Heavy, gilded doors of the Throne Room swung open. The deep groan echoed across the cavernous chamber, disrupting the pristine silence maintained beneath the hanging banners of the Forty-One Supreme Beings. Two figures approached the dais from the far end of the sprawling crimson carpet.
Walking with a predatory grace, Albedo kept her golden eyes fixed solely on Ainz. Her gaze burned with an obsessive devotion.
Beside the Guardian Overseer, Demiurge advanced with immaculate steps. He adjusted his round glasses while his silver tail twitched behind him, betraying a suppressed and nervous energy.
Both Guardians reached the base of the obsidian stairs and knelt simultaneously. Their heads bowed in profound reverence.
"Ainz-sama," Albedo spoke first. Her voice formed an intoxicating melody in the vast hall. "The spectacle of your wrath was truly divine. To witness the heavens themselves weep ash at your command... it was a privilege beyond words. You wielded the [Curse of Niflheim] like a master sculptor, shaping the very marrow of this world's fate."
Demiurge added his assessment. His tone carried a formal cadence layered with profound respect. "The efficiency of the mass-harvest was exemplary. Negative energy yields exceeded my initial projections by a margin of forty percent. However..."
A micro-gesture of his clawed hand pressed briefly against his throat.
"The behavior of the enemy remains highly irregular. Suffering such catastrophic losses without utilizing their suspected World-Class Item suggests a hidden contingency we have yet to expose."
A faint tremor of tactical uncertainty bled into his voice. The silence from the high command of the Theocracy bothered the meticulous demon. Unaccounted variables gnawed at his strategic mind.
"They hoard their strength like frightened rodents," Albedo remarked. Narrowing her eyes, she glared at the obsidian mirror hovering before the throne. "It could mean they prepare for a concentrated counter-strike. Or they have laid a hidden trap within the inner sanctum. Their restraint delivers a direct insult to the sheer scale of your magnificent demonstration, Ainz-sama."
Ainz remained silent. His skeletal face served as an unreadable mask, projecting an unshakeable visible composure.
Internally, the undead monarch frantically sifted through the exact same possibilities. A heavy wave of relief washed over his mind. He felt profoundly grateful that his most intelligent subordinate had voiced the concern first.
Exactly! Ainz thought, his nonexistent stomach churning with phantom anxiety. Why aren't they using it? Are they waiting for me to show up in person so they can target me directly? I cannot let them keep the initiative! Walking into a blind ambush is how players lose their entire equipment sets.
Letting out a resonant chuckle, the Sorcerer King broke the silence. The sound reverberated through the vast hall, carrying the crushing weight of a dark god's amusement.
"Demiurge," Ainz said quietly.
"I deliberately halted the advance. Tell me, what are your thoughts on breaking this stalemate I have created?"
The Guardian of the Seventh Floor bowed his head lower. A wide, razor-sharp smile stretched across his face, revealing rows of pristine white teeth.
"Your foresight is truly beyond mortal comprehension, Ainz-sama," Demiurge breathed. His voice trembled with sheer awe. "When the vanguard of the [Unending Death] legion halted their advance and retreated into the fog, I confess, I was momentarily confused. But then, I saw the brilliance of your design!"
Ainz froze.
Eh? My design? Ainz panicked internally. I just didn't want the summon timers to expire in front of them!
An emerald-green aura pulsed briefly around his bleached skull. The undead emotional suppression violently crushed his rising panic. It forced his mind back into a state of icy calm before his physical form could betray his ignorance.
"By stopping the slaughter mere inches from their throats," Demiurge continued
"You did not offer them mercy. You offered them the agony of anticipation! You intentionally gave them a moment to breathe so the deafening silence would crush their minds even more effectively than our blades."
Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the demon elaborated on the perceived masterstroke.
"You recognized that physical destruction was no longer sufficient to draw out their trump card. You intend to break them from the inside."
Albedo gasped softly. Clasping her hands together over her chest, she looked up at the throne with feverish, glistening eyes.
"To weave hope into a weapon of despair... Only you, my beloved Master, could conceive of a cruelty so perfectly beautiful. We are truly unworthy of your intellect."
Maintaining his pose of supreme, casual authority, Ainz rested his chin on a fleshless hand.
"Umu. You have seen through a portion of my design, Demiurge," Ainz lied. He kept his tone perfectly level. "The physical siege has served its purpose. Now, we must transition to the psychological theater. How do you propose we capitalize on this foundation of terror I have laid?"
