The wind that swept over Carne Village carried more than ash and smoke—it carried the weight of shifting fate.
The villagers paused in reverent silence as hooves thundered into the square. At the head of the procession rode Gazef Stronoff, Warrior-Captain of the Re-Estize Kingdom. Dismounting with disciplined grace, his eyes swept across the village—and settled on the skeletal figure awaiting him.
Draped in obsidian robes, the being radiated quiet power. Crimson pinpricks of light glowed beneath his hood.
"Pleasure to meet you, Warrior-Captain," the figure spoke, voice deep and composed. "I am Ainz Ooal Gown, a mere wandering sorcerer who offered his assistance… for reward."
Gazef gave a respectful nod, his tone sincere.
"Your intervention was timely. Carne owes you a great debt."
Elijah lingered in the shadows of a half-collapsed hut nearby. A ghost in the daylight. No one noticed him, and that was the way he preferred it—for now. But his gaze remained locked on Gazef. A man worth watching.
Then—
"Captain!"
A rider skidded into the square, his voice tight with urgency.
"Several figures surround the village! Robes—magic casters!"
Gazef's face hardened. The storm had only just begun.
The Slane Theocracy Reveals Its FangsBeyond the treeline, white-robed zealots of the Sunlight Scripture had already begun their preparations. Summoning circles blazed to life. At their center, Nigun Grid Luin stood grinning, his eyes glinting with malicious zeal. Around him, tier-three magic users chanted in unison.
From the hidden ridge, Ainz watched alongside Gazef—Elijah perched silently in the canopy behind them, a phantom.
Wings of flame and swords of divine radiance appeared in the sky as angels descended like avenging stars.
Gazef narrowed his eyes.
"If you don't know these men… then it must be me they're after."
"It appears so," Ainz replied, his voice neutral but observant.
"Why would the Slane Theocracy want me dead?" Gazef turned. "You helped the village—are your services for hire, Mister Gown?"
Ainz tapped a finger to his temple in mock thought.
"I must decline."
"Then… what if I made it an order from the Kingdom?"
Without pause, Ainz answered—cold, final.
"Then I would resist."
Gazef's gaze faltered—only for a breath. The meaning was clear.
"You'd kill us before we could even become enemies of the Theocracy."
Ainz did not deny it.
Still, Gazef straightened his back, his voice firm.
"Would you protect the village, at least?"
Ainz placed one bony hand over his chest.
"On the name of Ainz Ooal Gown, you have my word."
A Warrior's StandUnder cover of darkness, Gazef and his knights slipped from the village. They said no goodbyes. They expected none.
But Elijah followed—silent as shadow, unseen by man or god.
In the clearing, the trap was waiting.
"Your life ends here, Gazef Stronoff!" Nigun called out, his voice arrogant, arms spread like a conductor before a divine orchestra.
The angels surged forward like divine artillery.
"Sixfold Slash of Light!"
Gazef's sword became a streak of silver fire. Six arcs exploded from his blade, tearing through the first wave of angels in a flash of brilliance.
"Slash of Light!"
Another pair of winged creatures fell in burning ruin. Still, they came.
"Instant Counter!"
One attempted to flank him—only to be impaled mid-lunge, Gazef's blade snapping backward with surgical precision.
His breath came harder now. Sweat trailed down his temple. But he stood tall.
Then came the second legion—too many.
"Flow Acceleration!"
His form blurred, his speed transcendent. He leapt through the air, cutting through four angels in a single midair strike, landing hard—one knee to the ground, sword glowing with heat and divine gore.
He looked up. They were still coming.
"I'm not that easy!" he roared.
"I love my country—and I will die fighting for it!"
Nigun cackled with delight.
"Then die like the dog you are!"
The angels soared, wings blazing, blades raised.
Gazef stood ready—exhausted but unbowed.
And then… silence.
The angels halted in midair.
And the priests around Nigun—
—fell.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Their bodies split, twisted, dissolved—as if reality itself had rejected their presence.
Nigun turned in horror, face pale as bone.
"By… by the gods…"
A whisper slithered past his ear.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
He spun—too fast—tumbled to the ground, scrambling backward, hand fumbling into his breast pocket.
From behind him emerged Elijah, his cloak fluttering as if untouched by gravity. In his fingers, he held a crystalline object—familiar.
"Looking for this?" he asked, voice cold as the grave. He tossed it.
"Go on. Summon it."
Nigun, blind with fear, seized it and crushed it against the earth.
The heavens cracked.
Dominion Authority descended—towering, radiant, a being of holy devastation.
"Behold, Dominion Auth—"
"World Break."
Elijah's voice was not loud. But the world heard it.
Mimic had shifted into a colossal sword. As he swung, it carved not through air—but through existence.
A black rift opened—deep, wide, screaming with gravitational hunger. Reality collapsed inward.
The angel didn't fall.
It was erased.
A silence lingered—almost reverent—as the sky rained glittering particles of something once divine.
A Hand ExtendedElijah walked through the shimmering remnants of holy power as if the world itself bent around him. He reached Gazef, boots quiet on broken earth.
He extended his hand.
"Are you hurt?"
Gazef blinked up at him, still stunned.
"Why help me? Your master refused…"
Elijah smiled faintly—a gesture not of pride, but release. Like an oath fulfilled.
"Because saving someone in need…"
The symbol of Justice glowed faintly above his brow, illuminating the dusk.
"…is always the right thing to do."
His face remained passive, empty of expression—as though his features chose not to betray what his heart had already decided.
Gazef took his hand.
And for the first time in hours, he breathed.
Elijah stood tall, a silent protector revealed in the hour of need.
The ghost had stepped into the light.