Chapter 11
The next two days could best be described as routine. Even the commendation ceremony for Shalltear and Aura, who were practically bursting with pride, and the bashful Mare, lacked any particular flair. The only real point of note was that the captives found in the cave had to be sent to Carne Village. There was no one of value among them—just a couple of minor merchants held for ransom and several girls and women of peasant or commoner stock whom the bandits had kept for their bed chambers. Once again, I noted that I felt not a shred of pity for the victims, nor anything resembling rage toward the scum who had shattered their lives. Worse still, my mind kept circling back to the idea of using these humans for undead creation. My lich nature even supplied a logical justification: the girls had nowhere to go, their companions were all dead, their families and friends likely lost, and no one here was going to heal their psychological trauma. In short, it would be more merciful to end their suffering immediately and grant them a new life. Once again, I had to force myself to do the opposite, though it was a struggle; the absolute certainty that this was the "right" decision was no longer there. In the end, the liberated captives, under the supervision of Lupusregina Beta, were sent through a Gate to the village, where the Battle Maid gave the headman a brief rundown and vanished without a goodbye. Otherwise, from morning until evening, I listened to "lectures" from Ninya, Dyne, and Brita, and from evening until morning, I fine-tuned builds and planned where and how to bolt if things went south.
Ideally, I would have locked the entire faction of Guardians in the Treasury, but leaving a small crowd of Chaotic Evil entities next to an arsenal of the world's deadliest weapons... something told me that wasn't the wisest move. And I couldn't carry everything in my inventory even if I wanted to, as even it had its limits.
But finally, the appointed time arrived. All preparations were complete, the artifacts were ready, and the Guardians had received orders to take their positions on their respective floors—except for Sebas and the Pleiades. I moved them from the Throne Room to patrol the Tenth Floor, where the private suites of the Supreme Beings were located. Nabe went there as well; leaving her in the city under such circumstances was too risky. In the Throne Room itself, the only NPC remaining was a single skeleton from the Old Guard of Nazarick, stripped of armor and weapons—he would serve as my litmus test. I also had the "Charming Dress" with me as a way to "reason" with the Guardians if events took a turn for the worst, though, having sent them to their floors, I had "asked" them to disarm themselves. Perhaps I should have ordered them into shackles or pre-emptively hit them with the artifact—my lich side welcomed that option—but it felt like overkill. As they say, it would leave a bitter aftertaste even if everything went perfectly. As for the pre-emptive treatment... if the reroll severed the "hard-coded" link between the guild NPCs and the Guildmaster, then the effect of a "fixed" piece of console would surely be severed as well.
"Right... let's begin," I muttered. If it were physically possible, I would have been shaking with nerves.
I decided to keep the "Last Resort Secret Weapon" orb tucked under my ribs. After all, even if it messed up my race change and I wasted the one-time-use items, it wouldn't be the end of the world. I had a couple more chests full of reroll items, even if they weren't as good. It would be unpleasant, yes, but far more unpleasant would be removing a World Class Item and losing its entire charge in a situation where I could have left it in. The same applied to the risk of "internal bleeding." Angels and demons are hardy creatures, and a level one hundred being in top-tier gear is no joke; I would certainly have a couple of minutes to either chug potions or rip it out of my gut. Given that my hands would be free of the reroll artifacts by then, I might even preserve the charge that way without losing contact. All in all, the potential pros outweighed the risks... even if it was terrifyingly nerve-wracking whenever my skull wasn't being cleared of emotion.
Right, okay. First, I crushed the cash-shop "Tablet of Great Luck"—an inexpensive but incredibly useful item that increases the success chance of an action eightfold. It only works for one action, but for any action—from a critical hit on a boss to finding a hidden alcove with loot or crafting a complex artifact. They had burned through about five hundred of these tablets on the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown... memories. Next, the feather; I squeezed it in my hand and watched as it began to crumble into weightless dust. Another tablet, then I splashed the "blood" over myself. The Throne Room was swallowed in a flash of light.
