First light seeped in through the cavernous windows of the Eternal Dominion's war chamber. At the head of the polished obsidian table, Velkharion stood tall beside Shuna, who poured over dispatches fresh from the Re-Estize court and Baharuth's underworld.
Sythera stepped forward with a lit teal orb, its surface now etched with moving lines of intelligence. "My lord, Lumina reports her first meeting with King Ramposa III is set for tomorrow. She'll present the formality of her 'redemption' and request a royal commission to oversee justice in E-Naeul."
Shuna tapped a slender finger on a parchment. "Meanwhile, in Ashkare, Charon's squad has secured the old smugglers' tunnels. They control the spice route now, and our agents—former bandits themselves—are ready to pose as city guards and informants."
Velkharion nodded. "Good. These dual levers of influence—noble and criminal—will keep both the court and the empire guessing." He turned to Zelefar. "Prepare the demiurge protocols for the next group of subjects. Once we've mastered the life-binding rites, no agent need ever fear desertion."
Zelefar's red-flicker eyes gleamed. "We're close to a true breakthrough, my lord. Immortality protocols require only one more refinement."
Valnor bowed slightly. "Logistics are in place. Supplies flow through our front companies—no questions asked."
Isaril approached, her armor's runes glowing with mana. "Envoys depart tonight for Slane Theocracy and the Baharuth merchant houses. Should we send any special instructions?"
Velkharion paused, fingertips steepled. "Yes. To Slane: deliver a letter proposing a joint quest against ancient ruins north of E-Naeul—one that will distract their zealots while our spies map their divine relics. To Baharuth: propose an exclusive trade treaty in copper goods—backed by Lumina's 'noble reform.' It will bind them to our puppet's coffers."
Shuna tucked her hair behind an ear. "I'll oversee the seal enchantments to ensure no letter is tampered with. The slightest trace of Dominion magic could expose us."
Velkharion turned to gaze out over the floating citadel's edge. "Then we proceed. Every message, every pact, every rumor will be a thread we pull. Soon, this continent will knot itself around our will."
The council dispersed to their tasks, and Velkharion remained at the viewport. His crimson eyes followed the slow rise of a distant storm over the sea—a tempest mirrored in his own heart.
Later, in the stillness of his private library, Velkharion closed a tome of reality-weaving spells. The runes glowed faintly, promising gateways to other worlds. He ran a hand over the leather cover and asked himself: What do I truly desire?
Dominion over nations? Control of every power in this realm? Or simply a place of peace where he and Shuna could live without the endless games of court and clan? His studies hinted at multiversal travel—doors to infinite possibilities. Yet with each conquest, the line between ambition and obsession blurred.
He paused, the flicker of torchlight dancing across ancient artifacts. A simpler life beckoned: two souls wandering open fields rather than chess masters in a prison of power. But could a man who had tasted absolute influence ever surrender it?
Before the question could settle, a soft voice interrupted his solitude. Shuna entered, pale lantern in hand, her hair loose about her shoulders.
"You've been away a long while," she murmured, stepping to his side.
Velkharion swept her into his arms. "Just… contemplating the next steps."
Shuna rested her head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. "Tell me what's on your mind," she whispered.
He closed his eyes, inhaling the warmth of her presence. "Only that tomorrow we embark on another gambit. But tonight—tonight I simply want this moment." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Shuna smiled, closing her eyes. "Then let us be here together, even as the world trembles beyond these walls."
Meanwhile, in the E-Rantel Adventurer's Guild, a tall figure cloaked in traveler's garb stood before the council table. Ainz Ooal Gown—under the guise of Momon—listened intently as guild officials detailed the latest crisis.
Guild Magistrate Mion: "Sire, the vampire known as 'Honyopenyoko' has struck again. We need a champion bold enough to face her."
Ainz, voice calm and measured, replied, "I will confront this fiend at once. Gather a small escort to ensure no ambush derails my pursuit."
As the assembly nodded, Ainz slipped a slender hand into his robes, fingertips brushing the hilt of his true power. Across narrow corridors, the shadow of Shalltear Bloodfallen—mind-controlled and ravenous—roamed free, waiting for her next victim.
Ainz's eyes narrowed behind his skull mask. "They call her 'Honyopenyoko,'" he murmured. "But I know the beast within. Soon, I shall break the chains that bind her mind… or die trying."
In this moment, while Velkharion weaves his own web of dominion, Ainz Ooal Gown stands at the precipice of a battle that will shape the fate of Nazarick and the New World alike—unaware that elsewhere, another power stirs, ready to claim its place among the legends.
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