NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4: Preparation and news
Ainz sat quietly in his chamber, the soft glow of the magical candles casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. His skeletal fingers were steepled in front of his face as he leaned back in his throne, deep in thought. His usual calm and composed demeanor was tinged with an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty. This was no ordinary trip. This was a diplomatic mission to the Dragonic Kingdom— Or so he tried to convince himself. It was truly not because he wanted to escape.
But the sudden appearance of the mysterious gate had changed everything. It was a reminder that the unexpected could be lurking just beyond the horizon. He had already chosen a formidable lineup of monsters—some of the most powerful warriors—but now, with the unknown looming larger than before, he found himself reassessing his choices. It was not just about strength; it was about strategy, balance, and ensuring that he brought the right force to impress and intimidate, while also maintaining control over the situation.
He had already decided to take the Overlords—those ancient, powerful beings who would command respect. The Wiseman, with his arcane knowledge and magical prowess, would be a perfect envoy, capable of navigating the complex web of diplomacy with ease. The General, a towering figure of sheer physical strength and battle-hardened experience, would serve as both a bodyguard and a symbol of the might that lay behind his words. They would be the backbone of his presence.
But that was just the beginning. Ainz knew that a diplomatic mission required more than just raw power. He needed soldiers who could adapt to any situation. So he chose carefully, selecting monsters whose levels ranged between 70 and 75—skilled warriors capable of standing their ground but also versatile enough to serve various roles. Their strength was not just in their abilities, but in their unwavering loyalty to him.
Then, of course, there were the liches and the Death Knights. Ainz had chosen 50 Elder Liches—arcane masters, each possessing potent dark magic capable of turning the tide of any battle. Their presence would add a fearsome edge to the expedition, their eerie, ethereal forms commanding both respect and dread. Alongside them, he selected 40 Death Knights—silent, unstoppable forces of destruction. Their cold, undead forms were a reminder of the absolute dominion he held over life and death. The message they would send was clear: those who dared challenge his will would face an unrelenting march of death. Although this world should already know that from what happened to the Re-estize kingdom
Ainz's mind continued to churn, carefully considering the details of his choices. The Dragonic Kingdom was a land of with an unknown power, and he needed to ensure that every step he took was calculated. He needed to show strength, yes, but he also needed to demonstrate control, wisdom, and the strategic mind that had earned him his place him as the guild master and as the Last supreme being. This was more than just a simple diplomatic mission; this was an opportunity to further cement Nazarick's influence in this world, to make it clear that their reach extended far beyond the confines of their own domain.
As the flickering light from the candles danced around him, Ainz allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He was prepared—his choices were, yet, beneath the surface of his calculated confidence, a shadow of doubt lingered. The sudden appearance of the mysterious gate had unsettled even his unshakable resolve. It was a stark reminder that the New World, despite his considerable knowledge and power, still held secrets beyond his grasp. Nothing here was ever truly certain, and this enigma demanded his full attention.
For days, the gate had stood unyielding, its origins as cryptic as the forces that brought it into being. Ainz had already commanded the construction of a stronghold around it, an imposing bastion of Nazarick's might. But even that precaution was not enough to quell his unease. Was this strange portal the work of some hidden foe? A challenge from a power equal—or greater—than Nazarick itself? Or was it a natural phenomenon, one of the many inexplicable wonders of this world? He had heard whispers of such things: ancient ruins that defied logic, landscapes shaped by long-forgotten magic, and natural phenomena that bordered on the supernatural.
It was this uncertainty that gnawed at him. Though he knew that Nazarick stood as one of the pinnacle powers of this realm—far beyond the comprehension of most—he also understood that arrogance was a weakness he could not afford. There might yet exist entities or forces in this world that rivaled or even surpassed his own. Until he uncovered the truth of the gate's origins, he could not dismiss the possibility that a new threat loomed on the horizon.
The room fell silent, save for the soft crackle of the candles. Ainz's crimson gaze burned steadily, unblinking, as he considered the vast possibilities. He would face whatever lay ahead with the full might of Nazarick behind him. He would observe, analyze, and adapt. That was the essence of his strategy, the core of what made him a ruler unlike any other.
