Chapter Text
Jircniv Rune Farlord El-Nix, the Bloody Emperor of the Baharuth Empire, sat in his polished mahogany chair in his private office — the same room where so many decisions that had shaped the fate of nations (chiefly his own) had been made. In recent years he had spent more time in the gardens than here actually making impactful decisions. There were moments, however, when the full weight of that room returned, and this was one of them — to Jircniv’s displeasure. He was beginning to grow accustomed to the comforts of life as a vassal.
He massaged his temples hard, staring at the parchment in front of him as if that could make it — and the problems it brought — disappear. Of course it did not. That would have been too easy, and sooner or later Jircniv needed to suffer a little to remember his place in the world. At present he was suffering under the cold, dead hands of Ainz, or so it seemed.
“Damn skeleton… why can’t he just… stay in that damned tomb of wonders and be content with Re-Estize?!” Jircniv muttered, even knowing it was a stupid question. If he possessed Ainz’s absurd power, he would not be content with a small kingdom and an empire either.
Yet Jircniv had not expected what confronted him on all those parchments on what he had thought was an ordinary day. Thinking clearly, of course, it had been obvious.
The Empire had spies in many places (with the obvious exception of Nazarick) that helped him maintain the subtle game of power and control over his neighbors through rumors, uncomfortable secrets, and alarming news. Until now Jircniv had verified that they were efficient in the rumors and news they delivered; however absurd those reports might be, he knew they were not entirely false, even if they might be exaggerated. That changed when an official message from Nazarick reached him, shattering any faint hope that it might be some kind of misunderstanding.
Unfortunately for him, both sources converged on a single uncomfortable truth: the Sorcerer King Ainz Ooal Gown was no longer merely a conquering sovereign. He was becoming a deity.
“What happened, Your Majesty?” Leinas Rockbruise asked her master, looking between him and the expensive parchment bearing Nazarick’s symbol, along with other more discreet and less costly ones.
Without answering, Jircniv tossed the parchment toward his knights. Leinas caught it; the other two men gathered around her to read the message it carried.
There, in elegant red ink that stood out against the dark background of the parchment, it read:
“The Sorcerer King, in his infinite wisdom, permits the peoples under his protection to express gratitude through faith. Black Justice rises as a new faith with proven power over life, death, and magic so that all who recognize his grandeur and power may unite under the leadership of Pope Baraja.”
There were more devastating and revealing words, but in summary that was the most important part: Ainz Ooal Gown was being recognized as a god. Neia Baraja, a paladin, had revealed herself to be something far more dangerous than a mere warrior — a charismatic religious leader who seemed to have catalyzed a mass conversion after Ainz’s conquest of the Holy Kingdom.
Because Jircniv knew that was what it was. Ainz had told him nothing of his plans, of course, nor did he have proof, but the description from a traumatized spy about the so-called demon Jaldabaoth had reminded him far too much of a certain archdevil in Ainz’s service. It did not seem very absurd that Ainz would stage an outrageous plan of pushing the unwary off a cliff only to then offer them his hand as salvation.
That was how Jircniv had become involved with him, even if his life was now more pleasant. That was how an undead was, he imagined. In any case, Ainz held the Holy Kingdom — or at least part of it — in his hands and had somehow infected a dangerous mind with ideas of divinity that were spreading among the common people.
Entire parts of the Holy Kingdom had fallen. Village after village. Even surviving priests and paladins swore loyalty to the “Supreme Savior.” The cult of Ainz as the father of Surshana, as the god of Justice, Commerce, Magic, and Battle, was beginning to spread like fire through dry straw, and Jircniv knew it would not be long before it reached the Empire.
“The temples of the Four Gods will not accept this in silence,” Nimble said, worried by what he had read. “Much less the Slane Theocracy. They are completely against heteromorphic beings. Could this not incite some kind of holy war?”
“I confess I expected from the beginning that we would be attacked in a proxy war with the Sorcerer Kingdom,” Baziwood commented, not seeming as shocked and worried as Nimble, stroking his sparse beard. “Do you think they are just waiting for the right moment?”
