The morning sun had barely crested the jagged spires of Icewall Fortress when the last echoes of battle faded into the swirling snow. In the vast courtyard, skeletal Death Knights stood in silent rows, their obsidian armor frosted by lingering mist. Across the shattered stone floor lay the bodies of the Lizardmen: torn scales, broken spears, and the fallen forms of their proudest champions.
Cocytus stood alone at the heart of the battlefield. His frost aura still lingered in the air, crystallizing drops of blood and splintered bone. When the elite warriors had charged, he had unleashed Frostmourne's Breath, a wave of glacial force that shattered shields and snapped bone. The chieftains, unschooled in such power, had advanced in desperation—and found themselves cleaved, pinned, or frozen in place by his lance. Even Zaryusu, renowned for his unbreakable will, crumpled beneath Cocytus's relentless onslaught. As silence settled, Cocytus cleaned his lance on the snow, each breath hissed in frosty white.
A low crackling of mana heralded the arrival of the one true terror of this demiplane. From a glowing rune circle strode Ainz Ooal Gown, Supreme Ruler of Nazarick, draped in bone-white vestments. At his side glided Albedo, wings folding like nightfall, and Demiurge, robes flickering with crimson runes. Their presence closed the distance in a heartbeat.
Ainz's skull dipped in acknowledgment. "Cocytus, your execution was… flawless." His hollow voice echoed across the courtyard.
Cocytus knelt, lance planted before him. "I serve Nazarick's will, my lord."
Ainz inclined his staff, eyes gleaming. "Rise, General. This realm acknowledges your dominion." With a gesture, skeletal horns echoed through the windswept ramparts, signaling both victory and dominion.
A short time later, within the forest-ringed champion's arena of Nazarick's outpost, two thrones awaited in a small clearing. One, carved from frost-veined marble, held Velkharion—Overlord of the Eternal Dominion—his mantle of shifting runes fanning like starlight. The other, a makeshift seat atop Shalltear Bloodfallen's enchanted shell, cradled Ainz's regal form in gleeful punishment.
"Nazarick indeed forges formidable champions," Velkharion observed, voice resonant over the low crackle of a winter hearth.
Ainz chuckled, skeletal laughter echoing. "Indeed. Cocytus's display was… satisfactory."
Demiurge bowed, fanged lips curving. "Our Great Ones designed them for excellence. It is only fitting they prove worthy."
Albedo's wings fluttered. "Each was built by devs who understood power."
Isaril, leaning on her frost-etched glaive, added softly, "Strength must be tempered with compassion. He must now govern, not slaughter."
At that moment, Cocytus entered, frost swirling around his plated shoulders. He knelt before Ainz, lance bowed.
Ainz rose from Shalltear's shell, ivory fingers brushing his staff. "Cocytus, stand."
The Death Knight stood, unwavering.
"You fought well," Ainz pronounced. "Yet your task now changes. You will no longer slay the Lizardmen; you will lead them." His hollow gaze met the general's. "Guide them with justice, not terror. Cultivate loyalty through governance, not fear."
Cocytus's mandibles clicked in solemn vow. "I understand, my lord. I shall rule with unyielding fairness."
Ainz turned to his guardians. "Offer your counsel to Cocytus. Aid him as he transitions from conqueror to governor."
A chorus of assent rose. "We will obey, my lord."
Velkharion inclined his helm to Ainz. "And we, too, pledge Dominion support. Should his duty demand additional strength, my generals stand ready."
Ainz's skeletal grin gleamed. "Your aid is appreciated, my friend."
Velkharion waved a hand. "It is but the beginning of our cooperation."
Velkharion rose, his mantle swirling. "I must return to my domain, but I leave behind Kroxar, ambassador of the Eternal Dominion, to serve at Nazarick."
Kroxar—massive and clad in iron-forged plate—stepped forward, hollow voice low. "I shall uphold our interest and counsel Cocytus as needed."
Ainz dipped his staff toward Mare Bello Fiore, who hovered demurely. "And Mare, journey to the Eternal Dominion as my envoy."
Mare bowed, wings folding. "I will bring your wisdom to your halls, my lord."
Velkharion raised his hand. "Gate." Silver-blue light shimmered. At its call, Velkharion, Isaril, Shuna, and Mare stepped through. Kroxar offered a last salute before the rift closed.
The group rematerialized in the Grand Plaza, vaulted obsidian columns looming overhead. Generals and Floor Guardians gathered as Velkharion and Shuna transformed before them. He shed Overlord plate for the simple leather garb of Hams, an adventurer's guise. Shuna stood by, her features softening into the persona they had adopted in Re-Estize.
Rhydyr, the Dominion's chief tactician, approached with maps in hand. "My lord, with Nazarick's alliance and the fall of the Lizardmen Domain, you can now focus on the Baharuth Empire and beyond."
Hams—Velkharion in alias—nodded. "At first, I did not realize another player had interceded in Re-Estize. But subtle disturbances—sigils out of place, ghostly whispers—led me to investigate."
Mare, stepping forward, marveled softly. "Are all Great Ones so calculating?"
Hams chuckled. "We are a calculating kind—yet diverse in methods and ambition." The gathered generals and guardians exchanged amazed glances.
He raised a hand. "Nazarick will manage Re-Estize under Demiurge's direction. We shall move our aliases—Hans and Shuna—to the Baharuth Empire. There, we will operate through the E-Rantel Adventurers' Guild, controlled by our agent."
Sythera's frost-scaled brow lifted. "Your new theater of influence?"
Hans inclined his head. "Yes. The guildmaster in Ashkare—a Dominion spy—has secured a contract from Baron Helmut, the young noble ruling a troubled border province. Wolf packs and ogres raid his lands. He seeks capable workers—adventurers—to quell the threat."
Isaril traced the map. "A perfect pretext to gain his trust."
Hams smiled. "Prepare me an expedition team: teleport seals, provisions, strategic directives. Shuna and I depart at once."
Sythera bowed. "At once, Hans."
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