitation, he dropped his bow and pulled the short sword from his belt.
An upward slash disoriented his attacker giving him just enough time to slice cleanly across the neck.
Watching the horse-human hybrid bleed profusely allowed him a second to catch his breath, enough to immediately lose it to a blow to his back.
In the seconds he was distracted his 'killing field' had been decimated and the small hoards would soon congregate on his position overwhelming him.
Pabel's men were dead their bodies quickly being trampled and torn by the rush of figures trying to close the newly formed gap in the human defense.
He had to make a decision, hold and pray for reinforcement or flee to the back lines and leave those behind him to their fates.
He hesitated Pabel was one of the Nine, the top of the top in the country and yet he knew he was far from the noblest of people far from it in fact.
And so with a heavy heart, he turned from the oncoming hoard and ran.
Thousands were to die today maybe more but he couldn't care less his wife, his daughter, and he would survive.
His wife was at home recovering from an injury she received at the start of the conflict, despite her protests that she could still fight. His daughter was only a squire, not fit for conflict of this nature so she was ordered to await orders far deeper into the country.
And he was fleeing the fight as all around him a chorus of human screams sounded its dark symphony. At some point he'd gone from a light jog to a full-blown sprint he'd say he wasn't scared, he'd claim he was only trying to regroup farther back, and he'd justify it all by the simple fact that he was an archer incapable of frontline fighting.
He lied to himself as he ran never noticing his eyes had blurred with tears, he couldn't do it he couldn't risk losing his family's peace.
Once home he'd pack their things and flee for the coast maybe then he could escape this doomed country, even if they called him a coward.
But no one would, for unbeknownst to Pabel Baraja he had fled at the precise moment to avoid the true horrors awaiting him on the battlefield that slowly disappeared into the horizon.
So by cowardice and a love for his family, he avoided hell itself.
A round of cheers came as Remedios cleaved her sword downward and turned her nameless foe to red mush.
Gustav watched as she then flicked her wrist with near-invisible effort and tore two heads from their necks.
Her strength was monstrous.
As he pulled his own sword from its corpse sheathe he let out a sigh of relief.
Seemingly unaware of the severity of the fight at hand his commander had taken a rather, relaxed, approach to the combat.
She'd turned her every fight into a spectacle for the common soldiers which great for morale, did little to stem the tide of opponents.
The only solace he could take was that her only opponents so far had been decently strong commanders and lords.
However, they were still losing.
It seemed that this initial charge was one not meant to be survived as even during the chaos of combat he could see the lines of commanders staring at them.
The defense was only a delaying action anyway, so be it that the force they'd sent was also one destined to die, every foe slain was one less rampaging the countryside.
However, should they prevail a retreat would have to be ordered and he just knew the captain would refuse.
Letting out a sigh he neared his next target.
No reinforcements, no forts, and ten thousand civilians laid between them and safety, it would be a long long day.
The sharp clang of steel against steel rang out as he traded blow after blow against his tiger-like foe.
The sheer diversity of the attack was plaguing his mind even as a misstep allowed a shallow cut to appear across his chest.
It was concerning most of these tribes were known to hate each other far more than they hated humans.
Even those who considered humans prey preferred the many stronger races of the Abelion Hill than humans and not just because of the wall's presence.
So for nearly every known race to be actively cooperating brought only worry for the vice-captain.
The nation would need to bolster every defense it had turning every city into strongholds fit for months of siege.
A ray of holy light burst from his sword as it connected with the tough flesh of the beast he fought.
His foe was thrown away giving him precious seconds to calm himself and like a flash of lightning, he was back at the Demi-human tearing strips of flesh as his sword just barely passed by their armor.
Gustav raised his sword for a final blow his foe was swaying as blood loss began to show itself disorienting his vision and rendering him all but helpless to Gustav's blade.
Just as its tip neared the Demi-human neck Gustav was thrown from the spot as pain shot through his side.
Clutching the pained spot he came away with a bright red palm as the one who so casually tossed him aside helped his near-dead comrade back to their feet.
A faint green glow came from both sides, Gustav for the low tier [Light Cure Wounds] he cast as only the worst of the damage faded stopping the bleeding but leaving a dull ache deep inside. His opponents however seemed as though they'd never fought him the only sign he'd nearly bested them was small cuts along its armor.
