[ Capitano POV ]
I currently sat amidst the labyrinthine shelves of the Great Library of Nazarick, Ashurbanipal. This magnificent repository of knowledge was tucked away on the tenth floor, and I had only recently stumbled upon its wonders. For now, it was my sanctuary—a place to think, plan, and, in this case, cram.
The table before me groaned under the weight of books, all of them dedicated to a single subject: chess. I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long sigh, my storm-gray eyes skimming the chaotic pile. My initial goal had been simple: learn the game well enough to hold my own against Demiurge. But now, as I sat surrounded by volumes with titles like The Art of Sacrifice in Chess and Hypermodern Openings: A Study in Psychological Warfare, I felt a pit of despair growing in my stomach.
"This… this is too much," I muttered, running a hand through my dark hair as I flipped through yet another overly complex tome. Every page seemed to introduce a new strategy with an even more confusing name. "The King's Gambit? The Sicilian Defense? The Alekhine's Gun?" My voice rose slightly with each term until I slumped forward, burying my face in my hands. "Who comes up with this stuff?"
The book in front of me—a dense, leather-bound volume titled The Psychology of Chess Mastery—felt particularly cruel. The diagram on the current page showed a position labeled Zugzwang, with an annotation stating, "A position where every possible move worsens the player's position." I stared at the board diagram, trying to decipher why moving a pawn forward would spell doom, but it was like trying to read an alien language.
"Why is this a bad move?" I groaned aloud, slamming the book shut. I'd barely scratched the surface, and my brain was already begging for mercy. Was this what chess was about—memorizing countless patterns and terms, only to be punished for every misstep?
I grabbed a simpler book from the pile, its title Chess for Beginners: A Practical Guide. It promised to teach "basic principles" in a "clear and concise manner." That sounded promising enough. I opened it to the first chapter, skimming through the introduction about controlling the center of the board. "Okay, controlling the center. That makes sense," I murmured, nodding to myself. "Keep your pawns in the middle, develop your pieces, protect the king. Simple enough."
But the simplicity didn't last. By chapter three, I was staring at something called the Fried Liver Attack, which, despite its absurd name, was apparently a lethal move involving a knight sacrifice.
"Why would anyone willingly give up a knight?" I muttered, frowning at the diagram. "Isn't the whole point to keep your pieces alive? How is this a good idea?"
I read the explanation three times, but the logic still eluded me. My hand drifted to another book in the pile, this one titled Winning Like the Grandmasters. It detailed a match where one player sacrificed both rooks and a bishop to deliver a checkmate. I blinked at the page, struggling to understand how losing nearly half your army could lead to victory.
"So, the key to winning is… losing everything first?" I asked the empty room. "That can't be right."
My frustration grew as I continued flipping through the books. Every strategy seemed to contradict the last. One book insisted that pawns were "the soul of chess" and should never be wasted. Another argued that sacrificing pawns was a vital part of gaining control over the board. Demiurge probably understood all of this with ease, his devilish intellect perfectly suited to unraveling complex patterns. Meanwhile, I could barely tell a fork from a skewer.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. "Maybe I should just challenge him to something simpler," I joked bitterly. "Like arm-wrestling Cocytus."
Still, I wasn't about to give up. My pride wouldn't let me. Demiurge would expect me to approach the match with strategy and thought, and I couldn't afford to disappoint him—or myself. If I showed up unprepared, it wouldn't just reflect poorly on me; it could undermine the perception of my competence in Nazarick.
I returned to the beginner's guide, forcing myself to focus on the fundamentals. "Okay. Control the center. Develop the knights and bishops early. Castle to protect the king. Got it," I muttered under my breath, trying to burn the basics into my mind. My thoughts drifted to Demiurge, imagining the Arch-Devil sitting across from me, his sharp gaze analyzing my every move. I needed something more than basics to compete with him.
I picked up another book, this one titled The Ruy-Lopez Explained. The first few pages introduced a series of moves called "the Spanish Opening," which was apparently one of the oldest and most effective ways to start a game. The diagrams made my head spin, but I forced myself to follow along.
"Pawn to e4," I whispered, mimicking the moves on an imaginary chessboard. "Knight to f3, bishop to b5…" The sequence seemed logical, though I had no idea what to do next. "And then… hope for the best?" I chuckled weakly.
Hours passed as I dove deeper into the world of chess, alternating between moments of clarity and utter confusion. By the time I finally set the books aside, my head was pounding, and my stomach growled in protest. The library was silent, save for the faint hum of magical torches illuminating the shelves.
As I stood to leave, I glanced at the mountain of books still left unread. "I'll figure this out," I promised myself, my voice firm despite my exhaustion. "Demiurge won't know what hit him."
I wasn't entirely sure if that was true, but for now, it was enough to keep me going. If I could learn even one strategy to hold my own against Demiurge, I'd consider it a victory. With a final glance at the chess books, I turned to leave the library, eager to escape the mountain of tomes that had left me more confused than enlightened. My head throbbed from the effort of memorizing openings, strategies, and counterattacks.
My plan was simple: retreat to my quarters, rest, and return tomorrow with a clearer mind.
But, as always, plans never seemed to go my way.
"Capitano."
The soft, lilting voice behind me sent a chill down my spine. It carried its usual teasing edge, an unmistakable mix of affection and amusement.
I turned slowly, already knowing who it was. Shalltear Bloodfallen—elegant, unpredictable, and endlessly determined to test my composure—emerged from between the towering shelves. Her crimson eyes sparkled with a playful glint, and the shadows cast by the library's dim lighting only enhanced her otherworldly beauty.
