"Shalltear Bloodfallen has gone rogue."
Within the silent grandeur of the Tenth Floor of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, the report fell like a blade striking stone.
Upon the obsidian throne, Ainz Ooal Gown sat motionless. The air around him was heavy, absolute—yet beneath the skeletal stillness, calculation stirred.
Albedo knelt beside the steps of the throne, her voice sharp with barely restrained fervor.
"Her hostility has been confirmed, my lord."
Ainz raised his gaze.
The name Shalltear Bloodfallen burned crimson within the spell-formed record bound to Nazarick itself—a mark that did not signify doubt, but opposition.
"So this is the proof," Ainz murmured.
Since arriving in this world, he had tested many things—loyalty, fear, obedience. The Guardians, crafted by his former comrades, had proven unwavering. Their devotion bordered on fanaticism.
Which made this… unsettling.
"Lord Ainz," Albedo said sharply, eyes alight, "we must immediately assemble a suppression force. A traitor must be erased."
"Calm yourself, Albedo."
His voice was even, measured.
"First, we determine the cause. If this is the result of external interference, rash action would only deepen the wound."
"External interference…?" Albedo's lips trembled with restrained fury.
"To corrupt one of Nazarick's Guardians—this is unforgivable."
Ainz did not answer immediately.
Something was moving in this world.
Something that dared touch Nazarick.
"…We find her," he said at last.
"Only then do we decide."
Eivenburg — Lock's Territory
Sunlight washed gently over stone walls and banners bearing the tiger sigil.
Beneath a parasol in the inner courtyard, Lock reclined with ease—one hand holding a crystal glass of chilled sugar-water, the other resting upon an open grimoire.
Calm. Unhurried.
Nearby, steel rang without pause.
Clementine and Brain clashed again and again within the training grounds—daggers and longsword colliding in flashes of lethal precision.
Clementine moved like a predator unbound, her steps light, cruelly efficient. Brain, no longer the man he once was, met her with sharpened instincts and disciplined resolve.
He still lagged behind her.
But no longer hopelessly.
Lock watched them without expression.
The transformation was proceeding as expected.
Power had been given—but power alone meant nothing without time, blood, and repetition. Their bodies would adapt. Their limits would rise.
Around sixty, he judged silently.
If they survive the conversion fully.
He closed the book.
"Clementine favors speed and evasion," he said softly to himself.
"As for Brain… sword-focused classes alone will not suffice."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I'll prepare Magic Sword User relics for him. That path suits his temperament."
"Master, lunch is ready."
Vier arrived precisely at midday, maids in formation behind her as the dining table was cleared and replaced with plated dishes.
Lock rose without ceremony and sat.
"Vier," he said, eating calmly, "report on the capital expedition."
"Five hundred Tiger Knights are prepared," she replied smoothly.
"Three hundred shielded infantry. Fifty mounted archers. One hundred magic knights. Fifty priest knights."
"Territory?"
"Secured. Fifteen villages and three towns now maintain garrisons. Recruitment exceeds expectations—four hundred civilians have volunteered."
Lock nodded.
"And the reforms?"
"The first cohort of Eivenburg students has begun implementation. Agricultural production is stable. Medicinal cultivation continues to expand."
"Good."
Then his gaze sharpened.
"Release Khajit. Let the surrounding nobles see death walk our borders."
Vier smiled faintly.
"They will kneel soon enough."
"They don't matter," Lock replied coldly.
"What matters is civilian relocation. When the Holy Sanctuary manifests, casualties must be minimized."
"…Understood."
Lock had just resumed eating when a chair scraped loudly across stone.
"Oi. Baron," Brain said casually, dropping into a seat.
"Any chance I get a plate too?"
Lock waved a hand.
A maid moved instantly.
Brain ate like a man unconcerned with decorum—or consequence.
Vier frowned.
Clementine, dripping sweat, stretched lazily.
"Prepare my bath," she ordered flatly.
The maid flinched.
"Lia," Vier said gently. "Go."
Clementine's gaze lingered on Vier with predatory amusement before she turned to Lock, stepping close—too close.
A finger reached for his face.
Steel stopped it.
Lock's dining knife rested lightly against her wrist.
"Careful," he said mildly.
She grinned.
"Would you like to bathe with me, big brother? I promise I'll behave."
"No," Lock replied without hesitation.
"But listen carefully."
He withdrew the blade.
"We depart for the Royal Capital tomorrow."
Clementine stilled.
Brain's eyes lit up.
"Oh? Sounds interesting."
"For you," Lock said, looking at him,
"It will be nostalgic."
Brain swallowed.
"…Gazef Stronoff?"
Lock smiled faintly.
"Indeed."
Brain's grip tightened around his cup.
The memory of defeat burned fresh even now.
"…Then I'll look forward to it," he said quietly.
Beyond the walls of Eivenburg, forces gathered.
In Nazarick, gears turned.
And in the Royal Capital—
The board was nearly set.
---
Support: patreon.com/Narrator_San