The tense silence between Sans and Albedo shattered as the air of the throne room stirred with a surge of magic. A deep, resonant voice echoed from the entrance of the throne room, filling the chamber with authority that left no room for doubt.
"Gather all the Guardians"
It was Ainz.
Albedo immediately fell to one knee, her irritation replaced with reverence. "At once, my lord!"
Sans lifted his head, shadows still curling faintly at his feet, his single glowing pupil narrowing. "…guess the boss already knows." He slid his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket, posture relaxed but his aura betraying readiness.
Moments later, the call spread through Nazarick like a commandment carved into reality. Guardians abandoned their posts, lieutenants and servants shifted course, all converging toward the heart of the Great Tomb. The Throne of Kings would see every loyal hand summoned, no matter their duty.
Cocytus arrived first, his towering frame kneeling with rigid discipline, halberd planted before him like a banner of ice. Demiurge followed, sharp-eyed and smiling faintly, adjusting his glasses as though already three steps ahead of everyone else. Shalltear was conspicuously absent, her name already whispered in the tension that choked the air.
When all had assembled, the floor guardians bowing in silence, Ainz leaned forward upon the throne. His burning sockets cast light across the room like the gaze of a god weighing souls.
"There is… a troubling matter," he began, his voice heavy. "It concerns Shalltear Bloodfallen."
A ripple of unease moved through the guardians, though none dared speak before their master.
Ainz's gaze, cold and absolute, shifted to Albedo. The Overseer straightened immediately, her wings fanning slightly as she rose just enough to address the throne.
"My lord," she began, her voice sharp with conviction, "Shalltear Bloodfallen has raised her weapon against you. I have already informed the others that this can only be seen as an act of betrayal."
The words hung heavy in the hall, like chains wrapping around every guardian present. Cocytus gripped his halberd tighter, Demiurge's faint smile didn't falter but his eyes flickered with calculation, and Aura and Mare exchanged a glance of disbelief.
At the far end of the chamber, Sans' sockets dimmed, his head lowering as a shadow crawled lazily at his feet. He muttered just loud enough for the silence to catch it.
"…tch. not buyin' it."
Albedo's eyes snapped toward him, blazing with fury, but Ainz lifted one skeletal hand. The motion froze her instantly, forcing her back into silence. The Overlord's gaze locked on Sans.
"You question this, Sans?"
The skeleton's grin didn't return. His voice was calm, heavy, almost tired.
"…nah, boss. i don't question you. i'm questionin' the picture we're seein'. shalltear's a killer, no doubt… but not a traitor. not to you. not to nazarick. if she swung at you, somethin'—or someone—was pullin' her strings."
The chamber stirred with whispers of breath, unspoken thoughts twisting among the guardians.
Ainz sat back, thoughtful, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of the throne. His glowing eyes burned brighter. sans is right, shalltear is not a person to just betray Nazarick that easily.
"…An external influence, then?" he murmured, the weight of his tone carrying both suspicion and interest.
The air inside the throne room grew heavier by the second. Ainz's words lingered, but before he could continue, Albedo stepped forward, wings flaring wide with indignation.
"My lord, I must protest!" she declared, her golden eyes blazing. "Forgive me, but this… creature—" she cast a sharp glance at Sans—"dares to defend Shalltear even when she has openly defied you! Such blind sentiment is dangerous."
Sans shifted his weight, not rising to the venom in her tone. Hands buried in his hoodie pocket, he spoke without looking at her, his voice flat.
"…it ain't blind. it's common sense. you've seen Shalltear, right? bloodthirsty, yeah, but loyal down to the bone. she worships boss more than anyone here. you're really tellin' me she just woke up one day and decided to swing on him? nah. doesn't add up."
Albedo's lips twisted, fangs glinting as her composure threatened to break. "You presume to know her better than me? I, who oversee every guardian of Nazarick? Do not think your flippant words outweigh truth! She turned her weapon against Lord Ainz. That is betrayal, no matter how you color it."
Demiurge adjusted his glasses, his smile faint but his tone curious. "Hmm… interesting. Shalltear's loyalty has indeed been… extreme, to the point of zealotry. Even I find it difficult to imagine her betrayal as anything but unnatural."
Cocytus's voice rumbled, deep and deliberate. "Betrayal… Or… Manipulation?"
Mare fidgeted nervously beside Aura, his voice trembling. "S-Shalltear loves Lord Ainz… s-so maybe… she's being controlled?"
Aura nodded firmly. "Yeah! I've never seen her act against him. Not once. Sans might be right."
The guardians' words stirred the chamber, the divide widening between Albedo's fierce certainty and Sans' calm insistence.
Albedo's voice cracked like a whip, silencing the others. "My lord, listen not to this… doubt! To even suggest another hand moves Shalltear is to weaken your authority. If treachery is not crushed the instant it appears, Nazarick itself will rot from within!"
At that, Sans finally looked up, his single glowing pupil locking with her furious gaze. His grin was gone, replaced with quiet steel.
"…family don't turn on family that easy. if you can't see that, then maybe you're the one doubtin' nazarick."
The room fell silent, the guardians holding their breath. The tension was sharp enough to draw blood, all eyes turning back to the throne.
Ainz leaned forward, his burning sockets sweeping across them. The weight of his voice cut through the chamber like a blade:
"Enough. We will settle this not with words, but with proof."
Ainz shifted his gaze toward Sans, his tone carrying the weight of command.
"Go to the Fifth Floor's Frozen Prison and bring Negredo here. You are perfect for this task."
Sans didn't argue—his sockets half-lidded, he gave a small nod. A faint shimmer appeared at the corner of the wall beside him, like reality itself had been cut open. The jagged tear resembled a hidden shortcut, leading into the depths of Nazarick. Without a word, Sans stepped into the rift, the darkness swallowing him as the path sealed shut behind.