“After almost five years? By this point even the Slane Theocracy must have noticed they are no match for Ainz, but with something like this, which not only threatens their beliefs but their dominion over their faithful… things are going to get even more complicated around here.” Jircniv sighed, unconsciously grabbing his hair. “The priests of both churches have already demanded to see me. Irritating bastards… acting as if they have the right to demand something from me after all these years of ignoring the emperor…”
“But isn’t this good for us?” Baziwood commented, surprising the other three. “We already serve the Sorcerer Kingdom, but if Ainz is seen as a god, wouldn’t we be some kind of holy nation or a nation under the power of a god? The Slane Theocracy gained power by being a nation founded by the gods or something like that, right? And Ainz-sama is here among us; doesn’t that mean we will be safer?”
“To be safe under the protection of a god like Ainz…” Nimble felt a cold sweat run down his spine. “Well, we can’t say that vassalage hasn’t turned out to be something good for us; the Empire is better than at any time since its founding, but to have an undead god as a patron…”
“It’s not as if we can stop this. What will you do now, Your Majesty?” Leinas turned to Jircniv, who was reading the rest of the parchments.
His violet eyes scanned the reports on the situation in the Holy Kingdom: at least a quarter dead, the loss of vital warriors and labor that could paralyze the nation for decades, if not generations. Jircniv could already see what would happen in the near future: Ainz would absorb the Holy Kingdom, give it the means and resources to develop, binding those miserable souls even more tightly to the belief that he was a merciful god.
And Jircniv could not blame them, because Ainz had the power for that. He was a being who could kill thousands of living beings in the blink of an eye, who could bring monstrous beings to life, and who possessed magic that no mage could even dream of reaching. He did not merely exude power; he had the power to be seen and revered as a god.
It was no wonder the reports said Neia Baraja already had around one hundred and fifty thousand followers, growing as she continued her conversion march that would not take long to spread across the entire continent. Nazarick had already recognized her as a Pope; she would have religious power, and as Ainz expanded his dominion over humanity, more of the faithful would adhere to the faith of Black Justice.
What Jircniv thought about it did not matter; only that this was the new truth: Ainz Ooal Gown was now a god.
“Well, there’s only one thing I can do now,” he mocked with a twisted smile. At that moment a knock on his door made the four of them turn toward it, and the secretary entered.
“Your Majesty? The Council and the priests are gathered and ready to see you,” Loune Vermillion, the emperor’s faithful secretary, announced with a bow.
“Let’s go. It’s time to start a religious revolution in this empire, it seems.” Jircniv sighed, rising from his chair and hardening his expression as he always did when he needed to face a political game.
As Jircniv expected, none of the priests were pleased to hear the news about the Holy Empire and the new faith that was rising. Just as Jircniv had his sources, he knew that the Slane Theocracy and the faith of the Four Gods had their spies inside the Empire and in the Holy Empire and had probably received even more alarming reports than his. Proof of that was how one of the priests from the Slane Theocracy, a representative of the God of Wind, looked as if he were about to spontaneously combust before the imperial court, while the others looked at him as if he were a heretic or the worst kind of trash on the roadside.
A bit uncomfortable, but nothing new.
“Your Majesty, this is already complete heresy! Elevating an undead, a… a demon to the level of a god…” The man spat with an expression twisted in disgust and rage. “This is not only blasphemy against the faith of the Six Great Gods, but blasphemy against humanity!”
“We should have done something from the beginning to prevent the situation from escalating to this point,” said another priest. His words were disdainful, but his critical gaze was on the Theocracy’s representatives. “That monster, Ainz, should have been exterminated as soon as he arrived in this world, instead of being allowed to wander the earth playing conqueror, but the Slane Theocracy, as always, failed in its sacred duty.”
“Are you blaming us now? We have been acting for the sake of humanity all these years. We cannot act recklessly just because your church is incapable!”
“Well, they’re saying out there that Surshana is the son of this Ainz, aren’t they? Who guarantees that you aren’t involved in this?”
“How dare you, you worm?!”
While the priests argued, Jircniv simply watched them with little interest. If he could, he would be drinking wine, but he needed to be perfectly sober for what he was about to do next. At least he was not the only one who found it stupid; some other nobles who had survived Jircniv’s purge and the pressure from Ainz in the months following the vassalage seemed to find that dispute between the churches as meaningless as he did.
“Your Majesty, considering our position as a vassal state of Nazarick, how should we act?” one of the nobles, a robust man with a serious expression, questioned him.
