Note from the author: some readers will probably be outraged by the accusations of Baron Marcus Aquaire Breval who thinks that Ainz fomented the attack of the convoys of food which is the diplomatic incident at the origin of the war between the Re-Estize Kingdom and the Sorcerer Kingdom.

So, yes, he's wrong...

But, provoking a diplomatic incident to pose as a victim and justify an aggression by saying "It's self-defense" is quite common. To cite a single historical example, the Marco Polo Bridge incident, which led to Japan's invasion of China in 1937.

In addition, before the massacre at Katze plains, Gown had legitimized his participation in the war alongside the Baharuth Empire by claiming E-Rantel and Carne Village under the pretext that the area was once his... except of course that it was simply a lie since Ainz was Isekaied in the New World a few months earlier.

The people of the New World are not stupid, the first thing Remposa III did, after hearing Ainz's claims, was to search the royal archives for any information on "Nazarick", "Ainz Ooal Gown" and the existence of a grave in the grassland near Carne... and he found nothing.

Breval never saw the Overlord's anime, he does not read Ainz's thoughts; he could rely on publicly accessible information to form his opinion. It should be noted that Breval's opinion is quite common. Most of the nobles and bourgeois of the New World (all those who have access to more reliable information than the public rumor) consider that Ainz is a madman who attacks at the first provocations and completely despises human life... moreover, are they really wrong?

Death March (1)

The caves stretched out in the darkness, a maze dug into the soft rock by the water, eons earlier. Silence reigned in these dark depths; the only audible sound was an occasional drop of water falling from a stalactite to a stalagmite. Each drop left behind a trace of limestone. Gradually, these deposits accumulated and carved columns of rock in the wet caves.

The underworld could be seen as a world of silence, darkness, and peace... but it was not, because the maze showed signs of occupation. Some rooms had been transformed into living quarters with campfires placed under natural chimneys and beds of dry grass. Other rooms had been prisons, reserves, a treasure room, several armories, or even stables for rather strange mounts (giant weasels).

But everything was abandoned...

In several rooms, there were corpses of kobolds chopped into pieces with extreme savagery. The surviving males had fled after the death of the demons that lead the tribe, and the females and children had followed, taking just what they could hold in their hands.

The ground was littered with abandoned objects: weapons, coins, furs, and even some magical objects...

All this attracted covetousness.

Miriel turned briefly to look towards the guard who was accompanying her.

Leyen Aristeia was a young blond-haired elf dressed in a chainmail. He had a heater shield, a longbow, and a quiver hanging in the back. His left hand was placed on the pommel of a man-made longsword.

The Summoner had 'borrowed' Princess Altira's bodyguard to defend her as she filled her Inventory with the weapons and valuables the kobolds had left behind in their escape.

Nevertheless, the half-elf began to regret her choice...

She had already made a dozen return trips between the Smoking Hill and Targos... in complete silence!

Leyen was often described as a man of very few words, but it was a clear underestimation of the truth. Unless someone speaks directly to him, he never speaks. And even when someone questioned him, he answered with as few words as possible.

Simply put, the ranger made Miriel uncomfortable.

Of course, even if the wizard had looked discreetly in his direction, Leyen had immediately noticed it and he replied with an inquiring glance.

"The atmosphere quickly becomes oppressive in your company," said Miriel in a sight. "Are you a living person or a statue?"

"I'm alive. I don't like to talk."

"I would have guessed it myself. Why don't you talk?"

Leyen Aristeia remained for a few moments to reflect on his answer, which allowed Miriel to place in her Inventory a kobold's short sword (barely the size of a knife, for a human)and a leather armor that could have been made for a twelve-year-old child.

"You know my story."

It was not a question, but Miriel replied.

"You are the son of a general of the elven kingdom. King Decem Hougan had your entire family executed because your father failed to defeat the armies of the Slane's Theocracy."

The ranger nodded.

"And you find it strange that I prefer the company of animals to that of bipeds?"

The half-elf stopped as she picked up a wooden shield.

"I... yes, I understand."

She hesitated for a few moments and then looked away. She remembered the bullies that beat her at school when she was still Haruko... and the cat she often met when she returned from school. The animal came to rub her legs purring or accompanying her for a moment while walking on top of a wall. Little did it care what other humans thought of Watanabe Haruko, it loved her because she was kind. There were only humans... and other 'bipeds' (goblins, elves, kobolds, etc.) to be so stupidly cruel.