The gate had not disappeared, standing resolute as though mocking his uncertainty. It was a challenge—a mystery that demanded unraveling. Whether it was born of mortal hands or the whim of the world itself, Ainz would uncover its secrets. And when he did, he would ensure that no force, no being, no entity could ever stand against the glory of Nazarick.
___
Demiurge stood atop a jagged cliff, the salt-laden breeze from the coast below tugging at his tailored suit. His sharp, calculating gaze swept across the vast ocean horizon before shifting inland toward the endless expanse of the unknown. The waves crashing below seemed to echo his thoughts—calm and methodical on the surface, yet filled with relentless power. The new world held countless secrets, and it was his duty to uncover them, piece by piece, for the glory of Nazarick. The locals had called this land Falmart, a continent brimming with untapped potential, peculiar cultures, and strange phenomena. However, it was not the land itself that fascinated him, but the emerging details about the gates and the people who had come through them
His reconnaissance efforts had already borne intriguing results. To the west, approximately a hundred miles from their stronghold, another gate had appeared. This revelation immediately set his mind racing. It was no ordinary portal—it bore the same alien energy signature as the one under his master's watchful eye. However, what intrigued him even more were the beings that emerged from it.
Unlike the primitive carriages of this world, the arrivals from this new gate possessed "unhorsed carriages," as the locals had described them—vehicles that moved without visible beasts to pull them. Even more intriguing, these humans wielded guns, weapons he recognized from Ainz's accounts of Yggdrasil and other worlds. Yet, these weapons were a curious mix of advanced and underwhelming. They lacked the overwhelming power armor of the foe Albedo had fought not long ago. Were they another fragment of the enemy's plan, or were they simply innocent pawns, summoned from their own world as clueless as any other victims of the gates? The latter possibility intrigued him. If these gates acted as interdimensional conduits, they might function indiscriminately, pulling individuals and civilizations from other worlds without their consent or knowledge.
The questions gnawed at Demiurge, but his mind never lingered on uncertainties for long. He needed answers, and he would extract them by any means necessary.
His efforts to bridge the language barrier had already begun in earnest. Despite his vast intelligence, the spoken tongues of this world posed a unique challenge. The natives' language was entirely unfamiliar to him, and to his frustration, they seemed equally baffled by the infernal language he spoke. This was peculiar, given that when the summoned forces had first appeared in their own respective worlds, communication seemed effortless.
The contradiction infuriated him and fascinated him in equal measure. There was clearly some magic at work, either linked to the gates or the world they were in. Yet here, in the Continent of Falmart, that bridge of understanding had evaporated. He quickly came to a conclusion that it was the world where they were located that had special magic. It was already theorized by Him, albedo and Pandora that, that was the case but they didn't have any form to confirm it but now he could. To remedy this, Demiurge had resorted to his most effective tool: Torture.
In the darkened chambers of his temporary outpost, the anguished screams of captives native against cold stone walls. Their cries were music to Demiurge's ears, but they were not for his pleasure alone. Every scream, every broken utterance, was a piece of the puzzle. His experiments aimed to decode their languages, to force understanding through pain and fear. He quickly decoded the language. He carried the captive to the [New world] where every word he spoke was translated and then carried him back again. He did it several times with various captives and quickly wrote all his learnings in a book that he would send to his master.
Through this process, he gleaned Important insights. The natives of Falmart, though primitive in many respects, possessed a distinct culture but a similar structure of governance of what he knew. Meanwhile, the armed humans from the gate were driven by entirely different motivations and allegiances which he would later need to find out. Demiurge cataloged every detail with meticulous care, knowing his findings would be invaluable to his master.
As he worked, Demiurge's mind turned toward the implications of these gates. If one gate led to this Falmart and another summoned these armed humans, how many more might exist? Could these conduits serve as tools for Nazarick's expansion, or were they dangerous, uncontrolled variables that needed to be eliminated?
The scent of iron lingered in the air as he turned back to his latest subject. With a glint of sadistic delight in his crimson eyes, Demiurge spoke, his voice calm yet menacing.
