note: im not quite confident in this kind of stuff, i am much more comfortable in writing humor and comedy, but i tried my best.
note2: anddd i think from now on i'll stick with simpler language, prob cuz i overdid this chapter with complex wording and language and now i am exhausted, plus the fact that i write this everyday cuz simply i really like this story, so me getting exhausted isnt good..
Serious note: This chapter is gonna be rewritten, because the way its currently written, i deem it extremely unsatisfactory. Ainz here seems extremely petty, as reading it, i think ainz in reality would indeed get annoyed at Spy trying to provoke him, but i think i kinda overblown his reactions and the writing complexity like, raised up all of the sudden and this chapter is jarringly different. So unless if there are any protest or , this current chapter is gonna be deleted and replaced with an new one.
Enjoy.
As his invitation to work under him seemed to have succeeded, Ainz sighed quietly, a subtle relief easing the tension in his undead form.
His eyes drifted to the cigarette the spy had carelessly discarded moments ago. At first, he'd chosen to ignore it, but now that things seemed to be going well, he couldn't overlook the offense any longer.
He looked at the burnt cigarette on the ground.
"How dare you dirty the floors of Nazarick like this? And that attitude, does he not realize how he comes off?.. Yes, I interrupted his free time; as a former salaryman, I can sympathize. But that doesn't excuse such disrespect.. and why he keeps looking at me like that? He's been staring at me like that since when i made that question.. Is he angry with me? No, i didn't do anything to anger him, maybe its for the fact i brought him here.. But stll.." Ainz thought, his irritation flaring.
But before his anger could fully surface, he exhaled slowly, calming himself. "No, no. Calm down. It's a minor thing. I'll deal with his attitude later. Negotiations come first."
His attention shifted back to the spy's peculiar request: to negotiate over coffee at a table.
"Who in the world asks for such a thing? Is this a ploy? A test? or does he genuinely just want coffee while negotiating?"
His composure returning, he stepped forward, the undead parting like a gate, allowing both of them to see each other fully.
"Very well. I'll arrange for us to speak at a table. However, the maids will check if we have coffee. If not, would another beverage suffice?"
The spy, the damn chronic smoker that he was, exhaled a slow cloud of smoke that lingered in the air for a moment before dissipating. His gaze remained fixed on Ainz.
"Fine, bring me whatever beverage you have," the spy said. He reached into his breast pocket, and the room tensed as his hand fumbled for something. After a moment, he pulled out a brick of dollars and began counting them, his fingers peeling through the stack. "But ensure it is the finest. I have no tolerance for mediocrity."
Spy looked around to inspect the room once again the unimpressive wooden walls once again.
"But looking at this room—charming as it is—I can't help but wonder how your 'Nazarick' plans to back up those oh-so-grand promises. Doesn't exactly scream 'overflowing coffers.' Here, let me help. Keep the change." With a flick of his wrist, he threw a portion of the money into the air, a shower of bills raining down toward Ainz's feet. The soldiers around him barely reacted to the money that fell, but Ainz's gaze fixated on the discarded bills.
As he glared at the money at his feet, his gaze slowly drifted up to him—
Ainz's eyes flared with a sharper glow, their intensity cutting through the room like a blade.
Suddenly, a green glow enveloped Ainz, its calming light tempering the storm within him. The oppressive tension in the air lessened, but the faint crackle of his lingering irritation remained, an undercurrent of restrained fury that refused to dissipate entirely.
After a brief silence, he spoke, his glowing eyes fixed unyieldingly on the spy.
"It appears I have delayed our agreements for far too long—" Suddenly, a message arrived for Ainz. He raised two fingers to his temple.
"[Ainz-sama? This is Demiurge.]"
"Demiurge? Why is he sending a message? Isn't he behind me with Mare?"
Meanwhile, the Spy raised an eyebrow at Ainz's odd gesture.
Despite the fact that Ainz should have said something, he didn't say a word.
"[I have anticipated that you would want a room prepared immediately... That is, if you wish to interrogate the spy or simply have a 'cup of coffee.' There is a room already prepared, and the maids on your right will lead him there]"
"Hm, excellent. I don't have to waste by waiting for the room to be ready."
As his fingers dropped from his temples and he looked up at the spy.
He looked to his right, his height towering over the other undead, and he spotted two regular maids waiting at the door.
Ainz turned to spy and addressed him again. "Your request to have this conversation with a cup of coffee at a table has been duly granted."