“In what other way do you expect? The Empire will announce its adherence to the faith of Black Justice and recognize Ainz Ooal Gown as a god.” Jircniv answered as if it were obvious. That left the priests scandalized.
“Your Majesty!” one of the Theocracy priests exclaimed.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, but one thing is to submit to Ainz Ooal Gown through vassalage; another is to submit to him of your own free will,” another priest, a representative of the God of Life by the emblem on his chest, positioned himself. “You will be condemning the entire empire to eternal damnation for such blasphemy when, as emperor, your duty should be to watch over the lambs of the gods and keep them on the path of life!”
“As emperor, priest,” Jircniv ironized the title, “my duty is to guarantee the well-being of my people. What do you expect me to do? Gather an army and lead them to the slaughter, like those fools from Re-Estize? That I condemn thousands of innocent lives to maintain the power of a church?”
“Your Majesty, we can understand that you surrendered easily before the military power of the Sorcerer Kingdom, but someone truly interested in the good of humanity should not give in so easily out of fear!” a priestess scrutinized him, looking at Jircniv with slight suspicion.
Jircniv felt deeply irritated by that accusation. Those cowardly and hypocritical priests… they had never had to deal with Ainz and his mental games, nor had they even stood before him. Jircniv had fought with all his strength before surrendering and recognizing that Ainz was superior to him. He had suffered to ensure that his Empire survived, and having to hear a priestess despise that was very irritating.
“So, priestess, you and your church are saying that I am a coward?”
“No, Your Majesty, I only—”
“Then you think me a fool?”
“Your Majesty—”
“The empire will not be a stage for your power games.” Jircniv cut them off, not letting the priests complain. They had spent years complaining.
Jircniv remembered well the piles and piles of letters he had received, especially in the first months of vassalage, about how he was committing a mistake by submitting to Ainz, how he should take military action, how he had erred in this and that, and all kinds of subtle accusations that had stressed him for nights on end. All the churches had done was complain to him and increase the psychological pressure he was already under without really offering help.
And the only time he thought he could get help from the Theocracy, they abandoned him. And now the Slane Theocracy and the Faith of the Four dared to blame him again for their own incompetence.
“I do not intend to force anyone to convert, nor do I believe Ainz will do so, so why not just accept and coexist? Just stay out of each other’s way and everything will be fine, no?”
“Your Majesty, with all due respect, but this is nothing more than a deception!” said the representative of the God of Earth. “It is obvious that this is just a trick of that demon; giving us crumbs and conquering us from within! And if this is just a plan to gather thousands of souls for some macabre scheme? And if, in the end, we are nothing more than a flock being gathered for some profane sacrifice?!”
The priest’s words echoed among the nobles, who whispered among themselves, and Jircniv himself felt a small fear in his heart. It could be true. Ainz was an undead. All that apparent kindness could be a lie; he was cruel, after all, with his games and manipulations, and could be doing all that as part of a macabre plan where, as the priest said, in the end he and all of humanity would have their souls sacrificed and condemned to eternal suffering.
Jircniv was not exactly a man of faith, but he would be lying if he did not admit to himself that he had had several nightmares of that exact scenario, where in the end he was deceived by Ainz and cast into a world of darkness and suffering while Ainz laughed at his naivety.
But then he remembered that he knew Ainz. More than these arrogant idiots before him. More than these men who had refused to treat him when he was ill for surrendering to Ainz. He might not know him intimately or his thoughts, but he conversed with Ainz, ate with Ainz, and even… had fun with Ainz. Although part of him still retained a small fear of Ainz’s undead nature and that everything was a lie, he was also a rational man and believed in what he saw.
And what he saw was a terrifying and ultra-powerful being who could easily end all of humanity, but who refused to do so and still called him a friend. That made his stomach turn, but it also calmed him. Yes, he knew Ainz well enough to know which side to take.
“Then shouldn’t you be more concerned with preventing this than with wanting me, who swore vassalage to the Sorcerer Kingdom, to break the treaty between us in an insane declaration of war? Must I remind you that the Slane Theocracy, when it had the opportunity to help the empire, fled. So do not dare point the finger at me as if recognizing the faith in Ainz were something imposed by me. The temples of the Four Gods and the Six Great Gods will continue to exist, but temples to Ainz will also be built. In Arwintar, in every city and village that wishes to adhere to this faith. That is my final word!”