She smiled, the curve of her lips equal parts sweet and mischievous. "What a surprise to catch you here," she purred, taking a graceful step closer. "You seem rather troubled, oh humble knight. Is this chess match catching up to you?"
Her words struck a nerve, though I did my best not to show it. Shalltear had an uncanny ability to make me feel as though I were standing on trial, my every thought and action laid bare before her.
"Shalltear," I greeted evenly, folding my arms to steady myself. "I'm not troubled, merely... focused. Preparation is key, after all."
Her smile widened as she took another step forward, closing the distance between us. "Focused? Is that what they call it now?" she teased. "You looked ready to bolt just now. Surely this humble chess match isn't enough to rattle the great Capitano?"
I sighed inwardly, knowing there was no easy way to escape her scrutiny. "The match with Demiurge is... a matter of pride," I admitted cautiously. "He's an intelligent opponent, and I want to ensure I don't embarrass myself—or Nazarick, for that matter."
Her gaze flicked to the chessboard and the stack of books behind me. A sly smile tugged at her lips as she stepped around me, picking up one of the books with a delicate hand.
"Ah, Chess for Beginners," she remarked, her tone dripping with amusement as she skimmed the cover. "A classic choice. I see you've chosen to start at the very beginning."
I straightened, my pride flaring. "A strong foundation is the key to success," I replied firmly. "Even the most advanced strategies build upon the basics. Surely you can appreciate that."
Her melodic laugh echoed softly through the library. "Oh, Capitano, always so composed. Very well, let me help you build that foundation. Sit."
She gestured to the chair opposite the chessboard, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Reluctantly, I complied, lowering myself into the seat. Shalltear followed suit, her movements graceful as she settled into the chair across from me.
"Let's start with something simple," she said, sliding a pawn forward. "This is the Glamour Opening. A strategy of elegance and misdirection, much like myself."
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Glamour Opening? That's not in any of these books."
"Of course not," she replied, her crimson eyes gleaming with pride. "It's my own creation. Observe."
She began demonstrating the opening, her movements deliberate yet swift. At first, the positioning seemed chaotic—reckless, even—but as she explained her reasoning, a pattern began to emerge. Shalltear's pawns and knights created an unassuming formation that quickly morphed into a devastating counterattack.
"This strategy works best when your opponent underestimates you," she explained, her tone turning almost instructional. "The key is to appear vulnerable, to bait them into attacking prematurely. And when they do..." She moved her queen across the board with a flourish, positioning it directly in front of the opposing king.
"You strike," she finished, her smile wicked. "I call this the Kiss of the Crimson Queen. It's a sacrifice, yes, but one that leaves your opponent with no way out."
I leaned back in my chair, studying the board with a frown. "A bold move. But what if the opponent doesn't take the bait? Wouldn't this leave you exposed?"
Shalltear's grin widened, her crimson eyes gleaming. "Ah, Capitano, that's where creativity comes in. A true strategist is never without options. But don't worry—I wouldn't expect you to use such an advanced tactic against Demiurge. It's far too... refined for someone so brutish."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "And what, pray tell, would you suggest for someone of my... practical style?"
Her smile softened as she began resetting the board. "Practical, hmm? Very well. Let's focus on defense. A strong fortress can outlast even the most cunning of assaults."
Over the next hour, Shalltear guided me through various defensive strategies, her explanations surprisingly clear despite her penchant for theatrics. She pointed out my mistakes with a teasing tone, but her advice was undeniably effective.
"You're too rigid," she remarked at one point, tapping the board with a pale finger. "Chess, like battle, requires adaptability. Learn to think three moves ahead, and don't be afraid to sacrifice a piece if it means gaining the upper hand later."
By the end of our session, I felt a newfound sense of confidence—not just in chess, but in my ability to face Demiurge. Shalltear, for all her teasing, had proven to be a skilled teacher.
As she stood to leave, she gave me one last smile, her crimson eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Remember, Capitano," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Chess is not just a game—it's a battle of wits. And you, my dear knight, have far more wit than you give yourself credit for."
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Thank you, Shalltear. Your... unique perspective has been enlightening."
Her laughter left me as she stepped out of the library, the sound lingering in the air like a faint melody.
Perhaps this match with Demiurge wouldn't be as impossible as I'd feared. If nothing else, I had learned one invaluable lesson: even the most intricate games can be won with the right allies by your side.
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The hours stretched endlessly, the flicking of pages becoming almost mechanical. My eyes scanned each diagram and annotation, but I was no closer to unravelling the complex web of moves and counter-moves laid before me. It felt like trying to carve understanding into the unyielding stone of my thoughts. The weight of the task pressed down on me—a suffocating reminder that I wasn't just trying to succeed. I had to compete with Demiurge.
I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache that had taken root. The hours blurred together, every page filled with theory, notation, and strategies—all written in the dry, unrelenting language of a game I barely understood. My palm pressed against my forehead in frustration, but my eyes inevitably returned to the most recent opening I had attempted to grasp: the Ruy López. On the surface, it seemed straightforward—a series of methodical moves with calculated responses. Yet, when I replicated the position on the board before me, it felt... alien.
I stared at the pieces, meticulously arranged according to the book. Their silence mocked me. I moved my knight forward, then hesitated, unsure if I had followed the sequence correctly. Was this truly how it was supposed to look? Was I playing it right?
This has to work, I told myself, my hand lingering in the air above the board. I had studied the moves, absorbed the reasoning behind them, yet the logic remained elusive. It was as if I was trapped in a fog, unable to see the clarity promised in the diagrams.
