Chapter 2.
Regrettable as it is to admit, there are pleasant sides to being undead. You don't need to eat or sleep, your eyes don't get tired from long hours of reading, there's no daily shaving or brushing of teeth, your limbs don't go numb from staying in one position, your back doesn't ache, and there isn't even any sweat...
Am I just reassuring myself? Yes. It is not that I am worried, but I am reassuring myself because the race-change artifacts are literally burning a hole in my pocket, even if that pocket looks like a "subdimensional inventory"... Furthermore, the undead experience almost no discomfort from magical exhaustion, and considering the mana recovery speed and the size of the magic pool (both of which have monstrous bonuses for a Lich), actually achieving exhaustion is a non-trivial task. I recall the Pleiades after fulfilling the order to test ALL of their mana; they weren't exactly crawling, but they clearly weren't enjoying their condition—that much is certain.
Speaking of magic. The books in Nazarick, on the one hand, exceeded expectations. But on the other... Even taking into account that I somehow understood the language they were written in... No, that is not it. I could read the words, but do you have any idea of the level of literature that should be in the personal Tomb of an Archlich? I felt like a preschooler who had somehow stumbled into books on mathematical modeling and singularity theories! By the way, there were books on "singularity" too; I even recognized one volume as a textbook for creating the Black Hole spell, which I already knew... except I didn't even understand all the prepositions in it! And I never once laid eyes on anything like "Magic for Dummies." I haven't scoured the entire library yet, obviously, but I suspect I won't find anything entry-level here. At most, a glossary of terms I found at the start—one of those that "translates" unreadable inhuman definitions into just "a pile of inhuman definitions, but marginally readable." Like the unforgettable "Adiabatic approximation—an approximation in solid-state theory where the motion of the ion cores of the crystal lattice is treated as a perturbation." So here, I learned what "Gravitonic Magical Pressure" is, but it doesn't make things any easier because I have no clue what kind of beast "null-directed mass spirits" are and why this pressure is expressed through them... Yes, by the way, another plus of being undead—my brains don't melt and my ears don't curl into tubes. Who said "because you don't have any"?
For the sake of variety, there were "normal books" here too, but how romance novels, hentai manga, or a "PC for Dummies" manual could help me now, I had little idea. Nor did I know what they were doing next to the Book of the Dead, which explains how to become an Elder Lich. Or rather, I knew the answer from my predecessor's memory—the old trick of burying diamonds in a pile of manure, with the only difference being that only guild members and the library keepers knew exactly where and which diamonds to look for. But it didn't change the facts: even if those obsessed Japanese gamers filled all the library shelves with cheap duplicates of mediocre summoning books and other scrap paper, the simplest thing you could find here was "professional young mage" literature—Level 30, in game terms. Alas, I needed something for Level 1 to 10, since even the "thirties" already relied on concepts I couldn't grasp.
In short, it was clear that I needed to obtain textbooks at the level of a village healer or a proper teacher from somewhere. And I couldn't turn to my "tame monsters." They don't seem to bother with magical theory at all—that's one. Even Titus Annaeus Secundus, the Head Librarian, who has an experimental streak written into his character, was essentially just a crafter of standard magic scrolls that he mindlessly stamped out using a profession skill. My question might trigger a "Blue Screen of Death" in them—that's two. And hell knows what will happen to them after they reboot—three. Maybe they'll forget how to cast spells, or maybe they'll realize that "the Emperor has no clothes!" Whatever the case, I wasn't in the mood for experiments in that direction.
And since we're talking about subordinates... Giving orders to performers who aren't quite stable but are very proactive had to be done very, very carefully. While the "magic testing" went off without incidents, the reconnaissance of the surrounding area didn't go as well. Even the sweet Aura somehow went from the directive "let's carefully scout the nearby surroundings" to the concept of "catch everything living in the nearby forest, skin it, and saw it up! Because pelts and fur are soft, and horns on the walls are pretty! And also the skin of humans and other inferior beings can be turned into parchment for magic scrolls!" When I realized she was being completely serious—that for her there really was no ethical difference between wanting to lie on soft pelts and plans to process every passing mushroom picker into ingredients—I nearly had a heart attack! Hell, the "icy wind" that brings my consciousness back to normal had to ventilate my brains for two minutes that time—think of it, two minutes!—whereas usually a couple of seconds was enough!
The aforementioned wind gently touched my essence again, lowering the intensity of my emotions. Strange as that sounds for a lich. In general, with subordinates like these, you really feel like a drunk dancer in a minefield. I have no other analogy.
At least the scout reports themselves were normal... mostly. "Nothing sentient detected, Lord! A herd of deer destroyed in your glory, Lord! Monster scouts have had a snack and are ready to continue the search..." Yeah. I have a feeling I'll have to conquer the world after all, if only to keep these characters from wrecking it; at least they'll be hesitant to "break the Lord's property."
But I should dwell a bit more on the reports of my "tame monsters." Honestly, I'm just in shock. No, I "remembered" that 41 obsessed maniacs, pouring almost all their free time and money into the game, had turned the Great Tomb into an impassable hellscape that once withstood a siege by an alliance of eight TOP guilds, reinforced by "free mercenaries," NPCs, and pay-to-win buffs. Against them were 41 maniacs and their dungeon NPCs. And they laid low all fifteen hundred invaders... Granted, it was on the penultimate floor, but they did it! That's cooler than entering a "World of Warcraft" Alterac Valley battleground alone and winning, realizing the literal opposite of the song "We don't fear the paladin—there are forty of us, and he is but one." And this was far from the server's "sunset," so the members of Ainz Ooal Gown had plenty of time to both defend successfully and raid their "colleagues." As for the hoarding tendencies of these hard-core players who started as "persecuted" races, they were simply monstrous. 11 World Class Items—it's simply indescribable. What is World Class? Essentially, it's a piece of the dev console. It might be limited so as not to completely break the game balance, but still. For example, the Philosopher's Stone—the guild never managed to get it, but the description online was clear—it generated gold and top-tier healing potions. No ingredient cost, multi-use. Just pour mana into it and wait for the cooldown (both expressed in laughable values), and in return—a slot of twenty "heals" and a hundred thousand gold. And that was considered a "weak" item; meanwhile, in Momonga's stash lay a couple of "pebbles," one of which allowed rewriting the magic system, the other—the physics of the world. The Throne in Nazarick, by the way, was also one of these wunderwaffes, so I had the honor of kicking an artifact that ultimately protected Nazarick from destruction by other World Class Items, and everything smaller too... Hell, I had one such item permanently built into my gut, styled as a red billiard ball, and at the very beginning, a staff was peeking out from Albedo's delicate hands: Ginnungagap—the True Void, for a second, the most powerful item in the game for large-scale destruction, effectively a "remote control for an exterminatus," which Tabula Smaragdina had put there "for a laugh." Damn, a remote control for an exterminatus... currently in Albedo's delicate hands...
Despite being undead, I felt a distinct urge to swallow. And to shudder nervously. And also to think about how to take this thing away, just to be safe... though the prospect of taking a cursed exterminatus away from a Level 100 demon, even if the demon is supposedly loyal, distinctly did not appeal to me. Fine, okay, let's just pretend I didn't notice that thing in her hands, okay? After all, if they want to wreck the whole world, they'll wreck it anyway, so let's leave the WMD in the hands of an unstable demon; what could possibly go wrong? Aaaaah!.. Right, let's have another skull-venting, or I'll go crazy soon!