"I too prefer animals to bipeds."

The night was dark

The rain fell slowly, without force.

There was almost no light, hardly a silver reflection that could locate the moon behind the thick clouds that hid the stars.

Suddenly, a flash of lightning zigzagged across the horizon, imprinting itself on Miriel's retina, and illuminating the forest-covered hills. A few seconds later, the rolling of thunder drums reverberated in the distance.

"I'm glad this is our last trip. I'd hate to fly the flying carpet in a storm."

Miriel looked towards the Interface map. The translucent window was only visible to her. Thanks to this property of the OOO Interface, the half-elf benefited from a GPS-like advantage. The Summoner couldn't get lost, even in the darkest night, even in a maze.

Calmly, she veered as the rain began to intensify quickly turning into a real shower that penetrated her clothes, making her shiver.

Sitting behind her, Leyen raised the hood of his green wool cape without showing impatience. He wasn't one to complain about something he couldn't change.

Suddenly, a flash of lightning illuminated the Shelayen River. In the blinding light that had briefly driven away the darkness, they also distinguished the small town of Targos nestled at the top of the cliff.

Slowing down, the young half-elf stopped the flying carpet in the middle of the central square, a few inches from the ground. Leaving the nearby buildings, several guards but also Diolaine and Altiria, approached them.

Miriel went down to the ground and rolled the flying carpet before asking two guards to transport it to the hangar where the inhabitants of Targos stacked all the objects that she sold to the merchant demon invoked by Greedy Clutches.

The Summoner summed up their journey to Altiria and Diolaine in a few words, then asked the elf princess if she had finished healing the wounded brought back from Smoking Hill.

Indeed, while searching the lair of the kobolds, they had found a dozen survivors of the ambush that had taken place a few days earlier, including Usse the warlord of the hillmen. All had suffered a lot and Miriel had made the first trips in their company, leaving them in Targos so that they could be treated there.

Princess Altiria sighed before nodding, her forehead folded under the effect of worry.

"Most of the men from the hills suffered minor injuries from the battle. Only three of the survivors were seriously injured. Nevertheless, they were left without care and were not properly fed. Their injuries worsened. I have used all my daily miracles to heal them. I think I have managed to stabilize them."

Miriel opened her Inventory and took several of the potions she had made during her brief stay at Silksunteck.

"You can give them these remedies, Princess Altiria."

A bit confused, the elf priestess looked at the orange potions.

"Are these healing potions? I... I've never seen any of this color."

"It's quite normal, it's a new variety... produced in Slane's Theocracy. More effective than varieties distilled by local alchemists, the effects of this potion do not degrade over time."

At the mention of Slane's Theocracy, Altiria's face hardened slightly.

"I see..."

Then the princess blushed and bowed.

"I apologize, I didn't even thank you for giving us such precious potions."

The Summoner shook her head.

"What is more valuable, these potions or their lives?"

Just as they entered the shed, Miriel sneezed. Altiria turned to her friend. The Summoner's face was as pale as milk and strained. She was shaking in her clothes soaked by rain.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm old enough to fend for myself," Miriel immediately replied, in a drier tone than intended. "I'm just tired," she justified in a more casual tone.

Diolaine who had followed them without saying anything - until then- took the opportunity to intervene.

"Tired? It's not surprising... Have you ever slept an hour in the last three days?!"

"I told you to stop worrying about me. I know what I'm doing. I'll change clothes as soon as you leave and go to bed once I have sold all the weapons collected."

"You could also do that tomorrow AFTER sleeping," Diolaine angrily replied.

Without answering, Miriel began to empty her Inventory. A bunch of armor, shields, bows, arrows, and various weapons... all on the scale of kobolds... appeared in the middle of the hangar, piling up on an even larger pile, everything the Summoner had brought on a dozen trips to the Smoking Hill.

All weapons that could be used by humans were added to Targos' arsenal or returned to their rightful owners (such as Usse's magic sword and shield).

"Now get out of here, I have to summon a creature that is not precisely friendly... and I'd rather work without further interference."