He took a step back, and with a silent command, the ranks of undead and combatants on his right tore apart, parting to reveal a clear path leading to a door, where two maids stood waiting.
"Follow them, they will lead you there. Once you reach the room, make yourself comfortable. I'll be joining you soon."
The spy side-eyed left and right as he stepped down from the pedestal. As soon as he reached the path, his gaze ceased to meet anyone else's. He only looked down, adjusting his cuffs as a trail of smoke curled from his cigarette. The undead and various combatants turned their heads in unison, their wide eyes fixed on him, scrutinizing every movement he made.
As he approached the pair of maids, their frowns deepened, and their gazes were decidedly unwelcoming. They gave him a curt bow—the bowing so minimal that it was almost a nod—before stepping aside to open the door.
"Please, this way." they said indifferently, both gesturing to the door in unison.
The spy glanced at them, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he entered the room. The maids followed behind him.
Ainz noticed Mare Bello Fiore going after the maids. "Eh? Mare is going with them too?"
He turned to Demiurge, his questioning glance meeting Demiurge's confident gaze. Demiurge nodded in response.
"It seems this was part of whatever Demiurge had planned. I suppose it's fine."
After a moment of silence.
"Just to be sure."
With a flick of his finger, the undead army moved as a single unit, marching in unison to reach Mare and the spy. Their synchronized footsteps echoed through Aura's lab long after they had passed.
meanwhile,
Spy walked ahead of the maids, he occasionally glanced over his shoulder.
The faint, swirling trace of smoke from his cigarette seemed to agitate the pair of maids trailing behind him, though their wary eyes remained fixed on him.
He cleared his throat softly, taking advantage of the momentary quiet to reflect. "A monarch who demands respect and authority yet gets irritated so easily. Whoever's been pampering that skeleton has spoiled him or hasn't meet anyone like me."
His gaze swept over the hallway as they advanced. Bare wooden walls stretched endlessly, devoid of decoration, mementos, or any signs of grandeur. No chandeliers, no paintings—nothing but bleak, lifeless wood.
"No one in their right mind would call this rathole a monarch's residence, this is likely just an base or an campment" he thought, his eyes searching for anything unusual.
But the corridor revealed no surprises, no hidden clues.
But spy shook his head, and let go of the trivial stuff.
As he recollected everything that he absorbed in his mind, at least, what he perceived.
The grandiose, perphaps empty promises Ainz made and his overly formal speech were easy to spot. What stood out more were the subtle hesitations, the small pauses before answers, as if buying time to craft a perfect response. He would noticed how Ainz would occasionally stumble over words or misjudge his tone, minor flaws in an otherwise flawless façade. These brief lapses in control—whether intentional or not—were revealing.
"No one's perfect. But these little mistakes? These are what I'll remember. It seems i was able to open his skull and peed inside such 'well built persona'." Spy chuckled quietly to himself
Then he paused, and with a smirk "Now, now, Sir.[REDACTED, Don't get ahead of yourself. You still have to actually tear that skull open. Once you are the one to pull the strings, you can have the last laugh." he talked to himself in his mind acting like another person.
Then, faint additional footsteps reached his ears... quite lots of additionals.
A thunderous march erupted behind them. The synchronized pounding of countless feet reverberated through the corridor, growing louder and more oppressive with every step.
The spy's eyebrow furrowed, letting out an audible groan. "Can't these barbarians make less noise?"
Suddenly, one of the maids spoke.
"Undesirable guest, please turn to your right."
As the spy turned to his right, a door came into view. Before entering, he glanced back at the two maids behind him.
Despite their hostile demeanor, they were undeniably beautiful. Their modest maid outfits, though reserved, subtly accentuated their curves and their cleavages. The spy's gaze lingered briefly, and while the maids gave no outward reaction, their watchful eyes suggested they wouldn't forget his scrutiny.
Unbothered, the spy dismissed the thought with a mental shrug and stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
"Not worth it," he thought. "Too young and unappropriate. And if it were up to me, the dress code would be fancier and more appropriate—Victorian maids, not whatever that is."
Before entering, he noticed the army standing by, with a pair of heterochromatic eyes glowing between the gaps of the skeletons. From Spy's perspective, the right eye was green, and the left was blue—but he didn't question it and stepped inside.
The moment he entered, his eyebrows arched as his eyes swept across the room, cataloging every detail.
