A low, humming sound—woong—echoed softly as a wave rippled across the field. But its impact was anything but soft. Demiurge immediately frowned. The Gate spell he'd been about to open… didn't activate. It wasn't canceled—it was rejected. Not dispelled after being cast, but refused before it even formed. A strange, crawling sensation—like reality itself had denied the spell's existence. He had never felt anything like it. Magic not interfered with, but repelled. And that unpleasant feeling—it was as if something completely opposite to his own nature was interfering. "The polar opposite of a demon… extreme sanctity—holy alignment…? This is dangerous." Demiurge instantly began assessing the situation. But before he could act further, his gaze fell on the boy slowly rising before him. He hadn't noticed him earlier—not because the boy had hidden, but because Demiurge's perception had been forced to ignore him. He hadn't just missed seeing him—he had been prevented from doing so. No mere mortal could conceal themselves from the eyes of a Guardian of Nazarick. To evade his perception entirely was something even high-tier divine beings struggled to achieve. And yet, this boy had done it effortlessly. He realized it then—this wasn't coincidence. Those three adventurers hadn't returned out of blind loyalty or desperation. They had returned because they had insurance. Demiurge grimaced inwardly. "A demon like me… got careless." He had been too confident. Everything had been proceeding according to plan, and in that ease, he had relaxed. The boy's sudden appearance, the blocked teleportation—it all lined up. Demiurge clicked his tongue internally. He might be one of the Floor Guardians, but in direct combat, his power ranked among the lowest. He survived by wit and guile, by strategy—not brute strength. If this turned into a fight, he would need every trick Ainz-sama had granted him just to escape. Then use the contingency artifact to retreat and report. He rolled his crystalline eyes, calculating every possible outcome— —and then the boy—Tiamat—stood. "You… called yourself Yaldabaoth, didn't you?" "Yes. And who might you be?" For now, Demiurge played along. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡⁂𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚⁂𝙣𝙚𝙩 If escape wasn't possible yet, information was his only weapon. He needed to know what this being was before making his move. But instead of answering, the boy said something baffling. "Yaldabaoth, huh? Funny—I know someone who looks just like you, but that's not his name. If I'm mistaken, well, my bad." What nonsense was this? He was Yaldabaoth—or rather, the persona Ainz-sama had created for him. Who was this boy speaking of? How could there be another? "Yaldabaoth… never heard of that one. But you look a lot like someone I know. You've got that [Dominion Word] class ability, right? High-tier [Command Speech]? So, you're definitely a demon-type. Still, different name… hmm. Did you guys cross over from another guild server or something? Copying avatar data was trendy back in the day, so I guess it's not that weird." It sounded like conversation—but it wasn't. They weren't communicating at all. Even as the boy's eyes looked at him, they didn't see him. They were looking through him—past him. As if the boy were conversing with someone else entirely. For the first time in ages, genuine fear trickled down Demiurge's spine. Just what… was this boy? Meanwhile, the boy—Tiamat—rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his dark eyes fixed on Demiurge, muttering as if to himself: "Hmm… so what are you, exactly? Where did you come from? And who sent you? Hm… if you'd just answer honestly, I'd appreciate it. But considering NPC loyalty coding, that's probably not going to happen…In that case, guess we'll have to follow standard GBR protocol—Guild Battle Rules. Not Yggdrasil anymore, but I might as well make it look proper." "…What on earth are you talking about?" Demiurge's composure faltered. His instincts screamed chaos. Something was wrong—profoundly wrong. Even when standing before beings like Ainz-sama, even before other Guardians, he had never felt a presence quite . It was as if this boy were looking at the world… from another layer of reality entirely. Demiurge already understood it in full. "Well, since I've already lost the initiative, there's no point in lingering. If I die, a report will be sent anyway… so, might as well take one of them down with me." The boy's gaze sharpened. That single look—brimming with killing intent—froze Demiurge to the core. Just like the three adventurers earlier, now it was his turn to feel that suffocating dread. Those words, that gaze—everything about this boy screamed of something alien. And in that instant, the demon's brilliant mind accelerated. Countless scenarios, hypotheses, and outcomes flashed through his thoughts like lightning— then scattered like stars in a storm. Something beyond comprehension stood before him. And as his reasoning followed every possible thread—the pale-skinned demon's face shifted colors in rapid succession: From its natural white, to the blue of shock, to the red of confusion and anger, and finally—to the pitch black of terror. Then, without a word, Demiurge moved. Not even the faintest sound escaped his lips as wings burst violently from his back, tearing through the roof as he shot upward into the sky. The roof shattered like paper as he ascended, the wind screaming around him. His mind was filled with only one thought. "A being… on par with the Supreme Beings!" He had used Rot as bait to lure the remnants of Dragon's Dream—the surviving