The flickering candlelight danced across the pages, casting shifting shadows that mirrored the chaos in my mind. I adjusted the pieces again—a rook here, a pawn there—trying to force the board into the shape the text described. But something was always off. It was like cramming the wrong puzzle piece into a space where it refused to fit.
Why do I care this much?
The answer came quickly, uninvited. I couldn't afford to lose. The stakes of the match with Demiurge were too high. Yet, as the hours dragged on, it began to feel like more than that. Something deeper. Why was I so obsessed with mastering this game? Was it because I genuinely wanted to? Or was it because I couldn't bear to fall short of the expectations—those imposed by my settings or even by myself?
Is this truly me? I wondered. Or am I just trying to live up to some preordained ideal?
Leaning back in my chair, I pressed my hands against my face, as if to block out the intrusive doubts. Frustration gnawed at the edges of my resolve. This was supposed to be a simple game, a means of engaging intellectually. But it felt like much more—a crucible, a test not of skill alone but of my identity and worth. The match against Demiurge wasn't just about intellect. It was about proving to myself that I could rise to meet him.
I picked up a pawn and placed it forward, initiating a Queen's Gambit. It had seemed simple enough when Shalltear had demonstrated it. But now, with my fingers poised over the board, it felt like a leap of faith.
I can do this. I just need to keep trying.
But doubt crept in, insidious and persistent. Strategy had never been my strength. I had always relied on instincts, on my ability to read people and circumstances. Now, I was forcing myself into the role of a tactician—someone I wasn't sure I could ever truly be. Demiurge was a natural, a mind built for foresight and precision. And I was just... trying to imitate that brilliance without fully understanding it.
What if I'm just pretending to be something I'm not? What if my own limitations doom me before the match even begins?
The thought lingered as I stared at the board. Each move was supposed to carry meaning and purpose, yet I struggled to grasp it. The calculations and foresight needed for chess felt foreign, like trying to hear music through static. Still, I pushed the doubts away. I didn't have the luxury to falter.
And then, something shifted—not in the board, but in my thoughts. The frustration that had weighed on me began to lift, just slightly. For a fleeting moment, I saw the game differently. It wasn't about memorizing every perfect move or forcing myself to emulate a master. It was about adapting, about finding fluidity within the structure.
I exhaled, leaning back in my chair as my fingers brushed the back of my neck. A small clarity settled over me. Perhaps I had been approaching this the wrong way. Chess wasn't about perfection. It was about intention—about understanding the flow of the game and responding to its rhythm. The match against Demiurge wouldn't be won in the opening moves, nor in how well I followed a textbook strategy. It would be decided in how I adapted to the unknown.
The hours continued to pass, but the frustration no longer felt insurmountable. Instead, it became a challenge I was willing to face. The more I studied, the more I began to see the game—not as an obstacle, but as a mirror. It wasn't a test of intellect alone. It was a test of resolve.
As I moved the pieces again, another thought settled in my mind: This isn't just about mastering chess. It's about mastering myself. My doubts. My determination.
I leaned forward, my fingers brushing the edge of the board. The match with Demiurge would be unlike anything I'd faced before. But I no longer felt as lost as I had at the start. If anything, I felt ready—ready to face him, ready to face whatever came next.
The pieces were ready. The board was set. And soon, I would be too.
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Omake Episode: "Chess Lessons with Shalltear and Capitano"
The Library of Nazarick had been temporarily repurposed. At the centre of the grand labyrinthe, where the shelves once exuded its imposing aura, there was now a small wooden table. Upon it sat an ornately carved chessboard, its black and white pieces gleaming under the light of magical chandeliers.
Capitano, in full armour despite the casual setting, sat stiffly in one of the chairs, his posture almost military in its rigidity. Across from him, Shalltear Bloodfallen leaned over the table, her crimson eyes glittering with a dangerous combination of smugness and enthusiasm.
"Now," Shalltear began, her voice taking on a lecturing tone that dripped with superiority. "Chess is a battle of wit, strategy, and absolute domination. A game befitting an intellect like mine, don't you think?"
"Umu," Capitano responded with a solemn nod, as if she had just delivered a profound revelation about the mysteries of the universe.
Shalltear tilted her head, clearly revelling in her self-proclaimed brilliance. "Good, you understand. Now, let's begin with the basics. This is the king." She tapped the piece delicately with a manicured finger. "He is the most important piece. If you lose him, you lose the game."
"Umu," Capitano said again, nodding as if absorbing ancient wisdom.
"And this," Shalltear continued, picking up the queen with a flourish, "is me."
Capitano blinked. "You?"
"Yes, me! The queen is the most powerful piece on the board, able to move any number of squares in any direction. Obviously, this is a perfect representation of my unmatched capabilities."
"Umu," Capitano repeated, nodding. "The queen is... Shalltear."
Shalltear grinned, her fangs peeking out as she placed the queen back on the board. "Exactly. Now, these pawns here…" She gestured dismissively at the line of pawns. "They're the lowest of the low. Like humans. Expendable and weak."
Capitano leaned forward slightly, his helm reflecting the board. "So, they're… useless?"
Shalltear's expression froze for a moment. "Well, not entirely. If they make it to the other side of the board, they can be promoted. Usually to a queen. Which, again, represents me." She smirked, her ego clearly swelling with each word. "It's like they aspire to be as great as I am."
"Umu," Capitano said, nodding sagely. "The pawns are inspired by Shalltear."
Shalltear gave a delighted giggle, clapping her hands. "Oh, Capitano, you're such a good student! Not that I expected any less, of course. Now, let's play a game so I can show you how this all works."