****
The Throne Room was tense, filled with the gathered floor guardians, each standing rigidly yet brimming with concern. Ainz remained seated, silent, his eyes glinting faintly under his hood as he let the discussion unfold.
Cocytus was the first to speak, his voice deep and commanding. "If Shalltear is under the influence of a mind control, direct confrontation could be dangerous. I suggest a containment strategy—freeze her in place with layered ice barriers while we examine the nature of the control."
Demiurge, ever calculating, interjected smoothly, "We could attempt to isolate her from external stimuli. A psychic barrier or a combination of enchantments might weaken the controlling influence without provoking aggression."
Albedo's golden eyes flashed with intensity. "Or we strike at the source directly. If we can locate the person controlling her, removing it might immediately break her from the mind control."
Aura and Mare, speaking in tandem, added their thoughts. "We could create a diversion—lead her into a controlled environment where her movements can be monitored and restricted." Mare suggested, while Aura chimed in, "And perhaps weaken her gradually with non-lethal strikes, keeping her alive but under strict supervision until the control fades or is removed."
Even Shalltear's subordinates and guardians from the lower floors offered strategies, all carefully weighing risk versus reward.
The vast Throne Room of Nazarick was draped in silence, the glow of arcane torches casting long shadows across the obsidian pillars. At the center sat Ainz Ooal Gown upon his throne, his skeletal frame motionless, radiating an overwhelming majesty. Arrayed before him were the Floor Guardians and their loyal servants, each waiting in tense anticipation.
The air rippled as a jagged rift split the far wall, and from its depths emerged Sans, hands in his pockets, and at his side a figure whose presence chilled the chamber more than any magic could. Negredo, the Faceless, her floor-length hair veiling most of her pale features, stepped forward with quiet grace.
Albedo's crimson eyes softened at the sight. She bowed lightly, her voice breaking the stillness."...Sister."
Negredo tilted her head, her faceless gaze shifting toward the throne. She lowered herself into a respectful bow."Lord Ainz. I was called… and I answer."
Ainz raised a bony hand, his hollow eyesockets glowing faintly. "Negredo. You are here for one purpose. Locate Shalltear Bloodfallen."
Murmurs stirred among the Guardians—Aura's eyes widened with worry, while Mare fidgeted nervously. Demiurge's smile remained sharp, but even he leaned forward with interest. Cocytus's icy breath misted the air, silent but watchful.
Negredo moved to the center of the hall. With a graceful motion, she lifted her hand, strands of hair falling away from her hidden face. The floor beneath her feet lit with a glacial blue circle, runes spiraling outward like cracks across ice.
"Commencing scrying sequence…" her voice was soft but steady.
Frost gathered midair, shaping into a translucent mirror of ice. Symbols pulsed across its surface as she whispered words in an ancient tongue. At first, only static fog filled the screen—an endless haze, resistance against her magic.
Aura clenched her fists. "It's not working…!"
Negredo did not waver. She pressed both hands against the air, her hair drifting unnaturally as another circle flared to life around her. "Anti-Divination… override."
The ice groaned, cracking, the haze splitting apart. Slowly an image formed—moonlight spilling over a desolate field. And there, unmoving, stood Shalltear Bloodfallen, her crimson armor glinting faintly, her body rigid like a puppet awaiting its master's command.
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Mare swallowed nervously, Aura's expression darkened, and Demiurge's smile widened with dangerous curiosity.
Negredo lowered her hands, the mirror shattering into a thousand shards of mist. She bowed her head toward the throne, her voice steady."Lord Ainz… Shalltear has been found. She waits… beyond Nazarick's walls."
///
The throne room buzzed with tension, but Sans only stood in silence, sockets half-lidded, unreadable as ever. Inside, though, a voice scraped through the hollow of his skull like claws on stone.
"…This could be a trap."
The whisper was low, cold, and merciless—Gaster's voice, woven into the marrow of his being. "Shalltear's betrayal may be nothing more than bait, designed to drag Ainz into the jaws of an unseen predator. Any hesitation, even a heartbeat of doubt, will be exploited. There is only one path without weakness."
The voice deepened, reverberating through him like an endless echo in a void. "Elimination. Death is final, immutable. It erases all risks, all shadows of deception. Revival is simple—mere resources. But failure…"
A pause, heavy as a gravestone pressing on his soul.
"…failure is eternal."
Sans shifted slightly, his grin fixed, but the whisper lingered, gnawing at him like frostbite in his bones.
Sans stiffened, his bony frame almost imperceptibly tense. The shadows clinging to him seemed to quiver, as if stirred by the echo of the voice gnawing at his skull.
"There can be no compromise," Gaster's whisper pressed on, each word cold and methodical, like chisels carving away doubt. "Negotiation is folly. Shalltear's will is not her own—she is a puppet, a weapon pointed at the master's heart. To treat her with mercy is to gamble with Nazarick itself. And patience… patience is nothing but an opening, a flaw the enemy waits to strike through."
The voice resonated, steady and absolute, painting the outcome with surgical precision. "In war, hesitation is weakness. Weakness breeds failure. And failure cannot be undone. Remove the piece from the board, and the threat dies with it."
The shadows twitched again, sharper now, crawling like living ink across the floor around Sans' feet before settling. Outwardly, he remained the same—grin unmoving, eyes half-shut. But within, Gaster's verdict weighed like stone.
"…y'know, that's one way to look at it," Sans murmured quietly, his voice low, more a whisper than a protest. Inside, however, a storm brewed. He understood the reasoning—he could see the potential trap—but the suggestion of killing Shalltear gnawed at him. Her mind may be under control, but she was still one of their own. And yet, the voice in his shadow left no room for sentiment: the safest, most certain solution was elimination.
The dichotomy pressed on him, an invisible weight. Gaster's words were meticulous and cold, outlining contingencies and worst-case outcomes. Every strategy that veered from finality was a potential vulnerability. Even as Sans exhaled, trying to reconcile his own instincts with the calculated logic of his adviser, the shadows around him seemed to tighten, a visual echo of the tension clawing inside.