As Altiria trembled at the mention of a 'creature that is not precisely friendly', Miriel misunderstood the causes of her concern.

"Rest assured, you are safe. If I am alone with it, no one else will be in danger."

Diolaine left the shed. The rain continued to fall, still thick and cold.

As Leyen Aristeia left his guard position at the hangar door to walk behind the princess, Altiria turned to the thief.

"How long have you known Nimrodel?"

"Three weeks longer than you... Your Highness."

The elf smiled as she heard the human from Slane call her ' Your Highness'. She was one of the few people native to the Theocracy not to hate the elves... yet she showed no particular respect for her title of princess... as well as of Slane's cardinals or anyone else...

"Why won't she let us worry about her?"

Diolaine Gisle Kure raised an eyebrow. She replied in a frustrated voice:

"Why won't she let us worry about her? But it's worse than that! When we worry about her, either Nimrodel takes it as doubts about her abilities, or she doesn't even understand that we're worried about her. I think... I think Miriel... uh... Nimrodel..."

Even in the darkness, Altiria Siina Verteil noticed that Diolaine was blushing at her blunder. But this was not surprising. They were all tired and stressed which led to more and more mistakes. The previous weeks had been an uninterrupted succession of battles and difficult choices.

"Fear not, I know Nimrodel is not her true name."

The thief punched her hand.

"Nimrodel does not trust anyone. She keeps her secrets very carefully, hides her true abilities, and some of her spells, even her true name! Just as she did not tell you why she went to Silsuntecks, she did not let me accompany her when she went to the ruins near Daggerford. She doesn't know what trust is."

The elven princess nodded.

"Unlike you, Miriel told me about her past... in a very vague way. Nevertheless, I think you're right. She doesn't know trust or love, she never feels these emotions. But that's to be expected... How could Miriel love herself when her parents didn't?"

Altiria frowned.

There was something creepy about a young teenager being so cynical. The Summoner constantly mortified herself, pushing her limits even further, regardless of her own health. Here one day, elsewhere the next, always trying to save complete strangers. It was as if Miriel wanted to prove her worth to others... and at the same time, the half-elf didn't seem to care about what others thought of her... Maybe she felt responsible... for everything that could go wrong across the continent (?).

Absurd!

But one thing was clear, the half-elf did not seek to save others because she loved them... and she also did not want others to love her. She didn't even want a reward. Miriel was acting like...

Altiria shuddered, suddenly understanding what the half-elf reminded her of.

Yes, that's right!

Miriel acted like a penitent seeking to atone for a sin.

Filtering between the poorly joined curtains, a ray of sunshine fell on Miriel's face. The eyelids of the half-elf quivered and she turned aside moaning. Her face was covered with sweat. The Summoner slowly emerged from sleep... a sleep too light, fragmented by nightmares mixing the memory of the bullying that Haruko had suffered at school and some of the most horrible episodes she experienced since his arrival in the New World: Jaldabaoth's hobby, Ainz Ooal Gown's undead army massacring the inhabitants of Re-Estize Kingdom and especially... the demons she had summoned, tearing humans and half-humans in a whirlwind of blood.

Struggling amidst this mush of memories mixed together, an unbearable collection of remorse and powerlessness, Miriel moaned in her sleep and then straightened up.

Her eyes opened, haggard, it took her several seconds to recognize the room of the inn where she lived since her arrival in Targos.

She was thirsty and had a headache. Leaning towards the coffee table where a jug of water was placed, Miriel discovered two other things... her fingers were shaking and the pillow was soaked in sweat.

After drinking, she opened the Interface on her character sheet and then scrolled down the page where the buffs and debuffs were listed.

The Summoner winced.

Her Status indicated that she was "Sick (flu)" and "Exhausted". Her Strength, Stamina, and Speed were halved.

Miriel opened her Inventory. She only had four cure disease potions left. She would have to get others from Greedy Clutches or make some herself... which first meant that she had to identify plants with this property and then experiment until she discovered a method to distill them into an effective potion.

More work to be added to the to-do list

Diolaine and Altiria were very kind to tell her to rest, but the problems kept piling up. And who could solve them, Antilene? No, Sudden Death was more the kind that created whole new sets of headache-inducing issues.

Taking a Stamina-restoring potion, she sat in bed waiting for the drinks to take effect.