The Game Begins
Shalltear made the first move, pushing a pawn forward with deliberate precision. "A bold advance," she declared, despite it being the most basic opening move possible.
Capitano stared at the board for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, he reached out with his gauntleted hand and grabbed one of his knights, moving it forward in an awkward L-shape. "Umu," he said, as if validating his own move.
Shalltear raised an eyebrow. "Interesting choice. Perhaps a bit… reckless, but I'll allow it."
The game continued, with Shalltear making dramatic proclamations about every move she made, such as "I've outflanked your defences!" and "Your position is crumbling under the weight of my genius!" Capitano, for his part, responded to everything with his trademark "Umu," nodding as if he had foreseen every move she made.
The Turning Point
As the game reached its midpoint, Shalltear leaned back in her chair, a smug grin plastered across her face. "Checkmate is inevitable, Capitano. You've played well—for a novice—but there's no escape from my brilliance."
Capitano stared at the board in silence, his visor obscuring any hint of emotion. Then, with deliberate slowness, he moved a pawn forward.
"Umu," he said.
Shalltear frowned. "That's... a pawn. What could you possibly—"
She stopped mid-sentence as she realized the pawn was one square away from reaching her side of the board. Her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me…"
Capitano moved the pawn again, reaching the far edge of the board. "Promote to… queen," he said, his voice calm and resolute.
Shalltear's jaw dropped. "What?! How dare you! There can't be two queens on the board! There's only one queen, and it's me!"
Capitano tilted his head slightly. "Umu. Rules say… two queens possible."
Shalltear slammed her hands on the table, causing several pieces to wobble precariously. "This is an outrage! A travesty! Do you think you can usurp my title as queen?!"
Capitano raised a hand in a placating gesture. "No. Shalltear is… queen. This is… temporary queen."
"Temporary queen?!" Shalltear shrieked, standing up so abruptly that her chair toppled over. "I'll show you a 'temporary queen!'"
The Aftermath
The chessboard had been overturned in Shalltear's fit of rage, pieces scattered across the throne room floor. Capitano sat calmly amidst the chaos, his armoured hands resting on his knees.
"Umu," he said thoughtfully. "Chess… very exciting."
Shalltear stood over him, her crimson eyes blazing. "Exciting?! That's all you have to say after insulting my dignity?!"
Capitano looked up at her, tilting his head. "Learned much. Shalltear… good teacher."
For a moment, Shalltear froze, her fury deflating slightly. "Well," she said, crossing her arms and looking away, "of course I'm a good teacher. That's only natural for someone as perfect as me."
"Umu," Capitano replied, nodding.
Shalltear's lips twitched, and though she tried to maintain her scowl, a small, satisfied smile broke through. "Just don't get any ideas about promoting more pawns to queens in the future. I won't be so lenient next time."
Capitano nodded again, his voice steady. "Understood. Shalltear… only queen."
The compliment seemed to mollify her, and she gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine, then. I suppose I can forgive you this once. But next time, Capitano, you'd better remember—everything you do, you do under my watch."
"Umu," Capitano said, his nod slow and deliberate.
As Shalltear began gathering the scattered chess pieces, muttering to herself about her brilliance, Capitano leaned back slightly in his chair. Despite the chaos, he couldn't help but think that chess was… oddly enjoyable. Even if it came with the added challenge of navigating Shalltear's fiery personality.
End Scene.
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A/N: Our boy is learning, *sniffles* I'm so proud. A fun little omake episode to describe one of the many things that could've happened during their lesson.
[ Capitano POV ]
As I leaned against the rough bark of a tree near the wooden bridge I had been charged with defending, my thoughts drifted aimlessly. The solitude of the moment allowed them to wander to distant places. Was Momonga already making his move to save that small village? The thought lingered like a faint shadow in the corner of my mind, unsettling yet indistinct. Before I could dwell on it further, Sebas's voice broke through my reverie, calm and unwavering as ever.
"Momonga-sama requests your presence," he announced, bowing with his customary precision.
I returned the gesture reflexively, my nod shallow but respectful. Sebas turned and vanished into the forest as silently as he had appeared, his retreat leaving me with the weight of his message. I was to join the mission. That much was inevitable.
It was logical, after all. Yes, entirely logical. Why else would a knight exist if not to serve?
With a sigh that felt heavier than it ought to, I pushed off the tree and adjusted the straps of my gauntlets. The wood of the bridge creaked beneath my boots as I crossed it, each step pulling me further from the solitude I had clung to. My fingers tightened the leather straps with a deliberate slowness, the metallic clink grounding me in the physical world. At my side hung my sword, its weight not a burden but a constant reminder—a fragment of the past that still whispered promises of duty and purpose.
Ahead, the portal shimmered with an otherworldly energy. Its dark edges pulsed faintly, a heartbeat of ominous intent. Standing before it was Albedo, clad in resplendent obsidian armour that caught the dim light and reflected it in sharp, unyielding flashes. Her golden eyes shone with something beyond mere reverence—it was a hunger, an unquenchable yearning to serve.
"Albedo," I greeted with a slight incline of my head as I approached.
She turned, her expression softening at the sight of me. "Ah, you've arrived," she said, her tone warm yet tinged with anticipation. "Momonga-sama awaits us beyond. Are you prepared?"
I nodded curtly. "Always."
Her gaze lingered, studying me with unnerving intensity. It was as though she sought to unearth something buried beneath my words, something I had not even begun to articulate. After a moment, she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You do understand what an honour this is, don't you? To act in his name—to carry out his will?"