In that moment, Sans understood clearly: the discussion was no longer just about Shalltear's wellbeing. It was about survival, strategy, and the unforgiving calculus of Nazarick. And the solution proposed by the voice in his shadow, while abhorrent to him, was impossible to ignore.
Sans' musings froze mid-thought as Albedo's voice sliced through the quiet of the throne room, sharp and commanding.
"SANS!" Her tone rang with both authority and exasperation, echoing off the stone walls.
"Lord Ainz is calling you, and you dare ignore the Supreme One!" The golden gleam in her eyes sharpened, wings twitching as if ready to strike.
Sans' glowing eye flickered, his shadowed form shifting slightly as he straightened up, hands sliding deeper into his hoodie pockets. "…heh, alright, alright. No need to shout, lady," he muttered, though his steps toward the front were measured, shadows stretching and curling with each motion.
Every guardian in the throne room watched, the tension thick as the skeleton approached, a mix of defiance and reluctant obedience flickering in his posture.
Sans shifted slightly, the lazy grin never leaving his face, though his sockets dimmed as if he were weighing something heavy. He glanced up at Ainz, voice low but steady.
"...Boss, I think I got an idea what messed with Shalltear. Mind control like that—it ain't cheap, and it ain't random. Somebody out there had the power, and the knowledge, to make it happen."
He tapped a bony finger against his skull as if recalling a memory.
"See, I was paying our guest a visit, y'know, those with the angels. Ended up talkin' to a bunch of mages—real average types, but they knew their history. They told me stories about the world, the kind of legends they're raised on. Turns out, the humans here used to worship a group they call the Six Great Gods. To them, these figures weren't just myths, but saviors who brought order, magic, and divine law to this land."
The shadows near Sans twitched faintly, resonating with his words.
"The way they told it, these gods were… different. Too strong, too smart, like they didn't really belong in this world. Got me thinkin', boss… maybe they were the same as you—players, from Yggdrasil. And if that's true, then the stuff they left behind… their tools, their relics…" He paused, his grin tightening ever so slightly. "…could be world-class. And one of those items might've been what twisted Shalltear's strings."
Sans looked back up at Ainz, sockets narrowing with rare seriousness.
"So yeah. If she's actin' like a puppet, it ain't her fault. Someone pulled those strings with somethin' built to break the rules. And if the Six really did leave their mark here, then this world's a whole lot more dangerous than it looks."
The throne room fell into a heavy silence after Sans finished speaking. His words lingered in the air like frost, the weight of the revelation pressing on every soul present.
On the throne, Ainz leaned back slightly, skeletal fingers tapping against the armrest in thought. The faint glow of his eye sockets narrowed. "The Six Great Gods…" he murmured, voice echoing with grim authority. "If they were indeed Players, then their relics would rival even Nazarick's treasures. For one to appear now, in the hands of an enemy capable of turning Shalltear against us, is… troubling."
The moment Sans' words settled, the glow in Ainz's sockets flickered—then dimmed. A crushing weight spread through the throne room, an aura so heavy it seemed to suffocate the very air.
It was despair.
From the throne, that oppressive aura poured outward, thick and suffocating, seeping into every corner of the hall. The Guardians stiffened, some gasping quietly, others bowing lower to the ground under its weight. Even Cocytus, unshaken in battle, found his breath frosting harder beneath the crushing presence of his lord's despair.
Albedo's eyes widened, trembling. "L-Lord Ainz…!" she cried, voice desperate, but even she could not take a step forward into the storm of his aura.
In that moment, Ainz's skeletal fingers curled into a fist, the sound of bone scraping echoing unnaturally loud. His voice emerged hollow, stripped of the usual calm authority, and steeped instead in a cold dread.
"A World Item…" he whispered, the words crawling through the chamber like venom. "To think such a weapon… is in the hands of our enemy."
The Guardians did not dare to speak. They all understood, even in fragments, the gravity of that phrase. World Item—a force that transcended reason, something even their supreme master could not casually resist.
The despair thickened, and for a moment, Nazarick itself seemed to tremble.
Albedo stepped forward quickly, bowing low. "Lord Ainz, if such dangerous artifacts exist, please allow us—your loyal Guardians—to strike down these insolent insects before they dare use them again."
Cocytus slammed his clawed fist against his chest. "TO FACE SUCH A WEAPON… IT WOULD BE MY HONOR TO DESTROY THEM FOR YOU, LORD AINZ!"
Demiurge adjusted his glasses, his smile sharp. "Indeed. To think that a relic of such magnitude could even touch one of us… it suggests an opponent of great cunning. But rest assured, Lord Ainz, with precise planning, we can unearth and annihilate them before they take root."
Aura clenched her fists. "Yeah! If someone's got that kind of weapon, we can't let them run around free." Mare shuffled beside her, nodding timidly. "Y-yes… i-it's dangerous…"
But Ainz raised a hand, and all voices fell silent. The weight of his gesture was absolute.
"No," he said, his tone sharp as steel. "This matter concerns Shalltear, one of my Guardians. Her honor and loyalty have been stained—not by her own fault, but by the malice of another. If anyone is to deal with this, it will be me."
The declaration rolled through the chamber like thunder.
Albedo's eyes widened, panic flashing across her face. "B-but, Lord Ainz—!"
"Enough." The single word crushed any further protest. His gaze swept across the gathered Guardians. "Your role is to safeguard Nazarick, to hold its walls strong while I take the field. If I fall into a trap, then I alone bear that risk. I will not endanger the Tomb by dragging you all into the unknown. This is my responsibility. Mine alone."
The Guardians bowed their heads, their protests strangled in their throats. Albedo trembled with a mix of fear and reverence, her devotion only deepening. Cocytus, Demiurge, Aura, Mare, and even the silent Sebas lowered themselves, acknowledging their master's will.