In OOO, it was immediate... but the New World was not so cheated... As on Earth, the drugs took time to operate.

However, after about ten minutes, the sensation of her nightgown stuck to her body by sweat became unbearable. She got up and poured water into a large metal basin before undressing and starting to wash by rubbing her skin with a damp cloth.

As a Japanese, coming from a country where people bathed every day, she suffered from the rudimentary hygiene of the New World. Only rich people had baths and magical tools that heated the water. The rest of the population washed themselves with cold water in a basin.

Miriel had just finished washing herself then someone knocked on the door.

"Who is it?"

"Firy the Quick" replied a childish voice.

Firy was a twelve-year-old boy who served as a messenger in Targos, still running somewhere between the ramparts, the harbor, the house that served as the defense headquarters, and the baron's mansion.

"Does anyone need me?"

"Yes," said the child across the door. "Baron Breval summed you!"

"Okay, I'll be right there."

"I'll wait for you in the hallway, Nimrodel."

The young half-elf got up and -briefly- the room began to turn around her. On the verge of fainting, she leaned against the wall so as not to fall.

Striving to breathe slowly, superficially, Miriel pushed back the weakness that threatened to overwhelm her.

The office of Baron Marcus Aquaire Breval was like a museum. Shelves along the walls were covered with books on strategy or politics. Paintings depicting famous battles adorned the free space between bookcases. On a mannequin, the baron's armor was proudly displayed. It showed the stigmas of numerous battles in the form of impacts and scars, where weapons had dented the metal.

The baron had been talking for about ten minutes, but Miriel was barely paying attention. She understood that Breval thanked her for bringing back the wounded with her flying carpet because these men would not have survived a trip of several days in the hills.

Still suffering from a migraine, the Summoner looked forward to the end of this boring speech and, as Breval changed the subject, she had a moment of hope... except that he now thanked her for a different reason.

"... without the fresh food you continually bring to us, famine and disease would have already weakened the resolve of the besieged. The people of Targos are indebted to you, as lord of this barony I acknowledge my debts and I hope one day to be able to compensate you."

Miriel smiled faintly.

"Please, Your Lordship, you owe me nothing. Jaldabaoth is my enemy as much as yours. Plus, I was sent here to stop this town from falling and that's exactly what I'm doing."

The baron looked at her more carefully, finally noticing her drawn features and the pallor of her face.

"How can I not be grateful after all you've done?"

"Precisely, My Lord... I did not do it for you. Let's say that I have my own reasons for fighting Jaldabaoth."

Since the Demonic Emperor was tracking her to offer her to someone the demon had called 'Supreme One', Miriel had a very personal interest in countering the Jaldabaoth's machinations.

Breval sighed while shaking his head.

"You know, Nimrodel, you're not making it easy for my wife and me... we're really grateful for what you're doing for Targos, whatever your motives. But you never cease to... sweep away our thanks with a gesture of the hand."

Miriel smiled sadly.

"It's just that your thanks make me uncomfortable, My Lord. Dare I ask you to let me go back to the inn? I have some alchemical research to do."

Without counting her research on Obscura Onihime Online's magic... this was still at a standstill. And that was a real problem. Although she has gained six levels since arriving in the New World, Miriel has not learned a single additional spell. Ah... and there was also the Orb of Usha, the Artifact recovered in the Omalhu Dungeon (2). It was partly because of the Orb that she arrived in the New Word. The object could become a huge asset if she learned how to use it... except that she did not have time to do more than a superficial study of the Artifact.

Her actual difficulties could be summarized very simply: too many problems and too little time... after all Miriel existed in a single copy while the whole west of the continent was caught in a spiral of conflicts and evil schemes that spread from Nazarick, the eye of the storm.

There was a moment of silence as Miriel thought about arranging her schedule for the day. There was so much to do. Nevertheless, the Breval took the floor again.

"I have another reason to bring you here..."

The baron paused. He owed this sixteen-year-old girl a great debt... and he was going to ask her again for help. The Roble's nobleman felt like he was taking advantage of her without giving anything in return and it made him very uncomfortable.

Leaning over a crystal ball on the baron's desk, Miriel half closed her eyes, focused, while her hands made occult signs as she murmured words of power.

Colored mists appeared in the sphere before revealing a blurred scene.