I came to in the same hall, but now it looked like a low-quality illusion—a light haze forming familiar outlines, looming somewhere on the periphery of my vision. Before me stood something resembling (very distantly) a character selection screen, woven from streams of shimmering light and inky darkness. There were only... wait, why are there three? I understood those were the starter races... but I had never heard of the third one. Or rather, Momonga had never heard of it. The selection menu offered me: Angel, Demon, Nephilim.
My head felt suspiciously empty. It seemed I had somehow managed to trigger a "hidden quest," granting an interesting perk, akin to getting an army of five thousand elite goblins instead of a dozen ordinary ones. Since such a thing didn't exist in the game, I suspected this was a "greeting" from the New World. Curious.
Is there a description? As it turned out, I only had to think of it, and a scroll unfurled before me. And... they are goddamn cheaters! "Hybrids by nature, Nephilim are endowed with both angelic and demonic abilities. Due to their unusual nature, they are strong enough to kill both an Archdevil and a Seraph. The significant power of Nephilim stems from their hybrid blood, combining the abilities of angels and demons, which they can mix at will. They possess the ability to use both angelic and demonic weapons. They can also glide through the air like angels. Unlike their relatives, besides their base appearance, they possess two more forms—Angelic and Demonic [Customizable]."
Next came a set of racial perks for these creatures, and I realized I hadn't used those two tablets in vain; this was a godsend. All the bonuses of both an angel and a demon were fully preserved, including those available for "specialization"—in my case, Death—without any of the drawbacks. That is to say, none at all. No "Demonic Rage," no "Holy Vulnerability," no "Weakness to Darkness." Even the stat bonuses per level had grown slightly, although the prestige races of demon and angel already had significantly higher gains than the undead branch. In Yggdrasil, every subsequent level gave slightly more stats than the previous one by default, plus additional multipliers from class or race—depending on where the level was spent. In other words, the stat growth gained at level ten was not just several times, but an order of magnitude less than what one receives upon reaching level one hundred. Well, all else being equal, of course. We aren't considering the situation where at level ten you take the final level of a race or class with the highest built-in bonus, and at level one hundred you take a useless level one crafting profession that gives no stat growth at all. The starting stage of the prestige demon branch—"High Demon," almost like Shalltear's "True Vampire"—gave higher multipliers than a Skeleton Mage, and the gap only widened from there. Here, it turned out that every reworked racial level would, on average, give me about one and a half to two times more than it had on the undead path. It was magnificent.
I would have to tweak the build again, but only slightly—it was all pros and no cons. What was the progression line? I see... "Nephilim" – "Awakened Nephilim" – "Unshackled Nephilim" – "Son of Heaven and Hell." The final stage of evolution here took ten levels instead of five. But the end result was worth it, even if I had to sacrifice "Overlord" in my classes; the racial bonuses almost nullified the loss. And with the extra boost to Death, it was practically a symphony. I left the classes alone—everything there was perfectly fine—and moved straight to the "combat form" settings. The Demonic form, as expected, went toward "Grim Reaper"—even if I no longer feared the mental pressure of demonic rage, one couldn't deny the obvious perks of being High Undead, plus I had plenty of groundwork for it. The Angelic form... well, by mechanic (as well as logic and common sense), it had to be the opposite. So I ended up with a light-based buffer-healer. Built on the base of an Angel of Death. An image formed in my mind: an adventurer dies heroically, and the entity responsible for ferrying him to the next world (a genie, the Apostle Peter, Charon, whoever) looks at his list, tells the guy "you're not on here," and kicks him back to keep overcoming. Quite a picture.
Finished with the allocation, I only had to confirm the command, which I did with my eyes squeezed shut.
Nothing happened. I felt no changes within me. It was the same Throne Room, though it had become sharp again, with the Guard standing still in the distance—and nothing else.
"Sigh," I exhaled and leaned back tiredly in the regal chair, closing my eyes.
...Wait a minute, I did what?
I bolted upright from the throne as if it were red-hot and looked down. Instead of the now-familiar bones on my hands, which I had previously freed from gloves, I saw full, skin-covered hands, still adorned with rings. Beautiful, inhuman hands. Five fingers, smooth clear skin without a single defect, well-groomed nails. Perfect. Too perfect for a human, but Albedo and Shalltear could boast the same. And no pain in my gut, no discomfort, and when I tried to access the functionality of the World Class Item mentally... it responded! it was still inside and fully charged!