Demiurge stood up slightly, though he kept his posture deeply subservient.
"I propose a second-stage tactic, Ainz-sama. We must weaponize spectacle. If they will not use the item to defend their walls, we shall make the lack of its use a catastrophe they cannot ignore within those walls. We will utilize the concentrated panic of the survivors trapped in the Cathedrals."
His silver tail swayed smoothly behind him. The appendage acted as a pendulum marking the countdown to a massacre.
"I suggest we infiltrate our own handler among the refugees. We provide this agent with a Legendary-class artifact from the Treasury. Specifically, we require an artifact that induces visible, highly contagious behavior mimicking the exact symptoms of severe mind control or violent madness."
The logic presented a flawless, devastating argument. It acted as a poisoned scalpel cutting directly to the bone of the enemy's faith. Listening intently, Ainz was genuinely impressed by his subordinate's cruel ingenuity.
"The theocrats pride themselves on being the divine protectors of humanity," Demiurge explained. "If their own faithful see them failing to stop a sudden plague of the mind while holding the cure in their hands, their entire religious authority will collapse overnight. The trapped mob will panic. They will tear the ruling Cardinals apart with their bare hands. We will force the leadership to use their World-Class Item in a public, desperate attempt to manage the infection before it consumes their last bastion."
Bowing deeply, the demon concluded his pitch.
"The moment that item is activated to cure the madness, its unique magical signature will flare. The scrying division of Nazarick will pinpoint its exact location. Our elite strike force will breach the sanctum and seize it."
Black feathered wings flared behind Albedo, rustling the quiet air. "Brilliant. To turn their own salvation into a tether pulling them directly to the slaughter. Truly, Master, Demiurge's mind is a fitting, finely sharpened tool for your grand design."
Ainz weighed the risks. The strategy required a delicate, surgical operation. Success depended entirely on flawless timing and an infiltrator capable of operating the artifact without being detected by the high-tier priests residing in the inner sanctum.
It is a gamble, Ainz calculated. He reviewed the variables with the precision of a veteran gamer. But it forces the board to move. It shifts the pressure from a military defense to an internal political and religious crisis. A crisis they cannot fight with spears or barricades.
"The plan is sound," Ainz declared. The absolute finality in his voice brooked no argument. "Spectacle will be our lever. We will make their panic a force of nature."
Turning his glowing red gaze toward the demon, the Supreme Being issued his commands.
"Demiurge, you will immediately summon the Doppelgänger agent required to infiltrate the cathedral. Ensure they are briefed on the necessity of absolute precision. I do not want the display to end prematurely. The madness must escalate until the Theocracy has no choice but to commit their World-Class Item."
"It shall be done immediately, my Lord," Demiurge whispered. His smile widened into a terrifying crescent.
Ainz shifted his attention to the Overseer.
"Albedo. Go to the Treasury. Coordinate with Pandora's Actor. Fetch the requested Legendary-class mental-affliction artifact. It must be prepared and tuned for the immediate use of our agent. We will not log the name of the item or the operative in our open communication networks. Secrecy is paramount until the exact moment of activation."
"At once, my beloved Master," Albedo purred. Her beautiful face glowed with a worshipful intensity. "Your will is the heartbeat of this world. We shall tear their secrets from their trembling hands."
The Sorcerer King watched his two most brilliant servants rise from the dais. They bowed once more before turning to fulfill their assigned tasks. The soft, rhythmic click of their footsteps on the marble floor served as the only sound in the cavernous room. It echoed like the steady, mechanical ticking of a world-ending clock being set into motion.
Heavy gilded doors sealed shut behind them. Ainz was left alone in the Throne Room.
Letting out a long breath he did not physically need, the undead monarch leaned back against the obsidian throne. He gazed back at the [Mirror of Remote Viewing]. The Inner Wall of Kami Miyako remained clearly visible on the glass. It stood as a fragile line of white standing stubbornly in a world coated entirely in gray ash.
Its physical strength no longer mattered. The Supreme Being had given the orders. An unseen agent would be summoned. A cursed relic would be fetched and planted deep within the beating heart of the enemy. The lever of panic was currently being wedged directly under the foundations of the Slane Theocracy's faith.
"The curtain rises again," Ainz whispered to the empty air.
The dark promise echoed into the cavernous silence. Rippling with arcane energy, the mirror reflected the glowing embers of the dying city. The intermission was over. The stage was perfectly set for the final, bloody act of the Theocracy's undoing.