A sudden entrance, however unintentional, was seldom well received, and Ainz found himself swiftly encircled by wary figures, their staffs raised in silent warning. The air was thick with tension, though no immediate attack was launched—perhaps out of caution, for he stood too near, and even the most practiced spellcasters hesitated when friendly fire was a risk. Only one among them, the elf named Frieren, refrained from assuming a stance of outright hostility.

The eldest of the group, a man of keen eyes and measured speech, observed him with deep scrutiny.

"I see…" he murmured, as though piecing together some hidden puzzle. "So you are the real one? Since when have you been here?"

Beside him, a woman, her gaze sharp and mistrusting, added,

"I did not sense the presence of magical energy, nor the aura of this demon." she explained. "How is that possible?"

Ainz, who had no desire to engage in conflict so soon, turned his attention to Frieren. She regarded him with a look impossible to decipher, her expression a veil concealing whatever thoughts stirred beneath.

Is she angry, annoyed, or disappointed?

With slow, deliberate movements, he raised his hands—a universal sign of peace. "Relax, I didn't come to cause trouble. Like I said, I want to help. And one more thing, I'm not a demon. I'm undead."

At that single word, the room fell into a hush, as though the very utterance of it had summoned an ill wind. Undead were no common sight in these lands.

The old man echoed the word, mulling it over.

"Undead? So, was there a mage who turned you into a puppet?" The old man asked.

Before Ainz could reply, Frieren's voice rang clear.

"Demons can never be trusted, no matter where they come from, huh?" She smirked, though there was no mirth in it. "Funny that I'd even think that. A demon is still a demon."

Ainz interjected swiftly, unwilling to let the conversation spiral further.

"Hold on. The reason I followed you isn't because I have any ill intentions. I was just curious," Ainz explained carefully. "Besides, staying alone in that room was boring."

The old man, exchanged glances with the woman beside him, their expressions unreadable. Something in their demeanor shifted, and Ainz, ever alert, followed their gaze. The woman met his eyes, and in an instant, he sensed the weave of a spell reaching for him—an attempt at control.

Trying to brainwash me, huh? Too bad.*

A memory stirred, unbidden. Long ago, in the world he had once known as Yggdrasil, such encounters had been common. Humanoids, upon sighting an undead, never hesitated to raise their weapons, their minds set on destruction before words could be spoken. Ainz exhaled slowly.

Humans are always like this, huh? No matter the world, they see what they do not understand and seek to erase it.*

He met their wary eyes with calm resolve.

"Listen, I know it'll be hard for you to trust me," he said. "But don't you have bigger problems than me? There's something you need to deal with in that room, isn't there?"

A silence settled over them. When none answered, he pressed on.

"You don't have to trust me entirely. Just think of me as being on your side because there's another me inside there. Besides, there can only be one Ainz Ooal Gown in this world!" His voice carried a note of finality, of unwavering certainty.

For a moment, the gathered figures exchanged quiet glances. Frieren alone kept her gaze upon him, unrelenting and piercing. If there was fear in her stare, Ainz did not sense it. No, what unsettled him was something else entirely—something beyond mere wariness.

At last, she broke the silence.

"So, what's your plan?" She asked.

Ainz folded his arms, considering his words. "I need to know what they're like first," he admitted. "You called them perfect clones, right?"

Though suspicion lingered like an unshaken mist, the tension in the room had eased, if only slightly. Ainz now sat among them, their discourse shifting to strategy. What had once been a standoff had become a war council of sorts, though the lines of allegiance remained uncertain.

"So, the clones inside can replicate all abilities, magical power, even behavior from the original?" Ainz repeated. "How troublesome. Even the Doppelgangers in Yggdrasil weren't that good."

"Yes, that's what I can say," the man — Richter nodded.

Ainz's thoughts drifted to Nazarick's Treasury Room, to Pandora's Actor—the creation he had designed with meticulous care. Even that loyal mimic, for all his abilities, could only replicate eighty percent of his strength, and that was without the added burden of magical resources or equipment.

Thinking further, these clones also resembled Einherjar—summoned golems that could mimic the user's armor and physical strength. If that were true, his opponent this time was a fusion of a Doppelganger and an Einherjar.

The notion that these clones might possess the prowess of both a Doppelganger and an Einherjar was troubling indeed.

Can they access my inventory too? If they can, this will be a tough battle.*

Yet, beyond the implications of his own duplicate, another unease gnawed at him.

If the clone truly mimics my nature, that means it has also prepared everything to welcome whoever enters. This is dangerous.*

Ainz inhaled deeply, gathering his thoughts.

"Based on the information you've given me, this battle can only be fought by four people," Ainz declared.

Denken, the elder among them, frowned. "Why is that?"

"Simply put, if all of you go in, you'll die." Ainz's tone left no room for argument. "My magic is different from what you're familiar with."

Methode, the woman who had attempted to ensnare his mind earlier, studied him with renewed interest.

"So hypnosis and binding spells won't work on you either?" she asked. "Just like with Frieren?"

"There's no need to discuss such scenarios," Ainz said. "It's better to focus on how to kill them."

The conversation turned toward tactics. Ainz listened, piecing together what he could about the clones and their abilities. Yet, for all their discussion, one thing remained unclear—how to deal with Frieren's clone.

Denken, watching the elf with the eyes of one who had long known her, sighed.