"Mirror of Ice." A mental effort—and a full-length reflecting surface appeared before me. My height, by the way, hadn't changed; still two meters. Only now it was two meters of bishonen beauty. The face was pretty, with no trace of the grotesque chin the lich physiognomy possessed. The hair felt silky to the touch, falling to my shoulders... Ahem... Cautiously unbuttoning my robe, I peered inside. Phew, false alarm—I'm a boy. Right, what about the hair? Deep black. The eyes too. They seemed human enough, just a slightly unusual color... though occasionally something reflected in them... like embers in the background. The character in the mirror looked nothing like any of my past appearances, but the overall impression was positive.
"Demonic Form." I only had to think of it for my body to begin changing on its own. The "embers" in my eyes flared with hellfire, skin, muscle, and sinew crumbled to dust, and a moment later the familiar lich appeared in the mirror, though the veil of Darkness around him gave the image an even more sinister look. "Angelic Form." Now, instead of a lich, the same guy from before stood in the mirror, but his hair had turned white, and from his back, right through the necromancer's robe, sprouted a pair of black wings. Leathery ones. A bit of a wrong kind of angel. Super-gothic. I also felt my Death Magic weaken, but... not entirely, while the Light flared up in full force.
After admiring myself, I turned my gaze to the center of the hall and walked toward the motionless Guard. Five meters. Three. Two. One meter. The undead showed not the slightest sign of aggression.
"Bow." The undead bowed without question, and I froze with the sudden realization that... I hadn't forgotten how, but... moving my tongue felt very unfamiliar. It required conscious effort. And I had new teeth. I mean, old ones, but not mine... That is, they were mine, but they were the teeth of the Momonga lich game avatar... probably. I wasn't sure. But in any case, not those of the human I was before arriving. If it wasn't noticeable without a tongue and in an undead body, then with lips, a tongue, and a sensitive palate... well, a new jaw is weird.
"Kneel." The new command was executed without delay. "Tear off your arm." Just a check, just in case; an order to "maim" should be recognized as an attack, and if a unit isn't under full control...
*Snap!* The skeleton unhesitatingly ripped the bone from its shoulder.
"And one last test." I struck the undead in the other shoulder, trying to minimize the force—even if my strength was currently at the level of a normal human, the difference between level one hundred and level twenty hadn't vanished, so a full blow would reduce the frame to dust.
The Guard flew several meters and slid another five across the floor. Then he more or less stood up and... remained standing. The direct attack provoked no reaction. The NPC was completely loyal.
"Negative Energy Ray." The first-tier Death Magic spell hit the battered unit's chest. A moment later, he was perfectly intact. Very good. My mana pool barely noticed the expenditure, and the drops that were spent returned almost instantly.
Having finished testing the skeleton, I returned to the Throne. Hmm... Theoretically, the polished stone should feel a bit hard, but no, not a hint of discomfort. The sensation of the object's hardness and texture remained as dry and insignificant as they had been in the lich body. I hope this doesn't extend to the rest of the tactile sensations, or it will be heartbreaking. But back to the regal chair and the guild management functions it provides. What have we here? Right... I see... yes... No changes. The loyalty and binding of all NPCs are listed as before. The Guildmaster is still Momonga, but the status no longer says "Overlord"—it says the aforementioned "Son of Heaven and Hell." Good, very good. One last test. "Message."
"Cocytus. I want you to come to the Throne Room."
"I shall arrive immediately, My Lord!" the insectoid warrior replied.