members of the adamantite-ranked adventurer party that had escaped his net. So far, the plan had been flawless. That clan's legacy, their wealth, their power—all would soon belong to the Great Tomb of Nazarick. But the enemy had turned the tables. They had taken his bait and crafted a trap around him. This wasn't the work of mere mortals. The opposing side had someone who matched him in cunning—or worse, someone who could see the entire battlefield from above. And that presence—the one orchestrating this trap, the aura emanating from that boy— Yet his instincts screamed otherwise. He had to report this. Even if he died—he had to bring this truth to his beloved master, Ainz Ooal Gown, and the denizens of Nazarick. The enemy was not just remnants. The adventurer clan they had crushed was merely a fragment, a sliver of the real force behind them. The true enemy was vast, organized, intelligent— and worst of all, divine. The Great Tomb was being deceived. Somewhere out there, beyond the fog of this world, And the knowledge of that alone could change the course of the entire world. "This isn't looting…" If Nazarick didn't realize that soon, it could be their ruin. He had to warn Ainz-sama—no matter what it cost. Teleportation was blocked. Dimensional gates were sealed. He was caught in an obvious trap, but it didn't matter. If he couldn't teleport, he would fly. Fortunately, the royal capital, Re-Estize, wasn't far. With all the strength in his wings, he soared upward like a meteor, racing toward the distant castle. But his resolve met its limit sooner than he'd expected. "Well, well. Going somewhere?" Something bright and magnificent burst out of the sky before him—cutting through the barrier effortlessly. "Your face doesn't ring a bell… but still, it's good to see you again." Demiurge's eyes went wide. The moon had already risen, bathing the world in silver. Under that moonlight, the figure that appeared was wreathed in gold—fur shimmering, muscles coiled, and eyes burning with primal light. A great beast-man, radiant beneath the night sky— a being who had once defied even death itself. "You… how are you still alive?!" "Before that—where do you think you're going, on such a lovely night?" "No, never mind that. Judging from your face… it seems you do remember me." The furred giant, his savage grin twisting his already fearsome face,blocked Demiurge's path in the air— like a wall of golden flame. From the very start he seemed intent on giving his all — the hair all over his body stood on end as shivering golden sparks ran across his pelt. The hidden skill that momentarily maximizes all his abilities activated, and his figure, which had already been burning gold, became a flash of brilliance. His name was Monkyspanner. One of the twelve high priests of the Shinshi, and the former head of Dragon's Dream. That he had come back alive and appeared here proved, beyond doubt, who their opponent was… "Altar of the Demons: Arm of the Vast—" Monkyspanner flipped through the air and charged. In an instant he avoided Demiurge's grotesquely swollen, rope-twisted, muscular arm with a lithe movement that belied his size, slipped in close, and closed on the demon. Both were 100-level NPCs, but the difference in combat capability between Demiurge — a magic-caster type built more for concept than frontline fighting — and Monkyspanner — an all-rounder made for combat who even inherited his master's hidden class — was a gulf that couldn't be bridged. He struck, then drove himself in. Locking eyes with the stunned demon, Monkyspanner slammed a fury-filled blow straight into the demon's chest. "Die! No — don't you dare actually die!" The huge simian humanoid's golden eyes scattered red streams of rage. He didn't even remember his own death clearly, but he understood that the demon before him had been involved in that vanished memory of his end. The shock in the demon's face when it saw him proved it. Kill them! Those bastards who mocked him, who stole his departed master's legacy — he would never forgive them. He would kill them. Even if they revived him, he'd slay them again! He would take back his master's inheritance! Monkyspanner's eyes burned with hatred and fury. But he mustn't kill outright. Death would be too merciful. So Monkyspanner put everything allowed within his remit into a single, maximal strike. And that was not the end. After the meteor-like destructive force of the punch, vast celestial energy that ran through his body and golden electric light flowing over his pelt converged at his fist and detonated in a secondary explosion. "True Lightning Brain Fist!" Thrown backward and inverted, Demiurge plummeted to the ground at a speed several times greater than his ascent. Instead of pursuing the falling demon, Monkyspanner scowled and spat. "Ugh! I wanted to finish you with my own hands!" —"That is beyond your authority. You know that, right?" "Ahh, yes, yes, I know." A whisper in his ear — the voice of the shrine maiden, Ea — made Monkyspanner click his tongue quietly. Five of the Shinshi's priests had been dispatched for this operation. Leaving only the minimum number needed to keep the city and its duties running, all the other priests were deployed. That Monkyspanner happened to be the priest who'd taken the offensive side was lucky; at least he'd been able to get in one blow of revenge. He flexed and unclenched his fist, still savoring the feeling. "Well, the rest will be handled by the God." Regretfully, finishing the job properly was the role of the one he revered. Accepting that, Monkyspanner turned to return to his position. If you want to read 10 advance chapters ahead.