Tokyo — The Day After
By sunrise, the damp autumn fog rolling off Tokyo Bay had done little to cool the city's burning collective consciousness. Japan was no longer debating whether the Gate had fundamentally altered human history. That question had been settled in a flurry of satellite imagery and military press releases weeks ago.
Now, a far more chilling question hung over the crowded trains of the Yamanote Line and the sterile corridors of Nagatacho.
How many worlds had the Gate connected? And how many more were waiting on the other side?
Every major television network—from NHK's stoic news anchors to the sensationalist morning talk shows—had suspended normal programming. Giant video screens towering over Shibuya Crossing flashed high-resolution freeze-frames against a backdrop of ticker text scrolling in urgent red. Newspapers laid out across convenience store racks bore identical, massive black headers.
ROMAN EMPIRE.
SADERAN EMPIRE.
PRINCESS PIÑA CO LADA.
EMPEROR MAXIMUS MESSALA.
And beneath those titles lay the phrase that had sent shockwaves through the global diplomatic community:
The Imperial Delegation Enters the National Diet.
The footage broadcast to millions had been scrubbed of sensitive tactical movements, yet what remained was breathtaking in its historical weight. The cameras captured Roman legionnaires marching down the carpeted corridors of Japan's parliament. They moved with the terrifying, rhythmic cohesion of seasoned veterans—their crimson cloaks shifting over blackened lorica segmentata, their iron boots striking the marble floors in unison. At their center walked a golden eagle standard, its polished wings catching the fluorescent glow of modern ceiling lights.
And then there was Maximus himself.
He did not look like a theatrical actor or an eccentric monarch playing at antiquity. He walked into the Diet beneath layers of armed Special Assault Team escorts, his stride measured and absolute. At his waist hung a heavy gladius, its pommel set with a dark, light-absorbing gemstone. Over his tailored tunic lay high-grade enchanted armor that shimmered faintly whenever it passed beneath high-voltage lighting. He stepped out of an ancient, violent world and placed himself squarely in the middle of a twenty-first-century democracy.
On live television, veteran political analysts fumbled for words.
"We are viewing... an unprecedented diplomatic exchange," one commentator offered, his voice lacking its usual polished composure. "The sovereign sitting before the Prime Minister is neither a feudal warlord nor a primitive tribal chieftain. He commands an empire capable of magical infrastructure, advanced metallurgy, and sophisticated legal statecraft."
A guest panelist, a professor of international law, leaned into his microphone. "We have no historical framework for this. He didn't come to invade. He walked into our highest legislative body armed to the teeth, sat down, and negotiated terms like a man who fully expected us to accept them."
He was correct. There was no precedent.
…
Inside the Prime Minister's Official Residence—the Kantei—the atmosphere was devoid of the media's breathless excitement. The room smelled of stale roast coffee, faint ozone from printing machines, and cold sweat.
Prime Minister Shigenori stood at the end of a long mahogany conference table, his suit jacket discarded over the back of his chair. Glossy, ultra-high-resolution photographs were spread across the polished wood like hand cards in a high-stakes gamble.
The Minister of Defense tapped his finger against a close-up photograph of Maximus's personal honor guard. "They came armed. Fully armed. Gladium, pilum, enchanted sidearms."
The Director of the Public Security Intelligence Agency did not look up from his tablet. "Every single member of the Emperor's personal escort was permitted to retain their sidearms under sovereign security protocols."
"Inside the Diet building?" the Defense Minister pressed, his voice rising an octave. "We allowed a foreign military element armed with unquantified magical weaponry to walk into the heart of our government! If something had gone wrong—"
"If something had gone wrong, Minister," the Intelligence Chief interrupted, his tone dry as chalk, "our SAT teams would have engaged at point-blank range against troops who survived a confrontation with a Flame Dragon. The collateral damage in the legislative chamber would have been catastrophic."
He pulled up a second document on the table's central screen. "Furthermore, the Romans agreed to every administrative restriction we placed on them. No unslung projectile weapons. No unauthorized deviations from the security corridor. No movement without Japanese liaison officers present."