I didn't choose him by accident; of all the possible Guardians, he would be the easiest to handle given my focus on pure magic. He is incredibly durable and armored, and his attack is magnificent, but his magic resistance is noticeably worse than, say, Albedo's. Therefore, I could certainly hold out long enough to brainwash him with the World Class Item if necessary. After that, with a "tank" to support me, I could "re-recruit" the rest. In contrast, someone like Sebas, whom I had also considered, might have a positive alignment—making him seem more convenient for a loyalty check—but he is a Monk. A Monk is such a nuisance class for casters that you might as well gnaw on your staff in frustration. No, he can be beaten, but it's a chore and usually painful, as Monks resist enemy magic like an elephant ignores the barking of a lapdog. Even Albedo, with her demonic nature and her build as a pure "tank" (unlike the "DPS" Cocytus—the members of this guild loved to mess with discrepancies between an NPC's appearance and their abilities), aimed specifically at survival including against magic attacks, was more manageable in a one-on-one fight. Let's not look for trouble where there is none.
The wait took ten minutes—and finally, it was over. The mighty figure appeared at the far end of the hall and began slowly stomping in my direction. The heavy footsteps of inevitable doom... hmph, strange thoughts. But Cocytus reached the throne and immediately knelt.
"My Lord, I am honored to greet you in your new form!" Phew. I could literally feel the tension leaving me. I practically melted into a happy amoeba on the throne. It worked! And the whole gang of psychopaths remained loyal to me! Ye-e-es... what a rush... and no skull-chilling wind to ruin it. This is the real life! Those who haven't lost it won't understand how sweet it is.
"My thanks, Cocytus," I nodded, trying hard to keep my surging emotions a secret. Strangely enough, more than my willpower or self-control, this was helped by the fact that... how should I put it... I was out of practice moving facial muscles. Speaking was manageable, but a smile didn't just crawl onto my face naturally. "And what do you think of it?"
"My Lord was already the Greatest of the Supreme Beings; I cannot judge what has become of you. To me, you were and remain the Greatest of the Great," the warrior pronounced solemnly, releasing a small cloud of frosty vapor from his spiracles in his excitement.
"I see. Thank you for the assessment, my friend. Now, I shall proceed to the next stage." Now I could test something else.
"The next stage?" the insectoid asked, confused.
"Yes. Rebirth was necessary not only to regain the small joys of the living but also for the possibility of further development. I charge you with guarding my peace until I have passed through this stage."
"While I draw breath, no one shall disturb you, Master!" the Guardian assured me.
"Excellent." Freeing one finger, I slid on Gazef's ring after crushing another tablet. Now, let's see how you work and if previously accumulated experience is taken into account...
Before I could finish the thought, a wave of bliss washed over my body. My muscles filled with a sweet tension, a pleasant lightness filled my consciousness, and the familiar haze appeared before my eyes along with the familiar scrolls of races and classes. Also, there was an indescribable sensation... no, an understanding that I had five levels above the cap. Classes... no, nothing interesting there—or rather, there was, but you can't do much with five levels. What about races? A blank page, since everything possible in this branch had already been chosen?
The reality was far more pleasant; there was indeed a racial option, though only one. But when I realized exactly what was being offered...
"God." The title was modest enough, but the description... "A Son of Heaven and Hell who has transcended his limits can fully awaken his blood heritage and take the next step on the Ladder to Heaven or the depths of the Abyss. Now he is not mortal, nor even immortal. He is a new God. As a hybrid, two aspects are available."
Next came a list of the aspects themselves, just like a priest class, but much shorter. And, most interestingly, this "race" required ten levels to develop. Judging by the trends in Yggdrasil, this only meant that after "filling the bar," I might be offered something even more epic. Well, I could think about that later; I was far more interested in the offered aspects now. There were four of them: Darkness, Light, Death, and Magic.
Darkness granted monstrous bonuses to survivability, offensive magic, and various racial skills like "Unholy Desecration" and "Summon Demon Cohort." Yes, once a week you could get a free military unit of six hundred and sixty-six lesser demons. Plus a level fifty demonic tribune with a trio of level thirty centurions. And the fact that the mere presence of the Dark God of all demons motivated and spurred on allies so effectively it was a joy to behold, while non-demonic (or non-undead) enemies were significantly oppressed.
