―At that sa mont.
In a quiet room of an E-Rantel inn, the Dark Hero removed his helt, revealing the face beneath.
But the face exposed was not of a rugged adventurer—no flesh, no muscle, no skin.
Only a pure white skull, sinisterly warped, with sharp, demonic contours.
The bone structure was far thicker and larger than a normal human's, the eye sockets twisted into an almost predatory glare, the jawbone reinforced like a weapon.
If an ordinary skull was human, this was the face of a demon.
And deep within its hollow sockets, two crimson lights burned—cold, intelligent, and wickedly alive.
A terrifying figure by all standards.
Yet instead of roaring curses or invoking so unholy spell, the skeletal being simply reached into a leather pouch and let out a tired sigh.
"Haa… another exhausting day…"
His na had once been Momonga.
But that na was long gone.
Now, he was known only as Ainz Ooal Gown—the supre ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, the one and only Overlord.
Though his undead body could not tire, he still felt the weight of ntal exhaustion.
True fatigue—emotional weariness—was sothing even undeath could not erase.
"Still, monts like this… make wish I could sleep."
He let out another hollow sigh.
Since the day he and his guild had been transported to this new world, Ainz had retained his racial evolution from Skeleton Mage to Overlord.
But along with that ca a curse—the loss of every human function.
He could no longer eat, drink, or sleep.
When he looked in a mirror, there was no man—only polished bone.
When he ran his hand across his body, it was nothing but rigid armor and cold hardness.
Even his "eyes" were not eyes at all, just flas flickering inside empty sockets.
"To think… how precious sleep really was."
It was ironic—sothing humans took for granted had beco a luxury even eternity couldn't offer him.
A mont to forget, to rest the heart… that was true bliss.
"Still, at least I save ti."
...
Ainz had worked tirelessly that day—slaying monsters, collecting rare herbs, rescuing villagers, defending towns.
Every mission completed raised the reputation of
"Momon the Dark Hero."
And this wasn't a one-day effort.
For several days straight, he had continued without rest, using his tireless undead body to complete requests others would never dare to accept.
While Adamantite-ranked adventurers were rare and often idle between commissions, Ainz deliberately chose lower-ranked quests—dangerous, neglected, or outright suicidal tasks.
He didn't interfere with work already claid by others, but the pool of available missions was still vast.
After all, in this fragile world, death was permanent.
Adventurers had only one life to lose, and few dared to gamble it.
Thus, Ainz thrived where others hesitated.
Of course, there was more to it than re personal drive.
This was all part of Demiurge's grand plan.
"Right… Demiurge said I need to build fa as quickly as possible."
According to Demiurge, Ainz had to amass overwhelming renown—not just enough to be known, but enough to eclipse even the legendary families of this continent.
Simply joining Dragon's Dream would not suffice.
Even though Demiurge had already infiltrated and seized control of that ancient noble house,
its prestige—built over 150 years—could not be replaced overnight.
Thus, Ainz would rise publicly as the heroic adventurer Momon, while Demiurge consolidated control from within.
Eventually, Ainz would be crowned both hero and ruler—and at last, he would place the na Ainz Ooal Gown above Dragon's Dream itself.
....
For that, he needed fa—real, unshakable fa.
Being Adamantite-ranked wasn't enough.
Even defeating the "demon" Yaldabaoth wouldn't be enough.
He needed sothing greater.
Demiurge's plan was simple yet theatrical—to let Yaldabaoth grow into a world-shaking calamity,
a fiend so powerful that nations themselves would tremble—and then have Momon, the hero, destroy him before all the world.
"Demiurge called it a 'dramatic arc'... right."
Ainz agreed.
To move hearts, one needed drama.
One needed spectacle.
Just as the noble houses built their reputations over centuries, Yaldabaoth would rise as the symbol of terror—and Momon, his conqueror, as the symbol of hope.
Soon, the demon's shadow would fall over the Empire… then the Holy Kingdom.
Ainz still rembered the day Demiurge explained it, his eloquence so brilliant that even Ainz could only nod in awe.