The icy wave and my previous composure returned to me. If they had this kind of enthusiasm and ingenuity in the real world, they could easily take over some third-world country. Now for the specifics. Reality-bending items—eleven. Almost all of them are multi-use; some, however, have their "price of power" in the form of debuffs, or even level dropping or "character deletion." Besides that, almost five hundred—five hundred, Karl!—Divine Class items, which in my opinion don't lag that far behind World items. I'm not even counting the equipment sets of the rest of the guild—those are bound items, and although the comrades dumped all their junk on Momonga and bound the gear to him before leaving the game, the class restrictions didn't go anywhere—a Skeleton Mage couldn't equip a massive two-handed axe... almost. And that's forty "shelves," each with five sets of full gear (raid, PvP, for different specializations, just "for the soul")... minimum. And all these sets are Divine and Mythic. Speaking of the latter, they already numbered in the thousands. And again, from consumables to gear that even a player at the level cap wouldn't hesitate to tear their comrades' throats out for. No, the admins definitely sympathized with these maniacs. Either for the roleplay or for the large total donations, but how else they got all this, I simply don't understand... Oh right, this is the bright Korean-Japanese future where you can drop some cash and get increased loot volume from bosses. Momonga's memory, sometimes I wish I didn't know you... Meanwhile, the lists of Epic Class items consisted of... eight cabinets. Eight. Massive ones. Packed to the brim. Five meters high. And three wide. Cabinets!.. And there were eight of them. And those were just lists with the name, brief description, and quantity. Papers. Stacks of papers. For eight cabinets. I was afraid my NPCs would get a "Blue Screen of Death," right? But I was the first one to get it...
No one even thought of counting items of "Rare" rank and lower. That was akin to trash and the most common consumables. But magic books alone (Summon Combat Chimera—a rare Level 50 consumable; the rest were similar) numbered over twenty thousand. And they were used to hide legendary and mythic literature in their ranks. Furthermore, the local "librarian" could craft all of this—just supply the resources. And when I say all—I really do mean EVERYTHING concerning scrolls and other paper-related themes. This thing could even copy the notorious Book of the Dead—a Legendary Class item. Expensive, sure. Mythics were even more expensive, but again, the fact itself remained. This didn't apply only to World Items and those given for donations. But that was logical. The donation items, by the way, were just insane. A buff for +100 to all stats lasting for twenty-four hours and "after death"? No problem—that warehouse over there is packed with them. Leveling up magic or physical defense? Look at the next one—the necessary potions are there. And that was just the beginning. The real deal came with the "system restriction-canceling" items. Want a mage with a two-handed axe after all? Use this wand and grab any stick; though, if you want to take a stick of another class/type, or just a different one, you'll have to use it again— the restriction was lifted for a specific character for a specific item.
Finances and ingredients... ahem... if the guys from Ainz had simply cashed out their in-game gold into the real world, they would have become multimillionaires. Each. The famous Disney duck who loved to bathe in gold in his vault could drown there from envy—I could swim in Nazarick's "treasury" in a submarine. A nuclear submarine. Without any problems.
After familiarizing myself with the "materiel," I was frankly afraid to open the personnel list. No, I already knew the "main actors." The thing is, all the demons who had joyfully sworn fealty to me were... Floor Bosses. That is, those guys and girls who wait for adventurers at the end of a dungeon. A very, very large dungeon. So, besides "marshals," I also had lists of "generals," "colonels," "majors," "captains," and so on and so forth. Very long lists. Hell, Shalltear alone had an entire retinue of filth where only the "Vampire Brides" were easy on the eyes, while the "Elder Vampires" were a Van Helsing nightmare; not only were they hideous as sin, but they were also Level 60 creatures, and due to all the bonuses from "progenitor presence" and "terrain," even a pair of these guys could lay out five Level 100 adventurers if they weren't paying attention. Outside Nazarick, their effectiveness would drop, of course, but they could make a lot of people contemplate eternity. And there was no end to the "Common" and "Young" bloodsuckers. And it wasn't just vampires! Demons, golems, evil spirits, chimeras, good old skeletons ranging from "simple" Level 20 bones that the "kind" members of Ainz Ooal Gown had clad in Rare quality armor and armed with similar weapons, to various Death Knights, Eyeball Dead, Pale Riders, necrochimeras, and other undead meat from Level 60 to 90. And for those with special tastes, there were entire settlements of dragonoids, cat-folk (not cat-girls, unfortunately; very brutal anthropomorphic cats), insectoids, and other hardcore types. Crowning the picture were the Battle Maids as the final line of defense. And that was their class. Meaning while someone is a Mage or a Knight, here we have—Battle Maid. A Rare class, by the way, not given out for nothing.
In short, to summarize briefly—I have the resources for a small victorious war against the entire world, unless there's a similar monster in it somewhere. And troops for the total genocide of everything that moves. If it doesn't move, they'll make it move and genocide it too. Because the "alignment" of all this magnificence, if translated into a system I'm more or less familiar with, is "Chaotic Evil," with very, very few exceptions. I used to think I'd simply landed in a Dark Lord surrounded by a dozen super-powerful maniacs. Exceedingly powerful, sure, but only a dozen. But it turns out I have legions of such maniacs. And they all need to be kept busy. Well, except for the undead, yes. The undead are wonderful! You put them in a corner, tell them to wait, and they stand and wait—just remember to send someone to dust them once a month. Yeah, a squad of battle-maids, god damn it. Great.
Setting aside another sheet of paper with Albedo's report lines, I stood up from the desk and walked to the large mirror occupying a significant portion of one of the walls of my office. Yes, Nazarick had a completely modern office, a subspecies of "a Gazprom CEO's wet dream." Or rather, there were exactly forty-one of them—one for the private quarters of each guild member. There were also communal baths, a bar, a lounge, a convenience store, a boutique, an art shop, a nail salon, a cafeteria, and a bunch of other previously purely decorative but now fully functional establishments. And that's just the ninth floor...
Looking back at me from the mirror was the grotesque, angular face of a skeleton clad in the robes of a stereotypical black mage, for some reason unbuttoned at the belly. And the robes were exactly stereotypical: everything about them, from the absurd pauldrons with built-in billiard balls that made my figure visually three times wider than it was, to the floor-length sleeves, screamed: "I am an evil and scary lord of the dead, mwahahaha!" Literally—a cartoon villain for a children's show. And this stereotypical nature literally everywhere around me was really annoying. It's one thing to look at it on a monitor screen, and quite another to live in it. But regardless of the aesthetic tastes of Suzuki Satoru—which was Momonga's real-life name—I could change the appearance of the clothes by spending a bit of gold from the treasury; the problem was something else.
How, with a height of over two meters, can one pass as a human?
The "Mask of Envy" that Momonga used for this purpose looks even creepier than my real face in the mirror (I've already had the chance to see for myself), and I suspect it wasn't the humans' belief in the legend the guy cooked up on the fly that played a role, but rather that those humans had brains and sanely decided it was better not to anger this dangerous jerk from nowhere whom creatures like a Death Knight obey. He says he's a wandering caster? Nod and agree! You have to agree with dangerous psychos! Personally, I see no other logical explanation.