I met her gaze, unflinching. "Of course. That's why I'm here."
Her lips curved into a faint smile, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. Without another word, she turned and strode toward the portal. Her every movement radiated confidence, an unshakable certainty in her purpose. I followed, my fingers brushing the hilt of my sword—a silent reassurance to myself that I was ready, even if my thoughts whispered otherwise.
The transition through the portal was jarring. Heat and tension enveloped me as we emerged into a dense forest. The air felt charged, heavy with unspoken conflict. But the scene at the clearing's centre pulled my attention with an almost magnetic force. Two women—one child and one adult—cowered before Momonga, their wide eyes brimming with terror. Nearby, the broken body of a knight lay sprawled in lifeless testimony to his failure.
Momonga stood at the heart of it all, a figure of otherworldly authority. His skeletal visage exuded an aura of power that seemed to warp the very air around him. The Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown gleamed in his grasp, its sinister elegance commanding both awe and dread.
"My lord," Albedo began, her voice a melody of devotion. "I apologize for the delay. Preparations took longer than expected."
Momonga inclined his head slightly, his crimson gaze unwavering. "No. Your timing is perfect."
We bowed in unison, the gesture automatic yet laced with purpose.
"What shall we do with these... lower lifeforms?" Albedo asked, her voice sharp with disdain.
Her words stirred something in me—an involuntary reaction, a tightening in my chest. I couldn't deny the truth in her assessment; humans were weak, frail, and insignificant in the grand order of existence. Yet, the venom in her tone unsettled me. Was their worth truly so negligible? Or was that conclusion born of convenience?
Momonga's gaze lingered on the women, his skeletal features unreadable. After a moment, his focus shifted toward the forest's edge. "For now, the ones in armour are our enemies," he declared, his voice calm and absolute.
I stepped forward instinctively, my hand brushing my sword. "As you command, Lord Momonga, I will—"
He raised a hand, silencing me with the gesture alone. "There is no need. The Death Knight will handle it."
I stepped back, releasing my grip. As his attention returned to the trembling women, he produced a vial of crimson liquid. Its glass surface caught the light, shimmering with promise—or menace, depending on the perspective.
"You are injured," he said, his tone almost gentle. "Drink this."
The adult woman clutched the child tightly, her voice trembling. "B-Blood?"
The word hung in the air, slicing through the moment like a blade. Her eyes widened, terror etched into every line of her face.
She reached hesitantly for the potion, her voice faltering. "I-I'll drink it... but my little sister—"
Before she could finish, the younger girl screamed, pulling her hand back violently.
"Big Sis! No!"
The child's cries echoed through the forest, raw and visceral. Momonga tilted his head slightly, the motion oddly inquisitive. He seemed almost... curious, as though studying the incomprehensible reaction before him.
Albedo, however, wasted no time. She stepped forward, her halberd raised, her expression cold and unyielding. "You pathetic lower lifeforms," she spat. "Your fear is an affront to Momonga-sama's generosity."
Her intent was clear, and my body moved before thought could intervene. The sharp ring of steel filled the air as I drew my sword.
"Albedo," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "Stand down."
Her golden eyes snapped to me, narrowing dangerously. "Stand down?" she echoed, her voice low and venomous. "These vermin are unworthy of his mercy. Their lives are insignificant next to his glory."
I met her gaze without flinching, my blade steady between us. "The blade of a knight is not meant for the defenceless," I said, my tone firm but calm. "These are not our enemies. They are victims of circumstance."
Her grip on her halberd tightened, a humourless chuckle leaving her helm, "Do not presume to lecture me, knight. Everything we do is for Momonga-sama."
"And he has not ordered their deaths," I countered. "Our purpose is to uphold his name, not tarnish it with unnecessary cruelty."
For a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath. Then, slowly, she lowered her weapon. Her smile returned, this time tinged with mockery.
"Very well," she said. "Have your chivalry. But remember, mercy is a luxury we cannot always afford."
I sheathed my sword, the weight of the moment pressing heavily upon me. "Perhaps," I said quietly. "But mercy is a strength, not a weakness."
Momonga, who had watched the exchange in silence, finally spoke. His voice was steady, his tone unreadable. "Shall we proceed?"
I inclined my head. "As you command."
As we moved deeper into the forest, the weight of what lay ahead seemed to grow heavier with every step. My grip tightened on my sword, a silent vow to myself. Whatever awaited us, I would remain steadfast—not just in service to my lord, but in service to the ideals I refused to abandon.
I stared back at the two, the bodies still low to the ground this time things were different, her wounds completely healed with a green defensive barrier placed around her and my eyes proceed to shift to what sat next to her. Two horns used to summon goblins and the effects it had were immense, I remembered watching it on the PC screen and just being in awe at how a seemingly weak item was able to produce results like that.
"U-Um, Thank you very much for saving us! "
The child mimicked her, " Thank you! "
Momonga simply continued to stare forwards as if unbothered by their words of thanks, " Don't worry about it. "
The woman with a bit of courage spoke up once again, " Wh-What is your name? "
Momonga this time decided to proceed to add flair by spinning around and raising his arms, he, however, didn't speak as if pondering before the famous three words left his mouth - " Ainz Ooal Gown "
A frown formed on my mouth as this was slightly different from what I had remembered, trailing behind Momonga who was now walking away from the two.
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It did not take long to reach the village, primarily due to the use of the spell Fly. A truly remarkable magic—one that rendered tedious journeys and crude roads irrelevant. What a joy it was to soar over the dense sea of trees, their jagged branches clawing impotently at the air beneath us. Below, the so-called "road" meandered aimlessly, little more than a scar in the earth, worn into existence by years of weary feet. It was an insult to the word, really—more of a rut than a passage.