“Know then that you are committing a great error, Your Majesty,” the representative of the God of Water murmured with his old, drawn-out voice. “If you truly cared for the souls of your subjects, Your Majesty, you would fight against the dominion of Ainz Ooal Gown, regardless of the consequences for yourself!”
“I care for their lives, priest. You are the ones who seem incapable of fighting for the souls of the people and demonstrating the superiority of your gods. Do not blame me for worrying about the earthly life of my people when that is my duty. If your gods have any problem with that or a means to resolve this peacefully, I will listen to them!”
“You will pay for this blasphemy, Bloody Emperor. You and that ‘Pope.’” The representative of the God of Wind warned him, to which Jircniv shrugged.
“Good luck, priest. Neia Baraja and her warriors of Black Justice seem to be training under Ainz’s command and equipped with equipment and weapons that rival the Sacred Scriptures. Just imagining one of your inquisitors trying to arrest her and some of them, with all the pomposity of their comfortable positions as ‘holy men,’ I laughed so hard I almost choked!”
“Would they even work against the Sorcerer King? Honestly, considering that the Slane Theocracy has done nothing until now, it seems very much to me that they are trying to use the Empire in a proxy war,” a noble observed in a slightly disdainful tone.
“Considering everything we have heard of the Katze Massacre and what happened in the Holy Kingdom, I would say that in less than a year the Theocracy would be wiped off the map. Trampled like grass under the hooves of a warhorse. I see no reason why the Empire should be dragged into a church quarrel,” said another noble.
“It seems we will not find a single reasonable man here,” the Priest of the God of Life sighed, sounding very much like a disappointed grandfather. “You have been completely dominated by the power of that undead.”
“When you are under the dominion of Ainz Ooal Gown, you will understand what we understood years ago, my dears: there is, in this world, no power capable of facing the Sorcerer King!” Jircniv said in a tone of finality.
“It seems what they say out there is true; that the Emperor of the Baharuth Empire is more than a mere vassal, but a close associate of the undead king working in his favor,” the priestess observed, in a tone that seemed intended to strike a nerve, but Jircniv merely mocked. He had heard worse things.
“I would say I am more than a close associate, priestess. You know the way out!”
The elderly priest lowered his head, but his eyes burned with contained frustration. “May the gods have mercy on your soul, Emperor!”
And with that each of them left the room, casting final reproachful and judgmental looks that almost made Jircniv roll his eyes and sneer, but he contained himself until the door closed behind the last priest, the representative of Surshana, who had a strange look before the door cut off the view. Jircniv decided not to pay attention to that for now. Certainly those men would not stay quiet and would try something, but that was a problem for future Jircniv and his spies, for the meeting was not yet over.
“Your Majesty, what will we really do about this new faith? Are we really going to embrace it?” a noble asked him.
“But of course we will!” Jircniv answered, leaning back on his throne. “Not only will we adhere to this faith, but we will make Baharuth an important religious center! Being honest, it is so obvious now… Ainz Ooal Gown is a powerful being, capable of things we never dreamed of before. Sooner or later he would be seen as a god and worshiped as such. We have to ensure that we continue to maintain the relevance of the Empire before the new faithful and the Sorcerer Kingdom. Vassalage is what guarantees our security, after all!”
“Do you think the Theocracy might try something? Of all the churches, they are the ones who can do something against the empire.”
“If they are foolish enough to indirectly provoke Ainz, I don’t doubt it.” Jircniv shrugged.
“And how will we increase our relevance when we are already vassals? Just declaring the Faith of Black Justice as the official faith of the Empire is not enough? After all, technically, the Empire never recognized any church as the dominant faith. That would be a big step.”
“No. That is not enough!” Jircniv contested. “We have to build a temple that is not only larger, more imposing, and worthy of Ainz’s power, but the faith is still new and has a pope, but it is not yet fully formed, so I will write proposing a synod in the empire. With that, not even the Theocracy will be able to accuse the Sorcerer Kingdom of being illegitimate or of dark plans so blatantly!”
The nobles murmured in agreement, concurring with the emperor’s vision that they should ensure the continued favor of Ainz Ooal Gown so that they, mainly, could survive.