Of course, there is no point in completely repeating Momonga's actions with the masquerade games and spinning yarns for everyone... But that is only true if I was dropped into the same world as him. Of course, the meadows around Nazarick indirectly confirm this, but indirectly is not reliably. With the same success, I could have been transported into something like "Attack on Titan" with billions of predatory giants that had taken over the world, or maybe Hjorward from the Ordered universe by Nick Perumov, during the reign of the Young Gods. Why not? That's not even the worst case! What if a Tyranid hive appears in orbit right now, or tank corps of the Blood Ravens start rolling from behind the nearest mountain?
In short, until I am one hundred percent sure I've landed in the same world as my recipient in the canon, it's better to assume the worst, and the worst is when you have to hide to survive, disguising yourself as locals and keeping a low profile. But how can I do that if in all of Nazarick there wasn't a single ring, token, or any other artifact that would reliably change appearance without touching abilities? No matter how much I strained Momonga's memory, I couldn't dig up a single mention of such things. Meaning they existed in Yggdrasil, but one specifically damaged guild of roleplayers fundamentally did not collect these items! You see, they were all about the atmosphere, the authenticity—no compromises or concessions, only hardcore! What? This thing will let you enter a holy city and stealthily access a hostile auction? Burn the heresy! Auto-da-fe! Exterminatus! Save the world from this filth with cleansing fire!!!1111oneoneone
And I'm serious, it happened a couple of times! It didn't even help that these psychos would crack up over this roleplay themselves, literally hiccuping with laughter into their microphones, because in the end, I still got nothing!
As a result, I could only cast an illusion on myself, but it would drop from any damage or defensive action on my part, or I could don full magical armor through a skill conversion spell that allows all magical stats to be transferred into physical ones for a chosen time—essentially turning a mage into a fighter. By Yggdrasil standards, the ability was worthless since, beyond a basic set of weapon handling skills and the physical stats themselves, it gave nothing. You just got a tanky unit capable of simply bashing with a sword, without any combat skills, special moves, or buffing abilities. In fact, that's exactly what Momonga used while playing the role of a black knight in the adventurers' guild, but these charms didn't differ much from an illusion in terms of effectiveness—take off the helmet, and everything is clear.
"Narberal," I called the battle maid who stood like a motionless statue by the office door.
I stopped paying attention to the intrusive care from NPCs within the first hour of studying Nazarick in detail. Wherever I went, either Sebas or one of the Pleiades was always tagging along like a shadow. Remembering their obsession with the theme that the master must always be accompanied to be able to serve as his shield in case of danger and so on, I didn't even mention any objections. Not because I didn't believe in my ability to send them away and assert my right to personal space, but because I saw no point in it. Besides, having a maid nearby who will submissively clean up after you after another search in another chest of artifacts or take previously borrowed books back to the library is very useful. I don't understand why Momonga was so nervous in a similar situation...
"Yes, Momonga-sama?" the beautiful doppelganger with Asian features—anime-style, of course—stepped forward.
"I need a mask found or made for me. A simple, featureless gray face with some transparent material in the eye holes so that my eye sockets can't be seen from the outside." A small effort, and a rough illusion of what I want appeared above my palm. "And invite Albedo to see me. Tell her I need to change the appearance of my robes."
"It shall be done, Momonga-sama." Interesting; I have no sexual drive right now, but when a pretty girl bows to you, it's still pleasant. What is this? My aesthetic tastes or the vanity of an archlich?
The battle maid hadn't even left, and I hadn't even returned to my desk, before what I subconsciously expected happened. An extremely overexcited Albedo burst into the room, her yellow eyes with slit pupils shining like searchlights, her hands nervously clutching a flat box.
"Momonga-sama! I have arrived as quickly as I could! Please forgive your loyal servant for making you wait!" the demoness rattled off, devouring me with an adoring gaze.
"It is alright, Albedo." Too bad Momonga hadn't read all five feet of her character description; with that knowledge, it would have been easier. "I need to create a suitable look for traveling incognito. As far as I know, your skill in creating and altering pieces of equipment is the highest in Nazarick, so I would be grateful if you would help me."
"I am unworthy of such words!" the demoness bloomed, flushing red. "As the Greatest and as my beloved, please use me however you wish!" Delicate hands in white gloves rose agitatedly, pressing the box to her belly and the lower part of her chest, causing the upper part to rise expressively, further emphasizing the fullness and roundness of what could be seen in her cleavage.
"Ahem..." I would use you, oh how I would use you, but I have nothing to use you with. And the main foulness of the situation is that I only understand this theoretically... So that's what you look like, the dark shadow of impotence. "Let's talk business. I haven't changed the style of my robes in a long time. It's not that they've ceased to suit me, far from it; it's the best artifact armor for my class in Nazarick, but since we've found ourselves in this situation, I believe it makes sense to alter it a bit so it doesn't scream about my belonging to the undead so loudly."
"You want something inconspicuous that will hide your majestic body from prying eyes, Momonga-sama?" How can you ask a question while simultaneously expressing subservience with your voice and the fact that you're horrified by the guess—the deepest and most sincere condemnation?
"No, I'm not going to dress in rags," I reassured the girl. "Just change the style somewhat. Fewer visible accessories, fewer bright colors, a more form-fitting cut and narrow sleeves that gloves will harmoniously fit. I need strict and elegant black robes worthy of a high necromancer, but not shouting their owner's profession in every passerby's face. Do you think that's possible?"
"Oh yes, Lord! I will do everything!" Albedo flushed even more and seemed to start trembling from excitement; her wings even fluttered behind her back like in a gusty wind. "Wh... when can I begin? Right now? Here? You... will you take it off for me?! I... I will see Lord Momonga..." At this point, the demoness jammed, and she clearly drifted off into her fantasies... Yeah.
"Yes, if you don't mind, you can take care of it now." I started to remove the garment, noting out of the corner of my eye that at the first movement, the Overseer's face regained its focus and her entire posture filled with barely restrained impatience.
It's a strange thing; Satoru only wrote two words for her: "Loves Momonga." Where did such obsession and lust come from? She's literally almost salivating over my bare bones; is that normal, or what? What kind of sadistic psychological deviations in the area of intimate life did Tabula Smaragdina write for her that she has such powerful reactions to basic nudity? May the Universe forgive me for applying that term to showing a bare skeleton. Or is it more correct to call them fetishes? Or complexes? Damn, I haven't even managed to take off the pauldrons and she's already as red as a tomato and breathing shallowly...
"Albedo, are you alright?" I couldn't take it anymore. The concentration of the "young fangirl peeking at her favorite star changing" phenomenon had reached too great a density. I think Momonga in my place would already be running in fear of being raped, but I was seriously worried about the poor girl's health; won't she have a heart attack from such experiences?
"Everything is fine, Momonga-sama! Don't stop! Your loyal Albedo will do everything!" the demoness rattled off in about zero-point-zero-seven seconds, her red ears already emitting literal clouds of steam.
Looking at this scene, I even felt somewhat lost in my feelings. On the one hand, I was mentally prepared for her to slide her hands under her dress right now; on the other, I was afraid I would be... that's where the thought was lost. What can you do to a bare skeleton that has absolutely nothing? Personally, I lacked the imagination to come up with anything, but I believed in Albedo, yes. Fine, whatever, but I'm just curious what a psychiatrist would say about the local "Supreme Beings." Every time I think this is it—the edge, and you can't be more messed up—a new deviation of theirs is revealed to me. I swear, if it eventually turns out that Cocytus is a closet Tentacle Monster in love with Demiurge, I'll just shrug and say I expected something like that. Seriously!
