The Overlord of Mysteries

Hello, this is my first time writing a fanfiction. If you notice any errors, please feel free to give me constructive feedback. English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please mention them in the comment section at the end of the chapter. Let's begin the story!

Word Count: 4600 Words

Note: Just a reminder that I've changed the Guild Auxiliary chapter. I've made some changes to it. I've removed a couple of NPCs and added a few.

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The Root,

New World, Overlord Verse

World's gaze lingered as the Watcher disappeared into darkness of the night, vanishing from sight. Turning back toward TerrorBlade and the Children of Yggdrasil, her expression softened, noting the shift in their posture. The tension that had coiled between them was unraveling, an uneasy truce born from the recognition that none here were enemies.

They were all driven by the same desperate longing—to find the Fool. In their zeal, trust had frayed, and misjudgments had paved the way for conflict. But in the end, they shared a common purpose, united by their devotion to the Supreme Ones.

She gave a slow nod, acknowledging their growth. "Cosmic Armoured Knight, Cosmo," she addressed with quiet authority, "take their bodies into the Guild. Now that we've uncovered how they breached the Yggdrasil Leaf, they are no longer a threat. We'll continue this inside."

Cosmo responded with a respectful bow, the metallic gleam of his armor catching the dim light as he set about his task.

Turning to TerrorBlade, World's gaze sharpened. "You, TerrorBlade..." She paused, her thoughts gathering like storm clouds, studying him and his Area Guardians. These beings-her most trusted servants were meant to ease her burden, yet their growing disputes had done the opposite, weighing down her already heavy shoulders.

She understood his motivations all too well. If she could have done it, if it had been possible, she might have done the same. She would have burned the Root to ashes if it meant the Fool could be summoned. The thought brought a sigh to her lips, laden with weariness and regret. Her eyes, deep with contemplation, landed firmly on TerrorBlade once more.

"Your loyalty to the Fool has never been in doubt," she said, her voice softer now but no less firm. "Your dedication to the Root—and to me—is equally unquestionable." She exhaled slowly, as though releasing the weight of her unspoken thoughts. "I was preoccupied with my own turmoil and failed to see how deeply this conflict had taken root."

Her tone grew sharper, cutting to the heart of the matter. "The other Guardians do not condemn your intentions, TerrorBlade. They too are willing to make any sacrifice, even their own existence, to bring the Fool back. I would not hesitate either. Even the act of self sacrifice is passable to them, had it yielded in his return."

Her eyes narrowed as she continued, each word striking like a blade. "What they abhor is not your purpose—it is your manipulation of their devotion. You exploited their emotions, made them question their loyalty to me, to the Root. You turned their hearts against one another and sowed discord where unity was meant to reign. You defied the will of the Fool. That is why they resent you, TerrorBlade."

TerrorBlade stood silent under the weight of her words, absorbing the full measure of her judgment. He bowed low, humility etched into every movement. "It will not happen again, my lady. You have my undying loyalty, as does the Root. I understand now—I am but a servant, a pawn in the hands of the Supreme Ones to be used and discarded if necessary. How could a pawn decide on the course of action of the Supreme One, the Fool."

He rose gracefully, the tension easing from his frame as if he had cast off the burden of guilt. World observed him carefully, noting the sincerity in his words. When he spoke again, his tone was measured and respectful.

"My lady, I came here with the intention of offering an apology. I would have done so sooner, but entering Arcadia would have sparked a conflict. I couldn't bring myself to trouble you further." His voice carried a quiet solemnity. "When I learned you would be here, I knew it was time. But now, with your leave, I will return to my floor."

World nodded, her gaze following him as he stepped back into the Guild. His Area Guardians, Leo and DevilMan, bowed low in unison, their silence a mark of respect not only for World but also for the towering presence of the Floor Guardians and the elite Guardians of Arcadia.

"May the Scarlet King protect you," they murmured in unison before teleporting back to their floor, vanishing from their sight.