Ainz rose slowly from the throne, his black robes cascading like a storm around his skeletal form. "Shalltear will be brought back. And those who dared test Nazarick's might…" The glow in his sockets flared brighter, filled with lethal resolve. "…will learn the price of their insolence."
The silence that followed was not one of doubt, but of awe. Their master had spoken, and his will was absolute, but not when his well being is on the line.
Albedo's composure finally cracked. She dropped to her knees at the foot of the throne, her voice trembling yet still rich with devotion. Tears welled in her crimson eyes, spilling freely as she clasped her hands against her chest.
"Lord Ainz… my most cherished one… please!" Her words echoed through the chamber, desperate and raw. "Do not place yourself in danger for our sake! It should be we, your Guardians, who bleed and perish before you ever need lift a finger. That is our role, our joy, our reason for existing!"
Her black hair spilled across the floor as she bowed deeply, shoulders shaking. "If you walk into this trap alone, the enemy will know no greater opportunity. We cannot bear it—" her voice broke, the tears falling harder, "—I cannot bear it. To see you endanger yourself shatters me more than any blade ever could."
The other Guardians remained silent, their faces hardening. Cocytus's fist clenched at his side, Aura bit her lip, Mare shrank back, and Demiurge's smile faltered for the first time. All of them felt Albedo's words mirror the burning loyalty in their own hearts, though none dared interrupt her plea.
Ainz stood tall, looking down at her with those hollow, glowing sockets. His voice was calm, yet heavy with authority.
"Albedo… your devotion is understood. I know the weight of what you feel." He raised one skeletal hand, the gesture both commanding and strangely gentle. "But listen well. My decision will not change. Nazarick requires certainty. This is my responsibility, and mine alone to resolve."
His gaze swept the chamber, then lingered on the kneeling Guardian. "Do not weep, Albedo. Instead, have faith in me. I am Ainz Ooal Gown… and I will not be defeated."
The words rang with such finality that even Albedo's sobs stilled. She pressed her forehead to the floor, her tears dripping against the stone, and whispered through her trembling voice:
Suddenly words cut through the throne room like a blade. Every Guardian turned sharply, eyes narrowing, searching for the one bold—or foolish—enough to speak against Ainz's decree.
Sans stepped forward from the line of shadows where he had been silently standing, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. For once, his lazy grin wasn't quite so lazy. His sockets glowed faintly, the usual indifference in his posture replaced by something heavier, firmer.
"...Sorry, boss," he said, his voice carrying an edge of weight it rarely bore. "I know you staked your name and all on fighting Shalltear yourself. But…" He exhaled, tilting his skull slightly as if bracing himself. "…I'm gonna cash in my favor now."
The chamber froze. Albedo's tear-streaked face twisted in shock, Demiurge's eyes flickered with calculation, and Cocytus's breath hissed like ice grinding on stone. Even Aura and Mare stared wide-eyed, unsure what they'd just witnessed.
Ainz's glowing eyes fixed on Sans, unreadable but sharp. "A… favor?" The words rumbled like distant thunder, more curious than angry, yet heavy enough to bow the air around them.
Sans gave a short nod, shadows twitching at his feet in subtle resonance, as though Gaster himself stirred at the audacity of the skeleton's words. "Yeah. You once told me I could ask one thing—just one—and you'd hear me out. I'm callin' that in now.
"let me fight her instead" he said eyes glowed with Determination
Aura's eyes widened. "You—what?!" Mare nearly stumbled back in shock, and even Demiurge's smirk froze in place. Cocytus narrowed his eyes, a rumble echoing deep in his throat, uncertain whether to object or approve.
The throne room vibrated with tension, the Guardians looking between their master and the skeleton in blue. Ainz's hollow gaze bore down on Sans, unreadable, the glow in his sockets dimming as silence stretched like a blade poised to fall.
"…You would pit yourself against Shalltear Bloodfallen?" Ainz finally asked, his tone slow, weighty.
Sans' grin didn't falter. "Yeah. That's the favor I'm cashin' in, boss. Let me fight her."
The air was thick enough to crush. Every Guardian waited, breathless, for Ainz's judgment.
The weight of Ainz's words pressed down across the throne room, each syllable carrying the chill of grave finality. His sockets glowed faintly, piercing into Sans as he spoke.
"Sans… you are aware, are you not?" His tone was steady, yet edged with the steel of command. "You, like myself, are a caster. And you are undead. There would be no difference between sending you to fight in my place and sending you to die in my name."
The Guardians flinched at the bluntness, though none dared to interrupt. Cocytus's mandibles clicked in unease, Aura bit down on her lip, and Albedo's tear-stained face turned sharply toward Sans, desperate for him to understand their master's concern.
But Sans only stood there, hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, grin unmoving. The shadows at his feet twisted faintly, alive with a will of their own, resonating with the determination carved into his words.
"yeah, boss," he said quietly, almost too calm for the moment. "i know what i am. i know what's waitin' for me out there." His sockets flickered, the glow sharp and steady. "but that's exactly why i gotta do it. if this fight's just a setup to break you, then lettin' you walk into it's the same as lettin' them win. and i ain't lettin' that happen."
The silence that followed was absolute, as though even Nazarick itself was holding its breath, waiting for Ainz's judgment.
The atmosphere in the throne room was suffocating, Ainz's despair still lingering like a stormcloud. His gaze, sharp and hollow, locked onto Sans.
"Sans…" His voice was heavy, cold, and utterly serious. "If your plan is to rely on your evasion—to slip between attacks in that second form of yours—while using your own World Item, then you are burning mana at an unsustainable rate. And given that every attack you wield is magical…" The bone lord's fingers tightened against the armrest of his throne, the sound echoing. "What plan do you have to face Shalltear without mana?"
The Guardians turned, their attention fixed squarely on Sans. The weight of Ainz's words was absolute—there would be no bluffing, no careless answers in this moment.