While my head was occupied with thoughts, my hands continued to strip, and now the clothes lay on the guest sofa, and Albedo... froze and was salivating. My hand met my facial bones.
"Albedo..."
"Eh? Oh! Yes, Momonga-sama!" her gaze regained its focus. "That damn brat was right," the demoness whispered softly, and I thought I heard a distinct creak as she shifted her gaze from my bare skeleton to the clothes. Then she nodded to her thoughts, and... some knives, scissors, needles, and threads followed from the box.
I continued to stand and watch. A Level 100 High Demon. The Guardian Overseer of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. The "First after God"... who, sticking out her tongue in effort and happily humming something to herself, was altering the archlich's robes. With a needle and thread. Magic robes. And they were easily being altered. Now I've seen everything.
I mean, maybe that's how it's supposed to be, but I expected something... I don't know, magic? Rituals? Even "system" expenditures of gold. After all, that was exactly how Momonga's memory painted it all! I wonder how fast I'll go crazy with them, despite all the help from the skull-venting?
"Finished, my beloved Lord!" the purring voice of the girl pulled me out of reflections on the futility of existence and how everything is dross and Dust on the Wind of Change. I looked up and saw Albedo clutching a majestic garment, black as a piece of primordial gloom, bisected only by fine silver embroidery forming some pattern, possibly even a magical one. The fact that the garment had changed its color and the texture of the fabric didn't bother the demoness at all. Neither did the dissolving into unknown space of the meter-long pauldrons made of bone, metal, and crystals. So that's what an eightieth... pardon, hundredth-level tailor looks like.
"Thank you," the answer came out somewhat husky.
"You don't like it?" So much rising panic and horror in those eyes.
"Wait a minute..."
An item appraisal spell flew from my hand, and information on all the garment's stats appeared directly in my head. I noticed no changes from the last appraisal, and Momonga knew the stats of each of his artifacts by heart. Well, excellent. I put on the robes, which were indeed much... more compact, more comfortable, and personally, more exquisite. Walking to the mirror, I examined my reflection. Well, my height was still there, but at least now I didn't resemble a wardrobe draped in curtains. If I pulled up the hood and covered my face with a mask, I could pass for a human, albeit one of very somber appearance.
"Excellent work, Albedo. You have perfectly embodied my wishes."
"The wishes of my beloved Lord are law to me!" the girl bowed, hiding eyes that glittered with a feverish fire.
"Speaking of which... Albedo, you know that I put your feelings for me into you myself, don't you?" I should clear this up.
"Of course!" The demoness straightened, touchingly folding her hands in front of her while her cheeks flushed. "I remember how you stopped before me and did it," it was said with a sweet languor in her voice, and in a way that suggested I had done the very thing after which decent men are obliged to take responsibility... By the way, I wouldn't call the analogy misplaced.
"And it doesn't bother you?"
"Is that a problem?" the demoness naively blinked her eyes... may the great powers forgive me for such a phrasing.
"Explain, please."
"Momonga-sama, only one thing matters," the girl leaned closer, her black wings fluttering agitatedly. "It pleases you! I am sure Tabula Smaragdina will forgive you! Like a father when his daughter is proposed to!" I don't like that I'm starting to predict the future train of thought of Nazarick's inhabitants...
"Lord Momonga, may I come in?" the suddenly opening door revealed to my sight a beaming, graciously smiling Shalltear, who didn't fail to curtsy the moment I turned toward her. "Oh, my Lord, you are so beautiful in this outfit!" The vampiress flew closer with an elegant movement, devouring me with the same gaze Albedo had had not long ago.
"Did something happen, Shalltear?" She didn't rush here just because the battle-maid grapevine had already carried the news to the first floors that I had called Albedo to my quarters and we had been locked in alone for a couple of hours, did she?
"Of course, I came here to admire your magnificent appearance, Momonga-sama!" Bloodfallen admitted without the slightest embarrassment. And this... You don't mean to say?..
"Have you finished admiring?" the Elder Overseer spoke, maintaining perfect composure. "Now leave, Shalltear. Lord Momonga and I were discussing an important matter."
"There are always so many problems with old hags," the loli sighed with feigned sympathy. "Everyone knows that before getting down to business, one must observe etiquette. It is quite tragic that your age is affecting your understanding of elementary things." She shot a very expressive look toward Albedo. "Could it be that the approaching expiration date is provoking such reckless behavior?"
"Is food with so many preservatives that it doesn't even have an expiration date any different from poison?" the demoness replied, maintaining her polite smile. "That seems far more dangerous."
"One should be much more afraid of bacteria in spoiled food," the vampire lady primly covered her mouth with her hand, her gaze never leaving her rival. "They can cause all sorts of diseases, after all..."
"But to get them, one would actually have to eat the food," the demoness's smile began to grow visibly strained. "And I don't see that you have anything besides a pretty wrapper. Everything you have to offer seems... decent," she emphasized the word, shooting her own glance toward the vampire's upper region, "but is there actually anything of substance behind it for consumption..."
The pale-skinned loli's hand jerked toward her chest, confirming the blow had hit its mark.
"Wrapper?! I'll kill you, you bitch!" the miniature, cute creature roared like a cornered bear, shrouded in a bloody mist.
"Who's the one with the expiration date here, you whore?!" a foul aura rose over Albedo as well.
I just stood nearby, soaking it all in. That is, I had guessed right again. She came here purely to crash Albedo's date. This was bad. No, that's not right—it was a catastrophe. If I'm starting to understand the thought processes of the monsters of Nazarick, it's simply terrible, as it says nothing good about my mental health. But if I'm starting to understand the thought processes of the female monsters of Nazarick, then excuse me, but we are well and truly fucked.
Or should I just write it off as knowing the canon a bit and having an idea of what to expect from both of them? Yes, exactly. That's what we'll do. That explains everything. I'm normal; I just have information. Oh! There goes the breeze through the skull... how wonderful...
"Shalltear, I believe I told you that settling your differences should be done in private? Albedo, that applies to you as well. Your mutual insults are humiliating to me."
"We beg your forgiveness, Momonga-sama!" the girls blurted out in unison, bowing simultaneously.
"Leave me," I waved a hand with visible irritation and headed for the desk. Let them feel guilty; maybe something will actually stick in their heads...
"Yes, Momonga-sama..." the two voices drawled again like miserable, beaten puppies. Ugh, I'm starting to share my predecessor's desire to find his guildmates in this world. For how these goddamn moral degenerates perverted the concepts of "epic archdemon" and "true vampire," they absolutely must be found and made to feel very, very much pain!
A little later.
"This is all your fault!" Albedo hissed through her teeth once the door cut them off from the Guild Master's quarters. "Lord Momonga was already prepared to accept my feelings!" She closed her eyes excitedly. "And now he is disappointed! How dare you disappoint our Sovereign?!" Her delicate hands in white gloves clenched into fists with indignation.
"Look at yourself!" Shalltear snarled. "You were the first to insult the Master's feelings by acting like the owner of his room and turning away his guests!"
"His guests?!" the demoness's voice jumped several decibels. "You brat showed up uninvited, burst in without knocking, and started confusing my beloved Momonga-sama with your filthy solicitations!"
"What?!!" the vampire flared up too. "Look at your own udders, they're about to fall out, you lewd gorilla!"
