The Throne of Kings was cold.
It was a magnificent artifact, crafted from the digital dreams of forty-one friends, but at the end of the day, it was a slab of gold and crystal. It had no cushion. Satoru Suzuki—now Ainz Ooal Gown—had no skin to feel the chill, yet phantom nerves from his human life insisted that his nonexistent backside was going numb.
My spine is literal bone. How can it still feel stiff?
He shifted, the movement creating a faint clink of divine-class armor.
Instantly, the air in the room grew heavy.
To his right, Albedo, the Overseer of the Floor Guardians, stiffened. Her golden eyes, usually burning with a terrifying mixture of lust and adoration, narrowed in sharp concern. She leaned forward, her cleavage dangerously testing the tensile strength of her white dress.
"Ainz-sama? Is something displeasing you?"
Her voice was silk wrapping a dagger. If Ainz expressed even mild annoyance, someone outside this room would likely die before sunset.
Ainz raised a skeletal hand. "It is nothing, Albedo. Mere stiffness."
"Stiffness!" Albedo's wings fluttered, a flush rising up her neck. "If my master requires a massage, this humble one has studied fifty-seven different techniques from the torture chambers of the frozen prison! I can knead your vertebrae until you scream in... relief."
That implies pain. That definitely implies pain.
A green light washed over Ainz's vision. The emotional suppression. His rising panic—that familiar social anxiety of a salaryman caught in a CEO meeting—was forcibly leveled into calm, icy rationality.
"That will not be necessary," Ainz said, his voice deepening into the regal baritone of the Overlord of Death. "We have matters of state to discuss. The conquest of the Re-Estize Kingdom is complete. I require the final damage assessment."
He mentally patted himself on the back. Good transition. Very corporate.
Albedo straightened, snapping back into professional mode, though the hunger in her eyes remained. "Yes, Ainz-sama. As you predicted, the kingdom has effectively ceased to exist. The final casualty count stands at eight point two million. Survivors have been categorized by utility: Tier 1 for manual labor, Tier 2 for experiments, and Tier 3 for food processing."
Eight million.
The number floated in Ainz's skull. That was the population of a large modern city like Osaka. Gone. Erased because of a carriage attack he barely remembered and a plan Demiurge had spun out of thin air.
Ainz waited for the guilt. He waited for Satoru Suzuki to scream.
Nothing happened. He felt only a detached analytical curiosity. Was eight million enough to spawn high-tier undead?
I really am a monster, aren't I?
"Excellent," Ainz said.
"However," a smooth, sophisticated voice echoed from the entrance.
Ainz suppressed the urge to flinch. Demiurge. The Arch-Devil stepped into the throne room, his pinstripe suit immaculate despite the slaughter he had likely just overseen. His glasses caught the torchlight, hiding his jewel-like eyes.
He strode forward and knelt beside Albedo, his tail carving slow, confident arcs in the air.
"The efficiency of the collection was... adequate," Demiurge said, his tone implying he found it sloppy. "But there is an irregularity, Ainz-sama. One that surely you have already anticipated, but I feel compelled to report for the sake of protocol."
Ainz's internal monologue began screaming.
I haven't anticipated anything! I've been reading a book on 'management styles for dummy liches' all morning! What irregularity? Did we kill too many? Not enough?
"Speak," Ainz commanded. "Let us see if your deductions align with mine."
"Sasuga, Ainz-sama." Demiurge lowered his head, vibrating with intellectual pleasure. "It concerns the ruins of the capital. The magical fallout has settled, but the surrounding nations... specifically the Slane Theocracy... have gone completely silent."
"Silent?" Ainz asked.
"Dark, my lord. Magical communications blockades. Closed borders. No spies entering or leaving. It is the silence of a fortress preparing for siege."
Ainz tapped a bony finger on the armrest of the throne. Click. Click. Click.
It made sense. If a giant skeleton wiped out your neighbor, you'd lock your doors too. But coming from the Theocracy? The ones who mind-controlled Shalltear?
The memory of killing his own Floor Guardian flashed in his mind. The rage surged—hot, violent, human—before the green light smashed it down again.
"The Theocracy is cautious," Ainz stated.
"They are afraid," Albedo corrected with a sneer. "They know the Sorcerer King comes for them."
"No," Demiurge interjected softly. "Fear causes chaos. This silence is organized. It implies... confidence."
Confidence? Against Nazarick?