The Defense Minister frowned, staring at the image of Maximus's steady, unblinking eyes facing the Japanese press corps. "And they didn't push back? Not once?"
"Not once," the Intelligence Chief replied. "They agreed within three minutes of receiving the draft treaty."
The room fell quiet save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. The implication settled heavily into the minds of every cabinet official present.
The Romans had not been intimidated by modern security procedures. They had anticipated them. They understood sovereign protocol, rules of engagement, and political optics. They were a military culture that knew precisely how to project power through compliance rather than posturing.
Prime Minister Shigenori rubbed his temples. "Give me a clear assessment. How dangerous is this Maximus Messala?"
The Intelligence Chief swiped his screen, bringing up a red-classified dossier. "Militarily? Extreme. Politically? Worse."
"Elaborate."
"The report from the Alnus region is finalized," the Chief said, gesturing to a gruesome satellite overlay. "The biological entity known as the Flame Dragon—a creature that resisted direct hits from high-explosive artillery and light anti-tank weaponry—was neutralized in close-quarters combat. Emperor Maximus engaged the entity directly using enchanted melee ordnance and structural magic. He killed it himself."
He tapped the screen again, cycling through military reconnaissance slides.
"Our drone flyovers of the Roman perimeter confirm a standing army of at least two thousand legionnaires stationed at the Gatehead. A hundred airborne light-cavalry units mounted on griffins. Magical defensive wards capable of deflecting mortar shrapnel. And then there is this."
A high-altitude reconnaissance photograph filled the screen. It showed a massive stone fortress rising from the desolate plains around the Gate, complete with paved roads, aqueducts, reinforced battlements, and magical beacon towers.
"Castrum Ianus," the Chief whispered. "They built a permanent, heavily fortified operational base capable of housing five thousand troops—in under three weeks."
Silence returned to the room, thicker this time.
Shigenori leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. "And what does this Emperor actually want from Japan?"
"Trade in raw industrial materials," the Chief listed crisply. "Access to refined medical technology. Non-aggression agreements regarding the Gate corridor. Formal diplomatic recognition." He paused, looking directly at the Prime Minister. "And information."
Shigenori exhaled slowly through his nose. "Then why do I feel like we are the ones being dissected on an operating table?"
The Intelligence Chief closed his tablet. "Because, Prime Minister, while we were busy trying to figure out how to handle a fantasy world, Emperor Maximus was already calculating how to integrate ours into his."
…
Sadera — The Imperial Palace
Thousands of kilometers away across the arid plains of the Special Region, the mood inside the grand capital of the Saderan Empire was not one of cold calculation. It was pure, unadulterated chaos.
The grand Senate chamber echoed with screaming men, clattering brass armor, and the heavy scent of burning incense meant to mask the smell of panicked sweat.
News had traveled faster than the imperial couriers could run. The Roman Emperor had not merely stepped through the Gate; he had walked into the grand hall of the green-armored invaders, sat at their tables, and negotiated terms. Princess Piña Co Lada had sat at his side as an official representative of Sadera. No blood had been spilled. No armies had been annihilated.
To the Saderan elite, this was far more terrifying than a lost battle. It meant Rome was comfortable moving between worlds. It meant Rome did not fear the terrifying weapons of the green-armored men.
And most dangerously of all—it meant Sadera was no longer facing a single incomprehensible enemy. It was caught between two empires that had begun to talk to each other.
Crown Prince Zorzal Co Palesti stood near the imperial dais, his face flushed dark red, his fingers digging into the leather grip of his broadsword.
"So the invaders welcomed him!" Zorzal roared, his voice echoing off the marble pillars. "They opened their doors to a barbarian usurper who wears a stolen crown!"
Prime Minister Casel stood opposite him, adjusting his heavy silk robes with practiced calm. "They welcomed both delegations, Your Highness. Princess Piña was treated with full royal honors."
"Do not play word games with me, old man!" Zorzal slammed his fist onto a marble balustrade, cracking the stone trim. "They welcomed him! The man who butchered our legions at the river! The man who built a stone fortress on our soil without asking the Senate's permission!"