Sans didn't flinch. His grin remained, hollow as ever, though the shadows under his sockets deepened. Hands still stuffed in his hoodie, he tilted his skull slightly, as though weighing the question.
"heh. good point, boss." His voice was calm, unshaken by the scrutiny. "truth is, yeah, if i run dry on mana, i'm done. shalltear'll tear me apart like paper." He let that hang for a moment, the silence sharp. "but here's the thing… i ain't plannin' to win by out-blasting her."
He raised his head, sockets glowing with a sharper blue light.
"while she's swingin' around with all that strength, i'll be keepin' my distance, dodgin' till she's good 'n tired of wastin' effort. and when the time comes, i'll use what i got left to lock her down, piece by piece—my magic ain't just about hittin' hard. it's about control. space. tempo. and i've got one more thing she doesn't…"
The grin seemed darker now, not playful, but edged with certainty.
"…i don't fight alone. not really."
The shadows at his feet stirred faintly, as if something unseen was listening.
The Guardians exchanged looks the moment Sans delivered his cryptic answer.
Cocytus's mandibles clicked together, the chill of his body mist rolling heavier across the floor. He intends to fight without mana? Impossible. Reckless… or brilliant. For one forged to value discipline in battle, Sans' words teetered between lunacy and an unfamiliar, alien confidence.
Aura frowned, her small hands tightening into fists. "Control… tempo…?" She whispered softly, brows furrowed. He's not thinking like a warrior. He's thinking like—like a predator waiting for the perfect strike.
Mare shifted nervously at her side, clutching his staff to his chest. The boy's emerald eyes darted to Albedo, then back to Ainz. He could feel the oppressive weight of the Supreme Ones' aura still heavy in the chamber. If Sans fails, it will be more than just Shalltear lost…
Demiurge, however, adjusted his glasses, eyes gleaming with sharp intrigue. His ever-calculating mind dissected Sans' statement with obsessive precision. 'I don't fight alone,' he says… Curious. Does he speak of Ainz-sama's grand design? Or does he harbor some unseen mechanism within his abilities? Could it be that his evasion and tempo are merely the stage upon which another, hidden actor performs? A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though he remained silent, letting the mystery gnaw at the others.
Albedo, still kneeling by the throne, gritted her teeth, torn between admiration and anger. "How can he…" she thought, tears of frustration threatening again. To speak so brazenly, as though survival is a triviality. He is staking everything, even his existence, as if it were nothing. Does he… does he truly mean to shield my lord in his stead?
Shalltear's name weighed heavily in the room, but now it was the bone figure in the hoodie who drew all their focus. Every Guardian knew one truth—this strange being Ainz-sama trusted did not fight by their rules. His confidence was not born of strength, but of something unnervingly alien.
From his throne, Ainz watched the room with the hollow calmness of an undead, but within his mind—where no Guardian could see—thoughts churned like a raging storm.
The weight of World Items still pressed against his psyche, a heavy reminder of how easily Shalltear had been turned against him. That despair lingered like a phantom claw in his ribcage, threatening to crush his composure. But then came Sans—stepping forward, staking a claim with that strange, unnerving certainty of his.
The Guardians had reacted exactly as expected: Cocytus skeptical, Aura and Mare anxious, Demiurge calculating, Albedo torn apart. Their emotions flared like candles in the dark, easy for Ainz to read, and in turn, easy to manipulate—if he desired. But what unsettled him was not their loyalty; it was Sans himself.
"Control tempo… evade… I don't fight alone."
Those words rattled inside Ainz's mind. For someone so outwardly languid, so deceptively careless, Sans spoke like a strategist who had already rehearsed the coming battle countless times in his head. He wasn't just volunteering—he was declaring inevitability.
Ainz's crimson flames flickered in his sockets, narrowing as his gaze fell on the skeleton in the hoodie. Why do you insist on walking this path, Sans? You know the cost. You know that Shalltear is not an opponent to be trifled with. Even I hesitate to face her without preparation—and yet you…
And beneath that thought, deeper still, another unease stirred: a memory of his old comrades. Of guildmates who would stake everything for one another, even when logic demanded retreat. He reminds me… of them. Of the ones who refused to let me shoulder the world alone.
He suppressed a sigh. His guardians believed he was unmoved, cold, and calculating. In truth, their Master's aura cloaked an unease he could not banish. The despair of Shalltear's betrayal, the unknown reach of World Items, and now Sans, demanding his favor to face her instead.
Am I being cornered? Or… is fate handing me a piece I never knew I had on the board?
The throne room was silent, every Guardian's eyes fixed on him. They awaited his decree, his judgment. And though his voice, when it came, would be steady and regal, his true thoughts were far more fragile:
Yggdrasil rules no longer apply here… and yet, just this once, I must gamble. Sans… I must know what you're truly capable of.
Ainz's crimson eyes dimmed, his voice carrying the weight of a ruler yet edged with the tone of one probing for truth.
"What do you mean by not fighting alone, Sans? As one of your creators, I am well aware of your tendencies. You do not cooperate with others—your strength lies in independence, in patience, in execution. The only exception is your skill to summon the phantoms of the Underground's guardians… yet that ability remains sealed unless the guardian in question has fallen or been defeated. Do you intend to rely on this skill, Sans?"
His words echoed through the throne room, neither accusation nor praise—merely a cold test, a demand for the skeleton to reveal whether he spoke from certainty… or from empty bravado.
The glow of Ainz's eyes narrowed, crimson light sharpening as the silence dragged. The guardians shifted uneasily, curiosity and tension filling the grand throne room.
Sans exhaled, the sound rasping out of his grin like a sigh through hollow bones. His hands tucked into his jacket as if to ground himself, sockets dipping low in hesitation.
"…No. It's not who I was talking about…" His voice was low, almost reluctant, as though weighing each word against the gravity of what would follow. The atmosphere pressed down heavier, the guardians sensing the shift.
