Chapter 9: The Beacon's Call and the Watcher's Gaze
The journey back from Riverrun to Greywater Keep was undertaken with a new, subtle tension underlying the party's movements. Sebas Tian, ever vigilant, had confirmed his initial assessment: they were being watched. A lone individual, exceptionally skilled in stealth, shadowed their progress from a considerable distance, never attempting to close, merely observing. Ainz, while maintaining the calm facade of Lord Elian Hollow, felt a familiar prickle of combined paranoia and strategic interest.
"Can you identify them, Sebas?" Ainz murmured one evening as they made camp, Ser Desmond Grell, the young Tully knight, diligently practicing his sword forms a short distance away.
"Not with certainty from this range, my Lord," Sebas replied, his voice a mere breath of sound. "Their discipline is remarkable. They utilize terrain and natural cover with a proficiency that rivals even some of Nazarick's lower-tier assassins. Human, I believe, or at least humanoid. Their movements lack the distinct signatures of any beast or monster I am familiar with from YGGDRASIL." He paused. "They are good. Very good. But they are no match for a true denizen of Nazarick, should they prove hostile."
Ainz nodded. "For now, we do nothing to alert them to our awareness. Let them watch. Their presence confirms our actions are having an effect beyond the immediate sphere of these Riverlords." He glanced at Ser Desmond, who, despite his earnestness, seemed utterly oblivious to the silent, invisible game of cat and mouse being played out around him. The young knight was more preoccupied with the strangeness of his new assignment – a boy lord who commanded inexplicable power, advised by an elderly scholar who seemed to possess the wisdom of ages and the reflexes of a viper. His reports to Riverrun were likely becoming increasingly colorful.
The return to Greywater Keep was met with predictable enthusiasm. The formal mandate from House Tully, conveyed with suitable gravity by Ser Desmond, elevated House Hollow's standing immensely in the eyes of its few inhabitants and the handful of farmers from Oakhaven who now looked to Greywater for protection. Tom, the old steward, walked with a straighter back, and even Maester Hannis seemed to find new vigor, bustling about with an air of borrowed importance.
Ser Desmond was given the best (which was still remarkably poor) guest quarters Greywater had to offer. He spent his days dutifully observing the keep's routines, the training of Elian's meager 'garrison,' and the quiet, efficient manner in which 'Master Tian' seemed to advise Lord Elian on all matters, from crop rotation in the newly pledged village fields to the mending of the keep's crumbling parapets.
In the privacy of Elian's chamber, Ainz and Sebas held their own council. The watcher was a concern, but a manageable one. The summons to Riverrun had been a success, granting Ainz legitimacy and freedom to operate in the Blackmorass. But the primary objective remained: find the others.
"The mental call is insufficient, Sebas," Ainz stated one evening, pacing the small room. The obsidian amulet around his neck pulsed with a faint, internal light, a constant reminder of the ancient magic he had touched. "It led you to me, and perhaps it will guide others eventually. But we cannot rely on chance. I need to send a… more definitive signal."
"A Nazarick Beacon, my Lord?" Sebas asked, his eyes lighting with understanding.
"Precisely. A spell, or rather a ritual, adapted from YGGDRASIL guild communication protocols. It will expend a significant portion of my current mana reserves, even with their recent expansion. But it will project a unique energy signature, one that only those deeply attuned to the magical frequencies of Nazarick – our Guardians, our creations – should be able to recognize clearly, and hopefully, pinpoint."
"A brilliant plan, my Lord," Sebas affirmed. "But such an expenditure of power, such a distinct magical signal… it could also attract unwanted attention from entities native to this world, should any possess the senses to perceive it."
"A calculated risk," Ainz conceded. "But one we must take. We need a secure, secluded location. The standing stones in the Blackmorass are too distant, and potentially still warded in ways we don't understand. Perhaps… within Greywater's own lands. The woods to the north are dense and rarely visited."
"I will ensure your absolute security during the ritual, my Lord," Sebas vowed.
Days earlier, from a hidden vantage point miles from Riverrun…
A figure lay prone on a ridge, cloaked in mottled greens and browns that rendered them almost invisible against the earth. Slender, with eyes that seemed to absorb the light, they watched Elian Hollow's party, including the Tully knight, recede into the distance. This was 'Nyx,' a name whispered in certain circles, one of Demiurge's more recent and highly effective acquisitions – a half-elf with an uncanny gift for stealth and tracking, her loyalty secured through a combination of fear, awe, and promises of power within Demiurge's burgeoning organization.