When we arrived, however, the scene that unfolded before us extinguished any hint of levity. The air reeked of blood and charred wood. The Death Knight had done its work, and it had done so with unbridled efficiency. Corpses were strewn like broken dolls across the village—some split asunder, others hurled against trees with such force that their limbs jutted at grotesque angles. Blood streaked the walls of the crude wooden homes, and what few soldiers still drew breath cowered pitifully amidst the carnage, weapons trembling in their hands.
But I couldn't help but wonder what truly froze their hearts. Was it the Death Knight? That towering spectre of slaughter, its form a twisted mockery of chivalry? Or was it us—the three figures hovering above it, silent and still, as though gods surveying the ruin of mortals?
I confess I hoped, selfishly, that it was us. There is power in such moments, is there not? To stand apart, untouchable, while the world below quakes in terror—it is intoxicating, if one is honest. Yet, I knew well the truth: that the Death Knight inspired a primal fear far deeper than our presence ever could. It was, after all, an avatar of destruction in this world—a creature invincible against mere soldiers. It was akin to pitting a dying child against the fury of a storm. The outcome was never in question.
But all of this came to an end with a single command.
"Death Knight," Momonga's voice rang out, calm and unyielding. "That's enough."
The monster halted mid-strike, its blade dripping with fresh blood. The soldiers' heads snapped toward us, their terror now entirely focused on the skeletal figure at our centre. Flanked by Albedo and me, Momonga exuded a presence that could not be ignored. From their vantage, I could imagine how we must have looked: two figures clad in black armour, standing like silent sentinels on either side of the terrible mage, his crimson gaze burning with unnatural light.
Momonga began to descend, the air itself seeming to bend to his will. Albedo and I followed, our movements deliberate, measured. We were not men or women in that moment—we were symbols, shadows cast by a greater force.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of inevitability. "Nice to meet you all. My name is Ainz Ooal Gown." His skeletal arm rose slightly, the motion both commanding and strangely courteous. "I will allow you to live. Go, and tell your superi..—no, your owners—of this."
The soldiers' eyes widened at his words, their fear mingling with disbelief. Momonga—or rather, Ainz—continued, his voice low but sharp as a blade.
"Next time you bring trouble to this area, I will bring death to your kingdom."
He punctuated the command with a simple gesture. "GO! And be sure to tell everyone my name."
They needed no further encouragement. Their weapons clattered to the ground, forgotten in their haste to flee. They ran like cornered animals, their dead comrades left behind as grim remnants of the slaughter.
"Wait."
The single word cut through the retreating chaos, spoken by a lone figure. A man, bowing deeply, his trembling voice carrying just enough strength to reach us.
"Who... who are you, sir?" he stammered, his head still lowered.
Momonga turned toward him, his crimson gaze settling on the man. For a moment, there was only silence, as though the weight of the question demanded careful thought.
"I saw this village being attacked and came to save you," Ains replied, his tone plain yet unassailable. The simplicity of his words belied the awe they inspired.
The peasants who had gathered—what few of them remained—stared up at him, their fear giving way to something dangerously close to reverence.
"Now you are safe," he continued. His skeletal form loomed over them, his robes billowing faintly with an unnatural grace. "I want you to be at ease."
With deliberate steps, he approached the villagers, his crimson gaze sweeping over them like a judge appraising the accused. Then, without warning, he turned slightly toward us, his expression unreadable but pointed, before returning his focus to the bowing crowd.
"However," he said, his voice softening with an edge of finality, "it wasn't for free."
The villagers exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of relief and gratitude. To my surprise, they seemed almost eager to comply, nodding in unison at his words.
"I would like to be thanked for it."
At this, the peasants fell to their knees, murmuring their thanks with what I could only describe as religious fervour. I found myself studying them, my gaze lingering on their trembling forms. There was something unsettling about their gratitude—not because it was unwarranted, but because of its sheer intensity. Was it born of genuine relief, or was it merely fear, dressed in the robes of thankfulness?
Albedo, however, stood rigid beside me, her silence betraying a quiet storm. Her golden eyes were fixed on Ains, but the faint sound of her gritted teeth did not escape my notice.
"Albedo," I said softly, tilting my head toward her.
She did not respond, but the tension in her frame spoke volumes. Her disdain for the scene was palpable, radiating from her like heat from a fire. She loathed this—the act of lowering ourselves, as she would see it, to help these so-called "lower lifeforms."
And yet, as I watched the villagers bow and scrape, I found myself wondering: was she entirely wrong? Could such fragile beings ever truly understand the magnitude of the power that had spared them? Did they thank him because they were grateful—or because they feared what would happen if they did not?
The answers eluded me, and perhaps that was for the best. For now, the village was quiet, save for the murmurs of the living and the silence of the dead.
-------------------------
[ Narrators POV ]
The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning wood. Shadows danced along the trees as the remnants of the village smouldered in the distance. Capitano stood leaning against his sword, the metal tip buried lightly in the earth, while Albedo paced nearby, her expression dark and brooding. Her golden eyes glowed faintly in the light, sharp as the halberd she carried.
"You presume too much," Albedo hissed, her voice low but venomous. "To defy me in such a way, Capitano. Do you think yourself my equal? Or, worse, my superior?"
Capitano exhaled slowly, his armoured fingers brushing idly over the hilt of his blade. "This again?" he muttered, his tone laced with a practiced patience. "I didn't defy you, Albedo. I followed what I believe to be Momonga-sama's unspoken intent. That is all."