He paused, his gaze flicking briefly toward the floor before looking back at Ainz, empty sockets unreadable but his tone edged with something rarely heard from him—uncertainty.
"…It's about my partner. Someone I don't usually bring up… 'cause I'm not sure how you'll take it."
The air stilled, as if the very walls of Nazarick leaned closer. The unspoken promise of revelation pressed like a blade against the gathered guardians' nerves.
Ainz regarded Sans in silence, the empty sockets and uncharacteristic hesitation gnawing at the edge of his calm façade. A partner? That word alone sparked a dozen alarms in his mind.
Partner? He has never once mentioned another being tied to him… Ainz thought, fingers tightening around the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown. The guardians, loyal and eager, hung on every word, but his mind was already racing. If this is a hidden asset… no, worse—if this is a liability, then I must know its nature before it threatens Nazarick.
Yet outwardly, he did not allow the anxiety to show. His voice remained steady, a grave rumble that carried over the throne room.
"Your partner?" Ainz repeated, tone neutral, testing. "You speak as though you have kept a hidden ally… or something more. Explain yourself, Sans. Who is this partner you hesitate to reveal? And more importantly—why should I allow them into a matter as grave as Shalltear's betrayal?"
Even as he spoke, calculations whirred behind his crimson glow. If Sans was holding back a secret power or companion, it could either be the blade that cut Shalltear down—or the dagger aimed at Nazarick's heart.
This must be handled with precision… Ainz thought grimly. If he means to reveal a trump card, I cannot appear ignorant or weak. I must guide this revelation, ensure it is mine to command, not his to dictate.
The throne room grew tense, as if the guardians themselves awaited the weight of the answer with bated breath.
The throne room seemed to warp as Sans' shadow bled into an unnatural, inky void, darker than the deepest night. The guardians instinctively braced themselves, their instincts screaming of an unknown force intruding. Then, from that impossible abyss, a voice rang out—familiar, yet impossibly altered, a voice that should not exist anymore.
"... Lord Ainz"
The sound froze the air itself. Every guardian felt the weight of it, recognition buried in their very cores. It was a voice they knew, a presence tied to the past of the Supreme Beings… yet it carried an echo that didn't belong. Distorted, layered, as though time and space themselves had tried to erase it and failed.
From the shadow, a figure emerged. Cloaked in black strands of fractured reality, his very outline flickered like a broken frame. What should have been a fellow guildmate now bore an alien aura—something caught between the living memory of the guild and the otherworldly corruption that clung to Sans himself.
Gaster.
But not the Gaster they remembered. His presence was jagged, wrong, as though he had stepped out of a reflection warped by a shattered mirror. His face was obscured, more absence than feature, yet his hollow sockets gleamed with a cold intelligence.
Albedo staggered forward, disbelief clouding her perfect composure. "Impossible… this cannot be…!"
Ainz, unmoving upon his throne, felt the hollow of his skull tighten in something dangerously close to dread. He recognized him, as did they all—but what stood before them was not a resurrection. This was not the guildmate they once knew. This was something different.
"…How…?" Ainz's voice carried both authority and suspicion, his crimson glow narrowing on the impossible figure. "You should not exist in this world. Explain yourself, Gaster… what are you?"
The guardians were silent, the room drowned in tension, all waiting for the answer that would decide whether this was a reunion… or the unveiling of a new threat.
The figure stood utterly still as if weighing every eye in the chamber, the oppressive silence stretching long enough to unnerve even the guardians. When the voice came, it was deep, fractured, and layered—one tone familiar, the other alien, as though two beings were speaking through a single throat.
"…You mistake me… for him."
The shadows clung to the figure's frame like chains, writhing with a will of their own. Slowly, the head tilted toward Ainz, empty sockets glowing faintly, not with life, but with a sterile coldness.
"I am not the Gaster you knew. I am… what he discarded."
The words sank into the throne room like lead.
"A failed project," he continued, his voice heavy with a bitterness that had never dulled. "A shadow, meant to be a perfect copy of the original. A second self. A backup. A contingency, crafted by his own hand… and then abandoned when I did not meet the standard."
The shadows behind Sans stirred violently, as if reacting to the confession, and the guardians felt the oppressive aura grow sharper, like knives against the skin.
"I did not vanish," the figure went on. "I lingered. Forgotten, buried in silence, without purpose. Until he—" his hollow gaze drifted toward Sans, "—bound me to his soul. Not as a creator binds a servant… but as instinct binds to flesh. I am the will in the dark. The instinct to kill, the voice that whispers when hesitation would mean death. Where Sans' mercy falters, I end it. Where he evades, I strike. Where he doubts… I decide."
The guardians shifted uneasily. Aura's hands clenched tightly; Demiurge narrowed his eyes, his mind already racing with strategies; Cocytus' blade-arm twitched, sensing danger in this… fragment.
Finally, the shadowed Gaster raised his head fully, his gaze fixed upon Ainz.
"Do not confuse me for the guildmate you once revered, Lord Ainz. I am not him. I am his failure. His remnant. And now, I am the weapon that lurks in Sans' shadow."
The last word reverberated, a chilling reminder: this Gaster was no ally resurrected, but a predator reborn.
From the high seat of the throne, Ainz's burning gaze locked onto the figure emerging from Sans' shadow. The weight of its words pressed against him like an iron band around his ribcage, the cold echo of "failed project" and "weapon in the shadow" hammering at the edges of his composure.
Outwardly, he remained motionless—skeletal hands resting calmly on the armrests, posture as unyielding as ever. But within, his mind churned.
Not the Gaster I knew. Not the guildmate who once walked among us. This is something else—an echo, a fracture, a remnant born of failure.
The sheer audacity of its presence gnawed at him. For all his meticulous calculations, for all the layers of control he exerted over Nazarick, this—this shadow—had been hidden right beneath his nose. Within Sans, no less. A hidden partner, an instinct made flesh. A weapon that had been whispering in the dark all this time.