Eagerly, Marcus Aquaire Breval leaned forward. Lord of a city surrounded by enemies' hordes, he had no recourse other than to use Miriel's Divination to obtain information on what was happening outside. And no warlord could plan actions without the use of reliable information.

Vision stabilized. It was a green meadow of field flowers bathed in sunlight. Except that two armies were waiting face to face, ready for battle...

The crystal ball appeared to zoom in on a point in the middle of the flowery field and...

"Ainz Ooal Gown!"

Baron Breval had of course never met the Sorcerer King, but after the disaster of Katze Plains, descriptions of this undead and even drawings had arrived in Targos.

The Overlord was a skeletal undead with a sort of... red orb (?) in the chest. He was dressed in a black mage dress with a hood, purple bands, and huge epaulets that looked like the horns of an animal.

The undead was sitting in a carved wood cathedra. A long table with a jug of water and two glasses separated him from another person sitting in an identical chair.

He too was a public figure whose portraits were known even in the Roble's Holy Kingdom.

"Zanac Valleon Igana Ryle Vaiself!"

He was the prince of the kingdom of Re-Estize and... if the baron believed the rumor... the true head of the kingdom since the death of his brother, Prince Barbro. The effects of age and the shock of the loss of his eldest son had isolated King Ramposa III.

It was obviously a last-chance diplomatic meeting between the two warring nations, a final attempt to avoid a bloody battle...

Unfortunately, if he could see the emotions on Prince Zanac's face and guess his anger, then the contrite apology he made to Gown, Baron Breval did not hear what he was saying, or the soothing response of the Overlord.

"Isn't there a way to get the sound?"

He stood up to look at Miriel. The half-elf had her face tense in an expression of concentration and her face dripped with sweat. However, she replied:

"Sorry, the crystal ball only allows seeing pictures..."

It was a real shame; these negotiations would probably one day be considered one of the major events in the history of the New World. It was frustrating. After all, the death or survival of the Re-Estize kingdom would be decided before his very eyes... and he did not hear the discussion (3).

Then, the Prince of Re-Estize and the Sorcerer King got up before cordially separating, but without shaking hands or calling scribes to sign a peace treaty.

"I think the negotiations have failed. Can you follow Gown to his tent?"

"I doubt it, My Lord... the Headquarter tent must be protected from Polling's spells. Not only do I have little chance of seeing inside, but I risk setting off an alarm... or a defense system. Perhaps they even have a technique for locating us. I would advise you not to take such a risk, Your Lordship."

Marcus paled while swallowing. The last thing he ever wanted was to draw the attention of the Sorcerer Kingdom to him.

"Yes, you are right. Follow Prince Zanac."

Miriel and Baron Breval saw the prince of Re-Estize return to his tent.

"The royal tent is protected from Polling's magic," Miriel suddenly said.

The image on the crystal ball had turned into a whirlwind of pastel colors like colored inks poured into water.

Her face froze under the stress as sweat dripped down her cheeks as the wizard whispered spells and traced mystics' symbols on the surface of the sphere.

"I... I get through... yes..."

The half-elf bit her lip as the image the image becomes clear again showing Prince Zanac chatting with a man in armor standing next to a map representing the meadow.

Even without the sound, it was obvious that the two men were calm but with no hope of victory... they accepted their fate with stoic resignation.

Marcus Aquaire Breval was on the same wavelength as them.

"The elite of the Re-Estize Kingdom army perished during the Katze Plains massacre. Even if Ainz Ooal Gown does not summon monsters to crush them like ants, it is not with militiamen and levies that they will be able to defeat an army of monsters, demons, and undead."

Suddenly several men in very ornate armor entered the prince's tent. The general seemed at first surprised, then furious, asking the nobles to leave. But the aristocrats all spoke at the same time and the prince replied in a few short sentences. The men became pale when they realized that the negotiations had failed.

Suddenly, during the conversation, the nobles drew their swords from the sheath, while the general called for the guard. But no one came...

Zanac and the general were quickly murdered before a nobleman cut off the prince's head. Then they got out of the tent, mounted on horseback, and headed for Gown's camp.

Furious, Marcus punched the wood of the table.