Nyx meticulously noted every detail: the composition of the party, their equipment, the demeanor of the young Lord Hollow (surprisingly calm and authoritative), the ever-present, watchful old man 'Tian' (who exuded an aura of quiet danger that made Nyx's skin crawl), and the presence of the Tully liaison. This was valuable intelligence.
Using a small, enchanted obsidian shard – a communication device provided by her new master – Nyx sent a compressed, coded report: "Target 'Hollow' departed Riverrun, Tully knight in tow. Destination Greywater Keep. Accompanied by 'Tian' – subject displays extreme situational awareness, suspected high-level capabilities despite aged appearance. Proceeding with discreet long-range surveillance of Greywater Keep. Awaiting further instructions."
The shard pulsed faintly as the message was sent. Miles away, in the oppressive gloom of Harrenhal, Demiurge received it. A small, satisfied smile touched his lips. Sebas Tian, then. It had to be. And Lord Ainz was already influencing the Great Houses. Excellent. But he needed more. He needed to understand the true extent of his Master's current power, the nature of this Elian Hollow persona.
He sent a return message to Nyx: "Maintain surveillance. Infiltrate Greywater if opportunity arises without undue risk. Prioritize observation of 'Hollow' and 'Tian's' abilities. Report any unusual energy signatures or rituals. Discretion is paramount. Do not engage unless compromised."
A few days after their return to Greywater, Ainz deemed it time. Ser Desmond Grell, ever earnest, had been successfully diverted by Sebas (as Tian) into a detailed (and ultimately pointless) inspection of Greywater's "grain storage protocols" with Tom. It was an absurdly mundane task, but one that would keep the young knight occupied for hours.
Ainz, accompanied only by Sebas, ventured into the overgrown woods north of the keep. They found a small, secluded clearing, shielded by ancient, gnarled oaks and thick underbrush. This would suffice.
"Stand guard, Sebas," Ainz instructed, his voice taking on the deeper, more resonant timbre of his Overlord form, a sound that made Sebas's heart swell with reverence. "Allow no interruptions."
"It shall be done, my Lord." Sebas melted into the shadows at the edge of the clearing, his senses extending, becoming an invisible, impenetrable wall of vigilance.
Ainz stood in the center of the clearing. He took a deep breath, focusing his will, his immense mana reserves stirring within him. This wouldn't be a simple mental projection. This was magic, intricate and powerful. He began to trace glowing runes on the forest floor with a finger, YGGDRASIL script that pulsed with arcane energy. The obsidian amulet on his chest grew warm, its faint light intensifying as it resonated with the power Ainz was gathering.
He began to chant, his true voice echoing softly in the clearing, words of power from a world long dead, weaving together a complex matrix of energy. This was an adaptation of a high-level Guild Beacon spell, one designed in YGGDRASIL to send a clear, unmistakable signal across vast distances, identifiable only by guild members. He was tailoring it, focusing its signature to resonate specifically with the unique energy of Nazarick and its denizens.
The mana drain was immense, far greater than any spell he had cast since arriving in this world. He felt his reserves plummeting, but he pushed on, pouring more and more power into the ritual. The air crackled, the light from the runes intensified, and the amulet blazed like a miniature star against his chest.
Then, with a final word of power, he thrust his hand skyward. A column of energy, almost invisible to the mundane eye but thrumming with immense magical force, erupted from the clearing, piercing the canopy and soaring into the heavens. It was not a destructive blast, but a focused, ethereal wave, carrying the unmistakable signature of Ainz Ooal Gown and the Great Tomb of Nazarick, a silent shout across a new and alien world.
As the last ankh of energy dissipated, Ainz swayed, catching himself on a nearby tree. He was profoundly drained, his mana reserves almost entirely depleted, leaving him feeling hollowed out and vulnerable. But a fierce exultation burned within him. It was done. The beacon was lit.
Sebas was instantly at his side, his expression a mixture of awe at the display of power and concern for his master's well-being. "My Lord! Are you alright?"
"Tired, Sebas," Ainz admitted, his voice raspy. "But it is done. If any of our comrades are within this world, and possess the senses to perceive it, they will know. They will know their Lord awaits." He looked up at the sky, a sense of profound hope mingling with the exhaustion. Now, all they could do was wait.