Demiurge stood and gestured. A magical illusion flickered into existence—a map of the continent. Re-Estize was a black smear. The Empire was a blue tributary. But to the south, the Theocracy was highlighted in angry red.
"Ainz-sama," Demiurge said, adjusting his glasses. "I believe they possess a World Item. Perhaps more than one. They are not cowering. They are baiting us."
Ainz stared at the map. The red shape looked like a mouth waiting to snap shut.
World Items. The only things in this New World that could truly threaten Nazarick. If they had 'Downfall of Castle and Country,' they could turn Sebas or Cocytus against him.
"Then we shall not bite," Ainz said slowly.
He stood up. The motion was fluid, the movement of a ruler deciding the fate of empires. Inside, he was just trying to stretch his legs.
He walked down the steps of the dais, his robe billowing. He stopped before the map. He raised his hand, intending to point at the border, to suggest reinforcing the surveillance lines.
His finger slipped.
He pointed dead center into the Draconic Kingdom, far to the east of the Theocracy.
Ainz froze. Crap. My finger slipped on the illusion texture.
Before he could correct himself, Demiurge gasped. A sound of pure, unadulterated awe.
"Incredible..." the devil whispered. "To strike there..."
Albedo looked confused, then her eyes widened in realization. "I see! By ignoring the Theocracy's provocation and striking the Draconic Kingdom first, we cut off their secret supply of Wild Magic! We force the Dragon Lords out of hiding before the Theocracy is ready!"
Ainz looked at his finger. He looked at Demiurge.
"E-exactly," Ainz said. "Explain it to the others, Demiurge. Make sure they understand the... nuances of my strategy. I do not wish to repeat myself."
"Of course, Lord Ainz! A brilliant pincer movement! You intend to use the 'Plan of the Starving Beast.' By pressuring the dragons, the Theocracy will be forced to reveal their trump cards to defend their ancestral allies!" Demiurge was practically scribbling notes in his mind. "I will mobilize the Seventh Floor immediately."
"Umu. Good."
Ainz turned away, hiding the phantom sweat pouring down his skull. I just started a war with dragons because I have clumsy fingers. Herohero-san, forgive me.
"Albedo," Ainz called out, returning to the safety of his throne.
"Yes, my love?"
"Prepare the defenses on the 8th Floor. Just a precaution."
Albedo blinked. The 8th Floor was where Nazarick's most terrifying, game-breaking entities resided. "Is the threat that severe?"
"One can never be too careful," Ainz quoted his favorite proverb.
Suddenly, a sound cut through the room.
It wasn't a voice. It wasn't a footstep.
It was a chime. A sharp, digital ping that echoed not in the air, but directly inside Ainz's head.
He froze. His heart, if he had one, would have stopped.
It was the sound of a private message notification. The default Yggdrasil system sound.
But the game consoles were gone. The interface was gone. He had been in this world for years, and never once had he heard that specific chime. Message spells sounded like wind; this sounded like software.
A blue window flickered at the edge of his vision. Just for a second.
[System Notice: Expansion Pack Detected.]
[Server Synchronization: 0.01%]
The text vanished before he could focus on it.
"Ainz-sama?" Albedo was at the foot of the dais instantly, her axe materialized in her hand. "Your aura... it flared. An attack?"
Ainz griped the armrests of the throne, the gold bending under his skeletal grip. The green light bathed him once, twice, three times in rapid succession, failing to fully suppress the shock.
Expansion Pack?
This world was real. He had smelled blood, felt the dirt, touched the gold. It wasn't a simulation.
Or was it?
"Demiurge," Ainz said. His voice didn't sound like the Overlord of Death anymore. It sounded urgent. "Cancel the deployment to the Draconic Kingdom."
"My lord?" Demiurge looked stricken, as if he had failed a test.
"Change of plans," Ainz said, the red points of light in his sockets burning with a terrified intensity. "Total lockdown. No one leaves Nazarick. Pull all spies back. raise the suppression level to maximum."
"Ainz-sama, has the Theocracy—"
"It is not the Theocracy," Ainz stood up, his cloak swirling around him like a shroud of pure darkness. "Something else has arrived."
He looked up at the ceiling of the throne room, past the banners of his guildmates, staring at a sky he couldn't see.
Developers?
"Prepare for war," Ainz ordered, and for the first time, he wasn't acting. "Not a war of conquest. A war for survival."
For in the bottom right corner of his vision, a tiny, blinking icon remained.
A greyed-out button that shouldn't exist.
[Log Out]
It was locked. But it was there.