The walls, made of smooth obsidian, shimmered faintly, as though alive. Intricate runes etched into their surface pulsed with a golden, eerie light. The ceiling loomed high, adorned with dark crystal stalactites that scattered prismatic reflections across the chamber. At the center of it all hung an enormous chandelier, crafted from interwoven bones and gemstones, its crystals refracting a sinister red glow.
The floor, a mirror-like expanse of polished black marble, seemed to shift subtly with every step. At the room's center stood a glass table, its corners forged from smooth obsidian that reflected the chamber's haunting beauty. The tabletop itself was an almost translucent purple, radiating an ethereal glow.
Opposite Spy sat a throne-like monstrosity, a grotesque structure crafted from the bones of unrecognizable creatures. Amid the macabre assembly, human skulls stood out unmistakably.
In front of Spy, by contrast, stood a simple wooden stool.
Its stark plainness almost mocked him, drawing a chuckle from his lips. Spy glanced at the grotesque throne and scoffed.
"To hell with that. Let the skeleton sit on his bone chair all he wants. I'll take the stool."
Stretching out, he settled onto the wooden seat. He inspected the table more closely and noted the utter lack of adornment—nothing but a small ashtray to his side.
"Ah, how convenient," he muttered, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. With a flick of his fingers, ash rained into the tray, and he left the cigarette resting there.
Moments later, a maid entered, holding a small tray. The rich aroma of roasted beans wafted toward him, teasing his senses with hints of nuttiness, bitterness, and earthiness. But she was then followed by an army of various combattants and they all robotically positioned themself besides the throne and those that occupied the center or stood after the throne waited outside.
He exhaled contentedly, a faint smile curling his lips as he glanced at the maid. "Is that espresso?" he asked.
The maid, poised and pretty, gave a curt bow and she approached his table. "Yes, undesirable guest, this is indeed espresso," she replied.
With an audible thud, she set the tray down in front of him. Her breach of etiquette didn't faze Spy; he simply rubbed his hands together, eager to taste the beverage.
Lifting the cup, he took a sip—and immediately spat it out. His face twisted in disgust as he clawed at his tongue, desperately trying to scrape away the overwhelming bitterness and general foul taste.
After scraping away, he groaned, glaring up at the maid. "I asked for the finest beverage, not the cheapest sludge you could find."
The maid, still standing calmly beside him, pulled out a cloth and started to wipe the mess Spy made, but she looked at him and responded
"An ingrate of your caliber is fortunate to receive anything palatable. Be grateful this is not mud and mealworms."
Before the Spy could retort her words, the sound of audible footsteps echoed through the room. Ainz entered, followed by a little girl with long ears, a bowl haircut, and a man in a bright red suit with white stripes and a matching tie.
Spy's gaze briefly flicked to the little girl, who stood out amidst the more formal and serious figures. He briefly amused himself in his thoughts "Who is that child? Why is she here? Is she some teenager after my cigarettes?"
Before he could delve further into the girl's identity or turn attention to the man in red, a cold touch grazed his shoulder, cutting through even the fabric of his suit. He glanced to see what had made contact—it was Ainz's skeletal hand, which slid past his shoulder as Ainz moved. As the fingers left his shoulder, Spy looked up, meeting Ainz's glowing eyes, which burned with a sharp intensity in his mind. But after a few steps, Ainz returned his focus ahead.
As Ainz closed the distance between himself and the throne, his gaze never wavered, his attention solely fixed on the seat before him. Upon reaching it, he turned away from the throne, and with a flick of his hand, his cloak billowed dramatically as he settled into the chair.
The little girl and the man in the red suit remained standing silently beside him.
"Since you haven't objected to working under me," Ainz began, his voice steady yet firm, "this table will serve as a place where we can properly negotiate our agreements and disagreements."
Before Spy could respond, Ainz raised a hand, silencing him.
Ainz's glowing eyes locked onto the spy with a piercing intensity. "However…"
"Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. From now on, I will not tolerate such behavior or attitude in my home."
Ainz leaned back into the throne, his gaze piercing through Spy.
Spy didn't immediately reply. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, a smirk slowly creeping across his face.
"Interesting… Let's see how this unfolds," Spy said, leisurely picking up his cigarette from the ashtray and placing it between his lips.
He inhaled deeply, savoring the smoke, then exhaled in a slow, deliberate puff.
Ainz remained still, his patience thinning. "Are we clear?" he asked, his tone hardening.
Spy took another drag from his cigarette and, with a languid smile, replied, "But of course."
End of chapter