"At least I have something to fall out, you undersized board!"
"Grrrrr!!!"
"Arrrrr!!!"
The two disputants were again shrouded in threatening auras, frozen opposite each other like two hissing cats, but then Shalltear suddenly relaxed and adopted the air of a perfectly well-bred lady.
"I will not give in to your provocations, or the Master will scold me."
"And I will not give in to your provocations, because I do not wish to upset my beloved Sovereign," Albedo adjusted instantly, also donning the image of an innocent little angel.
"We'll see how long you last," the vampire squinted at her rival.
"We'll see how long you last," the demoness gave as good as she got.
"Hmph!" Two contemptuous snorts merged into one...
---
The sounds outside the door quieted down, and I gave a mental sigh of relief. I couldn't hear exactly what those two perverts of all Nazarick were saying to each other, but the general tone of their voices wasn't encouraging. Anyway, fine—as long as I don't let them have contact with the outside world, everything is fine.
I inspect my reflection once more...
I need to add gloves to the look. Something with a bonus to regeneration or... do we have any artifacts with built-in healing spells in the stash? If this is indeed the canonical world, the ability to heal and bring people back to life will come in handy soon. By the way, I should also get out the Mirror of Remote Viewing.
The door creaked, letting the stoic Sebas into the room. Well, here's the nanny—not a minute of solitude has passed. Sigh, if I ever decide on a reroll and everything goes well, I'll have to do something about my private life, because I feel like they'll follow me to the bathroom... By the way, is there a bathroom in my quarters? I should clear that up in advance...
A few hours later...
"Hmm..." This Mirror of Remote Viewing was controlled roughly like a picture on a touchscreen, only you had to move your hands not on the surface but a bit further away, accompanying it with a slight tension of mana at your fingertips.
The image could be zoomed in, zoomed out, the viewing angle changed... Just like in the first Neverwinter, only without a mouse and without the focus point being tied to the character. A great thing, if every other player couldn't block themselves from it with the simplest charms against magical tracking. The question was, can the locals do that? Even if they can and the mirror simply won't display them, the terrain is still clearly visible, and I don't need more than that for now. I just need to remember which side of Nazarick that village where "first contact" happened was in the canon. If I find it, a bunch of problems will fall away immediately, if only I can find it...
I ruled out the northern direction almost immediately—a massive mountain range lay there, with no settlements visible on the way. To the west, right behind the plain, rose a vast forest with no end in sight. Only the south and east remained unexamined... And then, as soon as I moved along the edge of the forest to its southern extremity, luck smiled upon me.
A settlement of about twenty households was peacefully living its life. Small figures of residents worked in the fields; a few old men sat with very young children on the benches in front of the houses. Everyone was busy. In short, a typical medieval village—the kind where a peasant, if he doesn't want to starve to death, must toil from dawn to dusk. In summer, for sure. The only difference from my past world that immediately caught the eye was the overall color scheme and the "anime" style of the graphics, but I've already started getting used to that and almost don't notice it anymore.
I saw no elements of magic, nor any kind of guard—unless you count the local dogs, which at most can only raise a bark? In short, an entirely unremarkable village, except for being the closest to Nazarick. Or was it? To satisfy my conscience, I checked the east as well, but found nothing sentient within a couple of days' journey. So if I've been dropped into the same world and the same "location" as the canonical Momonga, then the village being pillaged in the middle of nowhere—there it is. Though it isn't being pillaged by anyone yet, and since I found no sentient life in the vicinity, it won't be pillaged for another two or three days. That's if this is indeed the canon. By the way, I caught myself thinking... that I couldn't care less if someone slaughtered an entire village like that. No, I was already quite the misanthrope before, and the "starving children of Africa" didn't move me one bit, but now... I realized that if someone were to butcher women and children in front of me and I had the chance to prevent it, I would just walk on by. For why interfere and exert effort for these inferior beings?
Running the thought through my head again, I gritted my teeth. Perhaps the problem wasn't Momonga's canonical idiocy in certain matters. Existence determines consciousness, and I am now high undead with a "Chaotic Evil" alignment. Or "Lawful Evil" at best. And that imposed its own framework. It changed me, quite quickly and subtly. Understanding the thought processes of monsters seemed to be the first warning sign, but... knowing the cause, one can fight it. For example... yes, my Tomb appeared here, which means everything for at least a week's journey around is mine. And some random passing assholes... Must not. Ruin. My. Things! There, that's better; I no longer care nothing for the village—I actually feel a desire to tear to shreds those bastards who would misbehave there... Though something tells me that by engaging in such Jesuit trickery, I might end up in even worse trouble than by becoming a "real" lich. I really need to decide something about the reroll.
"Lord?" Sebas clearly noticed my displeasure but couldn't understand what caused it.
"I have found a human settlement. Or beings that look like humans. We can get the necessary information from them, at least about the immediate vicinity."
"I shall give orders for your servants to catch and bring them to you..."
"..." I really wanted to close my eyes and sigh wearily, but instead, I could only bring my face into contact with my own bony hand.
"I do not intend to attract attention before I have accurately determined the power level of the local residents, and a ruined village and residents driven off to god-knows-where might attract attention."
"Forgive me, Momonga-sama. I did not think of that," the demonic butler bowed his head.
"I believe it would be most prudent to visit them personally," I leaned back in the chair. "A masked traveling sorcerer... unusual, but it shouldn't cause more than wariness," I began to reason aloud, mostly to convey my motives to the butler without letting his imagination run wild.
"You should not take such a risk, Master," the nanny-mode was activated. "I insist that you take a guard with you."
"Risk?" I turned my head to the butler. "If there is something in this village dangerous to me, then none of the Floor Guardians of Nazarick will change anything."
"Nevertheless, being your shield is my duty. This is the reason why Lord Touch Me created me."
"I appreciate your concern, Sebas, but you know perfectly well that in Yggdrasil, I left the tomb alone for many years," resting my face on my hand, I observed the dragonoid. What I said was the pure truth: in recent years, when the guild had effectively died, Momonga logged into the game every day like a job, farmed gold, completed events, and generally did everything in his power to keep the tomb in decent shape. To be honest, a significant chunk of the treasury is his personal credit.
"Yes, Momonga-sama, but you said yourself that caution is necessary now," and he talked his way out of it...
"Hm... Caught me on my word, then? Fine, let's do this..." I pretended to be deep in thought. "I haven't noticed any dwarves, elves, or other races; that could mean either they aren't in this area or they are enemies of humans... It's a pity—taking Aura or Mare with me would have been appropriate; they look innocent enough and answer common questions from children more readily..." Another pause while I actually thought about it. "Tell Shalltear she will accompany me. Have her wear something appropriate for a human child." A somber, traveling man who also hides his face will definitely raise questions. But a sorcerer who decided to "get out into nature" with his daughter-apprentice will, on the contrary, attract only positive attention in the vein of "pleasing an important gentleman."
It was a good plan; it's just a shame I slightly underestimated the insanity of the local NPCs... and the madness of their creators. No matter how many times I mention it, something new always cropped up...
The wait didn't last long; ten minutes later, the vampiress appeared before me in the image I had ordered... to the best of her understanding...
"Ah, the Master desired roleplay! Shalltear has waited so long for this, but dared not hope-desu!"