Albedo stopped mid-step, turning on her heel to face him. Her lips curled into a sneer, her flawless features twisted by indignation. "His intent? His intent? Don't presume to know the will of Momonga-sama better than I do, knight." She stepped closer, her voice rising. "You, who dare to lecture me on duty while allowing those vermin to walk away unscathed? What loyalty is that?"
Capitano remained still, his gaze steady beneath the shadow of his helm. "Loyalty," he said evenly, "is doing what serves his will, even when it may not align with our own instincts. You saw his actions, Albedo. He saved this village. He gave those people his protection. Do you think he did that on a whim?"
Albedo faltered for the briefest of moments, her fingers tightening around the shaft of her halberd. "Perhaps he wished to use them as pawns. Resources. Whatever his reason, their lives are meaningless."
"Meaningless or not," Capitano replied, stepping forward, "Momonga-sama chose to spare them. That alone gives them value—his value, not yours or mine to judge." His voice lowered, deliberate and firm. "And let's not forget—if I hadn't stopped you, he would have."
Albedo's eyes flared with anger at the suggestion, but she did not deny it. She turned away sharply, her long raven hair sweeping behind her like a cloak of night. "You speak as though you know him so well," she snapped. "As though you understand his designs better than I, his most loyal servant. It's insulting."
Capitano sighed, shifting his weight as he leaned more heavily against his sword. "I don't pretend to know his plans in their entirety, Albedo. None of us can. But I can see the patterns. Why save this village at all if there wasn't some larger purpose behind it? He's no saint, and neither are we. Every move he makes is calculated, deliberate."
Albedo crossed her arms, glaring into the distance. "And what purpose could these pathetic creatures possibly serve?"
"I don't know," Capitano admitted. "But that's not for us to decide, is it?" He straightened, gesturing toward the hut behind them. "Think about it. He had every chance to let them perish. To turn his back and let this place fall to ruin. But he intervened. He gave them his 'name'. That's no small thing, Albedo. That's a statement."
She clenched her fists, her sharp nails pressing into her palms. "Perhaps. But it still grates against my instincts. To lower ourselves to their level—to spare those who should bow or perish—it's unthinkable. It feels... wrong."
Capitano tilted his head slightly, his voice softening. "You're not wrong to feel that way. It's in your nature to despise weakness. But we're here to serve, not to question. If Momonga-sama sees potential in this village—whether as tools, subjects, or something else—then it's our role to ensure his vision comes to fruition."
Albedo's shoulders tensed as his words sank in. Her anger, while not extinguished, seemed to subside into a simmering frustration. She cast him a sidelong glance, her golden eyes narrowing. "You speak as though you have some great wisdom, knight. And yet, you're still nothing more than a sword for him to wield."
"And that's all I need to be," Capitano replied calmly. "A sword knows its purpose. It doesn't swing itself out of anger or pride. It moves only when the hand that wields it commands."
Albedo studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she turned her gaze back to the darkened forest. "Hmph. You have a way with words, Capitano. I'll give you that. But don't mistake my restraint for submission. The next time those vermin test us, I won't hesitate."
"Understood," Capitano said with a slight incline of his head. "Just remember—if Momonga-sama commands otherwise, I'll stop you again."
Albedo's grip on her halberd tightened, her teeth gritting audibly. "You're insufferable."
"And you're predictable," he countered with the faintest hint of a smirk.
Her gaze snapped back to him, and for a moment, it seemed she might strike him outright. But instead, she let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head. "You're lucky Momonga-sama values you," she muttered, turning away. "Otherwise, I'd carve that insolence out of you myself."
Capitano chuckled softly, resting a hand on his sword's pommel. "And you're lucky Momonga-sama treasures you, Albedo. Otherwise, I wouldn't hesitate to stop you—for good."
Their eyes met briefly, a silent challenge passing between them. Then, without another word, Albedo resumed her pacing, the tension between them fading into the hum of the night. For all their differences, they both understood the truth that bound them: their devotion to Momonga was absolute, and for him, they would endure each other's company—even if it meant biting their tongues.
-------------------------
[Omake: The Case of Humanity's Worth]
Courtroom - Nazarick Supreme Court [All matters spoken in this court are written down by Demiurge]
The grandiose chamber echoes with tension as Capitano stands at the defendant's podium, his hand resting calmly on the hilt of his sword. Across from him, Albedo takes the prosecutor's stand, her expression icy and disdainful. At the judge's bench, Momonga sits resplendent in his skeletal glory, his crimson eyes glowing faintly with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Ainz's hand absently taps the surface of his Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown, a faint indication of his weariness.
Momonga: "Court is now in session. This... debate will determine whether humans are the 'useless weaklings' Albedo claims or whether they hold the hidden potential Capitano insists they possess."
(He sighs heavily, waving his skeletal hand for the proceedings to begin.) "Please keep the arguments civil. And concise. For once."
Albedo: (Stepping forward, a venomous smirk curling her lips)
"Your Majesty, it is clear to anyone with even a shred of intellect that humans are inferior in every conceivable way. They are physically weak, cowardly, and utterly lacking in magical ability. Even their so-called 'civilizations' are primitive—laughable, really, compared to the splendour of Nazarick." (She gestures dramatically toward Capitano.) "And yet, this fool insists on defending their worth. I ask you, why waste your time, Momonga-sama, on creatures so pitiful?"
Capitano: (Calmly raising a gauntleted hand)
"Objection, your Honor!" (He points his sword at Albedo, who glares daggers at him.) "The prosecution's argument is based entirely on bias and generalization. While humans may lack the overwhelming power of Nazarick, they have repeatedly proven their ingenuity and resilience. It is precisely their adaptability that allows them to thrive in environments where others would falter!"
