Chapter 8: 404 Mage Not Found
In the heart of Muspellsheim, an inferno raged unchecked. Rivers of lava carved molten scars across the blackened landscape, their fiery tongues lapping at the crumbling ruins of once-mighty fortresses. The air shimmered with heat, distorting the anguished cries of fallen warriors and the triumphant roars of their demonic foes.
And yet, amidst the chaos, an uneasy silence reigned. For Yggdrasil, the world tree of legend had lost its most vocal champion. The Crimson Demon, scourge of the virtual realm, had vanished without a trace.
At first, the news was met with doubt. Players scoured every corner of the nine realms, convinced it was merely another of the infamous mage's grand schemes.
Surely, they reasoned, this was but a prelude to an even mightier explosion, a climax that would shake the very foundations of Yggdrasil.
But as the weeks stretched into months, and the months into years, a grim realisation settled over the player base. The Crimson Demon was gone, and with her, the spark that had ignited countless adventures and fueled endless debates.
Then came the cracks in the façade, the first signs of a deeper rot that had taken hold in Yggdrasil's virtual soil.
Three years had passed since the Crimson Demon's disappearance, yet her shadow loomed large. In the frozen wastes of Niflheim, two armies clashed in the snow-covered courtyard of the Hrímthursar fortress, their banners snapping in the frigid wind.
From one side came a rallying cry: "If a punishment for a PK is a fine—!"
The opposing force answered with equal fervour: "—then it's a punishment meant only for the free-to-play!"
High above, in the fortress' tallest tower, Momonga stood watching, his skeletal form an imposing silhouette against the aurora-streaked sky. Red pinpricks of light flickered in his empty eye sockets as he surveyed the battlefield below, his bony fingers tightening on the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown.
"Quite the spectacle, wouldn't you agree?" Momonga turned to find Punitto Moe beside him, the strategist's overgrown form seeming to shrivel in this frozen realm.
"Indeed," Momonga replied. "Though I find myself longing for the days when such conflicts were simpler. PvP was just PvP, not... this."
The battle below was but a taste of a much larger schism that had formed—a theological war between two rival factions, each interpreting their in-game deity's final actions through the lens of their own fervent beliefs.
The Equalisers, free-to-play RP'ers in red, saw her bequest of high-level gear as a call to arms against pay-to-win mechanics, fighting for an even playing field. The Ascendants, clad in gold, believed that cash shop items were a measure of devotion. Both seized upon cryptic phrases left behind as holy writ, rallying cries in their bitter war of ideology.
It had begun with a broken economy, the delicate balance of supply and demand thrown into disarray by the sudden influx of resources the Crimson Demon had unleashed in her final act.
Prices fluctuated wildly, fortunes were made and lost overnight, and players who had once prided themselves on their hard-earned gear found themselves outpaced by lucky newcomers with fat virtual wallets.
Frustration spilled into forums and chat channels. Veterans decried the "dumbing down" of their beloved game, while newcomers revelled in their ill-gotten gear. Guilds fractured along ideological lines, their once-united fronts dissolving into infighting and recriminations.
The developers scrambled to keep pace, patching holes in a ship taking on water. They tweaked drop rates, adjusted skill trees, and introduced new mechanics at a breakneck pace, each change met with a fresh wave of outrage from a divided player base.
Many simply walked away, their love for Yggdrasil soured by the bitter taste of disappointment.
They logged out one final time, their avatars fading into the digital ether, never to return. The population dwindled, once-thriving player hubs haunted by the spectre of better days.
For those who remained, Yggdrasil withered. The once-vibrant nine realms now echoed with the hollow sounds of a game on life support, its dwindling population a shadow of its former glory.
But amidst the decay, a curious thing began to take root.
Whispers of the Crimson Demon's legacy, once dismissed as idle chatter, took on new meaning. Roleplayers and lore enthusiasts ran with it, arguing that the Crimson Demon's disappearance was a turning point in world tree's fate.
