Kapitel 2: The End and the Beginning
In the year 2138 AD, a term dominated the gaming lexicon: DMMO-RPG. This acronym stood for "Dive Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game," a revolutionary concept that blurred the lines between reality and virtual. These games transcended traditional gaming experiences by interfacing directly with the human brain through a neuronal nano-interface—a groundbreaking fusion of cyber and nanotechnology.
Among the plethora of DMMO-RPGs flooding the market, one title reigned supreme: Yggdrasil. Renowned for its expansive virtual world, diverse range of character classes, and unparalleled freedom in character customization, Yggdrasil sparked a cultural phenomenon in Japan. Its innovative features ignited the imaginations of players, giving rise to what would later be termed a stylistic revolution.
Such was Yggdrasil's dominance that the mere mention of "DMMO-RPG" conjured thoughts of this iconic game in the minds of Japanese gamers. Yet, as time marched on, these accolades became relics of the past—
The throne room exuded an air of majestic splendour, its grandeur a testament to the finest craftsmanship. Despite its vastness, the room retained an aura of tranquil solemnity, capable of accommodating hundreds without ever feeling crowded. Its lofty ceiling and pristine white walls, adorned with intricate golden embellishments, set the stage for opulence.
Countless chandeliers, each adorned with precious stones of every hue, cast a mesmerising rainbow of light throughout the space, imbuing it with a surreal allure. Arrayed along the walls, flagpoles bore flags emblazoned with a myriad of symbols, gently swaying in the breeze that stirred the room. A total of forty-one flags, from ceiling to floor, added a touch of regality to the already resplendent ambiance.
In the heart of this room, bathed in tints of gold and silver, stood a grand staircase, ascending ten steps to a towering throne. Crafted from a single piece of crystal, its towering back reached the very ceiling above. Behind it, a vast red banner unfurled, proudly bearing the emblem of the guild. Nestled in the deepest recesses of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, this chamber exuded a palpable weight, imposing itself upon all who beheld its magnificence. It was here, amidst this solemn grandeur, that he chose to welcome the game's final moments.
A solitary figure traversed this divine realm, adorned in a resplendent black academic robe, intricately trimmed with the edges of violet and gold. Though the collar appeared ostentatious, it harmonised seamlessly with the garment's overall aesthetic. Yet, what truly drew the eye was the figure's exposed skull, illuminated by points of dark red light within its cavernous eye sockets, surrounded by an ominous halo of black radiance.
This figure was none other than Momonga, the Master of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, Ruler of Death, an Undead of the highest order—an Overlord. As he strode forward, the room seemed to swallow the sound of his footsteps, his penetrating gaze fixed upon the female NPC standing at the side of the throne.
She stood before him, a vision of ethereal beauty wrapped in a pure white gown that flowed around her like cascading moonlight. Her delicate features bore a faint, goddess-like smile, radiating an aura of serenity. Yet, amidst her celestial appearance, there were elements that hinted at a darker nature.
Contrasting starkly with her alabaster attire, her hair cascaded in lustrous jet-black waves, cascading down to her waist like an obsidian waterfall. Despite the oddity of her golden irises and vertically slitted pupils, she possessed a timeless allure that would rival any world-class beauty. However, two curved horns protruded from the sides of her head, adding a sinister edge to her otherwise angelic visage.
In addition to her horns, a pair of ebony-feathered wings emerged gracefully from her waist, hinting at a hidden power beneath her serene exterior. And though her smile appeared divine, there lingered a subtle sense of mystery—a mask concealing deeper emotions, perhaps amplified by the presence of her twisted horns.
Adorning her slender form was a golden necklace fashioned in the likeness of a spider's web, cascading from her shoulders down to the gentle curve of her breasts. Her wrists were adorned with lustrous silk gloves, accentuating her elegant limbs. In her delicate hand, she wielded a peculiar weapon resembling a wand, approximately forty-five centimetres in length, with a black orb hovering at its tip—an enchanting yet enigmatic artefact. Momonga had not forgotten her name.
She was none other than Albedo, the esteemed Overseer of the Floor Guardians within the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick. As the guardian of the seven NPC Floor Guardians, she held the highest rank among all inhabitants of the Tomb. It was her solemn duty to oversee their activities and ensure the smooth operation of their domain.
Due to her pivotal role, Albedo was granted the privilege of awaiting orders within the Throne Room, situated in the deepest recesses of the Tomb. Here, amidst the hallowed halls of power, she stood ready to execute her master's will with unwavering loyalty and dedication.
"This is a suitable location," Momonga's voice resonated across the room, addressing a distinguished figure adorned in the attire of a butler. The gentleman's appearance exuded an air of seasoned refinement, with hair as white as freshly fallen snow, including his neatly groomed beard and moustache. Despite the passing of years, his posture remained impeccably erect, reminiscent of a blade forged from the finest steel.
