In great guilds of Yggdrasil, it was expected that each possessed at least one World Item—those legendary, balance-breaking relics that warped the very rules of the game. Even if few could rival the infamous Ainz Ooal Gown, who hoarded more than a dozen of them by the game's end, many powerful guilds still held three or four. After all, with over 200 in existence, it wasn't impossible—though some were consumables, lost forever once used. And among these two hundred, there existed a class apart—the Twenty, the true world-class items. Their effects transcended gameplay, reaching into the system itself—items so broken that even the developers labeled them cheats or bugs. One could alter map data (Ouroboros). Another could rewrite combat logic (Fivefold Cycle of Elements). And others tampered directly with user data. Among them, the most feared was Longinus— an item that, upon use, instantly killed both the target and the wielder, erasing all data, even from the server backups. Logout, hide, flee—nothing could save a marked player. It had never been used, yet the mere rumor of its existence made top-ranked players tremble. Then there was Ahura Mazda, which inverted karma values— turning the purest saints into devils, or permanently corrupting evil users' data. To those who bore negative alignment, being struck by it was a death sentence of reputation and build alike. But few items rivaled the one that Tiamat now wielded: "Quetzalcohuatzin — The Soul-Eating Serpent." One of The Twenty, and one of only five world-class relics known to exist in Shinshi today. When used, the Serpent branded itself as a black tattoo upon the player's body—a permanent fusion. Its effect: to seal the data—the very soul—of the one it had personally slain. Unlike Longinus, it did not annihilate instantly; Once the serpent consumed a dead target's data, that being could never respawn—not unless another Twenty undid the seal, or the wielder chose to release it. The item was reusable. Bound permanently to the user, yes—but after a long cooldown, it could devour another soul again. A limited-use consumable, but one whose every use rewrote destiny itself. To slay a major NPC or world enemy with it was to destroy an entire questline forever. To use it on a guild leader was to cripple a faction for eternity. It was for this reason the Twenty were feared— and why even Longinus wasn't necessarily the worst of them. And now, Tiamat had unleashed Quetzalcohuatzin upon Demiurge. Under normal circumstances, Demiurge's own world item—The Cup of Phygiaeia—would have protected him. If he were a player, he might have resisted even death itself. He was an NPC, and in dying, he had dropped everything. From the collapsing polygon of his dissolving corpse, The source of this content ɪs 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹·𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒·𝗇𝗲𝘁 a scream tore through the air—a shriek that was neither sound nor flesh, but soul. It was as though hell itself had been torn open. The black serpent on Tiamat's arm uncoiled and struck, its fanged maw expanding impossibly wide. And in one long, drawn-out pull, it swallowed the demon's scream whole—dragging Demiurge's very essence into its abyssal throat. When the sound faded, only silence remained— and the serpent's tattoo glowed faintly crimson, its hunger momentarily sated. "...It's over," Tiamat murmured. "Yes, Master. It's over… and also, perhaps, just beginning." He exhaled deeply, feeling the lingering resonance of the World Item fade from the air. One demon slain. But he knew better than to think this was the end. The data—the very soul—of the guild NPC Demiurge had been devoured completely by The Soul-Eating Serpent. Even for a level-100 NPC with demonic heritage and absurd mental resistance, there was no surviving the pull of a World Item. The tattooed serpent belched softly, as if satisfied, before stilling once again beneath Tiamat's sleeve. And yet, this "victory" only confirmed his worst suspicion. "Ha… I thought it might be, and of course—it's Ainz Ooal Gown." He rubbed his temples in irritation. This was bad—very bad. Among the countless guilds of Yggdrasil, Ainz Ooal Gown stood alone in infamy. An evil-aligned collective, infamous even among DQN (Delinquent) guilds, made up solely of heteromorphic races—demons, undead, aberrations, things that should not exist. Though they numbered only forty-one, every single member was on par with the executive officers of major guilds. Two of them were World Festival champions—the elite global PvP event that crowned the strongest players across every class and archetype. Even the data logs and NPC scripts of Yggdrasil whispered their name in awe. Ainz Ooal Gown had once annihilated an alliance of fifteen hundred players—a feat now immortalized in legend. They'd lured that army into their guild home, The Great Tomb of Nazarick, and obliterated them despite being outnumbered twenty-five to