"Shall we continue? You will tell me everything, willingly or otherwise. After all, your knowledge is not yours to keep—it belongs to the Supreme One."
Demiurge relished the thought. When the time came, he would deliver not just information, but mastery over this new world to Ainz Ooal Gown.
___
Demiurge sat in the grand hall of his temporary command center, his fingers steepled as he listened intently to the report. A lesser demon knelt before him, its form trembling under the weight of his presence as it conveyed the latest developments. The news, delivered in a voice quaking with both respect and urgency, caught Demiurge's full attention.
"The soldiers from the other world have begun to move, my lord," the demon rasped. "The human lord of this region attempted to halt their advance by employing scorched earth tactics—destroying fields, burning villages, and salting the land. Yet, these efforts proved ineffective. The invaders pressed forward, undeterred."
Demiurge leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing in contemplation. Scorched earth tactics were primitive but effective against most armies reliant on local resources. For these soldiers to remain undeterred suggested a level of self-sufficiency, likely stemming from their technology, prior preparation, or simply that the country they were backed up by, held enough resources. It was a subtle yet telling sign of their strategic competence.
The demon hesitated, then continued, its tone darkening. "Additionally, my lord, a flame dragon appeared in the region, descending upon a village and leaving it in ashes. The soldiers investigated the ruins and found only one survivor—a young elf."
At this, Demiurge's lips curled into a faint, predatory smile. The pieces were beginning to align in ways he found most intriguing.
"A flame dragon, you say?" he mused aloud, his voice calm but laced with menace. "And an elf... a lone survivor amidst devastation."
Dragons were not unfamiliar entities to him. His master had already subdued various dragons during his visit to the dwarf country,
He knew that their involvement often signaled more than mere chance. Was the dragon's appearance a coincidence, or could it have been provoked—or worse, controlled? As for the elf, the fact that they had survived the dragon's wrath was curious. Elves were known for their resilience and magical affinity, but to endure such destruction alone was extraordinary. What level were they both?
He considered the soldiers' reaction. Investigating the ruins and taking in the survivor showed a degree of empathy or curiosity. Were these soldiers merely acting out of obligation, or did they see some strategic value in the elf? Perhaps the elf possessed knowledge or abilities that could serve as leverage.
Demiurge's mind churned with possibilities. If the soldiers were indeed from another world, their motives remained opaque. Their willingness to engage with local forces, even in the face of resistance, suggested either ignorance of the geopolitical landscape, deliberate attempt to destabilize it or trying to reach an accord but that was unlikely as if they were attacked the same way his lord's city was attacked there was no way they would try to find peace unless they were weak.
Turning his gaze back to the kneeling demon, Demiurge's tone was sharp and commanding. "Continue to observe them closely. I want to know their movements, their tactics, and their intentions. If this flame dragon remains in the area, ensure its behavior is monitored. As for the elf… acquire more details. If they possess any unique qualities, I want them brought to me alive."
The demon nodded fervently and vanished into the shadows, leaving Demiurge alone with his thoughts.
As the flickering light from the enchanted braziers reflected off his glasses, Demiurge's smile deepened. The puzzle pieces were falling into place. The soldiers' resilience, the dragon's appearance, and the enigmatic survivor—each was a thread in a tapestry that he was determined to unravel.
"This world," he murmured, "Is full of surprises. But surprises are merely opportunities for us to demonstrate the supremacy of Nazarick."
Demiurge sat at the command center as the dim light casting sharp shadows across the intricate maps and reports spread over his desk. He meticulously transcribed his findings into a magically encrypted scroll, ensuring every detail was precise and secure.
"I sould send this to Ainz-Sama" he murmured, sealing the scroll with the sigil of Nazarick. With a wave of his hand, a shadowy courier demon materialized, kneeling before him.
"Deliver this to Ainz-sama immediately. Allow no interference," Demiurge commanded, his voice as cold and absolute as steel.
The courier demon vanished into the ether, the scroll securely in its grasp. For a moment, Demiurge allowed himself a sense of satisfaction. He had taken the first step toward unraveling the mystery of the gates and asserting Nazarick's dominion over this strange land.