His countenance bore the marks of age, etched with deep lines that hinted at a life well-lived, evoking an aura of kindness and gentility to those who beheld him. However, behind the veil of serenity, his piercing gaze betrayed a keen intellect akin to that of a predatory eagle, assessing the room with a shrewd vigilance.
Behind the butler stood six maids, each a unique embodiment of strength and elegance. These were no ordinary attendants; clad in gauntlets and greaves fashioned from a blend of gold, silver, black, and an array of other metals, their armour mirrored the attire of manga-inspired maid outfits.
They did not wear helmets, but instead pristine white headdresses, allowing their varied hairstyles to cascade freely. From buns to ponytails, from flowing locks to intricate French curls, their hairstyles reflected a diversity as rich as their individual personalities.
Every maiden wielded a distinct weapon, showcasing their prowess in battle. They were the epitome of combat-ready maids, exuding a formidable presence tempered by grace and beauty. Despite their differences, each one possessed a unique allure; one radiated athleticism and strength, another exuded the demure charm of a traditional Japanese maiden, while yet another captivated with a seductive allure. Together, they formed a formidable and captivating ensemble, ready to serve their master with unwavering loyalty and skill.
All present, save for Momonga, were NPC creations meticulously crafted to fulfil the desires and directives of their creators—the esteemed Guild members of Ainz Ooal Gown. Whether tasked with defending against invaders or providing entertainment through immersive role-playing elements, they existed solely as Non-Player Characters within the Great Tomb of Nazarick. Unlike characters controlled by the game, they operated according to a set of pre-programmed AI routines, rendering them akin to mobile automatons.
Though their designs boasted remarkable realism, their actions were but scripted movements executed in accordance with their programmed directives. Despite their lifelike appearance, they were mere puppets, serving as instruments to carry out the will of their creators.
As he ascended the stairs, Momonga halted at the sound of approaching footsteps behind him. Though his skeletal visage betrayed no emotion, a chuckle escaped him involuntarily. The NPCs, after all, were nothing more than rigid AI routines, bound by their programmed limitations. Without precise and explicit commands, they would remain oblivious to his intentions.
In his oversight, Momonga realised that he had neglected to issue proper directives to the NPCs. His amusement tinged with a hint of self-deprecation as he acknowledged his negligence.
After his guild members departed, Momonga delved into solo hunting with relentless determination, driven by the need to amass the gold required to sustain Nazarick. Eschewing camaraderie with fellow players, he steered clear of high-difficulty areas that once brimmed with the presence of his comrades. Instead, he tirelessly pursued his solitary quests, accumulating wealth to be deposited into the Treasury before logging out.
This solitary routine had become his daily ritual, leaving little room for interaction with the NPCs who inhabited Nazarick.
"Stand by," he commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness of the throne room, as he addressed his loyal attendants.
The sound of footsteps ceased as Momonga issued the correct command, ascending the final steps to reach the throne. His gaze fixed upon Albedo, who stood resolutely by its side. Though he had traversed this room on numerous occasions, he found himself taken aback by the intensity of Albedo's scrutiny. It seemed as though her eyes were tracing his every movement, a detail that had eluded his recollection from previous visits.
"What kind of backstory does she have?" Momonga pondered aloud, his curiosity piqued by the enigmatic figure before him. With a flicker of interest, he accessed a console and began sifting through the intricate details of Albedo's character profile. Lines upon lines of densely packed text unfolded before his eyes, akin to deciphering the verses of an ancient epic poem.
If he were to devote the time to read it in detail, he surmised he would likely remain engrossed until the game's conclusion. Momonga felt a knot of unease tighten in his chest, akin to stepping on a landmine. Though unable to physically tremble, he sensed a surge of apprehension coursing through him. He chastised himself inwardly for his oversight—Albedo's creator was known for their meticulous attention to detail, a fact he had foolishly overlooked.
Despite his reluctance, Momonga found himself inexorably drawn to continue scrolling through the dense text. With a sense of urgency, he bypassed paragraphs in favour of reaching the conclusion as swiftly as possible. His eyes darted across the screen, seeking solace in the final line, only to freeze in shock as he read it.
"She is also a slut."
Momonga's non-existent lips parted in disbelief as he read the shocking words displayed before him. He scrutinised the phrase repeatedly, searching for an alternative interpretation, but ultimately found none. With a heavy heart, he could only conclude that it was indeed an insult.
Each of the forty-one guild members had crafted their own NPCs, and Momonga struggled to comprehend why someone would tarnish their own creation in such a manner. Perhaps the reasoning lay within the extensive essay of flavour text, but he knew that some guild members possessed unconventional tastes. Tabula Smaragdina, Albedo's creator, was one such individual.
"Ah, is this what they call gap moe?" Momonga mused aloud, pondering the incongruity between Albedo's appearance and her supposed backstory. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that such a narrative was excessive. After all, the NPCs were a shared legacy of the guild, and to imbue the highest-ranked NPC with such a demeaning portrayal troubled him deeply.