Light similarly granted mass resistance to energy and physical attacks, regeneration, and other tricks not much different from Darkness, though the bonuses to physical stats were smaller in exchange for stronger buffs and healing. It provided racial skills for hallowing territories and granted "Summon Heavenly Host." Three hundred and thirty-three angels led by a level fifty Seraph and a trio of Cherubim. The "spurring" for angels and demotivation for demons and undead also came bundled with the title "God of Light."
Death was available either because of my classes or for old time's sake. It also had insane bonuses and discounts for everything related to death, necromancy, and the personal survival of the divine body—which was quite logical—plus buffs for undead and "Death's Retinue"—another summon, though only of twelve units... level seventy Reapers. Also, a "for undead only" tag in the restrictions.
Last on the list, but not least, was the Magic aspect. And it seemed much more modest. At first glance. The bonuses and mana discounts for any magic were perfectly clear and expected, but they didn't reach the level of the "specialized" ones and looked pale in comparison. No hallowing/desecrating, no summons or powerful buffs and aurars for allies/enemies. Among immunities, only magic resistance was noticeably higher than its competitors; the others—fire, negative, or slashing resistance—lost out by two or even three times. There were no summons at all. However, all of this was covered by a single sentence. "The God of Magic may use any magic and magical items without restrictions or penalties." To hell with everything else; even if I could only choose one aspect, I would have picked this one. This doesn't just expand the boundaries of development—it blasts them somewhere over the horizon until they vanish from sight! An Archlich casting blessings and holy resurrections? Why not? Welcome! And it paired so beautifully with my desire to continue studying the arcane sciences... mmm.
All in all, I decided on one aspect of my future divinity immediately. The question of the second remained. My inner hoarder wept and complained about its bitter fate; my inner greed was choking me. Naturally, I wanted everything and more, more! But, applying logic and common sense, I had to settle on Death. Even if the other aspects were just as tempting, all my classes were geared toward Death, meaning it would provide the greatest payout. Even if it only activated when switching to "combat" form. Though I hoped the perk from Magic would nullify that restriction—and even if not, whatever, switching back and forth doesn't take long. Having finally made the decision, I confirmed my choice and immediately felt another wave of bliss. Is this going to happen for every level I gain?
There was no answer. However, the race list now showed not an abstract "God," but a "God of Death and Magic." Upon choosing it, there were no special bonuses, just the standard stat growth and sliders for skill point distribution. Oh, wait—the Reaper summon could now be used once every six days, and two additional slots for tenth-tier spells appeared. That was it. Regardless, it was still better than what a class level could give, so "Confirm"...
And another wave of euphoria... Ahem... Now, there is a change in "God." Immunities grew, the summoned Reapers gained five levels, but most importantly... once a week, I gained a free use of "Wish Upon a Star," also known as the "Divine Miracle" skill, also known as super-tier magic that allows you to make one wish. Any wish. Momonga had a trick like this in Yggdrasil too, only it required an experience point cost; for ten percent of all XP, you could make one wish. And despite there being reliable XP-farming methods in the game, the spell was used very rarely, even by try-hards like the residents of Nazarick. Actually, it was almost always used exclusively for developing the Tomb or upgrading units created within it; even such obsessed citizens didn't dare spend such volumes of experience on anything less. And now I have it for free. I wonder what's next...
At the fourth level of the race, I was given one additional slot for each tier of magic and a fifty percent reduction in casting time for all spells, in addition to the standard stat and resistance growth. The fifth level of God delighted me with another free "Wish" per week, an additional Reaper—bringing the summon count to a neat baker's dozen—and the strangest thing, which was also the coolest.