"He is an Emperor commanding an army that has not lost a single engagement since passing through the Gate," Casel replied smoothly. "The Japanese recognized military reality. Perhaps the Senate should consider doing the same."
Zorzal bared his teeth, stepping toward Casel, but a low, gravelly voice cut through the air like a rusty blade.
"Enough."
Emperor Molt Sol Augustus sat upon the throne of Sadera. He looked older than he had a month ago. The lines around his eyes were deeper, his hand resting heavily on the golden armrest. He had spent the morning reviewing intelligence reports, reading Piña's encrypted letters, and analyzing the political fallout.
One detail haunted Molt above all others.
Piña had returned alive.
Not only had she returned alive, but she had returned with prestige. She had stood in the halls of a foreign power alongside the most terrifying conqueror the continent had seen in a century, and she had not been humiliated. She had secured trade guarantees and territorial protections for Saderan lands near the Gate.
She had acquired authority. Real, political authority that did not depend on her father's favor or her brother's thuggery.
Molt rose slowly from his throne, his heavy cape sweeping over the stone steps as he descended.
"What did the Japanese government agree to?" Molt asked, his eyes fixed on Casel.
"Regulated trade through designated border zones," Casel answered promptly. "A mutual ceasefire along the Alnus perimeter. Formal diplomatic channels. And military restrictions preventing offensive operations near civilian settlements."
Molt nodded once. "And Rome?"
"Rome agreed to all terms. In fact, Emperor Maximus signed the preliminary accords on behalf of his own empire while acknowledging Sadera's territorial sovereignty over the surrounding provinces."
Zorzal let out a harsh, barking laugh. "He acknowledges our sovereignty? How generous of the thief! He occupies our land and sells it back to us in a document!"
Molt stopped directly in front of his eldest son. The old Emperor was shorter than Zorzal, but the shadow he cast was vast.
"Tell me, Zorzal," Molt said softly. "Our first expeditionary force through the Gate—how many returned?"
Zorzal's jaw tightened. "A minor setback—"
"Tracing the exact numbers, less than two percent," Molt interrupted coldly. "Our second allied army—over one hundred thousand men gathered from the vassal states—where are they now?"
Zorzal glared, saying nothing.
"They were shattered at Alnus," Molt continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried across the quieted Senate. "Some were wiped out by Japanese fire. The rest were swept aside by Roman legions who moved through the hills like mountain lions. And when a Flame Dragon descended upon Alnus, our brave warriors fled or burned. It was the Roman Emperor who cut its throat."
Molt leaned closer to his son. "Which part of that record leads you to believe Rome is afraid of Sadera?"
Zorzal's face twisted, but no words came out.
The heavy iron doors at the rear of the Senate chamber swung open.
Princess Piña Co Lada walked down the central aisle. She was flanked by two of her Rose Knights, but her posture belonged entirely to her. She wore her polished breastplate over a travel-stained tunic, her cloak slung over one shoulder. She did not look at the senators. She walked directly to the foot of the dais, sank to one knee, and bowed her head.
"Father," she said.
Molt looked down at her. "Rise, Piña. Tell us about the barbarian king."
Piña stood, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on Zorzal before fixing on the Emperor. "He is not a barbarian, Father. Calling him one is a luxury we can no longer afford."
Zorzal sneered. "Have you been charmed by his red cloaks, sister?"
Piña turned her head slowly, her blue eyes colder than steel. "I have seen his legions build a fortified city in three weeks, Zorzal. I have seen his engineers harness magical energy to light dark streets without oil or wood. And I have sat across from him while he negotiated with men who wielded weaponized lightning."
She looked back to Molt. "Maximus Messala does not act out of passion. He does not fight for glory or imperial vanity. Every word he speaks in a negotiation is designed to secure three future advantages. He allowed Japan to propose security restrictions because he had already built those restrictions into his own defensive plans."
Molt's eyes narrowed. "Do you trust him?"
Piña hesitated, the silence stretching across the marble hall.
"I trust his intellect," she said carefully. "He is entirely rational. He prefers a lucrative trade route to a bloody conquest—provided the trade route gives him total control over the region's economy."