These dedicated storytellers wove narratives around the Crimson Demon's actions, casting her as a catalyst for change in a stagnant world. In their tales, the Crimson Demon became a martyr, a visionary who sacrificed her legend to ignite a revolution. Her disappearance marked a new era of collapse and decay.
As the narratives spread, they took on a life of their own. Players who had never roleplayed before found themselves drawn into the mythos, their own experiences in the fractured world of Yggdrasil suddenly imbued with new meaning.
They pointed to the withering cities, and the dwindling player base, as signs that Yggdrasil was on the brink of collapse—a fate that could only be avoided by the realisation of the game's true potential.
At first, the developers paid little heed to these whispers, dismissing them as just another symptom of a disgruntled player base. But as the murmurs grew to a choir, a glimmer of inspiration took hold in the minds of those who had been tasked with Yggdrasil's stewardship.
What if, they reasoned, the key to revitalising their dying world lay not in endless patches and balance tweaks, but in the mythology that had sprung up around their most notorious player?
And so, with a subtlety that belied their desperate straits, the developers wove the legend of the Crimson Demon into the lore of Yggdrasil. The red mage whose name heralded destruction.
Cryptic NPC dialogues hinted at unfulfilled prophecies. Forgotten tomes spoke of a crimson harbinger. Hidden shrines bearing a fiery eye sigil appeared in the most remote corners of the nine realms. Each breadcrumb was carefully placed, transforming a player's disappearance into the cornerstone of a new pantheon. The effect was electric—player engagement soared as theories ran wild, breathing new life into the withering world tree.
Long-dormant accounts flickered to life as veteran players, once jaded by the endless grind, found themselves inexorably drawn back. The whispers online of a greater mystery promised more than just loot, but purpose in a realm they'd thought exhausted of wonder.
As the whispers grew to a deafening roar, as the nine realms once again echoed with the clamour of battle and the thrill of discovery, a realisation dawned upon those who had once dismissed the Crimson Demon as little more than a madwoman with a penchant for destruction.
For the denizens of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, sweeping change presented both opportunity and peril.
"We can't ignore this any longer," Momonga said, his tone hardening with resolve. "Ainz Ooal Gown must take a stance. If we don't, we risk being swept aside by this tide of fanaticism."
Punitto Moe nodded. "I agree. But tread carefully, old friend. We've worked too hard to build our rather fearsome reputation. One wrong move in this powder keg of faith and politics could undo everything. You know how much everybody here likes roleplaying when they get into it."
Momonga straightened, the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown pulsated, reflecting his thoughts. "We shall tread carefully, but we shall tread nonetheless. Gather the guild. It's time we discussed our role in this new world order."
As Punitto Moe faded away to carry out his orders, Momonga cast one last look at the now-quiet battlefield. The players below were dispersing, some to lick their wounds, others to spread the word of what had transpired here.
"Wherever you are," Momonga spoke to the empty air, "I hope you appreciate the chaos you've left in your wake."
"[Greater Teleportation]!"
With that, he appeared within the Great Tomb of Nazarick. There was much to be done, and the game was changing rapidly. Ainz Ooal Gown would adapt, as they always had.
But as he walked the gilded halls, Momonga couldn't shake the feeling that they were all pieces in a game far grander than any of them realised.
Ripples of chaos, further fueled by the devs, reverberated through the world tree with no end in sight. Only one thing was certain—the name of Ainz Ooal Gown would echo through Yggdrasil just as the Crimson Demon did.
Momonga stood before the assembled members of the guild. The grand meeting hall of their recently acquired dungeon buzzed with tension and anticipation.
"My friends," Momonga began, his skeletal visage as impassive as ever, "the time has come for us to address this new phase that has gripped our world."
Murmurs rippled through the gathering. Peroroncino's avian form ruffled its feathers in agitation, while Bukubukuchagama's slime body quivered with what might have been excitement or concern.