"Apostle Creation," a new skill surfaced in my memory. It was no longer a description, but... a realization? Or a memory? It was as if I had always known it but had simply forgotten. Though, it was hardly surprising; even if a "description" were presented as a book the size of The Lord of the Rings complete with author commentary, it could never explain all the mechanics and concepts utilized in this process. Briefly put, by using "Divine Miracle" as a foundation, I could create my own personal "angel"—a being directly endowed with a portion of my power and skills—or I could delegate that portion to an existing sapient being, provided they met a series of conditions. Such "delegation" would vastly increase the existing capabilities and skills of the vict... I mean, the chosen one, while also bestowing new ones directly linked to my "domain." However, the cost of this skill was exactly one-third of all my stats, as well as one-third of my total spell slots. Furthermore, this third was determined at the first application; in other words, if I wanted to create a second Apostle—which was possible—it would devour exactly the same amount as the first, rather than taking a third of what remained. And reclaiming the spent stats was only possible by personally "dismissing" the Apostle, without any possibility of resurrecting them by any means. This type of unit justified such savage sacrifices by the fact that its mere existence raised the limit of my maximum level by fifteen points, while simultaneously doubling all experience I gained and transferring fifty percent of the experience it earned itself to me, regardless of the distance between us. There were other features of the link: for instance, I could cast any spells on them at any time, again, regardless of distance or obstacles, and I always knew exactly what was happening to them. Roughly speaking, I could always buff them, heal them, or even resurrect them if they were killed. Well, since I could now use any magic without penalties or restrictions, it meant I could cast priest spells at full effect without any wands, though I would certainly need to test that. All in all, the thing looked quite attractive, except for one thing... I looked at those surrounding me once more. Even if they all remained loyal, granting any of them a "Divine Blessing"... In my head, heavy riffs and an ominous roar began to play of their own accord, forming into words...
Slaughter the saints, cast the priests from their heights,
In the heat of the battle, laud the Gods in their might!
The abyss of fanaticism shall swallow us whole,
The Apostle of Darkness takes charge of your soul!
No-no-no, hell no! I still wouldn't trust these psychos to guard a chicken coop! Besides, something born of caution and paranoia told me that making two Apostles right away and consequently dropping sixty percent in personal power was clearly not worth it—at least not at this stage of my life. And if I made only Albedo or only Shalltear an Apostle, the other would immediately sink into a state of severe depression. And she would absolutely wreck something. On the other hand, if I blessed and singled out any other Guardian, they would both fall into a depression. Hmmm, I also have a nearly real miko—that is, a priestess-shrine maiden—Aureole Omega. But she's already working non-stop, monitoring all of Nazarick's portal transitions in real-time. I can't pull her off that job because there is no direct connection between the floors without portals, and there are very few beings capable of teleporting themselves through magic, like Shalltear. Even then, it wouldn't solve the issues with the Overseer and the Mistress of the first three floors. Nor the question of loyalty. Or competence... Long story short, this might be a tasty and interesting treat, but for now, I'm putting this perk on the shelf. Either until my crowd of frenzied, armed fanatics clears their heads a bit, or until I find someone suitable for the role.
In any case, the five levels gained thanks to the ring were spent, and here I was on the throne once more. Cocytus, for the record, was still guarding it. Only now, riding a wave of slight annoyance at the end of the banquet (and who in my place wouldn't want more?), the thought occurred that I had acted very impulsively and recklessly by keeping him close. What would have happened if increasing my level beyond the limit had also placed me outside the hierarchy? Hmm... why did the thought "I would have ground him into bloody dust, resurrected him, and explained that I'm the one in charge here" cross my mind?
"Cocytus, how long was I... motionless?"
"No more than ten minutes, Supreme Being! And now you feel far stronger, though I did not think such a thing was possible! I congratulate you on your successful pupation!"
"Ehh... Thank you." Insectoids... yeah. Though from his perspective, I suppose I did "pupate" and even "hatch." Right, I shouldn't think about Entoma's favorite cockroaches, or I might start feeling unwell.
Anyway, that's all academic; what's more important is what happens if we take off the ring now? I perform the action, but nothing happened—at least, no signal of level loss appeared. I put it on again, and... still nothing. Either I've burned through my entire reserve of experience—which is unlikely, since there was still... well, I don't know, maybe not ten times that amount, but several years of continuous grinding is a lot by any measure, not exactly the precise amount for five levels. Thus, the conclusion: "you require better equipment to enter this dungeon." In other words, the ring gave what it could, and nothing more can be squeezed from it. I need to either find something similar but more powerful or create an Apostle to gain another "+15" to the limit. But that can be dealt with later. For now, I need to see my Guardians... and my beautiful Guardians, before they fray all their nerves.