"That is not an answer," Molt noted softly.
"It is the only answer that matters," Piña replied, her voice firm. "If we fight Rome, we will lose. If we fight Japan, we will be destroyed. But if we allow Rome to position itself between us and the green-armored men, Sadera might survive."
Zorzal took an aggressive step forward. "You want us to hide behind a foreign conqueror's shield?!"
Piña turned on her brother, her voice cutting through the hall like a whip. "Then take your sword, Zorzal! Ride to Alnus! Drive the Roman legions back through their portal! Slay their Emperor and bring me his head!"
Zorzal froze.
"Go on," Piña hissed, her chest heaving. "The Senate is watching. The legions are waiting. Tell us how you plan to destroy an army that killed a dragon with iron and magic."
Silence filled the grand chamber. Zorzal stared at his sister, his hands trembling with rage, but he did not move. He could not.
Piña turned back to Molt, bowing her head. "There is no military solution, Father. We must play the long game. And to play it, we need Rome."
…
Re-Estize Kingdom — Royal Palace of Valencia
In the cold, damp climate of the Re-Estize Kingdom, news did not travel by magical projection or mass media. It arrived in heavily sealed parchment scrolls carried by exhausted riders galloping along muddy trade roads.
In the private solar of King Ramposa III, the tallow candles burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across a massive map of the continent.
Marquis Raeven paced near the hearth, a thick sheaf of intelligence reports held tightly in his hand. Warrior Captain Gazef Stronoff stood near the heavy oak door, his plate armor silent, his arms crossed over his chest.
King Ramposa sat in his high-backed chair, looking tired. His crown rested on the side table, glinting dull orange in the firelight.
"Explain it to me again, Marquis," Ramposa said, his voice raspy. "Slowly."
Raeven stopped pacing and threw the parchment onto the central table. "It means, Your Majesty, that the geopolitical chessboard has been set on fire."
Gazef stepped forward, eyeing the document. "The Roman Emperor traveled to the realm beyond the Gate? The world of machines?"
"He did," Raeven snapped, his eyes wide with an anxiety he usually kept hidden behind aristocratic manners. "He walked into their hall of governance. He established diplomatic channels. And according to our informants in the southern ports, he did so without losing a single soldier."
Ramposa sighed, leaning back into his cushions. "Is that not a positive development? If this Roman Emperor favors diplomacy over slaughter, surely he is a ruler we can reason with?"
Raeven looked as though he wanted to pull his hair out. "Your Majesty, you are viewing this through the lens of traditional feudal diplomacy! You are thinking of land titles, tax rights, and border skirmishes!"
He slammed his hand on the map, directly over the region representing the Baharuth Empire and the newly formed Sorcerer Kingdom.
"Think of the arithmetic!" Raeven pleaded. "Rome possesses a massive, disciplined military force backed by magical architecture and advanced battle-magic. Japan possesses an industrial capacity that allows them to manufacture weapons capable of piercing full plate armor from half a kilometer away!"
Gazef's brow furrowed. "And if they trade?"
"If they trade," Raeven whispered, "Rome will not buy silk or wine. They will acquire manufacturing techniques. Metallurgy. Chemical formulas. Modern medical knowledge."
Raeven leaned over the King's desk. "Imagine a Roman legion—two thousand disciplined, highly trained infantrymen—equipped with enchanted armor and modern repeating firearms. Imagine them supported by magical artillery and mechanized logistics."
Gazef's hand instinctively drifted toward the hilt of his ring-sword. As the strongest warrior in the Kingdom, he had faced terrifying monsters, elite mercenaries, and deadly martial artists. But against an army that combined high magic with industrial slaughter?
"A man cannot dodge a hail of lead, Your Majesty," Gazef said softly, his voice heavy with grim realization. "No matter how strong his sword arm is."
Ramposa looked at his Warrior Captain, seeing the grim reality reflected in Gazef's eyes. "What do you propose we do, Raeven?"
"We must send an envoy," Raeven said instantly. "Not to Japan—we have no means to reach their Gate. To Rome. To Nova Roma."
Ramposa blinked. "So soon? We know so little of this Emperor Maximus."