one. Trap or no trap, strategy or not, the fact that forty-one players could pull that off was absurd. And now, that same guild had resurfaced in this world. If it had been Villain Union or Dark Soul, it might have been worse in raw numbers—those were massive PK guilds from Muspelheim, the brutal PvP server where daily murder was practically a login bonus. Those lunatics killed for pleasure and philosophy alike: "I can't sleep until I PK someone." "This is how I express love." "Let me baptize you in fire and blood." Deranged killers masquerading as players. Even the Twelve Divines had once suffered heavy losses to them. If those maniacs had crossed over into this world, civilization itself might not survive. Still—Ainz Ooal Gown was hardly a comfort. They weren't as chaotic, but they were colder, more methodical. They didn't burn worlds out of passion. They dissected them. And worst of all—they planned. "They don't act out of madness," Tiamat muttered. "They act out of purpose." Their philosophy of domination, their fixation on "order through fear," and their overwhelming arsenal of World Items made them a danger unlike any other. "At least it wasn't Villain Union or Dark Soul," he sighed. "But Ainz Ooal Gown… might actually be worse." Because they wouldn't rampage blindly. They would build—a kingdom, a hierarchy, a network. And in doing so, they would twist the world itself to their vision. "If their guild base came through like ours did… that'll be a problem." Tiamat's muttering carried the weight of realization. The Great Tomb of Nazarick—guild base of Ainz Ooal Gown—was one of Yggdrasil's ultimate fortresses, infamous for having buried 1,500 attackers in a single raid. To enter was to surrender. Survival inside was a matter of how long you could stall before dying. Even if their guild only numbered forty-one, Nazarick's internal defense system was an impregnable labyrinth of traps, guardians, and layered floors that even top-tier raiding guilds couldn't crack. If that entire structure had crossed into this world as Shinshi's Twelve Priests had…then this wasn't just a guild war—it was the beginning of an era of annihilation. And among all guilds, Ainz Ooal Gown was the only one to possess double-digit World Items at the game's end. Now, one of those—the Cup of Phygiaeia—rested in Tiamat's hand, freshly taken from Demiurge's corpse. "It'll work out somehow, won't it, Master?" "Yeah… it'll have to. Too late to back down now." Monkyspanner was dead. Demiurge had been executed in retaliation. There was no going back. Between the Zodiac and Ainz Ooal Gown, a river of blood now divided them. He knew the logic of guild wars better than anyone. In Yggdrasil, bending the knee first was suicide. To seek compromise after a killing was to invite predation—a declaration of weakness. "If you bow, they'll devour you. That's the law of guild war." He hadn't killed Demiurge in rage—he'd done it because he had to. This was no longer a matter of pride, but of survival. The crucial advantage was information. Ainz Ooal Gown didn't yet know who their enemy truly was. They didn't know that the adversary who had slain their demon was the leader of the Zodiac, nor that the Shinshi Guild Base had manifested in this world. Tiamat intended to exploit that ignorance mercilessly. Let them underestimate him. Let them think he was just another wandering anomaly. "They don't know they're fighting the Zodiac yet. Let's use that." But before war, there were preparations. Two centuries had passed since Shinshi last gathered in full force. If war was coming, they would need to reconvene, rearm, and ready their divine NPCs. "It's done here. I'm returning to Shinshi, Ea. Once I arrive… gather the priests. We're holding a council." "Understood, Master. Shall I also prepare to contact the others?" "Ah… right, them too." He thought briefly of Dean and the others—of the remnants still scattered after Monkyspanner's fall. "Monkyspanner managed them, right? Tell them to clean up the remains and report back." "Yes, Master. We'll await you in Shinshi." "You're always watching anyway." A tired sigh escaped him, but his eyes were sharp—focused past the kingdom of Re-Estize, toward the distant, unseen lair of his new enemy. Once, he and Momonga had spoken casually—comrades linked by the loneliness of dying worlds. He'd even admired the undead ruler once. But those days were over. "You'd better be ready, Momonga." He, Tiamat, stood alone. Ainz Ooal Gown's numbers were unknown. Their strength, unimaginable. But retreat was not an option. If the price of blood had been named, then he would pay it back a hundredfold. "This isn't the end," he murmured as he raised his hand. "It's the beginning of a proper guild war." With a single motion, the air shimmered—and the Gate of Transference opened before him, its light swallowing him whole as he returned to Shinshi, where the council of the Twelve awaited. If you want to read 10 advance chapters ahead.