While Ainz recovered his strength over the next day, confined to his chambers under the guise of needing to "meditate and study" after his exertions in the Blackmorass (an explanation Ser Desmond accepted with wide-eyed credulity), Sebas, as 'Master Tian,' continued to subtly shape events at Greywater Keep. He oversaw the training of the men, his quiet corrections transforming their clumsy efforts into something resembling actual martial discipline. He advised Tom on reinforcing the keep's weakest points, his suggestions displaying an uncanny understanding of siegecraft. He even began teaching basic literacy to Hal and Timms, who looked upon him as a fount of all wisdom. Ser Desmond, observing all this, found himself increasingly impressed by the quiet efficacy of Lord Hollow's household, his reports to Riverrun painting a picture of a small but remarkably well-ordered and surprisingly potent domain.
With the beacon sent, Ainz's attention returned to the vision from the standing stones – the ley line leading north-east. He tasked Maester Hannis and Sebas with poring over the maps obtained from Riverrun, searching for any known landmarks, ancient ruins, or unusual geographical features in that specific direction.
"The foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, my lord," Maester Hannis mused, tracing a shaky finger across a map one evening. "Or the westernmost edges of the Vale of Arryn. A wild, untamed land. The mountain clans are hostile to outsiders, and the Vale itself is notoriously difficult to access."
Sebas, however, pointed to a different area on the map, a desolate stretch of hills and broken land that lay just before the steepest ascent into the mountains. "This region, my Lord, is marked on some older charts as the 'Whispering Peaks' or the 'Dragon's Teeth Hills.' Sparse accounts speak of ancient First Men burial sites and forgotten holdfasts. If there is another nexus of power similar to the Blackmorass stones, it might well be hidden there."
Ainz considered this. It was a direction, a potential target. But before he could finalize any plans for a new expedition, the world outside Greywater Keep intruded once more.
Far to the south-east, across the Narrow Sea, in the Free City of Pentos…
Albedo, Supreme Overseer of the Guardians of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, stood on the balcony of a lavishly appointed manse, her ethereal beauty a stark contrast to the bustling, chaotic city below. She had arrived in this world in a state of controlled fury and desperate longing, her beloved Lord Ainz torn from her at the very last moment. For weeks, she had been a whirlwind of focused activity, using her formidable intellect, her overwhelming power (which she kept carefully veiled), and a rapidly acquired network of terrified but utterly subservient human agents to scour this new world for any trace of her master.
She had felt his initial, faint mental calls, distant and weak, like the whispers of a ghost. They had filled her with a desperate hope, but their vagueness had been maddening. She had considered unleashing her full power, tearing this world apart city by city until she found him, but the thought that such actions might displease her beloved Ainz, or inadvertently endanger him if he was in a vulnerable state, had stayed her hand. For now, she gathered information, established footholds, and prepared.
Then, it happened.
She was in her private study, reviewing reports from her agents, when an unimaginable wave of pure, concentrated Nazarick energy washed over her, so potent, so undeniably Ainz-sama, that she gasped, her golden eyes widening in ecstatic disbelief. It was not a mere mental whisper this time; it was a definitive, targeted beacon, a celestial trumpet call that resonated with every fiber of her being, a divine summons from her one true love.
"AINZ-SAMA!"
The name was torn from her lips in a cry of such profound joy, such fanatical devotion, that the very air in the room seemed to shimmer. The reports, the maps, her carefully laid plans – they all scattered to the floor as she shot to her feet, her entire being suffused with an incandescent energy.
He was alive. He was here. And he was calling for them. For her.
Her agents, stationed outside her door, heard the cry and rushed in, fearing their terrifyingly beautiful mistress was under attack. They found Albedo standing in the center of the room, her dark wings partially unfurled, her eyes blazing with an inner light, a rapturous, almost terrifying smile on her perfect face.
"Prepare my fastest ship!" she commanded, her voice ringing with an authority that promised swift and terrible retribution for any delay. "Set a course for Westeros, for the region known as the Riverlands! My Lord calls! My Ainz-sama awaits!"
No obstacle would stand in her way. No kingdom, no army, no god of this pathetic, primitive world would prevent her from reaching his side. Albedo, the Pure White Devil, was coming. And hell, it was often said, had no fury like a woman scorned – or, in this case, a Floor Guardian finally locating her long-lost love and master. The Riverlands, and indeed all of Westeros, had no inkling of the storm that was about to break upon its shores.