"We know enough!" Raeven insisted. "Look around us, Sire! To our east, the Sorcerer Kingdom sits in E-Rantel like a sleeping dragon, ruled by an undead monster of unfathomable power. To our northeast, Emperor Jircniv plays his endless political games. To our south, the Slane Theocracy watches us like hawks."
Raeven pointed a sharp finger at the map. "Re-Estize is weak. Our noble factions are divided, our treasury is depleted from years of war with Baharuth, and our military relies on conscripted peasants. If we remain isolated while Rome builds a global coalition, we will not be conquered—we will simply cease to matter. And when an empire stops mattering, it gets swallowed."
Ramposa closed his eyes. He thought of his people. He thought of the grain harvests rotting in untended fields because of noble infighting.
"And if this Emperor demands our submission?" Ramposa asked quietly.
Raeven's expression turned remarkably cold. "Then we negotiate the terms of our survival, Sire. Because the alternative is being crushed between the Sorcerer King's skeletal hands and the Roman Emperor's iron heel."
…
Baharuth Empire — Imperial Capital of Arwintar
In stark contrast to the gloomy solar of Re-Estize, the dining hall of the Imperial Palace of Arwintar was a masterpiece of order, light, and efficiency.
Emperor Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix sat at the head of a long glass table, delicately cutting into a soft-boiled egg. Around him stood his top advisors, intelligence officers, and court mages. None of them had touched their breakfast.
Jircniv swallowed his bite, wiped his lips with a linen napkin, and set his fork down with a tiny clink.
"Let me review the timeline," Jircniv said, his golden hair catching the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His voice was pleasant, almost light, but his eyes were sharp enough to cut glass.
"Two weeks ago, an interdimensional Gate opened in Sadera. A week ago, Rome established Castrum Ianus. Yesterday, Emperor Maximus Messala flew across two dimensions, entered the parliament of an ultra-advanced technological nation, drank tea with their ministers, signed a non-aggression pact, and returned home in time for dinner."
He looked up at his Chief Intelligence Officer. "Is any part of that summary inaccurate?"
"No, Your Majesty," the officer replied, sweating slightly despite the room's cool temperature.
Jircniv leaned back, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "Fascinating."
"Your Majesty?" his Prime Minister asked cautiously. "You seem... remarkably composed."
"Composed?" Jircniv let out a soft, melodic laugh that sounded slightly unhinged. "My dear Minister, I am currently calculating how many years I have left before my empire becomes an administrative sub-province of either an undead monster or a Roman conqueror. Composure is all I have left."
He stood up, walking toward the grand map room adjacent to the dining hall. His ministers scurried after him like ducklings.
Jircniv stopped before the massive wall map. His eyes darted across the borders.
"Ainz Ooal Gown is an anomaly," Jircniv mused aloud, tapping his chin. "An absolute, terrifying force of nature. He possesses power that defies logic, item collections that belong in divine myths, and an undead army that doesn't eat or sleep."
He moved his finger across the map to Alnus.
"Maximus Messala, however... Maximus is a politician."
The advisors exchanged puzzled glances.
"Is that not better, Your Majesty?" the Prime Minister offered. "A politician can be reasoned with."
"A politician who controls an empire is far more dangerous than a wild monster!" Jircniv snapped, turning around. "A monster destroys because it is hungry or angry. A politician destroys because he calculated that destroying you yields a four-percent increase in quarterly tax revenue!"
Jircniv began pacing the marble floor, his mind spinning at hyper-speed.
"Maximus did not attack Japan because he knew fighting an industrial nation on their home turf was military madness. So what did he do? He offered them something they couldn't resist: access to a completely untapped world rich in magic, land, and rare minerals. He made himself indispensable."
Jircniv stopped, a bitter, brilliant smile spreading across his face. "He played them. He played the Japanese, he played the Saderans, and now he holds the key to the entire multi-dimensional trade network."
"What are your orders, Sire?" the Intelligence Chief asked.
Jircniv's eyes flashed. "Draft a formal diplomatic request immediately. I want an imperial envoy dispatched to Nova Roma."