"Frieren barely has any weaknesses. She's too experienced," he explained.

Ainz studied her more closely. He knew of her vast magical reserves, but what spells lay within her arsenal remained an unknown.

Then, breaking the quiet, another voice entered the fray.

"I have an idea."

All eyes turned toward Fern, who had been silent until now.

Denken regarded her with curiosity.

"What is it, Fern?" he asked

The young mage met Frieren's gaze before speaking.

"Miss Frieren, could you stand near the wall for a second?" she said while pointing to the wall.

"Sure," Frieren nodded.

She stepped where indicated, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of what was to come. Without warning, Fern raised her staff and loosed an attack.

It did not strike true, for Frieren's protective magic flared in time to deflect it. But Fern smiled, as though she had proven something of great importance.

"Did you all see that?" she asked.

Denken and Methode exchanged startled glances. Ainz, though not yet fully grasping the implications, felt the stirrings of understanding.

"You mean to say that there's a split-second time gap that can be exploited?" he asked.

"In a way, yes," Fern nodded. "Miss Frieren's magical energy disappeared for a moment when she used her magic."

"By the goddess, how can a mage as powerful as her have such a weakness?" Denken said, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"It's always been my flaw," Frieren replied.

"If you know it's a weakness, why haven't you fixed it?" Fern asked after letting out a sigh.

Frieren scratched her head, looking altogether too relaxed for someone whose vulnerability had just been laid bare. "Well… because I'm shy about it."

Ainz, meanwhile, was already calculating possibilities. If such a delay truly existed, it might prove key to defeating the clone. Yet, a deeper question lingered.

Did these clones appear on their own, or was someone controlling them?

As if in answer, a voice rang out from the entrance.

"I have information."

A female voice broke the silence. Everyone turned to the back, finding two girls who had just entered the room.

One had orange hair tied into two side locks and uneven bangs framing her face. The other looked more elegant, wearing a deep blue dress that gave off a noble impression. Her long hair reached her waist, adorned with a straight fringe and tied with a ribbon at the ends.

Their expressions, though composed, darkened upon noticing Ainz among the gathered company. Denken, sensing their hesitation, spoke first.

"Relax, he's on our side. So, what information do you have?" he asked calmly.

The woman in blue took a breath before answering.

"The clones here are controlled by a legendary being known as Spigel."

At the utterance of that name, Frieren's gaze sharpened, and with a voice edged with curiosity.

"How do you know about it, Lawine?" She asked.

Lawine's expression remained composed, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes.

"My brother once led an expedition here to conquer this place," she replied, her tone measured. "He's a member of the Continental Magic Association's scout unit."

Richter's brows furrowed as he regarded her with a scrutinizing gaze, his posture shifting ever so slightly, like a predator evaluating its prey.

"So you do have information," he observed. "No wonder you made it this far. But if that's the case, why didn't you join us from the beginning? That doesn't make sense."

Lawine remained unmoved by his inquiry.

"The situation at the start didn't allow it," she answered, her voice devoid of hesitation.

Before Richter could press further, the girl beside Lawine interjected, her words spoken with quiet assurance. "Besides, Frieren had already moved first."

Lawine folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head slightly as she added with a knowing smirk.

"Also, old man, you're the type who refuses to cooperate unless there are clear rules, right? No way I'd work with someone like that," she explained.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Richter's lips, while Denken exhaled a weary sigh.

"You really have a knack for irritating people, huh?" Denken said.

The air between them grew thick, tension rippling just beneath the surface, until Ainz deliberately cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the moment with quiet authority.

"Can we get back to the point?" he said. "What other information do you have about Spigel?"

A subtle shift in Lawine's stance did not escape notice. The girl beside her, too, stiffened, but Lawine pressed forward.

"Spigel is in the treasure chamber, beyond this door," she said. "If Spigel is defeated, all the clones will disappear."

Denken and Frieren exchanged a glance, their thoughts aligning without the need for words.

"As expected," murmured Denken, his voice a low rumble. Frieren, ever composed, answered with a small nod.

"But that won't be easy," she added, her tone laced with the weight of experience. "My clone has already used high-level sealing magic. You could call it a death contract—the only way to break it is to kill the magic user."

Fern, who had been silent until now, furrowed her brows.

"Can we enter through the walls?" She asked calmly.

Frieren considered the question with care before answering.

"In theory, yes," she admitted, "but it's surely been anticipated as well."

A hush fell over the chamber, the weight of the situation pressing upon them. Almost as one, they exhaled, their breaths mingling in the dim air.

"In any case, we have to deal with their clones first," Denken said at last, his fingers stroking the beard that framed his weathered face.

Lawine, ever watchful, spoke with urgency. "If that's the case, we need to move quickly."

Denken turned toward her, his gaze assessing. "Why? Don't we still have time?"

Lawine shook her head. "Spigel will continue creating clones of anyone here. They'll gather in the deepest part of this labyrinth."

Understanding dawned in Denken's eyes. "Which means they'll be coming here," he said, the realization settling upon them all. Lawine nodded grimly.

"In that case, we need to formulate an attack strategy immediately," he declared.

And so, the discussion began in earnest, a council of minds pooling their knowledge and skill to prepare for the inevitable confrontation. Every voice in the chamber lent itself to the planning—save for one. Sense, the long-haired girl who had remained withdrawn from the beginning, merely sat in the corner, silent and still as a shadow, watching, waiting.