Tiamat simply rubbed his chin as the demon suddenly spread his wings and burst through the roof. Only when the noise faded did Dean and the others, their bodies finally freed from paralysis, gasp for air and collapse trembling to the floor. But their movements didn't reach Tiamat's eyes. He was looking upward. "Looks like it went well, Ea." "Yes, Master. The lockdown is complete." Hearing Ea's clear voice in his ear, Tiamat smiled. He hadn't planned to lure the enemy into a trap from the beginning—it had only been insurance. He'd simply set up precautions, deployed NPCs just in case something might happen. If he could gain information, all the better. If the enemy attacked, he'd capture them. Perhaps they'd even send a significant force. Nothing more than a contingency plan. The only thing was that his "precaution" consisted of some of the strongest forces among the Twelve Priests of the Shinshi—six level-100 NPCs. — "My lord, the demon has fallen! Awaiting your judgment!" — "My lord, we've prevented the demon's teleportation. Awaiting your judgment!" — "My lord, the demon's movements are sealed. Awaiting your judgment!" Reports came in one after another. Monkyspanner, the original priest stationed in the sky, sent his booming message, followed by the other priests' calm voices, each one reporting perfect results. And of course, that was natural. Even this "insurance" force alone—six out of twelve of the Shinshi's top priests—was enough to wipe out a small guild. Each carried at least legendary-class equipment, whether inherited from their original masters or supplied directly by Tiamat. And all of that power had gathered for a single target. No matter if that enemy was level 100 as well, escape was impossible. Without a world-item-level artifact—one with absurd, game-breaking effects—there would be no survival. And even then, with Tiamat himself present… escape was unthinkable. Still, Tiamat wasn't careless. Even if the foe was only an NPC, they didn't yet know its full identity. Perhaps, however unlikely, this NPC might be carrying a world item. That was why Tiamat had held off on striking first—some world items only triggered when the holder was attacked. But judging by the results, the enemy clearly wasn't that fortunate. "Then it's about time I end this. It has to be my hand that finishes it." "Understood. But please be cautious, Master. You must not be harmed." "It's a guild battle, Ea. Danger comes with the job." He chuckled. Danger was nothing new. Ever since he'd joined the Twelve Guilds and become one of their leaders, his risk had dropped—but in Yggdrasil, danger was constant. Enemy hunts, boss raids, guild wars—the essence of the game had always been risk. And though this world now felt more real than ever, Tiamat carried the same confidence he'd had back then. "World items don't work on their owners. As long as I'm equipped with mine, even Longinus can't kill me." Longinus—the mightiest of all world items, first among the twenty supreme artifacts of legend. Yet even that couldn't harm a player who possessed a world item of their own. World items could only be countered by other world items—not by nullifying them, but because their effects simply excluded other holders. "Besides, they've only just arrived here. They probably don't even understand what items exist outside of Yggdrasil. In other words, no real threat, Ea." "Still, please don't lower your guard." "I won't. Now, let's go finish this." "W-where are you going?" Tiamat lifted into the air. Dean called after him, but he didn't answer. He rose through the hole the demon had torn in the roof, surveyed the surroundings, then turned toward the rising dust in the distance. There lay Demiurge, half-buried in the ground—his form grotesque and unrecognizable. The suit that had fit his humanoid disguise was shredded, his true body swollen and monstrous. His face—once a stern man's—had twisted into a hideous blend of frog, toad, and sharklike fangs. This was the real face of a demon. Their human form was only a mask—one likely chosen to suit their master's preferences. Tiamat walked slowly toward the crumpled, frog-shaped demon. And just as he approached, the creature's bulging eyes snapped open. "...『Cup of Phygiaeia』!" A crimson flash burst outward. Centered on the demon, a shockwave spread in a ring—everything it touched withering to dust: trees, grass, small animals underground, even the birds in the sky. The Cup of Phygiaeia. The supreme item bestowed upon Demiurge by his one true master. A trump card he would never draw except at the brink of death—but this time, he had no choice. Thɪs chapter is updated by 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭⟡𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦⟡𝘯𝘦𝘵 If he could just seize this enemy commander, he could turn the battle around. The red light surged past Tiamat—and did nothing. The grass beneath his feet was charred, the trees behind him dead and dry, but Tiamat himself stood unharmed, merely raising an eyebrow. Demiurge's monstrous face twisted further. Tiamat smiled faintly. Demiurge swallowed a growl. So it's true, he thought. The enemy possessed a world item as well. His trump card was worthless. Even with half his HP recovered from the item's "vampiric" effect, he saw no way to win. And before him stood this impossible opponent—not just the