World turned her attention back to the remaining Guardians. "Are you satisfied now?" she asked, her gaze flicking between Artoria and Scathach. These two had been more wary of them than the others.

The two warriors, though ever-watchful, gave short, affirmative nods. The grudges between them and TerrorBlade had not vanished, but for now, the weight of confrontation was lifted.

Satisfied, World gestured toward Cosmo, who stood ready to carry out her earlier command. "Get them inside," she instructed. "the entrance hall—in the Grand Temple, the base of the Guild, your throne room." Cosmo saluted with precision and moved swiftly to gather the bodies.

With a final glance toward the Golem Knights, World gave a curt nod, signaling the end of this encounter. Her mind already drifted to other matters as she turned her attention back to the Guild's vast halls, where new challenges—and perhaps, new enemies—awaited to invade.

Though the tension had momentarily subsided, the lingering undercurrent of unease was undeniable. Loyalty might have been reaffirmed, but trust remained fractured, slowly healing itself over time.

In the Root, in the Guild, and within the hearts of its Guardians, old wounds had begun to scar over, but the scars would remain—a quiet reminder that devotion, no matter how fierce, could easily become the spark that ignites a wildfire.

Yet, despite their differences, they would trust and protect each other in front of outside force. The fight had begun for the World, but in the end they all were loyal to the Fool.

---

Inside the Grand Hall of the Grand Temple of the Root

The Base Castle, now transformed into a temple, loomed with majesty. Its heart, the Throne Room, radiated an aura of divine authority. Flanking the room, colossal pillars stood in solemn alignment, forming silent sentinels to the grandeur within. Behind the Giant Throne lay a tall door that led to a circular hall, vast and echoing, where twin Giant Doors awaited at the far end—portals to the World of Ice, the first floor of the Temple.

The Throne Room was where the Cosmic Armoured Knight stood guard. Ready to meet those reckless enough to trespass on sacred ground.

Seated upon the Giant Throne of the Grand Temple was World, serene yet imposing, a regal figure whose very presence demanded reverence. Her Guardians from Arcadia stood flanking the throne—silent, watchful, their presence a testament to the might she commanded.

Below, on the steps leading up to the throne, stood Cosmo, the Cosmic Armoured Knight, his form gleaming like a celestial artifact. Alongside him, Golem Knights stood in disciplined rows, their massive figures casting long shadows that stretched across the hall. Each standing perfectly still, a testament to unyielding order.

World's gaze drifted across the hall and came to rest on the pile of lifeless bodies sprawled across the cold marble floor. Without a flicker of hesitation, she raised her hand, her voice a silent invocation of the spell.

{Widen Magic, True Resurrection}

A shimmering magic circle formed at her fingertips, radiating soft golden light. The intricate runes rotated slowly, casting an ethereal glow that filled the hall with a wave of Magical energy. Then, with a soft hum, the circle vanished, completing its purpose.

One by one, the intruders stirred, gasping as breath returned to them. There were thirteen in total—four demi-humans among them, their monstrous features contrasted sharply with the nine humans. They blinked groggily, slowly adjusting to their new surroundings.

The newly resurrected awoke in confusion, eyes darting wildly to absorb their surroundings. Fear seized them as they beheld the towering Golem Knights, standing like statues of impending doom.

The Cosmic Armoured Knight stood as a sentinel before them, his presence alone exuding power enough to freeze them where they stood.

Terrified murmurs rippled through the group. Some clutched their heads, whispering feverishly to themselves, while others cried out in fear, overwhelmed by the impossibility of death and resurrection.

And then their gazes shifted toward the throne.

The sight that greeted them was more than they could comprehend. Arrayed beside the throne were otherworldly women, each one radiating beauty that transcended mortal understanding. Yet even they, as dazzling as they were, paled in comparison to the woman seated on the throne—World herself, a vision of ethereal grace and sovereign power.