Jircniv walked through the ornate corridors of the imperial palace with his mind occupied by the news of the Church of Black Justice. Five days had passed since that encounter with the priests and he was still feeling uncomfortable, certain that those “men of faith” would not accept that easily, but the more time passed without anything happening, the more his mind insisted on overthinking.
His spies, however, reported increasingly loud murmurs against the “heretical invasion” of the Church of Black Justice, and he was certain that something would happen soon, and more than ever his three Imperial Knights accompanied him constantly wherever he went.
On that end of the day, however, he decided he would set all that aside for a while and rest. Night had fallen over Arwintar. The magical lanterns cast elongated shadows in the internal gardens he crossed to reach his private chambers and stay away from his imperial concerns for a while, at least.
The maids were already waiting for him in his room, guiding him to the bathhouse near his chamber, helping him bathe while his three knights remained at various points, backs turned to him, for a matter of false privacy. One of the maids, dressed in an outfit that showed her beautiful curves and coppery skin (like the others), was kneeling beside the bathtub with a jar of hot non-alcoholic wine, perfect for him to warm up and sleep without the effects of alcohol.
When he finished and was dressed in his night attire, he already felt the tentacles of sleep approaching him.
“We will be outside. Good night, Your Majesty.” Nimble bid him farewell, the other two following him.
“Of course, of course. Rest as well.” Jircniv dismissed them with an irreverent hand gesture before lying down, pulling the covers over himself. Sleepy, he only had the vision of a teddy bear stuffed under a pillow beside him before sighing and closing his eyes, letting sleep pull him under.
Hours must have passed when Jircniv woke. In one instant he was sleeping a deep, dreamless sleep and in the next he awoke, as if he had not slept at all. Confused by that sensation, he blinked, frowned, and tried to go back to sleep, but something seemed to prevent him from doing so, and after about five minutes of trying to return to the empty world of sleep without success, he decided to get up, sighing in irritation.
He got up and walked to the center table of his room where they left fruit, some drink, and snacks, preserved with magic, for him to enjoy when he felt like it.
He had not always had that; fruit yes, but not so many treats, but Ainz from time to time always sent him delicious things, and after a comment about the fear of wasting the delicacies (a discreet attempt to stop Ainz from sending him snacks as if he were a child going to school, despite his appreciation for Nazarick’s delicacies), he also received an enormous tray that preserved everything placed on it for several days.
Despite having mixed feelings toward Ainz, he loved that and only did not devour everything as he desired for fear of gaining weight and losing his shape. He was still vain. Since he could no longer sleep, he decided he might as well eat something and read some documents to get ahead on the next day’s work until sleep returned.
He was halfway between the bed and the table when the calm of the night was broken.
A hooded figure leapt from the shadows of the ceiling, moving with trained speed difficult to follow with the eyes. The blade shone under the silver light of the moon—an enchanted dagger, meant to pierce common protections; the assassin aimed at the emperor’s heart with lethal precision, but to the ruler’s luck, the impact never arrived.
A translucent, almost invisible golden barrier appeared around Jircniv at the instant of the blow, repelling the blade with a flash of energy. The assassin was thrown backward by the magical field, falling to his knees.
He was ready for another attack, but immediately the Imperial Knights invaded the room with swords in hand; alarm shouts echoed when they sighted the intruder.
With a ‘tsk’ of irritation at having failed, the assassin tried to flee, but discovered, with irritation and slight panic, that the emperor’s room seemed to have been sealed by a magical field that prevented him from leaving through the windows. The assassin then resorted to a magical device he carried, but Leinas, quick, launched an almost invisible but incredibly resistant thread against the assassin, capturing his foot and bringing him down, making him lose the device.
There was a brief struggle between Baziwood, Leinas, and the assassin, while Nimble protected the emperor, guiding him away from the confusion and placing himself between him and the danger. Luckily, the two imperial knights showed why, among all, they were the elite of the elite, and in seconds the aggressor was immobilized, arms twisted behind his back and a boot pressing on his back.
“Your Majesty, is everything all right?” Nimble questioned, turning to Jircniv who, except for a slight pallor, did not seem so shaken by that. Other guards invaded his chambers, though too late, given that the situation was already under control.
“Yes. It’s nothing serious. Take him to the dungeons!” Jircniv ordered, his voice firm despite the adrenaline. “Interrogate him immediately.”