"Poor fools, you believe that Gown will spare you because you bring him the head of Prince Zanac? You understand nothing... After demonstrating the power of his magic at Katze Plains, Gown must now prove that his army is just as great to assert his invincibility! The Sorcerer King did not seek to settle private scores with the royal family, he probably didn't care about conquering the country... this battle was mere propaganda material!"

Baron Breval was ashen, clenching his fists under the effect of anger... and fear.

He could understand the territorial claims of a tyrant, and his desire to gain revenge against old foes or his desire to eliminate a rival.

But for Gown, the destruction of Re-Estize was a completely dispassionate act, the mere culmination of a cold calculation.

The attack on the supply convoy heading to Roble, if Gown had not triggered this diplomatic incident himself, would have just provided an excuse for the public execution... of an entire kingdom. If this opportunity had not come, Gown could very well have chosen the Roble Holly Kingdom itself...

In the end, it was an even more terrifying prospect than imagining the Sorcerer King as a vindictive character willing to shed a sea of blood for every insult.

At least, with a bloodthirsty tyrant it was enough to bow down before him, to do all that he asked and one could reasonably hope to be spared.

But Gown could kill the first person he saw, just because at that moment he needed to demonstrate his power.

...no one was safe.

In the past, the army of the Re-Estize Kingdom had been considered a mere meat shield of poorly armed peasants with a strong cavalry and very few wizards. Only the Warrior Troop led by Warrior Captain Gazef Stronoff was considered the equal of the knights of Baharuth (or even a somewhat superior unit). But they had lost their leader as well as a large part of the troops during the Katze Plains massacre.

Other elite units such as Marquis Raeven's Adventurer Team also perished in the same battle.

Yet, at first glance, the army waiting in the meadow made a good impression. The soldiers were grouped in rectangular formations on ten rows of depths.

Their weapons were of good quality.

Each man- whatever the unit- had a brown leather helmet of hemispherical shape (a very recognizable piece of armor, typical of the army of Re-Estize). Some units had plate armor, complete or partial, and others had leather armor. But almost all the soldiers had steel's breastplate and steel's shoulder pads.

Most infantrymen were equipped with a one-handed spear or a broadsword with a slightly curved, all-steel, circular shield. There were also archers grouped behind the spear formations.

On both wings of the infantry, cavalry units had been placed... too few horsemen.

The truth was that most of the professional soldiers had already died.

Most of the 'soldiers' participating in the battle were peasants from the area or inhabitants of the town of Re-Estize who had been very briefly trained in combat formation. The only positive thing about the death of so many professional warriors was that the kingdom's stockpiles of weapons were now enough to properly equip all these militiamen.

For most of these men, this was going to be their first battle!

One could add that the army had been decapitated with... the decapitation of Prince Zanac and the death of their general.

Much of the troops were feudal ones... and their lords had not returned from their 'interview' with Ainz Ooal Gown.

As a philosopher (4) once said: "A crowd without leaders is no more an army than a pile of building materials is a house."

On the other side of a wide strip of meadow sown with wildflowers, one could see the army of the Sorcerer Kingdom... they were mostly undead.

The majority of the troops were made of skeletons and zombies commanded by Lichs. Among them, one could see Skeleton Archers and some Skeleton Mages, as well as some more rare undead (such as Gravekeepers, Ghouls, or Red Skeleton Warriors).

There were also Death Knights and Squire Zombies.

They were an undifferentiated mass of fighters... cannon fodder that Ainz Ooal Gown could easily sacrifice. After the battle, there would be enough bodies at his disposal to fill the losses.

In the center of the undead army was gathered the elite infantry of the Sorcerer Kingdom: Nazarick Elder Guarder and Nazarick Old Guarder. These two units were made up of skeletons in plate armor. Unlike the other undead, they were disciplined soldiers grouped in perfectly organized formations, with a standardized top-grade armament.

On both wings were Skeletons Riders units as well as another elite troop, Nazarick Master Guarder. These skeletons in golden armor rode undead mounts.

Finally, each Nazarick's Floor Guardian taking part in the battle had brought some of his minions. Shalltear Bloodfallen was surrounded by Vampire Brides, Demiurge commanded his Evil Lords, named after the Seven Deadly Sins. Cocytus had brought with him some Yuki-onna (5). Aura Bella Fiora spoke to monsters she had raised, among them there was even a basilisk, a young dragon, and a hydra. Although present in the command tent, Albedo would not fight, remaining near the Sorcerer King to advise him.