*Click.* My jaw actually dropped, and the skull-venting wasn't really helping much anymore. Now, I will skip remarks like "oh hell no" and "I've seen hentai that started exactly like this"; let's just clarify what this girl showed up in. Shalltear was clad... in the uniform of an Ordinary Japanese Schoolgirl. From middle school; she even had a small backpack with a "print" of a cat's paw over her shoulder. But... the short skirt was long past the point of a foul, the unbuttoned blouse revealed a view of the beginning of "the mounds," and on her legs were fishnet stockings and boots... plus makeup, but that was just the final nail in the coffin.
"You don't like it, Lord? Oh, forgive me-desu, Shalltear forgot the Most Important Thing!" And she put on a headband with cat ears. "I also have a tail... but," a blush appeared on her cheeks, "I might need the Master's help with attaching it-nya." I was shown the "tail." Is it worth mentioning that on its end was not at least a hook for attaching to a belt or clothing? Peroroncino... you goddamn overgrown hentai woodpecker. I knew you were an obsessive pervert, but... but... this is just beyond any decency, good and evil, common sense, and everything else. There should be a sense of proportion in everything! A raid boss should not run around a dungeon in the clothes of a schoolgirl from a hentai!
"Shalltear, how dare you suggest the Master would engage in something like that with you?!" Albedo hissed like a snake, obviously unwilling to leave me alone with the vampiress for even a second. Especially, I gathered, after seeing her in the hallway like that. "Have you not realized he sees only a child in you and therefore required you to dress like this!"
"Shut up, old hag, you're the one who understands nothing! Roleplay is a very important stage for the strong and fruitful relationship of a man and a woman—so said Lord Peroroncino!" If he ever ended up in this world, I'll pluck out all his feathers and shove them up his own ass, I swear.
"Enough," I interrupted the argument that was starting to pick up steam. Again. "I am not interested in games right now," the vampire's face fell, "though I admit that such an outfit on you, Shalltear, gives me pleasure," she instantly beamed; it takes so little for them to be happy. If only this "little" didn't eat my brain so much... sigh. "However, at this moment, I require something else. We must bear at least a remote resemblance to the locals, so your outfit is unsuitable." I create an illusion of an ordinary young peasant girl I saw in the magic mirror. "The locals look roughly like this."
"F-forgive me, Lord," the Guardian of the first three floors looked dejected, "it's unlikely I can find such an outfit."
"Why?" Considering the level of perversity of that bird-man, I'm surprised his creation doesn't have something like that. Say, for a "Little Red Riding Hood and the Hunter Squad" plot...
"That dress is linen, isn't it? There is no such primitive material in Nazarick..." Shalltear was almost crying, and I realized I had messed up again and my illusion example had been taken as a direct instruction to act.
"You will be portraying the daughter of a powerful mage, so the material can be anything; the general style is what's important."
"Oh! Then I have something suitable. Almost," she clicked a tooth regretfully.
"Albedo, help Shalltear fit the dress."
"As you command, Lord. Of course, I will help this clumsy amateur..."
"Grrr, my talents are far above the skills of miserable servants!"
"Miserable servants? My work was approved by the Lord himself!"
"Though I have eternity ahead of me, my patience is much shorter." A slight press of the aura, and they were already there, squeaking together and bowing in sync, practically evaporating to fulfill my order. They'll drive me to the brink, and I won't be able to relieve stress in any way I know. Except maybe by listening to music.
Be that as it may, forty minutes later Shalltear appeared before me in a new outfit. It somewhat resembled her everyday dress but was much simpler and at the same time more elegant. Also, it didn't have the padding for the chest.
"Hm... Let your hair down, Shalltear."
"Eh? Yes, of course." The vampiress obeyed, and soon a trail of soft gray hair with a pink tint spilled over her shoulders down to her heels.
"Gather it up a bit so it doesn't touch the floor, and it will be perfect."
"As you wish," the girl purred, and soon the ladies, with four hands, managed in some mystical way to shorten the hair so that it visually remained loose.
"I am impressed," I had to admit, observing the result. With her hair down, without the cap, the padded chest, and the full skirt, Shalltear looked like an absolutely perfect child. I mean, the perfect daughter of a dark mage and a budding dark sorceress herself. And in my opinion, this look suited her far more than the ostentatiously gothic loli. "You have done a magnificent job." There, the most ordinary praise, and both girls are smiling bashfully, filled with joy...
I'm at a total loss as to how to perceive them. My mind understands that they are mentally ill bloodthirsty maniacs, with a power level sufficient to devastate a small country in a day. Well, in a week, if they don't exert themselves much. On the other hand... blaming them for it is stupid; they were created that way by obsessive maniacs for just an online game. Besides, looking at this cute, blushing creature, you just can't connect this image with the definition mentioned above. Especially if you also add the fact that in many mundane and everyday matters they are even worse than children. Naivety, innocence, and yet cruelty, a perverted mind, and wild strength. An insane combination that makes something deep in my brain itch and crack suspiciously. Fine, they are what they are; we'll educate them later. For now, let's take care of the village—we've wasted enough time. Though, it's just about sunset and the end of the field work, so we'll arrive at a rather good moment.
"Albedo," I put on the mask prepared by the Pleiades, "while we are in the village, you and Sebas will observe the proceedings through this mirror," I gesture to the artifact hovering over the central table. "Try to notice what happens outside my sight—we'll compare the data later. If something goes wrong, I permit you to intervene, but only if you see that Shalltear or I cannot teleport out on our own or if we are threatened by a force many times exceeding our capabilities. In other situations, do not interfere. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Momonga-sama," the Overseer and the butler bowed submissively.
"Shalltear, I remind you: you are posing as my daughter and apprentice. No threats, no outbursts of aggression, and no arrogance. Your role is a smart, well-bred girl who has rarely been to the outside world. Ask questions politely, don't be rude to people, and don't call anyone insects or trash. Our task is to gather information; your goal is to look innocent and harmless. Is that all clear?"
"Of course, Master, you will not be disappointed in your loyal Shalltear!" this little monster smiled angelically.
"And put some illusion on your eyes—there's no need to scare them with red irises."
"Right away." The vampiress ran her fingers over her eyes, and they changed color to a dark brown.
"Good..." To do it or not? Oh, to hell with it! "And one more thing: while we are there, don't call me Momonga; call me Zellos."
I'd wanted to get rid of that nickname for a long time. It had made me wary even when I was reading the manga, and once I got its creator's memory, I knew my feelings had been screaming the truth. "Flying Squirrel" is not the combination of sounds I'm fond of, to put it mildly. The only question was the alternative. The surrounding world, unfortunately, didn't contribute much to sober ideas; I was constantly getting stuck on either Arclem Greeth—the lich who was the head of the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan—or Xardas—the main necromancer of the Gothic game series—or just some random stuff. But Archimonde—too pompous. Kil'jaeden—uncomfortable and even more pompous. Sargeras—no thanks, I don't want to hear love confessions from Albedo with a name like that. Mal'Ganis—ew, no. Kel'Thuzad—no, Mal'Ganis is better. Medivh—ended badly and lived miserably. Saruman—go to hell immediately! In short, after long deliberation, the only more or less normal name turned out to be the name of an epic monster from the companions of an obsessive sorceress who would fit perfectly into the freak show of this guild's roster.
"As you command, Zellos-sama!" the vampiress assured with the air of a good little girl.