To turn a simple villain into a myth—to turn the guild's na into legend—it was genius.
Of course, they didn't have a century to spare.
Five years at most, Demiurge said.
Five years to let the world believe in fear…and then deliver salvation at the hands of Ainz Ooal Gown.
....
And so, to et those expectations, Ainz worked relentlessly.
The first step—building renown—was already underway.
He would make Momon's na shine brighter than any other.
The na of Ainz Ooal Gown would follow.
And in ti, the world itself would kneel before both.
But Ainz had only one body — and could only accept one request at a ti.
And to make it look believable that he was actually completing these requests, he couldn't appear to finish them too quickly, either.
After several days of the sa routine, Ainz began to feel… bored.
"Still, nothing to be done about it… sigh."
He let out another long, hollow sigh.
Raising the na of Ainz Ooal Gown into legend — that was his own command, the very order he had given Demiurge.
And Demiurge, in his brilliance, had crafted a flawless plan to make it happen.
But even perfection could be… exhausting.
At so point, Ainz realized that he was rely going along with Demiurge's grand design — playing the part expected of him — and it wasn't exactly what he'd imagined.
It was grind work, plain and simple.
Even in another world, he was still stuck in endless grind quests.
The crimson light in his sockets dimd.
"So let's keep it up… I've done worse."
He tried to encourage himself. And in truth, he was used to this.
Back in Yggdrasil, it wasn't all exciting raids and epic adventures.
He'd spent hours upon hours grinding for levels, completing tedious fetch quests, or mining rare materials.
He'd swung a pickaxe in a virtual mine for twelve straight hours.
He'd fished in a river for rare loot until dawn.
He'd ridden summons for hours just traveling between zones, staring blankly at scrolling landscapes.
He'd even sat waiting for boss respawns so long that the party ran out of things to talk about and just stared into the digital void.
So really, this sort of work was nothing new to Ainz.
"Reality can't beat MMO grind! I've done this hundreds of tis before!"
Not sothing to be proud of — but it did an he was used to repetition.
Still, now that this world was real, his mind and body seed to accumulate a strange kind of fatigue.
Not physical, of course — undead couldn't feel that —
but a quiet, creeping ntal weariness that had no outlet.
He couldn't even rest to make it go away.
Undead couldn't tire… yet sohow, Ainz felt a strange kind of sorrow.
He couldn't frown.
He couldn't cry.
Only the faint red glow of his eyes flickered dimly.
"Ha… let's hang in there."
Today's grind. Tomorrow's grind.
All of it — for Ainz Ooal Gown!
With renewed determination, he reached to put his helt back on—
....
"A—Ainz-sama!"
"Wh—what?!"
Suddenly, a ssage spell activated — a sharp, urgent voice struck through his consciousness.
It was Albedo.
But why now—?
Startled, Ainz nearly fell out of his chair, but managed to keep his composure thanks to Emotional Suppression.
Though his mind had flinched in shock, the undead calm quickly returned, and he cleared his throat, adopting his usual commanding tone.
"What is it, Albedo? I am currently in the middle of a request—"
"Forgive for interrupting, Ainz-sama! But sothing terrible has happened! You must return to the Throne Hall imdiately!"
Her tone was frantic — sothing Ainz had never heard from her before.
Even during Shalltear's incident, she had remained calm and asured.
This ti, panic laced every word.
"What's going on? Explain yourself, calmly."
There was a pause.
A trembling breath.
And then, Albedo's voice broke.
"D-Demiurge… Demiurge has… been killed, Ainz-sama!"
"What?!"
Ainz's composure shattered.
All dignity, all calm, even his undead emotional suppression — gone.
His voice burst out in pure disbelief and rage.
The Overlord who could face armies without flinching was now frozen in shock.
The crimson glow in his eyes flared violently.
Every thought of fa, quests, or plans vanished.
In that mont, one word echoed through the hollow skull of the Sorcerer King—
Demiurge.
And the word that followed it…
Dead.
******************
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