The Prime Minister gasped. "An imperial envoy? To a foreign realm? Without consulting the Sorcerer King?"
Jircniv turned to his Prime Minister, his smile fading into something terrifyingly cold. "Ainz Ooal Gown thinks he is playing a game of chess against children. I intend to introduce a second grandmaster to the board. If I am to be squeezed between two titans, I had better make sure they spend their time looking at each other rather than looking down at me."
He paused, glancing at his secretary. "Oh, and send a copy of our Alnus intelligence report to E-Rantel."
"To Nazarick, Sire?"
"Yes," Jircniv smirked. "Let us see how the undead King reacts when he realizes he isn't the only sovereign capable of reshaping the world."
…
Sorcerer Kingdom — The Great Tomb of Nazarick
Deep within the tenth floor of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, in the breathtaking magnificence of the Throne Room, an absolute silence reigned.
Ainz Ooal Gown sat upon the Throne of Kings. His skeletal frame was draped in robes of dark velvet and gold, the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown floating at his right hand, radiating an aura of terrifying, dark authority.
Below the dais, the Floor Guardians were gathered in a flawless semicircle, kneeling with their heads bowed.
Albedo stood at his left, her dark wings folded neatly, her smile radiating divine devotion. Demiurge stood at his right, his golden spectacles reflecting the dim, magical light of the high ceilings.
Outwardly, the Sorcerer King was an unmoving, majestic deity of death.
Internally, Suzuki Satoru was having a complete emotional meltdown.
TOKYO?! Satoru screamed inside his mind, his non-existent heart hammering against his ribs. THE REPORT SAID TOKYO! Is it MY Tokyo?! Is it 2138?! No, wait, the intelligence report said there were blue skies, green trees, and people walking around without rebreathers! It's 21st-century Tokyo! Historical Earth!
A bright green flash of light illuminated Ainz's skeletal chest as his emotional suppressor forcibly clamped down on his surging panic.
Calm down, Satoru, he thought, taking a mental deep breath. Think logically. A Gate opened to a parallel Earth. A modern Earth. If this Roman Emperor established diplomatic relations with a 21st-century nation... What does that mean for Nazarick?
Another wave of panic hit him. WAIT! WHAT IF THEY HAVE GUNS?! What if Maximus buys assault rifles and artillery?! What if he brings back nuclear physics books?! Can magical defensive wards block a high-explosive anti-tank warhead?! I don't know! YGGDRASIL didn't have RPGs!
FLASH. The green light suppressed his panic once more.
Ainz shifted slightly on his throne, resting his bony chin on his gloved hand. He needed to speak before Demiurge realized he was lost.
"Fascinating," Ainz said, his deep, resonant voice echoing off the obsidian walls. "A most unexpected development."
Demiurge bowed deeply, his tail swishing behind him. "As expected of Ainz-sama. You foresaw that the opening of the Gate would introduce a second non-native faction into this world."
I literally had no idea until five minutes ago! Ainz thought frantically.
"Umu," Ainz said aloud, maintaining a tone of supreme wisdom. "Indeed, Demiurge. Tell me... how do you evaluate Emperor Maximus's latest maneuver?"
Demiurge's eyes glinted behind his spectacles as he adjusted them with a finger. "It is a masterstroke of multi-dimensional geopolitical positioning, Ainz-sama. By entering the Japanese parliament unarmed with offensive intent, he established moral authority and legitimacy in the eyes of their civilian government."
Demiurge began to walk slowly along the line of Guardians, gesturing with one white-gloved hand.
"He recognized that Japan's primary weakness is its rigid adherence to international law and democratic process. By offering them a structured, legal framework for trade and non-aggression, he effectively rendered their military capabilities useless. They cannot launch a pre-emptive strike against a nation with whom they are actively negotiating a commercial treaty!"
Wait, really? Ainz thought. Is that why he went to Tokyo? I thought he just wanted to buy stuff...
"A WORTHY MOVE," Cocytus rumbled, heavy frost falling from his mandibles. "HE PROVED HIMSELF A WARRIOR OF HIGH INTELLECT. TO CONQUER WITHOUT STRIKING A BLOW IS THE MARK OF A GREAT RULER."