____
In his grand chambers, Ainz sat thinking the next steps for their diplomatic mission to the Dragonic Kingdom. The sudden arrival of the courier demon interrupted his thoughts.
"Ah, Demiurge has sent his findings earlier than expected," Ainz said, his tone calm but tinged with curiosity. He reached for the scroll, the crimson glow of his eyes flaring faintly as he broke the wax seal with a precise motion. The chamber fell silent once more, save for the faint crackle of the flames, as Ainz began to read.
As the contents unfolded, Ainz's thoughts raced. The mention of technologically advanced humans from another world caused his skeletal brow to metaphorically furrow. Vehicles without beasts to pull them, firearms akin to those he remembered from Earth—these details stirred something deep within his mind. The implications of the gates being interdimensional portals were staggering. This could either be a potential threat or it was an opportunity.
Ainz said, his voice measured, "we must assess this information carefully. If these gates indeed connect to other worlds, Nazarick's expansion could transcend even this realm."
His thoughts raced, weighing the potential risks and opportunities. Were these humans a potential ally, a pawn to be manipulated, or a threat to Nazarick? Could the gates serve as tools for expansion, or were they harbingers of chaos?
Turning to the shadows of the chamber, Ainz spoke with measured authority, his voice resonating with a regal undertone. "We must assess this information carefully. If these gates indeed connect to other worlds, Nazarick's expansion could transcend even the boundaries of this realm. This is no longer a matter of simple diplomacy."
He paused, the faint ember of nostalgia flickering within his unfeeling core. "But these armed forces…these humans... Could they truly be from Earth? The Dragonic Kingdom, as significant as it seemed, now pales in comparison to the gravity of this discovery."
Ainz leaned back in his throne, the red glow of his eyes intensifying as he pondered his next move. "I should personally verify Demiurge's findings. This kind of revelation cannot be dismissed or delegated. However, the Dragonic Kingdom still requires support. The forces I prepared will suffice for their aid. After all, even though I wished for a brief respite, this new development demands my direct attention." His fingers steepled again, the quiet click of bone against bone echoing through the chamber as he finalized his decision. "For now, Nazarick's defense must be paramount."
Ainz was resolved as there were few actions that could be followed that gave him control over the future. He chose not to retreat to Nazarick as that would leave them without any sort of control over the situation. Retreating meant he abandoned everything he had fight for thus far. His only option was to stay and see what information he could gather and he had to be careful and use his outmost strength. He also knew that although retreating now was not an option he would abandon everything if he saw that the situation was beyond his control. If let's say the enemy was so strong he had no way to fight and if a fight broke he would absolutely lose. He was not a coward he just cared for his life and the life of his friends creation.
Ainz's mind turned with cold precision, calculating the best way to secure Nazarick while also preparing for the unknown. "Albedo," he said, his voice cutting through the silence as he sent the command through their communication system [Message]. "Prepare Nazarick for the utmost defense. Mobilize the mercenary summons if necessary, and ensure that the 10,000 pop monsters are ready. Demiurge will lead them to his side. we must show strength to intimidate those who may be watching. And when the undead are mobilized, weaken the anti-scrying spells."
"Yes, Ainz-sama," Albedo replied, her voice unwavering and filled with the seriousness that his commands demanded. There was no hesitation, no question of loyalty—only absolute obedience.
_____
The fields outside E-Rantel, once a serene and unassuming landscape, now bore witness to a monumental and terrifying display of power. A gigantic Gate, pulsating with dark energy, tore through the fabric of reality. It was a creation of Shalltear Bloodfallen, a manifestation of her immense magical abilities under Ainz's command.