With a contemplative "Umu," Momonga deliberated over the possibility of altering an NPC's backstory based on personal preference. After careful consideration, he arrived at a decision.
"Should I change it?" he wondered aloud, uncertainty clouding his thoughts.
With the Guild Weapon firmly in his grasp, Momonga now wielded the authority of the guildmaster—a power he had never before exercised. As he gazed upon the altered text on his console, his resolve solidified. It was time to rectify the injustice inflicted upon Albedo by his guildmate.
Extending the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown, Momonga accessed Albedo's settings with a sense of purpose. Through the sheer force of his guildmaster status, he bypassed the need for developer tools and began editing her character profile. With a few swift actions, the derogatory line vanished from existence.
"Ah, that's better," Momonga remarked with a sense of satisfaction. Yet, as he pondered the empty space left by the deletion, a sense of obligation compelled him to fill it.
"This feels a little silly," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist the urge to add a new line to Albedo's backstory. With a mixture of amusement and embarrassment, he typed out the words:
"She loves Momonga."
A blush crept across Momonga's skeletal features as he covered his face with his palm. It felt as though he were crafting the ideal romantic scenario for himself, a notion that both thrilled and embarrassed him.
Despite his initial impulse to rewrite the sentence out of embarrassment, Momonga ultimately decided against it. After all, the game would soon come to an end, and with it, any lingering feelings of shame. Moreover, the new line seamlessly filled the gap left by the deleted sentence, preserving the integrity of Albedo's character profile.
Seated upon the throne, Momonga surveyed his surroundings with a sense of satisfaction tinged with lingering embarrassment.
Observing Sebas and the maids standing motionless, Momonga couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness and unease that pervaded the throne room. Recalling a command he had heard before, he extended his hand and uttered a single word:
"Kneel."
Instantly, as if compelled by an unseen force, Albedo, Sebas, and the six maids dropped to one knee in perfect synchrony, their movements fluid and precise. Satisfied with the result, Momonga raised his left hand to check the time.
23:55:48
He had timed it perfectly.
As the final moments of the game approached, Momonga remained oblivious to the festivities likely unfolding in the outside world. Immersed in his solitude within Nazarick, he had severed all ties with the realm beyond its walls.
Leaning back against the throne, Momonga gazed up at the ceiling with a sense of calm resolve. Even on this, the game's last day, he remained vigilant, fully aware that potential invaders might attempt to breach the sanctity of Nazarick. Yet, he harboured no fear. As the guildmaster, he embraced any challenge that dared to test the fortress's defences.
Despite having sent emails to all the guild members, only a handful had responded. Nevertheless, Momonga remained steadfast in his resolve to await their return, eager to welcome them back as their guildmaster.
"A relic of the past, huh," Momonga mused, sinking into contemplation. Though the guild now stood as nothing more than an empty shell, he cherished the memories they had shared together. His gaze drifted towards the array of flags suspended from the ceiling, each bearing the personal symbol of a guild member.
Pointing to one flag, Momonga whispered, "Mine," a faint smile tugging at the corners of his skeletal lips. With each successive flag, he recounted the names of his former comrades, their identities etched deeply into his memory.
"Touch Me," he murmured, acknowledging the founder of the guild and the catalyst behind the gathering of the "Original Nine." Moving on, he recited the names of each member with fluid precision, from the oldest to the newest, from the strongest to the most revered.
"Herohero, Peroroncino, Bukubukuchagama, Tabula Smaragdina, Warrior Takemikazuchi, Variable Talisman, Genjiro—" Momonga's voice trailed off as he recited each name with reverence and nostalgia.
Exhausted from the flood of memories, Momonga sank wearily onto the throne. "Yeah, it really was fun," he whispered softly, a bittersweet smile playing upon his lips.
The time displayed on his watch read 23:57. With just three minutes remaining until the server shutdown at 00:00, time was running out. The impending end of the virtual world meant a return to reality the next day. That was only natural—Nobody could live in a virtual world, which was why everyone had left, one by one. Momonga couldn't help but sigh, resigned to the inevitable departure of each member, one by one.
As the seconds ticked away, Momonga felt the weight of exhaustion settling upon him. Remembering he had to wake up at four tomorrow, he knew he had to seize what little time remained to ensure he could function properly the next day.
23:59:35, 36, 37
Momonga set his watch to count out the seconds.
23:59:48, 49, 50
Momonga closed his eyes.
23:59:58, 59—
AUTORENGEDANKEN 
Kart_Fiction
Kart_Fiction AN: Thank you everyone for providing so much love and attention to this fic. Your support is a great motivator for me to continue writing this. For those who want to reminisce or those who have never read Overlord, you can view this chapter as a shortened version of chapter 1 of Overlord LN Series. Otherwise you are welcome to skip it.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein