The famed adventurer house, Dragon's Dream—a "Great Clan" whose prestige and renown rivaled even the highest nobility and royal families—had recently suffered a great calamity. In the chaos later named the "Capital Disturbance," the Sixth Patriarch, Monkyspanner El Dragondream, stepped forth to resolve the crisis. Yet despite his reputation as the strongest man in the world, he fell to a mighty Archdemon of terrible power. His beloved weapon was mockingly tossed back as a token, but the man himself perished without leaving behind a will or naming an heir. Without its patriarch, the clan wavered. But soon a new pillar emerged. The unparalleled adventurer, known to the world as the "Dark Hero" Momon, entered of his own will and, with the support of many within, was enthroned as the new head of the clan—now hailed as Momon El Dragondream. It was he who had driven back the same Archdemon that had slain the former patriarch, and since then he had achieved countless other feats. Absorbing him as clan lord not only restored the fading honor of Dragon's Dream but also saved it from the brink of collapse. Some decried it as unbecoming of a Great Clan, but those voices quickly died out. After all, it was Momon himself who had requested to join. And so, the adventurer who became patriarch now lay sprawled on the grand, soft bed prepared for him in the resplendent master's chambers of the Great House. He rolled on blankets woven from the feathers of a Giant Cockatrice, a beast rated at Threat Level 60, and surrounded by priceless furnishings and ornaments. Yet Ainz—who bore the guise of Momon—felt no comfort at all. Compared to the overwhelming majesty of the Great Tomb of Nazarick's 9th Floor, this mansion was nothing. When he decided to reside here temporarily, several Guardians had voiced their opposition for that very reason. The jet-black armor of the Dark Hero was set aside. In its place, he wore an ornate robe of indigo and violet, a magical artifact far superior to the armor in value. But this was his true form—the skeletal body of Ainz Ooal Gown, Supreme Ruler of the Great Tomb, last sovereign of Nazarick. And yet, even on that skull, the signs of dismay were plain. Ahh… what am I supposed to do now…? He had just pulled off one of his greatest successes. The incident the world now called the Capital Disturbance had, in truth, been orchestrated behind the scenes by Nazarick. Not that it was planned from the start. He had only ordered Demiurge to prepare some operations, and upon receiving reports that something was already in motion, he had seized the opportunity to make a grand move. When unforeseen events unfolded in the royal capital, he accepted Demiurge's request—and let the matter escalate into a grand spectacle. The result was beyond expectations. Yet even now, Ainz could not shake the feeling of a thorn caught in his throat. It would have been nice to know about this a bit earlier… He recalled the moment when, after the entire affair concluded with spectacular success and he had returned to Nazarick, Sebas had approached him with a report. At the time, Ainz had been in very high spirits. Even though he had failed to subdue Monkyspanner and bring him over, the overall results had been outstanding. They had slain a level-100 NPC without leaving evidence, acquired multiple divine- and legendary-class items, and secured vast resources from the capital to bolster Nazarick's finances. But above all, they had laid the groundwork to devour the Great Clan itself. To absorb Dragon's Dream would be more profitable than seizing the Re-Estize Kingdom entire. All that remained was to methodically consume the clan, then uproot whatever remnants hid behind them. With its level-100 linchpin slain, and no sign of any "Players," optimism seemed justified. And so, basking in triumph after a rare large-scale event mission had ended in success, he was ill-prepared for Sebas's next words, which pierced his good mood like ice. "—Lord Ainz, there is something I must report." Hm? What is it, Sebas? "It is… about that matter…" Sebas's report, offered with hesitation, was shocking. —"They have no intention of hostile action." What? Why are you only telling me this now— —"I'm sorry, Lord Ainz. At the time there was too much confusion, and I did not know of the plan to deal with him, so I could not report it. I offer my life for this responsibility—" …No. It isn't your fault, Sebas. If anyone is to blame, it's my fault for not informing everyone of the plan in advance. Sigh. Go in and see for yourself. Having calmed Sebas, Ainz sank into thought. Was there a possibility of resolving this through dialogue? He clicked his tongue at his own foolishness. Of course—if Nazarick's NPCs possess intelligence, then the NPCs of another guild surely possess comparable intellect. And besides, those others are far more veteran than Nazarick is in this world. They must have accumulated knowledge about this world and worked to adapt to it. In short: there had been room for negotiation. But they had launched a surprise strike first, executed their scheme, and then planned to capture and interrogate. Hold them first, then interrogate or persuade—if necessary, kill. When he reached that point in his reasoning, Ainz felt a brief chill. How did it come to this? Read complete versıon only at 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝘯𝘦𝘵 Using the World Item to kidnap Dragon's Dream's patriarch, Monkyspanner, then torturing him for information and either persuading him or killing him—that was something the old Suzuki Satoru would never have imagined doing. Killing people was not unprecedented for him. When he first arrived in this world he had "killed" via Heart Domination to save the Emote sisters and felt little about it. He had summoned Death Knights and slaughtered soldiers. He had captured those who opposed him—those radiant paladins—and taken them to Nazarick as living test subjects, employing magic, machinery, and biological experimentation without hesitation. Posing as Momon, he had even embraced and killied Clementine and disposed of those who annoyed him or were otherwise "useful." He'd used and sacrificed adventurers of Mythril rank, lizardmen, soldiers, and townsfolk whenever expediency demanded it. Yet, disturbingly, no real emotion wellled up. What surfaced instead was a cold, clinical curiosity about the consequences of his actions—the gains and losses to Nazarick. His regret over Monkyspanner wasn't compassion; it was a detached appraisal of how the