leader, but surrounded by other terrifying powers: Monkyspanner in the sky, those who had blocked his teleportation and sealed the airspace— all aligned, all closing in. It was the same scene that had once unfolded in reverse—when Ainz Ooal Gown hunted Monkyspanner. Now that same inevitability had turned upon Demiurge himself. He gave a hollow laugh inside. Before Tiamat's cold gaze, the demon had already drawn something out—a small, chalice-shaped artifact no larger than his head, glimmering faintly with a sickly light. Tiamat tilted his head, recognizing it instantly, then chuckled. "So that's what you've got… makes sense now." He knew that shape well. Every hardcore Yggdrasil veteran would. He'd memorized the entire list of 200 world items long ago. The Cup of Phygiaeia. "Ainz Ooal Gown Momonga, huh? So you've even given a world item to your NPCs? You must be drowning in them. Well, I suppose that makes sense—no other guild had double-digit world items by the end." "…You… know of me?" Demiurge rasped. "May I ask which guild you belong to?" "You've got no right to know that." "And more importantly—" Tiamat's eyes narrowed to slits. "—You're the one who killed Monkyspanner, aren't you?" Demiurge's bulging crimson eyes went wide. That name—spoken aloud. And worse, the way Tiamat had said "Momonga" earlier… He'd called the Supreme One so casually—not as "Ainz-sama", but simply Momonga. The implication chilled him to the bone. To know the name of the Supreme Being, to speak it like an equal… Even as an enemy, Demiurge couldn't show disrespect. He straightened, voice trembling with reverence. "May I… ask who you truly are?" "Didn't I just say you don't have the right to know?" That curt reply bit deep, and the demon gritted his teeth. Of course. A being of equal standing to his lord wouldn't indulge such questions. And worse—the situation had gone from bad to catastrophic. This wasn't just any survivor of Yggdrasil. This was a guild-class entity—a power that knew Ainz Ooal Gown personally, that called the Supreme One "Momonga." He had attacked that being's subordinates, pillaged their holdings, and provoked them without realizing who they were. This was no simple skirmish—it was a declaration of war. And the more he thought about it, the clearer his dread became. If these people were once close to Ainz-sama, They understood its defenses, its tactics, its members. And if they were now enemies… they were the most dangerous kind. He could already hear the words of one of the Forty-One Supreme Beings, Punitto moe-sama: "Information is everything. To know your enemy first is to win half the war." That meant… Nazarick had already lost half the war. Demiurge's mind raced. He needed to end this somehow—stall for time, de-escalate, something. "I… I believe there's been some misunderstanding between us…" "Just answer one thing. You did kill Monkyspanner, didn't you?" There was no escaping it now. Demiurge squeezed his massive, frog-like eyes shut. "...Yes. It was by my hand alone." "Then please…grant me the mercy of ending it here. Take my items, take everything—but my master would not wish needless conflict between us. I beg you, spare him that." His tone was desperate yet sincere. He would give his life to protect Ainz-sama and prevent this war. But Tiamat's answer was merciless. "That's not for you to decide." The words were cold enough to freeze the air. "And besides—I don't intend to let you die so easily. You said it yourself, didn't you? You don't even know what happens when one of you truly dies here." The implication hit him harder than any blow. Demiurge bowed his head, eyes closing in grim resignation. "Then… please, at least take this wretched life of mine and vent your anger upon it…" He knelt, presenting his neck. Fighting would only worsen the Supreme One's position. If his death could calm this being's wrath—then that was a price worth paying. And perhaps… in death…he could still protect Nazarick. Tiamat murmured quietly. In Yggdrasil, killing was never the end. Whether player or NPC, death was just another form of failure — temporary, correctable, and followed by revival. That was the logic of every MMORPG: death wasn't final, only a step in progression. "Strategically speaking, the smart move would be to capture you — seal you, or cast a mind-control spell. That's what the GBR (Guild Battle Rules) would recommend, after all." "But demons have high resistance to mind and holy effects…and besides — you killed one of my subordinates." That was reason enough. Demiurge understood instantly — and strangely, even found relief in the realization. Because yes, what Tiamat said was true: compared to what Ainz-sama and the Guardians had planned for Monkyspanner, this was mercy. If he were captured, sealed, or dominated, revival might never come. But if he died here, Ainz-sama could resurrect him. He remembered Shalltear's case. Yes… her memories had been damaged upon revival — but not erased completely. If he was lucky, if even a fragment of this truth survived in his soul, he could pass on the knowledge: That their enemy — this "Dragon's Dream" family — was no mere house of nobles, but a front. A façade carefully crafted to lure others like them — players from Yggdrasil. Tiamat's hand rose slowly. In its wake, a colossal spectral dragon claw manifested behind him — scales glittering, talons