"Message."
"Guardians. General assembly in the Throne Room." Before I could even pull my fingers away from my temple, a portal opened in the hall, out of which a gothic lolita literally flew, while a beautiful demoness appeared nearby using her Ring.
"Supreme One!"
"Lord!" The girls lunged toward the throne but hit an invisible wall. And no, not even a shadow of a thought crossed my mind that a lapse in loyalty was to blame, for their faces spoke of everything: shock, lewdness, lust, delight, happiness, and hundreds of similar emotions. If there was even a hint of a threat to my person, it was expressed exclusively in the possibility of a collective sexual assault. I admit, watching the ladies greedily study every millimeter of my body made me feel a bit uneasy. To put it mildly.
"I am glad to see you, Albedo, Shalltear. What do you say to the result of my labors?"
"Ah," the vampire snapped out of it and, leaning forward, caught my scent. "It is incredible. Before, you were the God of Death, but now... now... Ohhh!!! I'm burning up!"
"Lord Momonga..." Albedo whispered, her fingers desperately interlacing as she was wracked by a heavy tremor.
"Judging by your reaction, all is well. Nevertheless, I must warn you that possessing skin and organs is still quite unfamiliar to me. I have grown far too unaccustomed to them, so a period of adaptation is necessary," I warned, preempting any further advances. While I had found the toilet in my quarters, underwear was a bit more complicated. While you're a skeleton, it's not particularly noticeable, but right now, adaptation is required on all fronts.
"As you command, Momonga-sama!" the girls sang in unison, bowing their heads in identical fashion.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Guardians and the Pleiades began to arrive. Everyone expressed their respect and congratulated me on my success. Pith was especially happy and proud, even tilting her nose up slightly and fluttering her wings—after all, her adored master had tested the technology on her, which meant she had performed the best and proven her utility. Judging by the scowling faces of the other maids, they were deathly envious of the fairy.
"Now then, I see everyone is assembled," I stated as Mare, the last to arrive, knelt before the throne. "I have several announcements for you. First and foremost, my rebirth was a success, and thanks to an artifact based on the unique magic of this world, I have been able to step beyond the limits possible in Yggdrasil and reach a new level of existence."
"Just as expected of the Supreme Ruler of Nazarick! A total success where others are unable to take even a single step!" Demiurge proclaimed, looking absolutely r-a-d-i-a-n-t. I felt a sudden urge to order him to chew a lemon, but the realization that such an act would, firstly, be a petty trick unworthy of the Ruler of Nazarick and so on, and secondly, might make him even happier, stopped me. Instead, I raised my hand, calling for silence.
"Many of you previously compared me to a God of Death, as Shalltear correctly noted a short while ago. However, let us be honest with ourselves: that was merely a respectful title dictated by personal feelings and emotions, not the factual state of affairs." I paused, letting the words sink in. "However, everything has changed now. I am no longer a Skeleton Mage, an Elder Lich, or an Overlord. I have been reborn, and now my race is Nephilim. A Nephilim who has become the God of Death and Magic. This is no longer a title or flattering words, but my actual nature." The Guardians and the Pleiades seemed to forget how to breathe, becoming one giant set of ears and eyes. It was a good thing they weren't actually polymorphing, but the sensation of it was no less intense. "And in light of this," I raised my voice to stir them up a bit, "I have decided to change my name. The name 'Momonga' belonged to an undead caster from Yggdrasil, but Yggdrasil is behind us, and I am no longer undead. Therefore, from this moment on, my name shall be 'Zellos'."
I opened the guild status window in the throne's interface and watched as the nickname "Momonga" in the Guildmaster field was replaced by the new one. Thus, I ceased to be a flying squirrel—a small step for Nazarick, but a giant leap for my self-esteem.
"I am proud to be able to speak your name, Lord Zellos!" Albedo assured me, nearly weeping with joy as she knelt and pressed her right hand to her heart. "Long live Lord Zellos! Show your devotion to the absolute leader of the Great Tomb of Nazarick!"
"Long live Lord Zellos!" the voices of the Guardians and the Pleiades merged into an ecstatic chorus.