Momonga: (Leaning forward, raising a skeletal hand to interject)
"Order in the court! Capitano, this isn't a duel—put the sword down. And Albedo, please don't antagonize the defendant before we've even heard his evidence."
(He mutters to himself) "Why did I agree to this again...?"
Albedo: (Snapping her fan open and fanning herself dramatically)
"Very well, Your Majesty. Let us indulge this delusion for a moment. Capitano, present your so-called 'evidence' of human worth. Enlighten us."
Capitano: (Nods confidently)
"Gladly. Let's begin with innovation. Despite their limited lifespans, humans have created remarkable tools and technologies. They've harnessed fire, constructed vast cities, and even developed advanced farming methods to sustain large populations. These achievements required intelligence, cooperation, and resourcefulness—qualities not to be dismissed lightly!"
(He slams a hand on his podium for emphasis, and the courtroom briefly fills with the sound of his conviction.)
Albedo: (Rolling her eyes)
"Tools? Farms? Oh, please. The great Supreme Beings of Nazarick could conjure food with a snap of their fingers! Why bother praising creatures who have to toil in the dirt just to survive?"
Capitano: (Countering with a sharp tone)
"Their 'toil,' Albedo, is a testament to their determination. Humans can't rely on divine powers or level 100 skills—they make do with what they have. And let's not forget, some of the most advanced magical theories were first developed by humans! Their scholars and mages, while no match for Nazarick's brilliance, have still achieved great strides in arcane knowledge."
Albedo: (With a mocking laugh)
"And how often do they misuse this 'knowledge,' Capitano? How many human kingdoms have collapsed under their own incompetence or greed? They're fragile. Petty. Short-sighted."
Capitano: (Slamming his fist on the podium again)
"Objection! While human societies are imperfect, that is precisely why they grow. Conflict forces them to adapt, to improve. And their flaws—yes, even their greed—drive them to strive for more. Unlike us, who already stand at the pinnacle, they must earn their survival every single day!"
Momonga: (Throwing up his hands, his aura flaring slightly)
"ENOUGH! Both of you, calm down!" (His voice reverberates through the chamber, silencing the heated exchange. He rubs his temples—or where his temples would be if he had them.) "Capitano, Albedo, this is supposed to be a reasoned debate, not a shouting match!"
(After a moment, he leans back, exuding an air of authority.)
"Now, Capitano, do you have any specific examples to support your argument? Something tangible?"
Capitano: (Grinning confidently)
"Of course, Your Majesty. Consider the Horn of the Goblin General." (He gestures toward the evidence table, where a pair of simple horns rests.) "A human villager, with no prior combat experience, used this item to summon an army and fend off a larger, better-equipped force. That is strategic thinking in the face of overwhelming odds."
Albedo: (Scoffing)
"A mere trinket from Yggdrasil. Hardly a testament to human ingenuity."
Capitano: (Pointing sharply at her)
"Yet it was a human who used it effectively. Tools mean nothing without the wisdom to wield them. And speaking of wisdom, need I remind you that humans have produced countless works of art, literature, and philosophy? Their creativity rivals even the constructs of Nazarick."
Momonga: (Holding up a hand)
"All right, I think we've heard enough examples for now." (He looks between the two, his glowing crimson eyes narrowing slightly.) "Let me summarize: Albedo, you argue that humans are weak and insignificant, while Capitano believes they possess hidden potential. Am I correct?"
Albedo & Capitano (simultaneously):
"Exactly!"
Momonga: (Leaning back with an audible sigh)
"Wonderful. Now I have to make a decision I never wanted to make. Why am I not surprised?"
(He pauses, his bony fingers drumming against the bench.)
"Here is my verdict: Both of you are correct."
(The courtroom erupts in protest—Albedo and Capitano glaring at each other as they shout over one another.)
Momonga: (Raising his Staff, silencing the room with an overwhelming aura of authority)
"SILENCE!" (His tone is sharp and final.)
"Capitano is correct that humans have potential and resilience, which are valuable traits. However, Albedo is also right that they are weak and flawed, particularly compared to the denizens of Nazarick. Both perspectives are valid—and both are necessary to understand the complex nature of the beings we now share this world with."
(He looks pointedly at each of them in turn.)
"So, no more arguments. Or I'll have Demiurge mediate the next debate, and trust me, you don't want that."
(With that, he bangs his staff on the ground.)
"Court is adjourned."
[Post-Courtroom Scene]
As the denizens of Nazarick disperse, Albedo approaches Capitano, her expression a mix of begrudging respect and simmering annoyance.
Albedo: "You make a compelling case, knight. But don't think this changes anything. I still find humans revolting."
Capitano: (Chuckling softly) "And I still find your stubbornness predictable. But I respect your passion, Albedo."
She huffs, turning on her heel and stalking away. Capitano watches her go, shaking his head with a faint smile.
-------------------------
A/N : Seems like his settings are finally starting to kick in, even if only slightly. Signs are beginning to crack through his facade. I'm really having fun with these omakes, hehe, it also adds extra word count so even better.
If you guys are enjoying this so far, please drop a review saying what you like and don't like, as long as it's useful criticism I'd be grateful. Goodbye my bony friends, until next time...
[Most likely going to be a while before I post again, likely a hiatus of a month due to real-life matters, although if you do wanna read another one of my works, I just started another one with updates that will be similar to this once I get back. It should have two chapters, both 3k words each by the end of this week.]
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