"Oh man, oh man," Peroroncino chirped. "Are we finally getting some action around here?"
Bukubukuchagama's gelatinous form rippled with a sigh. "Brother, please. This is serious."
"Indeed it is," Touch Me's resonant voice cut through the chatter. "We must approach this with caution and honour."
"Honor, you suggest?" Ulbert scoffed, his demonic features twisting into a sneer. "Where's the fun in that? I say we show these 'faithful' the true meaning of this crimson chaos they so worship. At least their drops will be worth looting."
Momonga raised a bony hand for silence. "We are going to do what we've always done—adapt and thrive."
He summoned a holographic map of Yggdrasil with a gesture, glowing points marking recent religious activities. The Catacombs of the First Flame, a newly discovered dungeon in Muspellheim, pulsed in red—a nexus for the Crimson Faithful, Equalisers, and Ascendants alike.
"The latest updates have reshaped the meta," Momonga explained. "While players chase faith and rumour, opportunities arise for us. Territories left unguarded, resources uncontested. We will use this to our advantage."
"So what's our play?" Peroroncino asked. "Do we join the treasure hunt?"
"Yes and no. We will investigate these events with a purpose beyond mere curiosity. Some of us will investigate these mysteries, seeking knowledge to use to our advantage. Others will focus on strengthening our hold on farming territories."
Touch Me leaned forward, his armour gleaming. "So, we're to be scholars and conquerors both? Quite the balancing act you propose, Momonga-san."
"Precisely. And all the while, we watch and wait. The true significance of the developer's intentions may yet reveal itself. I would put my money on a new World Enemy, but we can never be sure. We must be ready to act when the moment comes."
With a newfound sense of purpose, the guild members agreed, determined to unravel the secrets convulsing Yggdrasil while still advancing their own interests. As the meeting adjourned, Momonga found himself alone with his thoughts, silently grappling with the philosophical quandaries raised by recent events.
His musings were interrupted by the gentle arrival of Yamaiko, her golden form somehow conveying a deep concern.
"There's more to this than meets the eye, isn't there?"
Momonga lowered his head. "I fear we are all pieces on a board whose true dimensions we cannot yet see. Each move we make, the Crimson Faithful make, even the developers themselves—the last thing we want is to be left behind."
A soft chime echoed through the hall: a message. Momonga opened the notification, his eyelights flickering as he read its contents.
"It seems," he said, a note of excitement creeping into his voice, "that our investigations have borne fruit. A new dungeon has been discovered in Niflheim, one that doesn't appear on any official maps."
Yamaiko leaned in, intrigued. "The developers' handiwork?"
"Most likely," Momonga mused. "Gather the others. We need to move quickly before word spreads to the Crimson Faithful."
As Yamaiko hurried off to alert their guildmates, Momonga felt a familiar thrill course through him. Yes, this was what he lived for—the thrill of discovery, adventuring with his closest friends, to push the boundaries of what was possible in this world they had come to call home.
With purpose, he strode towards the hall's exit, the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown thrumming in his grasp.
He teleported once more, revealing the harsh beauty of Niflheim's frozen wastes. Momonga paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the icy landscape. In the distance, the aurora borealis danced across the sky, a silent watcher of breathtaking artistry.
"Incredible."
Momonga allowed himself a moment to simply appreciate the view. "Even after all this time, this world never ceases to amaze me."
As his guildmates gathered around him, their excited chatter filling the air, Momonga felt a surge of affection for his companions.
"Ready for another adventure?" Touch Me asked, clapping Momonga on the shoulder.
Momonga nodded.
"This dungeon won't explore itself—shall we?"
AN: Thank you everyone for the amazing support for this story! Apologies for the slow upload schedule, but I hope each chapter is worth the wait!
Thanks to all the readers for following and favouriting the story. 100 follows is a milestone so enjoy the double upload :D