Numerically and qualitatively, it was an army far superior to the militiamen of the Re-Estize Kingdom.

The battle began abruptly.

The Sorcerer Kingdom's flying creatures took off. The flames vomited by the dragon opened trenches filled with charred bodies in the ranks of the Re-Estize Kingdom's defenders, while demons wielding flaming swords jumped on a group of soldiers, slaughtered some of them, and then regained altitude.

Already panic broke the ranks of the levies, men began to run in circles screaming, in distress, seeing everywhere walls of flames rising around them as the dragon roared in the sky and the demons laughed. The most panicked dropped their weapons and fled.

But one of the most experienced royal knights managed to reorganize the units closest to him and make them retreat to reconstitute a line of defense on the right of the battlefield.

Nevertheless, the Nazarick Master Guarder charged the Re-Estize's Royal Knights, which led to a brief one-sided clash... because each of these undead was as strong as a Mitrhil-rank adventurer and they butchered their foes.

The surviving knights fled, clutching their mounts in the hope of escaping. Other human horsemen and then infantrymen attacked the elite troops, but the skeletons in golden armor and long red cloaks maneuvered without showing fear (could they feel fear?) charged again, and crossed from side to side the ranks of the defenders, piercing humans with their spears, while their mounts smashed shields with hooves or trampled the fighters who fell to the ground.

They were one to four, but within minutes, half the humans lay dead or dying and the survivors fled.

By this time, Nazarick's infantry had not yet come into contact with the enemy, and yet the human army was already dislocated, half of the units were no longer grouped in formation or were mixed with other units. The flames and smoke blocked the view and prevented the men from maneuvering. There were already thousands of dead and morale was faltering.

As the undead horde approached, the humans realized that the battle was already lost.

The soldiers who formed the front ranks dropped their weapons and began to run... panic spread almost instantly. The formations wavered and disintegrated as each man ran for his life.

The battle didn't even last ten minutes!

Bent over the crystal ball, Baron Breval whispered imprecations in a low voice while clenching his fists. What he saw exceeded his most pessimistic estimates...

Of course, he had never hoped that the Re-Estize Kingdom could win the battle but... but at least he hoped they could fight a battle worthy of the name, not...

He looked at the images that continued to appear in the sphere. Everywhere it was just levies running with their mouths open, their faces distorted by terror, probably screaming. And demons fell from the sky to tear them from the ground and shred them, or skeletal horsemen pierced them with their spears when they did not shrivel, turned into smoking coal by the fire vomited by the dragon.

... not a foxhunt.

The images suddenly disappeared.

First, Breval remained without reacting, surprised... then he heard a whimper. He looked up at Miriel. The half-elf had dropped the crystal ball. She raised a trembling hand to her nose and then looked at the blood on her fingers, as a thin stream of hemoglobin flowed from her nostril. A moment later, her eyes rolled back and she fell from her chair.

Marcus Aquaire Breval quickly got up to kneel next to the Wizard.

The young woman's face was white. Curled up on the floor, she breathed tumultuously as if she was suffocating. Her face and clothes were soaked in sweat.

"Nimrodel!"

The baron called her name several times, but she did not react.

She had fainted.

(1) The title of this chapter plays on the double meaning that the expression 'Death March' has for Japanese. Besides the common sense of a funeral march (music played at burials), for an employee of a 'Black Company', a Death March is an episode of intensive work where the employee does not even return home often with health-damaging results. The Karōshi (death from overwork) has been recognized as an occupational disease since 1970 in Japan.

(2) A very powerful magical object, see chapter 1. Without spoiling the plot, the Usha Orb is one of the most dangerous Artifacts that Miriel has...

(3) Indeed, this negotiation between Zanac and Ainz is one of the most interesting passages of Overlord's Season IV... I realized that my opinion of Zanac was unfounded (I considered him until then as the classic conspirator, ready to do anything to obtain the throne). The prince was a very human person, with a strong love for his people. He would have been a great king... if Ainz still had any use for the Kingdom of Re-Estize.

(4) Socrates.

(5) Ice women, the personification of winter in Japanese myths.