Her mere presence suffocated the room, commanding awe and reverence. The humans and demi-humans stared, mouths agape—some with trembling admiration, others with ill-concealed desire. A few gazes, however, betrayed something more sinister—envy, hatred, and disgust, emotions that foolishly refused to know their position, a representation of the moronic nature of the invaders.

World sat in regal stillness, the embodiment of grace and supremacy. The Guardians beside her, though ethereal in beauty, paled in comparison to her presence.

Her attention shifted to the newly resurrected intruders. Disdain simmered beneath her cool exterior as she noted the contemptuous stares from both humans and demi-humans alike. Their gazes—laced with fear, envy, and something far baser—shifted toward her and the Guardians.

World let out a soft sigh, half in amusement, half in exasperation, as her eyes flicked toward her Guardians. She had been curious to see how the Guardians would react to the natives of the New World. Predictably, some of the Guardians were amused by the display, a few intrigued by the strangeness of the mortals, while the rest were utterly indifferent—unmoved by anything the resurrected fools could offer. The dance of emotions was as she had anticipated.

'So, we understand their language,' she mused, amusement flickering through her thoughts. 'How convenient. S once mentioned a fan theory—players or guilds transported to the New World had used a World Item, possibly Ouroboros or the Five Elements of Overcoming to solve the issues. If the theory holds some truth...' She mused silently, resting her chin lightly against her knuckles.

Her gaze sharpened as her thoughts drifted. 'Have other players already arrived in this New World? If so, that would explain how these beings had managed to bridge the gap.' Yet another possibility troubled her—the idea that the Dragon Emperor's summoning magic held unexpected properties. Could such a spell not only summon World Items but also include a language component? That spell was meant to call forth World Items, not solve linguistic puzzles. Could it mean... they are here?'

She sighed again, her thoughts twisting into uneasy shapes. 'If players have truly arrived, why have I not sensed them?'

Yet her mind hesitated. 'I have scoured this land—mapped its hills and valleys with summoned monsters

—yet found no trace of any players. The seas swarm with giant, feral monsters, rendering them impossible to cross.

Crossing or leaving the planet could alert the Dragon Emperor. Even if we attempted a deeper exploration despite the challenges, it might disrupt the canon, which these intruders have already disturbed by entering the Guild and dying.'

A troubled sigh escaped her lips as another thought crept in. 'Could there be another continent beyond this one? It would explain the absence of powerful presences here, save for the Four strong Dragons and their lesser kin. I assumed the Dragon Emperor was among them, but what if... he isn't?'

Her hand tightened instinctively as unease slithered into her heart. She worried for the safety of the Guild, for the unseen threats that lurked beyond the horizon of her knowledge. As her thoughts spiraled, she moved a bit from her position, resting her head in her hand, she felt the smooth texture of the scroll she had placed beside her throne.

She blinked, momentarily pulled from her reverie. Ignoring the vulgar, lecherous glances from some of the resurrected, she unfurled the scroll, her eyes scanning its contents with a sharp focus, she let her eyes drift over the words inscribed upon it, her expression turning cold and analytical as she read.

She read without pause until the final word was committed to memory. Then, with a flick of her wrist, the scroll vanished into her inventory.

'So, he has detected a massive surge of mana across the sea—or perhaps the ocean,' she thought grimly.

World's grip on the situation tightened, her eyes narrowing with silent resolve.

She ignored the mortals' stares—whether born of admiration, fear, or loathing. They were beneath her concern, their emotions irrelevant in the face of the greater threat that loomed beyond the horizon. 'A storm is brewing,' she thought, her mind already racing toward the decisions she would need to make.

'We still lack a complete map of this world... and it seems I must prepare for the unknown.'

---

The Golem Knights and the Cosmic Armoured Knight stood still, silent as statues. Their imposing forms exuded an aura of quiet menace, freezing the newly resurrected invaders where they stood, locking them in fear. The very sight of these towering guardians, unwavering and indifferent, was enough to drive most of the intruders into mute submission.