Through the Gate poured a seemingly endless horde of undead, their presence suffocating the air with an aura of dread. The army was composed of three distinct and formidable ranks, each serving a unique purpose in the impending battle: Nazarick Master Guarder, These elite undead warriors, numbering 3,000 strong, were clad in glistening, ornate armor imbued with magical enchantments. Their shields bore the sigil of Ainz Ooal Gown, and their weapons exuded a faint, ominous glow. The Master Guarders moved with precision, their discipline and unyielding loyalty to Nazarick unmatched. They formed the frontline, an impenetrable wall of death marching in perfect unison
Nazarick Old Guarders, Behind the Master Guarders came 3,500 Nazarick Old Guarders. Their appearance was rugged yet no less menacing, their armor showing the wear of countless battles. They carried massive weapons, from colossal greatswords to spiked maces, each strike capable of devastating an entire platoon of human soldiers. Their movements were slower but deliberate, their experience as undead warriors evident in their calculated actions
Elder Guarders, Flanking the formation and guarding the rear were 3,500 Elder Guarders. Towering over the others, these undead radiated an aura of ancient power, their skeletal forms adorned with robes and arcane trinkets. They wielded magical staves, capable of casting devastating spells and summoning reinforcements at a moment's notice. Their primary role was to ensure no gaps formed in Nazarick's ranks and to counter any advanced military tactics the enemy might employ.
The sheer number of undead, coupled with their ominous appearance, created an awe-inspiring and terrifying sight. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their march, and the air grew heavy with the stench of decay and the resonance of dark magic.
Standing at the forefront of the formation, Shalltear gazed toward the horizon with a predatory smile. Her crimson eyes glinted with malice and excitement, her lance resting casually over her shoulder. Her elegant yet fearsome figure radiated authority as she commanded the undead with ease.
The Gate pulsated violently, casting a flickering, otherworldly glow over the battlefield. As the last ranks of the Elder Guarders passed through its swirling depths, Shalltear's smile widened. She turned her crimson gaze toward a figure emerging from the shadows—Demiurge. Clad in his usual pristine suit and bearing his calculating expression, he exuded an air of cunning that rivaled the raw power emanating from the army.
"Shalltear," Demiurge spoke, his voice calm yet laden with authority. "You've done admirably. The army has formed flawlessly, and the Gate is as stable as expected. "
Shalltear tilted her head slightly, dismissing the compliment with a graceful yet shy motion. "No, no, Demiurge, the credit is not mine alone. Although I hate to say It, it is thanks to Albedo's meticulous management that the army was assembled so flawlessly. As for the [Gate], it was my duty to execute it with utmost precision—after all, Lord Ainz's commands are absolute. As I also have no doubt you'll handle this perfectly. I trust you'll secure the stronghold as our master desires? After all, is it not in our very essence to strive for perfection in all we do for Lord Ainz ~Arinsu?
Demiurge adjusted his glasses, the faint glint on their surface obscuring his eyes for a brief moment. "Indeed It is so Shalltear. The stronghold has been meticulously prepared. Its defenses are impenetrable, and its strategic location ensures it will become the cornerstone of our conquest. I will ensure the army's presence there sends an unmistakable message to our enemies."
Shalltear stepped aside, allowing Demiurge to take his place at the forefront. As he strode toward the Gate, the assembled undead shifted subtly, their movements synchronized in silent acknowledgment of his authority. His voice, steady and commanding, echoed across the battlefield.
"Soldiers of Nazarick! Beyond this Gate lies our stronghold, the foundation of our master's will in this realm. You shall stand as its guardians, an unbreakable wall of death and despair against all who dare oppose us. Know this—failure is not an option, for we serve Ainz Ooal Gown, the supreme overlord of this world!"
The army responded not with cheers but with a bone-chilling silence, their collective aura darkening as if drawing strength from Demiurge's words. The ground trembled as the Nazarick Master Guarders moved first, stepping into the Gate in perfect formation. They were followed by the Old Guarders, their massive weapons glinting ominously, and then the Elder Guarders, their skeletal forms humming with latent magical energy.
As the last of the undead vanished into the Gate, Demiurge paused and turned to Shalltear one final time. "Keep this side secure, Shalltear. The stronghold is vital to Lord Ainz's plans. Should anyone foolishly attempt to breach our defenses here, I trust you'll remind them why Nazarick is unmatched."
Shalltear chuckled, her predatory smile returning. "Of course, Demiurge. Let them come. It will be amusing to see their futile struggles before they are crushed beneath my heel."
With a final nod, Demiurge stepped through the Gate. On the other side, the world unfolded into a desolate expanse, dominated by the stronghold he had meticulously designed. Towering walls adorned with enchanted sigils loomed over the landscape, and rows of baleful torches cast an eerie light. The fortress was a masterpiece of both tactical engineering and dark aesthetics, a true testament to Demiurge's brilliance.