like blades, glowing faintly gold. Its shadow alone swallowed Demiurge whole. As Tiamat focused his power, the claw grew sharper, denser — until it was almost solid light. Then he closed his hand. The sound was wet and hideous. Demiurge's body bent unnaturally; flesh burst, bones snapped. His HP gauge plummeted in an instant. The agony was unbearable, but he didn't resist. He accepted it — because dying quietly was his only remaining duty. Only then could he ensure the chance for Ainz-sama to know the truth. Even as his vision blurred, his mind burned with clarity. Fragments of data and intuition aligned like stars: The Dragon's Dream family that had suddenly appeared 150 years ago. The succession of "heads" that each wielded godlike power. Their disinterest in politics but omnipresence in crises — guiding the continent from the shadows. Their influence spread across every nation. And suddenly, it all made sense. A thought like lightning struck him. "This entire family… was bait?" The words echoed in his collapsing mind. A lure. A beautifully constructed decoy. A false legend seeded across history to attract outsiders like him —to draw Yggdrasil-born beings out from hiding. "No… no, this can't be…" He had missed it all — every hint, every sign. Their plans, their history — it had all been designed centuries ago, and he'd walked straight into it. They had been manipulating the board from the very beginning. Even this confrontation had been anticipated. "This was planned… 150 years ago…" Demiurge's last thought sharpened with iron will. "This truth… must reach Ainz-sama… at all costs…" He didn't care if he perished. He had to ensure Nazarick understood what kind of opponent they faced —one vast enough to rival, perhaps even surpass, the Great Tomb itself. That determination was the last flicker of his soul. The dragon claw crushed his skull like a ripe fruit. Blue ichor spilled between the shimmering scales, dripping from the fist of divine power that held him. Thus ended the life of Demiurge —begging for mercy, yet clinging to duty. Killed not by hatred, but by the will of something far older and far more calculating. And somewhere in the silent void before oblivion, he prayed one final time: "Ainz-sama… please… know the truth…" Yet the wise demon failed to grasp one simple truth— "No, Master. Vital activity has ceased, but his HP hasn't yet reached zero. I'd say he's nearly dead… or in the process of dying." "I see… no resurrection item, then. Or perhaps he simply chose not to use one…Well, he was trying to die, after all." Tiamat murmured before the glowing claw of Dragon Claw, its spectral grip still tightening around the corpse. The entire area was locked behind layers of barriers— teleportation blocked, spatial magic sealed. Only a few world-class items like Shukuchi-Shinton or Sleipnir could have breached such a prison. In Yggdrasil, where leveling was easy but capture was ruinous, players often used every form of binding, sealing, and curse magic imaginable to restrain opponents. Death, however, remained the one escape that no spell could prevent. Dropping an item upon death was frustrating— but being captured alive was the true nightmare. During guild wars, many even imprisoned defeated players indefinitely rather than kill them, since forced logouts merely returned them to their last save point. Here, though, this was no game. There were no system warnings or moderation guidelines—no GBR limits to obey. And so, Tiamat had killed Demiurge. The demon had accepted death willingly, believing it to be his release—his final escape. But Tiamat had no intention of letting him escape. "I wouldn't know what it means to die and come back in this world…but even Monkyspanner lost part of his memory. There's no reason the same rule has to apply to you." Whether the dying demon heard him or not was unclear, but Tiamat's expression hardened. "More importantly—I won't let the thing that killed my property run away through death. That's far too merciful." Then, at last, Demiurge's HP ticked to zero. From beneath the crushed dragon claw spilled several items, clattering to the ground. Among them was the bizarre chalice — The Cup of Phygiaeia. Tiamat stooped, picked it up, and rolled up his sleeve. Beneath the robe and armor, his bare forearm revealed an inky-black serpent tattoo, each scale etched with uncanny realism, glimmering faintly as though alive. It wasn't a mere design. It was a bound item — one of the few Yggdrasil artifacts that permanently fused with its wielder, never vanishing even upon death unless its power was wholly spent. "Are you going to use it, Master?" "Of course. It's too valuable to waste…but there's no point hoarding an unused weapon." Items existed to be used. Even consumables with limited charges were meant to fulfill their purpose. And though this particular artifact could never be replaced—not even within Yggdrasil— Tiamat made his decision. For this item was one of the few capable of influencing the very world itself. "Devour it. 『Quetzalcohuatzin, the Soul-Eating Serpent』." The black serpent on his arm moved. It slithered, coiling across his skin, its scales flashing with a crimson gleam. Then, opening a vast, fanged maw,it lunged toward the corpse of Demiurge — ready to consume not his flesh, but his soul. If you want to read 10 advance chapters ahead.