The aura radiating from the entity was not simply power—it was hunger, precision, inevitability. Ainz knew that sensation well; it was the aura of something that would never hesitate to kill, never falter in its purpose. A perfect counterbalance to Sans' whimsical nature. And yet…
Dangerous. Too dangerous. To bind one's will to such a thing is to walk a blade's edge. If it has loyalty, it is only to Sans. Not to me, not to Nazarick. If it ever decides to act against my interests…
Ainz's red pinprick eyes flickered briefly toward Sans. The skeletal smile on his face did not waver, but his thoughts hardened.
What is this, Sans? A trump card? A parasite you have come to accept? Or perhaps… a shard of your true design the others neglected to mention?
He felt the guardians tense around him, their auras roiling with suspicion and instinctive aggression. Cocytus' warrior's bloodlust simmered. Demiurge's tail twitched with calculating menace. Albedo's jealousy curdled into a sharp, defensive dread. Even Shalltear's absence seemed to scream louder at this revelation.
Ainz raised one hand slightly, and at once the guardians stilled. His voice, when it came, was smooth and commanding, its calmness belying the storm within.
"…So. Not Gaster. But a failure that has survived long enough to find purpose. You claim to be the instinct, the killing edge Sans lacks. Very well…"
His gaze sharpened, a crimson glow burning brighter in the sockets of his skull.
"…Tell me, then. Shadow of Gaster—do you exist to serve Sans alone? Or can you serve Nazarick as well?"
Inside, Ainz already prepared for either answer. For if this thing was truly loyal only to Sans… it was a variable he could not afford to ignore.
The throne room was silent, suffocating, as if the world itself had paused in anticipation. The inky figure solidified, the formless darkness shifting into something vaguely humanoid, its face obscured by shadows, but its presence undeniable. When it spoke, the voice was fractured—layered with echoes, like multiple realities overlapping into one sound.
"…I was never meant to be."
The words cut through the air, heavy, final.
"I am not the Gaster you knew, Ainz Ooal Gown. I am the cast-off—the abandoned attempt at perfection. When he sought to recreate himself, to preserve his genius, his essence… I was born. Flawed, incomplete. A failure. Yet a failure that survived, feeding on instinct, sharpening itself into what you see before you."
The figure turned, the weight of its gaze settling on Sans.
"He does not fight alone because of me. I am the hand that strikes when hesitation takes root. I am the hunger to kill when mercy clouds his judgment. I am the shadow of survival."
The voice rumbled deeper now, laced with certainty that left no room for doubt.
"My loyalty is his. Not yours. Not Nazarick's. I am his blade, his shield, his instinct. Where Sans wavers, I act. Where Sans falls, I endure."
The guardians stiffened. Cocytus' claws tightened on the hilt of his weapon. Demiurge's eyes narrowed in fascination, calculating the tactical implications of such a being. Albedo, trembling, shifted closer to Ainz as though to shield him with her very body, her golden eyes flashing with possessive dread. Aura and Mare exchanged anxious glances, while Sebas' expression darkened in grim suspicion.
Ainz leaned forward slightly, skeletal fingers steepled together. His crimson gaze bore into the shadow's featureless form, unyielding.
"…So you claim you are the blade Sans wields, yet one that answers to no hand but his own. A failed project… that endured long enough to forge an identity. Hmph."
For a fleeting moment, his calm composure cracked within, and despair whispered at the back of his mind. World Items, mind control, traitors among my guardians, and now… remnants of a guildmate's experiments hidden within one of my own. Just how many shadows from the past will emerge to test me?
Yet his voice never betrayed the turmoil. Instead, it came low and sharp, each word deliberate.
"…Then understand this: if you stand as Sans' instinct, if you are his shadow, then your survival depends entirely on him. Betray him, betray Nazarick—and you will learn that there are fates far worse than being an abandoned failure."
The shadow chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that sent ripples across the throne room.
"…Spoken like a master who intends to test every piece on the board. Very well, Ainz Ooal Gown. Watch closely. For when Sans fights Shalltear… you will not see hesitation. You will see me."
The figure began to sink back into Sans' form, the inky darkness folding like water into shadow, until only Sans remained, the glow of his sockets dimmed yet steady, his frame taut with the weight of the revelation.
All eyes turned to Ainz once more.
Sans' POV
The silence after Gaster's retreat into his shadow was suffocating. Sans shifted slightly, his grin fixed in place, but the weight pressing against his soul felt heavier than any battlefield. He hated exposing that part of himself to the others—his so-called "partner."
The guardians' stares burned into him. They didn't trust it. They weren't supposed to. Hell, he didn't fully trust it either.
But it was true.
Without Gaster's instinct, he wouldn't have lasted as long as he had in the Underground. He wouldn't have endured death after death, fight after fight. That shadow wasn't just his weapon—it was the part of him that refused to stop fighting. The part that wouldn't let him just lie down and fade into dust.
Yet, seeing the look in Ainz's crimson flames made him pause. It wasn't just suspicion—it was calculation. That damn skeletal poker face reminded Sans of a mirror, one that measured him not as a person but as a piece on the board.
"…heh," Sans muttered under his breath, forcing a bit of humor back into his tone. "Guess the cat's outta the bag now, huh, boss?"
But even as the words left him, he knew this wasn't a joke Ainz was going to laugh at.
Ainz's POV
Ainz sat still upon the throne, hands steepled, every inch of him projecting regal calm. But inside, his mind spun faster than any spell could trace.
A remnant of a guildmate's experiment. A fragment with independent will, fused to one of my guardians. And Sans… he revealed this only now.
He measured Sans in silence. Not the grinning skeleton, but the weight of what he carried inside. A blade with its own mind. An instinct forged from failure.
Dangerous. Unstable. Yet… powerful.
If Shalltear truly bore the strength of a World Item, then perhaps only a being who could break rules—who could bend fate itself with unpredictability—stood a chance at wearing her down.