Appearing in the village itself was also a tricky moment. If there are no mages in this world at all, the locals will get too overexcited. Or they won't understand at all what kind of big shot has come to visit them. If there are, then I seriously doubt they walk around on foot like that. At the very least, they would have a retinue, a carriage, or at least an expensive and powerful horse. And I had problems with that. Even if I can suddenly ride the Nazarick "horses," their mere appearance would drive an unprepared person into terror, and let's not even talk about carriages more suitable for some cliché Lords of Evil (hmm...). I'd have to go through a portal and then make a slightly surprised face (hmm again) and ask the locals where this very powerful mage has landed.
"Remember, Shalltear, no aggression." Here a funny picture came to mind, but considering the local contingent... "and just hitting and smiling is also not necessary."
"As you command, Mom... Zellos-otosan," the vampiress purred, cutely grabbing my sleeve and pressing her whole body against me. Albedo's teeth grinding was probably heard even in Japan. The one that was left god knows where.
A mental effort—and a spatial rift opened before us. A step forward, and... The setting sun, the wind rustling the leaves. Around us, the sounds of village life, dogs whining over there. And a bunch of local plowmen, before whom a somber-looking, huge man had appeared out of thin air. Clung to by a pretty girl of about thirteen or fourteen. An awkward silence set in. Well, I think it was that for the local peasants. Personally, I was just studying the surroundings and its inhabitants. Shalltear was also curiously turning her head and sniffing a bit. Fine, as long as she doesn't accidentally pick out her dinner here.
"Greetings," I decide to break the silence. "My name is Zellos. Do you understand my words?"
The people stirred, but in the semi-whisper with which the people discussed my appearance, individual words could not be made out. I felt through my nonexistent skin how Shalltear tensed up, enraged that these miserable mortals dared to make her Master wait and ignore his question. I had to squeeze her hand slightly so she wouldn't forget herself. That's how you learn the truth that knowing how to hold a child by the hand is a very useful thing even for a Dark Lord. Seriously, I never would have thought...
"Y-yes," finally an elderly, sturdily built man came forward. "Welcome to Carne Village, but who are you?"
"Hm." Good thing there are no language problems; I wasn't sure that Nazarick's storerooms would have universal translation artifacts. Quest ones, for specific game "languages," existed—I knew that—but universal ones... "As I said, my name is Zellos, I am a mage from afar, and this is Shalltear, my daughter and apprentice. You do know what magic is, don't you?"
"Eh... Yes," the man answered a bit more confidently. "I don't understand it myself, but the alchemist who gathers herbs near our village sometimes uses spells."
"That simplifies everything. A while ago, I was conducting an experiment with spatial movement, but something went wrong, and we ended up in a completely different place than we planned. What is this area, and is it far from here to Isengard?" Yes, I know, what a hell of a clever name for a nonexistent geographical object, but at least I won't forget it and can describe it later without getting caught in contradictions in my story.
"Forgive me, my lord," the man was confused, "but I have never heard of such a place. And you are in the Kingdom of Re-Estize, almost at the very border. The nearest city to us is E-Rantel; it lies to the southeast, a couple of days' journey away."
"Apparently, we've been blown off course," and the names, meanwhile, were familiar. I won't vouch for the exact sound, but I was almost sure E-Rantel had appeared in the manga. "I am not familiar with these places. Do you have a map?"
"Y-yes, of course, in my house, this way!" the man scurried forward, showing the way, and we followed, while the crowd of villagers whispered quietly behind our backs, discussing the sudden appearance of two mages and what would come of it.
Meanwhile, the headman led us to his house. As expected, it was the largest and most solid in the village, and it was decorated slightly better than the others—but only slightly. And the overall appearance... I wouldn't call it a shack, but a one-story house with plaster that needed updating didn't inspire much confidence. However, not surprising—he said we were almost at the very border. And there are some "alchemists" here who can cast spells. So, fantasy. And if so, then by the laws of the genre, border villages can be either "a fortress, hell to take" or "well, they burned it, so what, we'll rebuild in a week." Though it's too early to draw conclusions; stereotypes and canon memory are talking in me now; it's not at all a fact that things are exactly like that in the real world.
One living person was present in the headman's house. As revealed ten seconds later—the man's wife, a woman of stout build; her age was hard to determine, but hard work and harsh conditions had left no trace of her youth and beauty... if the latter had ever existed. But back to the map. It was, as a medieval map should be, approximate. Very, very approximate. No coordinate grid, altitudes not marked at all, but there were various animals and birds in the corners and ornate signatures. Another unpleasant moment immediately surfaced: the local squiggles remained squiggles to me; I couldn't read what was scrawled there. The drawings themselves didn't shine with informativeness; well, this broken line is probably the mountains to the north, and a large round spot is the nearest city, located to the southeast of here. According to the man—a couple of days' journey... hmm, apparently, I just barely missed it when I was working with the mirror.
"No, the places are completely unfamiliar," I shook my head. "Furthermore, your script is unknown to me."
"But, Lord, you speak perfectly," the headman was surprised.
"Merely a magical translation," or something like that, it doesn't really matter. "Could you enlighten me as to what these markings represent?"
"Of course!" and the villager continued his story, so it turned out that the political situation around was not very good; all the local players were looking askance at each other and trying to do something nasty. In the story of the resident of Re-Estize, of course, it turned out that either the Baharuth Empire was encroaching on their borders or some Theocracy was plotting, both attacking and inciting provocations, but I somehow doubt Re-Estize is so lily-white and innocent. It would have been swallowed long ago if that were the case; it's just unlikely the local peasant would voice his considerations or, gods forbid, dissatisfaction with the situation to the first person he met, especially a sorcerer in a creepy featureless mask who literally appeared from nowhere.
"I see," after half an hour of the headman's story, whose name I never asked, I summarize, "I have never heard of any of these states."
"You must have come from very far away, Master Mage," the woman nodded.
"Well then, I think I'll head to the city; perhaps there is a more extensive map there, or mages from whom I can clarify coordinates to open a return portal," and I turned around, pretending to be about to leave. If I correctly understood the characters of these people who calmly invited a stranger into their home...
"Wait, where are you going in the middle of the night, and with a child, too?" the woman cried out, and I had to exert considerable effort to keep the offended "child" from ripping her head off.
"What of it?"
"Why, the road is full of all sorts of goblins and ogres! The royal troops, of course, clear the surroundings as much as possible, but at night outside a village or an inn, even the main road can be dangerous."
"Hm... perhaps you are right. Heading out in the middle of the night is indeed not the best idea. In that case, I would like to stay with you for the night." I reach into the "pocket" of my robes and pull out a couple of gold pieces. "Will this be enough?"
"What are you saying, helping a traveler in a moment of need is the duty of every decent resident of the borderlands. Besides, two gold pieces is far too much for a room and dinner," the woman was indignant. Dammit, Shalltear, stay! No need to try and kill "these insignificants who dared to reject the generous gift of the Master."
"You really did come from far away," the headman finally relaxed completely. "Such good coins..." He and his wife examined the weighty rounds with interest. "In the nearby lands, no one can boast of such a minting."
"There may be problems with that..." I say as if to myself.
"Why? Gold is gold, and an unusual minting... why, every Count can mint his own coin, and adventurers sometimes find all sorts of things in ancient barrows. Including old coins."
"Adventurers?"