He ascended the central watchtower, surveying the legions of undead now taking their positions with methodical precision. From this vantage point, Demiurge could see the entirety of the field that stretched beyond the fortress walls. He smiled—a thin, calculating expression—as he envisioned the chaos and despair this stronghold would sow among their enemies.
"Let them come," he murmured to himself, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "For every step they take toward this stronghold, we shall remind them why Ainz Ooal Gown is the rightful ruler of all."
____
Within the celestial sanctum, a grand amphitheater of gleaming marble floated amidst an endless expanse of shifting stars. The gods had gathered, their divine forms shimmering with an intensity that reflected the storm brewing in their midst. Pillars of radiant light stretched skyward, and the air itself hummed with power, charged by their agitated presence.
Emroy, the towering god of war and death, rose from his obsidian throne. His golden eyes blazed like twin suns, and his voice rolled through the chamber like thunder crashing against stone.
"HARDY! Do you see the chaos you have unleashed? These creatures… these monsters are beyond anything our world has ever faced! None of our apostles, not even the Demigods, stand a chance against them. We are teetering on the edge of annihilation!" His massive blade, etched with ancient runes, sparked with divine fury, illuminating his chiseled form. "Those soldiers—those things—reek of death., I'm sure they've slaughtered thousands and consumed their souls to amass such vile power."
Across the amphitheater, Zufmuut, the god of light and order, stood with uncharacteristic agitation. His ivory armor glowed faintly, though it failed to mask the trembling in his hands as they gripped his radiant warhammer. His usual calm had given way to a tempest of emotion.
"Destroy them!" he roared, his voice carrying the weight of his divine authority. "Root and stem, they must be annihilated before their corruption spreads further. They are not of this world, and they must not be allowed to remain!"
Elange, the god of wisdom, interjected with cold calculation. To strike blindly is folly," he said, his voice as cold and unyielding as winter frost. "Their leader… he is no ordinary commander. The aura he exudes is unmistakable—an intellect far beyond mortal comprehension. He probably is a God of the other side. If we are to act, we must do so with purpose and understanding."
Ral/La, the goddess of learning, nodded in agreement, her serene voice laced with urgency.
"Hardy, this is your doing, and it is upon you to act. Send your apostle—Gisselle—to mediate. Seek peace, if such a thing is even possible. Should we fail to contain this, the doom of this world is all but assured."
Hardy, seated on a throne of jagged obsidian, leaned forward, her expression dark with defiance. Her form flickered as she spoke, her voice heavy with arrogance.
"What is there to fear?" she snapped. "These invaders may wreak havoc below, but they cannot reach us here. We are untouchable. Even if they were to find us, they could not kill us. Our very essence is bound to this world—eternal and unassailable.
Another god, seated further back, spoke, their voice calm yet insistent, echoing through the amphitheater like a ripple across still water.
"Precisely because we are bound to this world, Hardy, we are vulnerable. If these beings are indeed gods, they will find a way to breach our sanctum. We cannot gamble with the fate of our realm. Your apostles must act now—mediate, investigate, or prepare to face a foe unlike any we have known."
___
Ainz was now finalizing somethings he had to do and he would then would enter the continent of Falmart. It was delayed every time as they were already stretched tight. There were too many tasks, too many loose threads demanding his attention. For all his power, he was only one being, and even his undead endurance had its limits
He needed more capable minds whom he could delegate responsibilities so he could be free. They had already begun training Elder liches to become capable assistants as that was very cost efficient.
Ainz's thoughts wandered to other potential options. Among his many abilities, the summoning of high-level mercenaries had proven to be an intriguing asset. Some of these summoned beings exhibited remarkable aptitude in diplomacy and governance. However, relying on them for long-term assignments proved inefficient. Their costs in resources outweighed the benefits of using them in mundane administrative roles. They were better reserved for critical missions or as key pieces in high-stakes situations.
As for the aid problem to the Dragonic kingdom, that was already solved. He had already sent them.