Still, the risk clawed at him. Trust was not freely given in Nazarick, not even to his most loyal guardians, for betrayal—whether forced or chosen—was always a possibility.
"…Sans." His voice rolled through the chamber, calm yet sharp as a drawn blade. "You walk a path bound with shadows. And now you ask me to gamble Nazarick's pride, not on your strength alone, but on the survival of this… partner."
The guardians leaned in, watching intently. Demiurge's smile lingered, dangerous curiosity dancing in his eyes. Albedo's body trembled, a storm of fury and dread rising with every breath.
Ainz leaned forward ever so slightly, the crimson light in his sockets narrowing.
"…I will grant you this chance. But know this: if you fall to Shalltear, if your shadow betrays you, Nazarick will not remember you as a hero. It will remember you as a liability."
Inside, though, the thought festered.
If this fails… then I myself will finish Shalltear.
♦ ♦ ♦
The obsidian doors closed behind them with a heavy, echoing thud. The guardians had been dismissed, though their hesitation lingered in the air. Now, only two figures remained in the shadowed chamber: the Overlord seated upon his throne, and the grinning skeleton standing silently beneath the crimson glow.
Ainz raised a skeletal hand, his voice low and deliberate."Sans. Approach."
The skeleton complied, his steps echoing faintly across the marble floor. His grin never faltered, but the quiet tension in his sockets betrayed unease.
"Boss," Sans said, his tone casual, though it carried a weight that contradicted his lazy drawl.
Ainz studied him in silence, his crimson flames flickering softly. He had long since mastered the art of silence—it was a weapon, a way to make others speak first. And sure enough, Sans exhaled, a faint rattle escaping his chest.
"…I get it. Yer thinkin' I've been hidin' somethin' dangerous. You ain't wrong."
The Overlord's hand tightened slightly against his throne's armrest."Explain."
"…i just found out yesterday too, boss. and he… uh… gaster… it's weird. real weird. he's got the same face, the same voice… even a bit of the same aura as 'dad'."
The flames in Ainz's sockets narrowed. A ripple of unease clawed at the back of his mind, though his undead nature dulled the full force of it. you tell me!!, i thought that was the real Gaster!! maybe i should advise sans to change it'sname.
Sans' words dropped into the silence of the chamber like stones into deep water.
"…he said that he woke up when we were at the village… when i was in my second form. so… same as the kids."
Ainz's crimson gaze flickered. Second form… and "kids"?
"Kids?" His voice carried a mixture of curiosity and the faintest edge of unease.
Sans shifted his stance, his grin faltering just a fraction as he rubbed the back of his skull. "…you know. the souls. they're… sentient now. talkin', thinkin'—and somehow… in my head, in my memories… i know every one of them."
For a moment, Ainz sat utterly still upon the throne, a king draped in silence. But inside, his thoughts roared.
Sentient souls? And not merely fragments of data… but with individuality? With identity? Impossible. No, worse—it is something beyond the systems of Yggdrasil, something the world itself is shaping.
The crimson fire in his sockets narrowed as his grip tightened upon the armrest."Sans…" he said slowly, tone measured but heavy, "if what you claim is true, then you carry within you not only phantoms of the past, but living echoes. Allies, perhaps… but also vulnerabilities. Do you understand what this means?"
Sans' grin twitched back into place, but his voice carried a weight that betrayed the mask. "…yeah, boss. it means i'm never really fightin' alone. and… it means i got a lot more to protect than just myself."
Ainz leaned back, the throne looming around him, his mind storming with calculation.Shalltear's betrayal… the world items… and now this. Nazarick is gathering shadows within shadows. If these "children" are truly real… then Sans is no longer merely a weapon. He is a vessel.
Ainz's crimson gaze fixed on Sans, the glow within his sockets burning with both authority and quiet concern.
"…So, Sans," his voice rumbled through the throne room, carrying the weight of a sovereign's command, "what is your plan to fight Shalltear?"
Sans shifted, the grin on his skull never faltering, though his tone betrayed something deeper. "you know, boss… i was always wonderin' why people don't use their strongest right from the first fight."
Ainz leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "You would use your trump card… at the start?"
"ye," Sans replied with a slow nod, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets as if to anchor himself. "i got three of them. i'll lay it all down fast and hope i can end it before it drags." He exhaled, a weary sound, almost human despite the hollow bones. "i don't want to fight this either, boss. but if it comes down to you doin' it…" His head tilted, that grin suddenly sharpened with conviction. "…then i'd fight her a hundred times over before lettin' you get hurt."
Ainz froze for a fraction of a second. In that declaration, he heard no jest, no laziness, no detachment. Just a raw, unyielding loyalty that pierced even the steel of his undead heart.
"…Sans…" Ainz's tone lowered, heavy with an emotion he could not fully name. Inside, Ainz's mind spun with calculations. Three trump cards… one after another. But at what cost? How much mana will he consume? And how much will Nazarick risk losing if he fails?
And yet… beyond the logic, beyond the risk… there was a strange stirring deep in the hollow of his chest.
To be protected… by someone who was meant to serve. To be cherished as something more than a master…
The emotion was almost unbearable.
"Very well," Ainz finally said, his tone regaining the mantle of the Supreme Being. "If you insist on walking this path, then show me, Sans. Show me your determination… and your strength."
Ainz's burning crimson eyes fixed on Sans as his words trailed off. The throne room had gone utterly silent; even the air itself felt thick with tension. Then, in that silence, Ainz slowly leaned back on the throne, skeletal fingers steepled before him.
"…Then I will tell you Shalltear's trump cards as well." His voice was low, deliberate, carrying the weight of a master about to unveil forbidden knowledge. "Given that her creator, Peroroncino, and I were… close, I know all of Shalltear's strengths, her arsenal, and the aces she keeps hidden until her prey is at its weakest, with this you shall show the might of Ainz Ooal Gown.
♦ ♦ ♦