While World—the enigmatic figure upon the Throne—remained absorbed in thought, processing the information she had received from Laplace, the invaders gradually collected themselves. They rose shakily to their feet, fear etched into their expressions as they exchanged nervous glances.

Their eyes gravitated to World and the Guardians of Arcadia who flanked her throne, a mix of trepidation and disbelief clouding their faces.

Most of the mortals were still paralyzed with dread, overwhelmed by their surroundings. This alien hall, adorned with majestic pillars and shimmering ornaments, seemed less like a structure made by mortal hands and more like a temple of divine beings. At the end of the hall stood a colossal throne, and surrounding it were ranks of stone giants—the Golem Knights—guardians of the sacred sanctum.

In the minds of the invaders, they had stumbled upon the realm of gods. World, seated serenely upon the great throne, seemed to embody a deity of supreme authority a Divine Being, her attendants flanking her like celestial beings in service to their queen.

The Golems, silent and unyielding, appeared as the Guards of the Divine Castle.

It was a miracle to the intruders that they were still breathing—after all, they remembered vividly how they had been slaughtered by lifeless statues mere moments ago. Their return to life could only be the doing of the woman seated upon the throne.

Yet, not all shared in the reverent fear. Among them were fools—a male Demi-Human and his human thralls—deluded by misplaced arrogance. The relationship between the invaders was clear: the humans were nothing more than slaves, their will subjugated to their Master's the Demi-Humans. Ever since setting a step into the Guild, all relations of Master and Servant had blurred. They were equal under the gaze of the Guild.

This Demi-Human led his entourage forward, swollen with false confidence. With a sneering smirk and a murmur of incoherent arrogance, they approached the throne as if they were entitled to it.

The Grand Hall's overwhelming grandeur had subdued most of the group, rendering them frozen. But not these fools. Drunk on hubris, they believed they were chosen—marked by destiny. In their delusion, they assumed their god, the Brightness Dragon Lord, had granted them this castle and its guardians to reign over. Their twisted logic convinced them that the silence of World and her Guardians was tacit approval of their rise to power.

As the Demi-Human and his thralls neared the throne, vile words dripped from their mouths—obscene, presumptuous declarations claiming dominion over the hall and even over World herself. Their ignorance was astounding, their impudence dangerous.

The Guardians, who had until now maintained stoic silence for they had wished not to disturb their Master World, stirred. Their attention snapped toward the intruders, drawn by the crassness and lewd remarks that spilled from the moron's lips.

Cosmo, the Cosmic Armoured Knight, moved as well, his hand instinctively reaching for his weapon. Fury surged through the Guardians—like smoldering embers suddenly ignited into flames. Yet, just as weapons were halfway drawn, the action ceased, halted by a sudden surprising sight.

The lead Demi-Human, emboldened by the pause, smirked and reached toward the woman upon the throne, his fingers twitching with the audacity to claim what could never belong to him.

Then—darkness.

A shadow fell over the Demi-Human's vision, swallowing him whole. His world shifted, and when clarity returned, he found himself standing amidst endless dunes, the desert stretching infinitely in all directions. Sandstorms raged at the horizon, a distant rumble echoing across the barren expanse.

Confused, he turned in frantic circles, searching for the opulent hall, the guardians, and the throne—but all he saw was sand. The companions who had stood by his side were nowhere to be found.

As his panic grew, his gaze landed upon a figure—a colossal man with a skeletal face, standing atop a distant dune. The man held a massive sword, its blade resting gently against the sand as if waiting patiently for its purpose.

The moment the idiot's eyes locked onto the figure, a violent sandstorm erupted, blinding him with a swirl of grit and dust. For an instant, all was chaos—wind howled in his ears, and the sting of sand scratched against his skin. When the storm subsided, the skeletal warrior stood within arm's reach, his hollow eyes burning with a cold, blue flame.

Before the Demi-Human could scream or flee, the giant sword swung. It cleaved the air in a single, fluid motion—a swift and merciless execution.