"We know your past name," the demoness continued to escalate the pathos, bowing her head solemnly. "And we are completely loyal to our rightful ruler!"
"We give ourselves entirely to the Greatest One!" Shalltear refused to fall behind her rival, with the sole exception that she could not bring herself to lower her face to the floor, continuing to devour me with a lovestruck gaze.
"To the strongest of Rulers!" the elf twins chimed in together, as if they had been practicing for three months. While Mare was in a state of genuine holy awe, Aura... was practically salivating over me, just like the vampire.
"To the one who rules everything, our king!" Cocytus added his two cents in his deep bass.
"To the most just and wise!" Sebas Tian echoed him.
"The whole world shall know of your greatness!" That was Demiurge.
"Glory to the God of Magic and the Master of Death!" Albedo reclaimed the lead, raising her inhuman yellow-green eyes to me once more. "Long live Lord Zellos!"
And again the cheer was repeated, but the now-agitated Guardians clearly intended to shake the entire floor with the volume of their voices. The Pleiades kept pace with them, and I realized that if I didn't stop this, no one would. The ecstasy and loyalty of these beings were beyond all common sense and rational thought; they believed in me like a god, and I had been a god in the flesh to them long before my rebirth. Now... I could feel the Faith emanating from them through my skin, far beyond the realm of fanaticism. Every shout, every praise resonated inside with something remotely similar to the feeling of mana replenishment, yet far deeper and, at the same time, more ephemeral. It was pleasant and terrifying all at once; my body felt the pleasure, while the fear was born of my mind alone. No sooner had I rid myself of the pride and coldness of a lich than I fell into a new trap—the trap of physical, rather than vain, pleasure in being worshipped. If the power of a God also depends on the faith of sapient beings...
"Enough." My voice cut short many sentences mid-breath, but no one even thought of taking offense. Such a feeling toward me was beyond the realm of possibility for them. "Your feelings please me. They truly do. I am proud to be served by such loyal servants as yourselves. But enough words—we all need to grow accustomed to the new state of affairs. I must study my new powers and get used to a living body; you must discuss what has happened among yourselves and brief your subordinates. With that, I declare this meeting adjourned!" And while the final words still hung in the air, I teleported.
My flight from a possible gang bang strategic retreat was a total success. No, running from damnably beautiful women wasn't exactly in my plans, it's just... I really had grown unaccustomed to the sensations of a living body, and right now those sensations felt "blurred." It wasn't that the body felt like I had fallen asleep on it, but there was a certain sponginess to the sensations, as if my consciousness, in a half-dream, hadn't yet managed to process the signals from the receptors, making everything a bit fuzzy and indistinct, even if you felt it when you concentrated. In short: rehab, rehab, and more rehab. We'll think about carnal pleasures later.
Once in my chambers, I checked myself in the mirror again and, with a mental effort, pulled a mask straight from my inventory onto my face before sitting at my desk. I really wanted to distract myself somehow: turn on some music, start up a game, or just read something light and relaxing. Alas, my old computer remained in a completely different life, and there wasn't even a gramophone with records here. Books, in theory, existed—the entire Great Library of Ashurbanipal—I'd like to break the fingers of those roleplayers for such names, but knowing their tastes, I would only go looking for fiction there with the support of a crate of vodka and no less than three liters of alcohol. Even then, I wasn't sure they would affect this body enough to reach the proper level of disregard for the voice of my survival instinct.
So, sighing mentally at the unavailability of cultural leisure, I busied myself by sifting through the spells Momonga knew that had previously been dead weight but could now be revealed in their full glory. That maniac had hoarded everything he could in the game, including priest and druid spells, even though with his race, even applying them required a significant dance with a tambourine and cash-shop items, and the effectiveness of most was enough to make you cry. Specifically, the tenth-tier holy spell "Uriel," in Momonga's case, dealt less damage than the weakest first-circle spell from classical Arcana. Nevertheless, the total count of spells known to him was 718, whereas the usual spell limit for level one hundred casters in Yggdrasil was around three hundred. In short, I had plenty to dig through.