As the knights dragged the figure, Jircniv noticed something strange in the silhouette. The body was more slender than that of a common man. When the hood was pulled during the restraint, long dark hair fell over the face, confirming his suspicion. The assassin was a woman.
The imperial dungeons had a humid air laden with the smell of iron and mold, despite having clean cells. There were few of them, used to hold prisoners who should be interrogated immediately, since the empire had a specific prison.
Jircniv went down personally accompanied by two trusted court mages and his knights. The prisoner was chained to a chair reinforced with anti-magic seals in one of the cells. Her face, marked by determination, showed relatively young features, perhaps in her thirties, with brown eyes burning with conviction, despite the obvious signs that the interrogation had already begun.
Jircniv took a moment to register the assassin’s face, slightly admiring that it was a woman. It was not the first, of course, but the women who had tried to kill him in the past…
“I must say it was somewhat impressive to see a woman trying to assassinate me with a dagger. Normally they disguise themselves as maids, or more commonly, as seductive women with sweet, silky words and poisoned drinks in hand.” Jircniv began, approaching the assassin. “I even remember a case from my childhood, when my nanny tried to kill me. You earned a few points for the direct approach.”
The assassin merely stared at him, silent. Jircniv sat in a chair that one of the guards arranged for him, the emperor crossing his legs and resting his face on one fist, staring directly into her eyes with a false image of boredom.
“So; who sent you?” Again, silence. “Speak and perhaps your death will be quick. You can remain silent for now, but that will only make it more painful for you, as you could attest.” He said, pointing to an unpleasant wound on one of her arms.
The woman spat on the floor near the emperor’s boots, staring at him with a somewhat surprising hatred.
“I will say nothing to a traitor to humanity. A filthy servant of the undead like you!”
Jircniv sighed, realizing then what this was. Unfortunately for that woman, he had no patience for long interrogations that night. The emperor gestured to the mages behind him.
“Use the Elixir of Truth. As much as you deem necessary without killing her.”
One of the mages approached with a magical compound in hand, taken from his robe — it was a potion that only the Empire’s Tower of Mages had permission to produce and use, for it was a liquid that relaxed the will of whoever ingested it and loosened their tongue. It did not destroy the mind of the affected, as long as the same person did not ingest it too many times.
They forced the woman to drink, one of the guards grabbing her throat and squeezing until she opened her mouth, her body thrashing in the chair as she ingested the elixir. Her eyes glazed over after a few seconds, her body going limp, before tensing again, as if inside her, her consciousness was fighting against that dominion.
“Speak, woman. Now!” Jircniv ordered. “Why did you try to kill me?”
Her voice came out drawn, but charged with a fervor that sounded strange in her almost apathetic voice:
“Because you kneel before the Sorcerer King… Ainz Ooal Gown. You allow him to defile the Empire with his false church. Black Justice is not salvation, it is blasphemy! An unparalleled heresy against the true gods of this world! The Sorcerer King is nothing more… than an… abomination in this world! A vile and purulent disease that needs to be eradicated before the world ends in perdition! Killing you before… validating his church… would be a blow against this growing heresy. A sign of what… of what… ugh… of what happens… NO! I WILL NOT… you despicable monsters… bending my will like this…”
“Why do you think killing me would change anything? I am not directly linked to the origin of Ainz’s church, nor do I have any influence over the church’s decisions. Ainz would continue with his plans with or without me.”
The assassin writhed and contorted, sweat running down her forehead as she tried to fight against the influence of the elixir, before her mouth continued to spit out the answers Jircniv asked her.
“Killing you… is a message to… to those who try to take the side of that monster…! Everyone must understand that… that being on the side of the undead is a condemnation. For the soul and… for life… ugh! Your death should… should be seen as… as a kind of corruption by black magic. As proof that being on the side of the false god brings punishment from the gods.”
The accusations began to pour out like a dammed river. She spoke of Jircniv’s “sins”: vassalage to an undead, his betrayal of humanity, how he was only condemning the souls of the citizens through subservience, how he was weak of will and a shame to humanity… nothing Jircniv had not already heard from other priests more faithful to their gods before.