"Yes, they hunt for treasure, exterminate monsters for reward, guard caravans, and all that sort of thing," the village head told. Adventurers—that could be serious. Even if I was convinced I'd landed in that very "canonical world" and my memory told me almost all local adventurers, even the "coolest" ones, were just meat for Nazarick's troops, and not the most elite units at that, it was worth having a certain amount of healthy caution regarding them.
"Well then, thank you for the interesting story. Keep the coins as my thanks for it and for shelter for a weary traveler for the night. Shalltear, say thank you."
"Please accept our gratitude!" the vampiress made an impeccable curtsy, her gaze turned toward me practically screaming, "Only for you, Master! But what a villain you are, to mock poor Shalltear so! I adore you!" Brrr...
The room provided to us by the headman was quite spacious, had two beds, a table, five chairs around it, and... that was it. Not much, but royal apartments were not to be expected. For interest's sake, I cast a weakened "Death Cloud" on the bed, expecting a hail of bedbugs, but to my considerable surprise, nothing fell out of there. The myth of furniture swarming with life was debunked. Or perhaps the life only swarms in cheap taverns?
"May I ask, Zellos-otosan?" the vampiress inquired quietly.
"Of course." Apparently, she wants to know the motives for my behavior and further plans.
"What..." she leaned forward, "would you like to do with your loyal Shalltear, being with her... in a room... for the whole night... completely alone?" Oh, right, how could I have forgotten who her creator was? This is going to be a very long night...
"You know, you are surprisingly lovely with your hair down," I said, resting a gloved hand on the girl's head. At the same time, I gently nudged her away, as this little minx had already managed to practically climb onto my neck during her provocative speech. "But Shalltear... I know Peroroncino made you this way, but you must understand that..."
"I understand!" the flushed vampiress interrupted me in a feverish whisper. "Even if it was the Creator's will, my feelings for you—for your perfect beauty—they are real! Please, do with me whatever you desire! My entire being yearns for only one thing: to give you pleasure!"
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Shalltear..." I hooked my free hand under the mask and shifted it slightly to the side, allowing her to see my true face. Then, in a quiet but heavy voice, I informed her: "I am a skeleton."
"Yes, you are magnificent, my adored Zellos-otosan," she replied. I could almost see the word "Dodge" floating above the Boss's head in real life. The shot missed; the target wasn't even grazed. Fine, let's try again.
"Shalltear, listen to me carefully," I said, trying to catch her already drifting gaze while using an intonation that signaled the seriousness of the topic.
"Yes, Master, I am all ears," Bloodfallen replied, a spark of actual thought finally flickering in her eyes.
"I am a skeleton. I have no skin, no muscles, no organs, no blood. I do not possess the means by which men give pleasure to women. I don't even have a tongue. Do. You. Understand. That. In. Such. A. Situation. Yours and Albedo's. Hints. Regarding. The. Bed. Look. Like. Outright. Mockery?"
As my clipped monologue progressed, the vampiress's wide, clear eyes began to lose their brown camouflage. Slowly, very slowly, UNDERSTANDING dawned within them, and by the end, the poor child froze with an expression of primal horror on her face, magnified by the shattering of her very foundations.
"M-M-Momonga-s-s-sama-a-a, I-I-I..." Shalltear began to shake violently. Her hands, raised in a gesture that was either pleading or defensive, started to wobble uncontrollably. It seemed I had managed to trigger a third-degree hysterical fit in the girl instantly.
"Go to bed, Shalltear," I said with a faint sigh—or rather, the imitation of one—as I slid the mask back into place.
"I... I... I... didn't mean to offend you..."
"Calm down. I am not offended."
"Shalltear never even dreamed of mocking Lord Momonga!" the girl began to reassure me in a panic, ignoring my words as she gripped my robes like a drowning person. "I didn't know! That is, I knew, but I didn't give it any weight! Ahhh!!!" She clutched her head. "Forgive your stupid Shalltear! She won't repeat such a mistake again! Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me!"
"Easy, easy," I started to get nervous myself. "You'll wake the whole village. Quiet, I say!"
"Sovereign, I didn't mean it!" she cried, her eyes once again void of reality, filled only with oceans of terror. "Forgive me! Shalltear won't do it again! I apologize! I apologize! I... Mmph!.."
"Quiet, quiet," I stroked the head of the girl, who was feebly fluttering in my grasp, as I pressed her face to my chest. "Calm down. Shalltear, do you hear me? If you make noise, you'll ruin our mission. Nod if you understand!" From below, she gave a hesitant nod, her nose rubbing against my ribs. "Excellent. Once again: I am not angry. It isn't your fault—Peroroncino made you this way. Calm down. There is no reason to panic here."
"But... But how?" She had progressed from making puppy-dog eyes to imitating a puppy's voice. "How can you say there's no reason, when you are in such a terrible state? I don't understand!" Tears glistened. "It's horrible, horrible..." Her small fingers gripped my robes even tighter as the trembling vampiress pressed her entire body against me. It was perhaps the first time this gesture lacked even a hint of eroticism. "My beloved Sovereign... My Master... The greatest and most beautiful of all the Supreme Beings... To be in such a terrible state... This is bad, this is very bad... How can you speak of it so calmly..." Her settings for intimacy were truly overclocked; this reaction was far too intense!
Meanwhile, Shalltear continued to lament. Tears streamed down her cheeks; she pitied me, cursed herself, damned fate, begged for forgiveness, and then pitied me again, weeping softly. I probably could have snapped at her and sent her to the bed provided by the hosts... I surely could have. But... well, I didn't have the heart for it. And so I sat there until morning like an idiot, comforting the small, trembling Princess of the Undead in my arms as she trustingly pressed against my chest. The troublemaker only fell asleep toward dawn. I won't lie—the thought that she was faking crossed my mind several times, but one look into her eyes made the suspicion vanish instantly. In short... this was not how I imagined a sleepless night in the arms of an utterly perverted nymphomaniac. Not like this at all.
"My Lord Zellos," a knock on the door and the host's voice snapped me out of my reverie. "Shall I serve you breakfast? Or perhaps I should prepare water for washing?"
"There is no need, we are sated," I said, steadying Shalltear, who had flinched and begun to blink in confusion.
"But... when?" came the bewildered voice from the other side.
"I am a mage and can sate hunger with spells. I do not wish to impose. We will be out in a few minutes."
"Yes, of course..."
"Zellos-sama..." As soon as the peasant's footsteps receded, the vampiress made an attempt to speak.
"Get yourself ready, Shalltear," I cut her off, having no desire for a new round of the "Whining Raid Boss" tragicomedy. Besides, it was simply unpleasant to see a young girl suffer. Even without emotions, it was aesthetically unappealing.
"I understand..." She looked glum, but she climbed out of my arms.
Generally, as I had noted before, peasants rise and set to work almost at dawn. However, the headman could afford certain perks, and a distinguished guest resting in his house who had dropped some gold was a good reason to delay heading to the fields. Consequently, the invitation to breakfast didn't actually come until around noon.
Outside, it was quite crowded. People looked at us with the same curiosity as before, but unlike yesterday, Shalltear wasn't in the mood to tear everyone's head off. In fact, she behaved quite calmly and, frankly, looked rather shell-shocked. I didn't expect the realization of my "problem" to affect her so deeply. Nevertheless, albeit unintentionally, she pulled off the image of a child who had realized they were lost after "going away with Dad" perfectly. The residents, who had already learned through the grapevine about our "wrong turn," even cast sympathetic glances her way occasionally.