"Pfft," Shalltear pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's just a human playing with metal toys. If Ainz-sama willed it, we could crush his entire empire and his new friends in an afternoon!"
"Do not be foolish, Shalltear," Albedo said coldly, her eyes flashing with dangerous intelligence. "The strategic implications are far more complex. If Rome integrates modern technological concepts into their magical crafting techniques, the technological gap between human civilization and Nazarick will narrow."
Ainz felt another flare of panic (FLASH). Albedo had hit his exact fear.
"Albedo is correct," Ainz said smoothly, leaning forward. "We must not underestimate our neighbors. Maximus Messala is a ruler who understands the value of information and adaptivity."
Ainz turned his fiery red eye-sockets toward Demiurge. "Demiurge. What are our observer reports from Alnus?"
"The Roman legionnaires demonstrate exceptional discipline, Ainz-sama," Demiurge replied. "Their logistical speed is far superior to any local kingdom. Furthermore, intelligence gathered from Saderan prisoners indicates that Emperor Maximus himself possesses high-tier personal combat capabilities, as evidenced by his single-handed slaying of the Flame Dragon."
He killed a Flame Dragon alone? Ainz thought, chilled. That dragon was at least level 45 or 50 based on the description! If he beat it in melee combat, his level must be at least 60... maybe higher. Does he have World Items? Does he have YGGDRASIL gear?!
"Ainz-sama," Demiurge said, bowing again. "How would you have us proceed?"
Ainz took a moment, letting the silence stretch across the Throne Room to project absolute, calculating intellect.
"We shall observe," Ainz declared, his voice booming with divine confidence. "We will send shadow demons to monitor the trade corridors between Nova Roma and Alnus. We will gather every scrap of technical data passing through the Gate."
Ainz rose from his throne, his velvet cloak billowing dramatically around him. "Let Emperor Maximus build his bridges. Let him establish his treaties. The broader his network grows, the more avenues we will have to observe... and eventually, to master."
The Guardians dropped to their knees as one, their voices echoing in unison: "All hail Ainz Ooal Gown!"
Man, Ainz thought as he turned to walk toward his private chambers, I really hope they don't invent enchanted sniper rifles.
…
Slane Theocracy — The Grand Chamber of the Cardinals
In the subterranean depths of the Slane Theocracy's capital, six men sat around a circular stone table illuminated by a single overhead light.
There were no elaborate speeches here. No grand posturing. Only six old men who had spent their entire lives managing the survival of the human race against an ocean of monsters.
On the table lay a detailed schematic of the Roman Gate, drawn by high-tier stealth scouts.
"Rome has signed a treaty with the secondary world," the Cardinal of Light stated flatly.
"A world devoid of magic, yet rich in mechanized death," the Cardinal of Fire added. His hand was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. "Our diviners attempted to peer into their capital... The scrying was distorted by thousands of invisible energy waves crisscrossing their sky."
"Radio signals," the Cardinal of Wind murmured. "Our scholars read about such things in the ancient texts left by the Six Great Gods."
The Cardinal of Earth slammed his palm on the table. "This is a catastrophe! If Rome imports technological weapons and combines them with their elemental magic, the balance of power on this continent will be permanently destroyed!"
"It is already destroyed," the eldest Cardinal replied softly.
Everyone looked at him.
"The Sorcerer King sits in E-Rantel with an army of death," the old man said, his voice hollow. "The Baharuth Empire has become his vassal in all but name. The Re-Estize Kingdom is collapsing under its own rot. And now, an Emperor from another world stands at our Western flank, wielding magic we do not understand and allied with a world of machines."
"We must use the Relics," the Cardinal of Fire hissed. "We must mobilize the Black Scripture! If we eliminate Maximus Messala now—"
"No," the eldest Cardinal said sharply. "If we strike Maximus and fail, his legions will turn east. If we strike him and succeed, his empire will shatter into chaos, leaving a power vacuum that the Sorcerer King will instantly fill."
He looked at the six faces surrounding him.