---

To the Guardians, the sight was like a fleeting storm, a blur of action so fast it was imperceptible. They saw a blue hue, flickering like a lightning bolt, and then it was over. The heads of the insolent intruders tumbled to the ground, their bodies crumpling lifelessly beside them. Yet, no blood marred the carpet leading to the throne—an eerie cleanliness that only deepened the unsettling atmosphere.

Standing among the headless corpses was an old man, bowing deeply before the throne. His presence was as subtle as a whisper, yet the silent King Hassan, the Guardian of Arcadia and the Leader of the Assassin League of the Root, radiated an aura of overwhelming finality.

Though his form appeared frail to the eyes of the New World's denizens, the brutal efficiency of his actions served as a grim reminder: his strength was absolute, and there were lines that none dared cross.

The remaining invaders—those fortunate enough to survive—shivered at the sight of their slain companions. Fear drove them to their knees, and in desperate mimicry of King Hassan, they bowed before the woman seated on the throne. Their earlier delusions had evaporated like mist in sunlight, replaced by the cold, sharp realization of their folly.

With a sigh, World—having noticed the carnage only after it had occurred—gestured toward the Golem Knights. "Take care of the bodies," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of inevitability. With a subtle nod, she acknowledged the silent guard.

King Hassan rose from his bow, meeting World's gaze with solemn respect. His voice, deep and resonant, broke the silence: "May the Lord Mors guard your path."

His words lingered in the air like a whispered benediction, carrying with them the promise of unseen shadows and the inevitability of death. With a final glance toward the Guardians of Arcadia and the Cosmic Armoured Knight, King Hassan gave a brief nod—then vanished into the shadows, as if he had never been there at all.

His prowess an illusion, a cosmetic item coupled with his lore. He had shown prowess, unlike any Monster from Yggdrasil.

The invaders remained frozen in their prostrate forms, the weight of their mistake suffocating them. And so, in the presence of gods—true and merciless—they learned a simple truth: there are lines that mortals must never cross.

---

Present Time

The Root, Overlord Verse

World wandered the halls of Arcadia, her thoughts heavy with contemplation. Each step echoed softly, a rhythmic reminder of the labyrinthine puzzles unraveling in her mind.

'So, the players who've arrived on Dragon Hour have already used a World Item to bypass the language barrier. That much is certain. Tier magic isn't practiced by the New World's inhabitants—at least, not yet. Dragon God's memories confirm this. There's no trace of any other Guild or players on this continent. Perhaps the narrative hasn't diverged much from the Light Novel.'

Her expression darkened with thought.

' The Eight Greed Kings were the ones who introduced Tier Magic to the New World, according to the light novel. They are yet to arrive to this World, there may still be time before it spreads.'

Her steps slowed. She paused beneath the glimmer of enchanted chandeliers casting shifting light across the ancient walls.

'But if the Dragon Hour Continent existed in the novel, then why do things feel... off? The Platinum Dragon Lord, supposedly the son of the Dragon Emperor, lived there. Why would he stray to this small island? And yet—" she frowned, 'the memories I pulled from the Blazing Sun Dragon God show that the Platinum Dragon Lord doesn't exist... not yet. If that's the case, the absence of both players and Dragon Gods from Dragon Hour, to this continent after the Eight Greed Kings might be connected to his future presence. Did they avoid this land to steer clear of the wrath of the Dragon Emperor?'

Her lips curled in a skeptical frown.

'Though the Dragon Emperor is indifferent to most things—even slaying his own brother—it's still a possibility. Maybe they were cautious enough not to attract his anger.'

A heavy sigh escaped her as the web of possibilities tangled further in her mind. Lost in thought, she soon found herself back within the Throne Room, where the Guardians of Arcadia were already assembled, standing at attention, awaiting her command.

Halting at the entrance, World straightened herself. Her next words would brook no argument.

"The Root will remain sealed until our master, the Fool, returns," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of finality. "No Guardian shall leave the premises of the Guild, and no outsider will be permitted within its borders."