Gustav stepped forward his life was nearing its end but he'd be damned if these two weren't going with him, with a primal roar he charged.
Ducking the first swing he struck the leg of one of the tiger men tearing through tendons and muscle alike but they did not fall.
A mace hit his chest sending him soaring back as his body danced ribbons of blood through the air.
He was shaking as he stood with his sword still tightly in his grip even though his fingers long lost any sensation of touch.
A glance showed captain Remidios fighting three separate commanders her onlookers either equally occupied or still on the ground.
He raised his sword as holy light covered the blade.
"COME AT ME GODDAMNIT! I'M NOT DEAD YET!"
They charged.
And so did he.
A shadow passed across him less than a meter before he met the sword and mace of his killers.
Like a blur, it whirled past him straight to the Demi-humans quickly turning the proud warriors into a fine pink mist.
The odd man in deep black armor was unknown but Gustav was grateful for the save his pride wasn't like his superiors so he didn't mind the intrusion, he was dying after all.
A faint glow covered him as he again cast his sole healing spell and promptly collapsed as exhaustion and pain overwhelmed him.
Buser let out a hearty chuckle as he watched the performance around him.
"Sound the retreat our work is done here!"
A round of affirmation came as dozens of runners went out to signal the end of the fight.
From this distance, he could only make out the barest of details but even this far out he could still pick out those familiar black dots.
The same ones that decimated his tribes, the same ones that forced his exodus, the same foe that now wouldn't be his problem.
Another chuckle came from deep within him as he turned from the fight, the losses they'd suffered would take decades to heal but seeing the oh-so-proud humans rise again brought joy to his heart.
He turned away as the fallen of his own army began to rise, he'd seen enough of that in his own home he was done watching walking corpses.
Nazarick.
To anyone who finds this, I'm sorry.
I'm so so sorry.
Again my name is Suzuki Satoru and I've been sent to what I believe is another world.
I'm writing this now as an apology.
As of today, I have now spent one year in this new world.
And in this time.
I've killed nearly ten million people.
As I write this number grows.
At the moment I feel no remorse no sorrow no guilt over this.
I simply do not care as every one of these deaths has helped my chances of not only surviving in this new land but even my ability to thrive.
My home, Nazarick has lost all that was precious to its walls and ever so slowly I make progress in returning life to the empty halls that taunt me.
If anyone finds this one day as my home crumbles to ruins I ask you not to forgive me but to continue what I worked so hard to do.
All I wished for was to remember my long-lost friends.
This place, this palace, is our legacy.
A monument to the years of work we put in to make our home and dreams come true.
So please if for some reason I am gone and my home lies empty remember us.
Remember Ainz Ooal Gown!
Momonga sighed as he closed the small leather book he'd written in.
Every day now it seemed he was destined to fear for his life and the memories he alone held.
The Crypt lord was decimating an unsuspecting country whose lands he'd never even seen outside of the [Mirror of Remote Viewing].
The queen he'd unknowingly propped up was building her country from the ground up thanks to his experiments.
It seemed the only bit of good he'd done so far was resurrecting a young man's dead lover.
But even that was just an experiment to test how his stockpile of [Resurrection] wands would work and he only did so once the man paid a hefty price.
"It's not your fault."
"I know that but I've made people suffer in ways I couldn't even dream of back when I was human! And, and yet, I don't feel the least bit guilty.
That's what truly concerns me.
If I lose my humanity what would my friends think of me?
What would they say if they saw this new world in rubble all because I couldn't cope with my situation?
I can't do this much longer."
"Then don't"
Momonga looked around the empty throne room and sighed.
Every day he sat here hoping, again and again, his friends would appear in the same spot they used to when they logged in.
But they never did.
He was alone no one was there.
Aside from the few residents of Carne and queen Renner, not a soul existed, he could talk to as even they didn't know who he truly was.
They all thought him to be some world-ending mage who'd just recently calmed down.
They didn't know about his plight, they didn't know how long he had been waiting for his friend's return.
How much he'd sacrificed for them.
There wasn't a soul in this world who could understand his pain.
No one.
No. . . One.
Unless?