"We do not strike. We do not provoke. We watch." The old Cardinal leaned into the light, his eyes cold and dark. "We wait until the Undead King and the Roman Emperor inevitably collide. And when two gods fight... the wise man stays in his shadow until the dust settles."
…
The Roman Empire — Nova Roma
Night had fallen over Nova Roma, but the city did not sleep.
From the balcony of the Imperial Palace on the Palatine Hill, Emperor Maximus Messala looked down upon his capital.
It was a city of stone, light, and iron. Below, paved avenues were illuminated by glass light-globes powered by elemental conduits running beneath the streets. In the distance, the heavy hammer-strikes of the imperial armories echoed through the night air, rhythmically beating out the tempo of an empire that never stopped building.
Footsteps echoed behind him on the marble terrace.
Chancellor Gaius stepped into the starlight, carrying a leather-bound folio stuffed with parchment scrolls. Beside him walked General Marcus, his hand resting on the pommel of his gladius, his eyes sweeping the rooftops out of habit.
"You should be resting, Majesty," Gaius said, stopping a few paces back. "The portal jump between Tokyo and Castrum Ianus takes a toll on the body."
"My body is fine, Gaius," Maximus replied without turning around. He took a sip of spiced wine from a silver goblet. "Tell me what the world is saying."
Gaius opened the folio. "Re-Estize is panicking. Their king is paralyzed, but Marquis Raeven is actively assembling a diplomatic mission to request an audience in Nova Roma."
"Accept it," Maximus said calmly. "Offer them grain, medical supplies, and trade guarantees. Let them see that Rome brings prosperity, not just legionnaires."
"Baharuth?" Marcus asked, stepping forward.
"Emperor Jircniv has already dispatched a personal courier," Gaius replied, pulling out a golden-sealed letter. "He requests a private summit at Castrum Ianus. He offered full trade concessions along his western border in exchange for 'technological and strategic exchange.'"
Maximus let out a quiet, amused breath. "Jircniv is terrified of the undead king in E-Rantel. He wants us to act as his shield."
"Shall I reject him?" Gaius asked.
"No," Maximus said, turning around, his dark crimson cloak catching the night breeze. "Accept the summit. Jircniv is smart. Smart men are easy to manage because their self-interest is predictable. It is the fools like Zorzal you have to watch."
Marcus grunted in agreement. "And Sadera?"
"Sadera is broken," Maximus noted, walking to the balcony rail. "Molt knows his empire is dying. Zorzal will attempt a coup within six months out of pure desperation. Make sure Piña has enough personal guard detachments—under Roman training—to secure her position when the palace falls apart."
Gaius made a quick note in his ledger. "And what of the Great Tomb? The Sorcerer Kingdom?"
Maximus's expression darkened slightly. He turned his eyes toward the eastern horizon, where the distant, oppressive magic of E-Rantel lay far beyond the mountain ranges.
"Ainz Ooal Gown is watching us," Maximus said softly. "He sent shadow observers to Alnus during the Diet meeting. Our sensory mages picked up their energy signatures along the perimeter."
Marcus's hand tightened on his sword. "Did we engage?"
"No," Maximus said. "Let them watch. Let Ainz Ooal Gown calculate. He is an entity of immense power, but he is cautious. He will not move until he believes he understands us completely."
Maximus stepped away from the railing, walking back into the warm, torchlit interior of his study. On his desk lay a large, beautifully rendered map of the continent, overlaid with strategic lines, portal coordinates, and trade routes.
He picked up a gold compass, placing its point directly over the mark representing Alnus.
"Japan gave us what we needed," Maximus said, looking at his two closest advisors. "Not weapons. Not war machines. Legitimacy. The modern world knows we exist, they know we honor our words, and they know we control the doorway."
He looked up, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the hearth fire.
"Now, every king, pope, dragon lord, and undead sorcerer on this continent knows that if they want access to the future... they have to pass through Rome."
Gaius smiled, bowing his head deeply. "I shall prepare the Imperial Reception Hall, Majesty."
"Do so," Maximus said, setting down his goblet. "The world is coming to our door, Gaius. Make sure we have enough wine."