Without giving the Guardians a moment to respond, her sharp gaze drifted toward the man in the Butler suit standing beside her.

"Sebastian," she said, her tone clipped, "what's the status of the humans and demi-humans who entered our Guild?"

Sebastian bowed deeply, his every movement precise and measured. "My lady, they have returned to their village."

Though Sebastian spoke with characteristic politeness, World knew there were details he had purposefully omitted—things she herself had already observed. The New Worlders, bewildered and lost during their time in the Guild, had been introduced to truths far beyond their comprehension. By the Guardians incharge of them, the intruders had been taught the lore of the Supreme Ones—the divine architects of the Root. Most notably, they learned of the Fool, as well as the other avatars that embodied his power. They learned of the Supreme Gods of the Root, namely Bruce's different Avatars. With many Temple built in the compound of the Guild Base and in the Arcadia and other floors. It was inevitable.

It hadn't taken long for the humans and demi-humans, overwhelmed by miracle after miracle, to abandon their previous beliefs. Awestruck, they became fervent believers of the Fool, worshipping him as the one true deity.

Satisfied with Sebastian's report, World offered a curt nod and continued toward the Throne, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Halfway up the steps, she paused, turning her gaze back toward Sebastian.

"Do they need to be eliminated?" he asked, his curiosity carefully masked behind a calm demeanor.

World shook her head. "No. That won't be necessary."

Her attention shifted to Arodes, one of the more eccentric Guardians. "Are all of our Guardians accounted for? Have any of them left the Guild's premises?"

Clearing his throat, Arodes took a moment to survey the room. Then, with a small bow, he replied, "Mother, no. All NPCs are within the Guild. None have ventured beyond our borders." His choice of words different, his attempt to stand out from the rest. As if he knew things they didn't.

World gave a satisfied nod. "Good. For now, everyone will return to their posts and remain there until instructed otherwise." Her gaze swept across the room, her words weighted with authority. "As of this moment, the Guild—the Root—is officially under lockdown."

---

1,000 Years Later

Sefirah Castle, The Root

New World, Overlord Verse

The halls of Sefirah Castle lay silent and untouched, as they had for centuries. A thousand years had passed without a single visitor setting foot on this floor. Yet, despite the passage of time, everything remained eerily pristine, as if frozen in the very moment it had last been used.

The enormous pillars lining the hall stood unblemished, casting long shadows across the fog-draped floor. A grand table, accompanied by a hundred intricately carved chairs, stretched endlessly beneath the glowing chandeliers. Thick grey mist coiled lazily around the hall, softening the outline of every footfall.

Above, the vaulted ceiling displayed a map of Yggdrasil, carved in exquisite detail. Not a single speck of dust marred its surface, nor did time diminish the grandeur of the hall. It was exactly as Bruce—the Fool—had left it.

The oppressive stillness was shattered as space itself ripped apart near the Fool's vacant chair. A swirling vortex emerged, spitting out a young man in a suit. Resting atop his head was a small, fluffy white creature, which blinked sleepily as the portal sealed behind them with a faint hum.

The man stood lazily, stretching his arms with a yawn. His sharp gaze drifted lazily across the hall, though there was no urgency in his movements—just the nonchalance of someone returning home after an extended absence.

His thoughts—private and unspoken—whispered through his mind. Yet, unknown to him, another soul had been waiting to hear them.

Far away in Arcadia, World lay slumped on the steps of the Throne, her head resting against the cool stone. She had fallen asleep, worn out from the relentless weight of a millennium's vigil.

Then she heard it—his voice.

Her eyes snapped open, her breath catching in her throat. The voice she had longed to hear for a thousand years. The one she had dreamed of, clung to, and prayed for in the silence of eternity.

And at last—at long last—she heard it.

"I'm home."

Her heart stilled for a beat, then pounded with overwhelming emotion.

The Fool had returned.

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**The End**

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