The only difference was that the elixir seemed to have agitated her to the point of leading her into a religious delirium. The assassin described apocalyptic visions where the Empire became a kingdom of undead, with priests burning on gigantic pyres in public squares before the “demons of the Sorcerer Kingdom,” the emperor nothing more than a corpse ruling corpses. Tears ran down her face as she cited ancient scriptures, mixing them with distorted accounts of the events in the Holy Kingdom.
“Neia Baraja is a traitor! A false saint! The people of the Holy Kingdom were corrupted… and you will do the same here. This kingdom will be plunged into chaos, darkness, and destruction! The abomination must be destroyed! Ainz Ooal Gown must be stopped! I will die happy if I can plant the seed of resistance! All corruption must be exterminated!”
Jircniv sighed, rubbing his temple, exhausted with that religious delirium. In part, they had been his concerns in the recent past, but now, hearing that woman, it seemed so delirious that it was even a little embarrassing. She did not know Ainz as he did. She was not a friend of his as…
Jircniv stopped the thoughts, a little embarrassed. Okay, he was defending Ainz too much in his mind and that was a little ridiculous too. Jircniv just told himself that Ainz had shown himself to be nothing more than just and friendly with humans so far.
“He may be a skeleton, but under his guidance, the Empire and even E-Rantel, which he dominated, is prospering. I don’t see why he would throw all that away if from the beginning dominating us would be ridiculously easy. After all, he is a god!”
“NO! He is a disease in this world. He is corrupting innocent souls with the promise of a good life, but—”
“Silence, I am tired of hearing you!” Jircniv ordered, tired. The assassin fell silent with an almost audible click. Containing a sigh of satisfaction, Jircniv turned to one of the mages. “What did you discover about the dagger?”
“She is right.” The second mage contributed, studying the dagger that he now held with a magical cloth in his hands. “This blade has strange runes, but I recognize them as parts of black spells. One of them seems to be to cause rotting in whoever it wounds. I can only imagine that those struck by it would have a tragic death and an unpleasant appearance.”
“Something so vile given like that… I cannot imagine just anyone being able to use this. This kind of relic… Who gave it to you?” There was a moment of resistance. “You can fight as much as you want, but in the end you will tell me; just get it over with. Say the name of who sent you. Now!”
The woman opened her mouth, her body trembling with the effort of the potion. Her lips began to form a word, but before the first sound came out, her eyes widened in sudden terror. A violent spasm shook her body, blood ran from her nose and mouth. And while everyone watched that in astonishment, before they could react, she let out a short, guttural scream, her body going limp in the chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
After a brief moment of silence, his knights with their hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to react if necessary to any possible threat, Jircniv gestured for the guards and mages to examine her.
“The heart stopped. Self-destruction magic.” The first mage concluded. “A seal implanted inside her, made to activate before a keyword.”
Jircniv cursed softly.
“Curse… shouldn’t you have predicted that?” He complained to his mages, ignoring their excuses. “Whatever; just take care of the corpse. Preserve it to be better examined.”
With that, Jircniv returned to the palace, knowing that his night was lost. He needed to inform the Sorcerer Kingdom of that immediately. It seemed quite obvious to him that all that had been a plan of the Slane Theocracy and the Church of the Six Gods, one of the few countries to have such powerful relics.
Besides that, he would have to send mages to increase the security of his chambers. The assassin had not managed to leave, but she had managed to enter, which should not happen so easily. But if it really was the work of the Slane Theocracy, it made a certain sense. Still, he needed to take measures.
In his office, with the adrenaline leaving his veins, Jircniv began to draft an official report for the Sorcerer Kingdom. At first he decided to send it directly to Ainz, but changed his mind. He was speaking as the Emperor of Baharuth, not as a… friend.
It was an official matter, so that letter would be sent to E-Rantel, but it would be treated quickly when they saw his seal. Jircniv sealed the letter with imperial wax and handed it to his secretary.
He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his temples, tired.
“They will not stop the inevitable,” he murmured to himself, “but they can make the path much bloodier. Fools. All of them. They are only delaying the inevitable.”
When they did as he had, admitting that he was small before Ainz’s power, they would understand that the safest path to survival was not to fight against the inevitable dominion, but simply to accept fate. And perhaps, if they were lucky, they could enjoy life as he did.
Speaking of that, he needed something sweet, and there were some treats waiting for him in his room. He deserved something good for having endured all that when he should have been resting. Damn idiots…