man's death would affect Nazarick's interests. Even that sensation quickly faded. Ainz placed his hand on his skull. As he'd sensed in Emote Village, this erosion of feeling wasn't solely because he'd become an undead: some other, subtler factor was at work. He pushed the notion from his mind and returned to his deliberations. The phrase "they do not wish to be hostile" yielded only fragmentary information. After consulting with Demiurge, the cunning demon proposed several hypotheses. First: even if those others do not know the true nature of Nazarick, they have identified the existence of a powerful entity like Yggdrasil and realize someone is targeting them. Second: they probably don't know Nazarick's exact strength, but they may have a rough lower-bound estimate. Third: judging from Monkyspanner's statements, and from the opponent's combat power and equipment levels, that other faction was likely a sizable guild. There also seems to be no current player presence; as centuries passed, any player-affected forces would have died out, while those unaffected would have retreated and hidden somewhere. Fourth: given all the circumstances, these people do not wish to be hostile to Nazarick. If dialogue had been possible earlier, trade or exchange might have been feasible. Those are the four premises. The fourth is an "if"—an uncertain possibility—but under these assumptions, their strength remains unknown and could present a threat to Nazarick. That was Demiurge's assessment. Ainz's headache deepened. Had he blundered? Since falling into this world, he had pursued world domination boldly and efficiently, but now he saw the costs of prioritizing efficiency above all else. Use what is useful, discard what is not. When something lost utility, he simply abandoned it. He'd left the "Black Sword" unrevived and allowed it to die rather than expend resources to save it. If he had truly wanted to recover someone, there were always ways; yet Ainz had chosen efficiency and disposed of people he liked for cold practicality. He reflected on the cumulative consequences: the captured NPCs, the harvested intellects, the experiments, the sacrifices—every one of them measured only in terms of utility to Nazarick. After that, it was the same process on repeat. By accepting Demiurge's stratagems and compromising where needed, things had gone relatively well. Up until now, that approach had worked. This world was filled with people who, compared to Nazarick's forces, were pitifully weak—laughably so. They were so frail that even looking down on them felt excessive. In such a world, chasing efficiency over everything had never been a problem. But in truth, there might have been more measured ways to deal with matters—even if they took more time. Instead, he had chosen the path of ruthless efficiency, acting in ways befitting his karma alignment of Evil (-500), regardless of morality or ethics. And now those choices had come full circle, striking back at him. It was unavoidable, perhaps. He himself was of Extreme Evil alignment. Those who served under him also leaned toward Evil, and it was only natural that gathering such subordinates and leaving matters to them would lead to outcomes . Still, the weight of regret pressed heavily on him. He had been arrogant—arrogant without even realizing it. Having fought only against weaklings, he had grown conceited without noticing. And now, here he was, caught in the consequences of that arrogance. What would Touch Me-san have done in my place? The thought of an old companion flickered across his mind. Touch Me—the guild's great strategist, the peerless brain of Ainz Ooal Gown. If Momonga had been the guild leader, the organizer, the one who kept the guild itself running, then Touch Me was the one who shaped its actual policies, hunting plans, PK strategies, and diplomatic moves. It was he who had sown discord among enemy guilds, spreading false intelligence to turn them against one another, breaking their alliances apart before they could threaten Ainz Ooal Gown. He had even been the one to codify PK tactics into theory, passing down the very methods that Momonga still relied on. If only he were here… Of course, Ainz missed all of the other forty-one, his guildmates who had once guided and fought alongside him. But at this moment, it was the strategist's absence that hurt the most. When it came to strategy, plots, and schemes—truth be told—Ainz was lacking. He had combat strength, yes. But the broad vision to see the grand game board, to maneuver entire powers like pieces across it? He had never possessed that. The only reason he now stood as the supreme ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick was because of the systems carried over from Yggdrasil and the unwavering loyalty the NPCs bore to him because of their settings. Their absolute faith, combined with his bluffs and borrowed authority, had carried him this far. But now—now that an enemy had appeared whom he could not simply crush beneath overwhelming power, but would have to treat as an equal—he felt the limits of his ability closing in. "Anxiousness is the seed of failure. Calm, logical thought is what must always be maintained. Settle your mind, broaden your view. Do not be trapped by your thoughts—circulate them, Momonga-san." "Yes… I know, Touch Me-san." Agitation breeds failure. Complacency invites defeat. Rashness is the wellspring of mistakes… Repeating the words once spoken by the guild's tactician, Ainz forced his thoughts into order. After all, the skill Emotional Suppression only numbed intense feelings; it did nothing to clarify tangled thoughts. He laid out the situation again. He could not consult Demiurge, Albedo, or the others—they saw him as a perfect, omnipotent god, and he dared not shatter that illusion. Nor could he trust anyone from this new world. In the end, he could only think for himself, wrestle with it alone. He had accepted this mantle, however accidentally, and so he bore the responsibility. As ruler, there was no other choice. And then—knock knock. A sound at the door. Followed by that ever-calm yet unreadable voice. "Ainz-sama? I was told you were looking for me…" "Ah, enter, Demiurge." Yes… in the end, he lacked the ability. He could not deny it. And so he had no choice but to lean once again on Demiurge. While steeling himself to deflect suspicion and draw out a plan he could use, Ainz quickly rose from the bed and sat upright, giving permission for the devil to enter. If you want to read 10 advance chapters ahead.