There were somedays that I could just lounge around this home and pretend that I was in my own little world. No Nazarick. No craziness. Just me in a generic isekai world.

Today was not one of those days.

“- so in conclusion, I can safely say that the most common range of magic caster in the city is that of the first and second tiers, with relatively few reaching the third, and less than a dozen reaching the fourth tier,” I list off the numbers I made up on the spot.

“I’ve encountered similar scale of power in E-Rathel myself,” Ainz commented over the Message link.

Apparently Ainz believed he was overdoing in contacting me about my ‘progress’ in Arwintar, so he decided to ring me up in the middle of dinner. Not the worst time since I was in the comfort of my own home and could just tell Mya and Eva I was talking with Lord Ainz rather then walk off into some dingy alleyway to take my ‘call’.

I told the two alchemists turned maids that I was retiring to my personal study to continue the conversation. In truth, I just wanted to be able to make any expression that I wanted without causing an eyebrow rising situation with the two.

“You said you noticed fourth tier magic?” Ainz questioned.

“Magic? No. But I saw signatures of those capable of casting fourth tier magic,” I corrected him. “They were all clustered around the Imperial Magic Academy, so I assume that they are either the instructors or the a collection of headmasters that oversee the institution.” I had no idea if that was true or not. While I knew that the strongest mage in the Empire, forgot his name, had a collection of students who had fourth tier casters, I didn’t know if that applied to all of them or just the best of them.

“Hmmm,” Skellyman mulled over the information, probably having an inner monologue about it to boot. “Excellent work, Citrinitas. Continue your observations and note your findings. Despite appearances, this world may yet hold dangers and secrets we are still unaware of.”

“Of course, Lord Ainz,” I reply, “I will be the very epitome of discretion.”

“Very good then, if that is all, I’ll leave you to your tasks.”

“Before I forget my Lord,” I quickly note, remembering what I ought to say given that I am, as far as he is aware, some sycophantic NPC. “I wish to offer my most sincere congratulations in your victory against that undead host in E-Rathel. While a minuscule display of your true power, word of a warrior clad in dark armor-clad who almost singlehandedly put down an undead army has reached even the streets of the imperial capital.”

“Really? Word has already spread that quickly?” He sounded surprised.

“Did you doubt that such acts of heroism would not spread like wildfire? Was that not the intention of your actions?” Or was he just underestimating just how overpowered he was, though I kept that last but to myself.

“No, I’m just surprised word has spread so quickly. It has only been a day since all that happened,” his words sent a chill down my spine.

Fuck!

I just assumed it happened a while ago! Not a literal DAY ago! Fuck! Me knowing about it is fine, but for news like that to cross the distance between here and E-Rathel? Okay, how to think my way out of this?
Think…think…think…. think….Wait! I got it!

“News like that travels faster than even the swiftest courier,” I smoothly begin to weave a tale. “Though not all of it is factually correct.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed, I’ve heard no fewer than sixteen different retellings of the event,” I grew more confident in my tall tale with every word. “Some say you saved the city alone, others propose that it was a team effort and Momon was the sole survivor, and others go so far as to say you died felling the last undead dragon.”

“There seems to be a wide amount of discrepancy,” he commented.

“It’s to be expected,” I comment. While I had planned to leave it there, I got a fun little idea in my mind. “That being said, I must confess though that my favorite version is the one where Momon swoops down to the beautiful maiden who fought by your side into your arms, embraces her beneath the moonlight, and expressed his love to her for the first time.”

“umu…” I don’t even have to see him to know that story probably triggered his emotional suppresser. Weather it was because he was embarrassed by the whole thing or if the tale I made up was a tad too corny is irrelevant. “That’s…umu…an interesting interpretation of events.”

“It goes a bit further than that. The ending has a more crude and detailed language that goes into how Momon and Nabe then retired to their quarters, with the adrenalin of battle still in their veins, and-”

“There is no need to explain any further Citrinitas!” I swear I can hear a string of “umu’s” under his breath as he mumbled something over the connection. Must have really hit a sore spot, or an embarrassing one. He may be an undead with the emotion dampening modifier but he still has the mind of a guy who could be embarrassed about people telling stories like that about him, fictional or otherwise. “Umu…this…um… I… um..umu…. Citrinitas I have new orders for you.”

“Yes, My Lord?” smiling at my own reflection in the star silver.

“You are to do your utmost to suppress these…exaggerations of my deeds,” Ainz explained in a far calmer voice. Looks like someone’s emotion suppresser just kicked in. “It would be…counterproductive to my plan these…. alternative retellings of my actions overtook the truth of my deeds and actions.”

Ah so that’s what he’s going with.

“Ah, I understand. You wish for me to suppress them to keep the general populations expectations from overshooting what you require them to be,” I channeled my inner Demiurge to say that with a semi straight face. “Otherwise your long-term plans could be disrupted by a dissonance between fact and fiction.”

“…. Yes that is exactly what I was thinking,” Ainz shamelessly agreed.

“Then your wish is my command,” I reply, rolling my eyes. The connection between us was cut moments later. Beyond that little hiccup with the undead, everything went smoothly. Hopefully he will leave me alone for a while.

Of course I lied to Ainz about my progress.

Not just the magic stuff but about what I had been doing in my free time. More specifically, my experiments with prismatic ores.

As far as I could tell, there was no limit to my prismatic ore creation. So long as I had transmutable minerals and time, it could be done, from the smallest of nails to the beefiest of plate armor. Good thing to, since there were no native sources of the ores in this world. Hell, I’m pretty sure these people had no idea what prismatic ores even are.

Case and point, I went out a day ago to a section of Arwitnar that screamed wealth and showed a small bag of transmuted star silver coins to an appraiser to see if he could ‘tell me’ what the coins were made of. While I was pretty sure this world has no native sources of prismatic ores, there was always the possibility that some Yggdrasil items or Player gear being made of them ending up in the New World. Maybe the metals would be called something different, but so long as he could tell what they were, it would mean they knew in general terms what prismatic metals were.

The appraiser gave the coins a good look over, used some magnifying thing to examine the smallest details, bit into it, before eventually declaring it was a metal coin enchanted to look like “extremely polished silver”. The whole thing, he told me, in the bag was probably worth only a handful silver coins as collectable items.

However, I was informed that I was in luck, because just for a “cute looking girl” like me he’d give me a whole gold coin.

The audacity! He has something that fresh level one hundred Yggdrasil players, beings akin to Gods for these people, would be fighting each other for and goes “I’ll give you one gold for it because you’re a girl” while looking right at my tits. The balls on this cretin!

Though I got the last laugh since I turned a bunch of his most expensive jewelry from gold to copper when I asked to ‘try them on’. All in a day’s work. Well that and transmuting as many lesser quality metals as possible into prismatic and higher rated ores. Not merely from spoons and rusty screws but anything I could get my hands on. Incidentally, it turns out with a heavy enough coin purse, most smiths are willing to just give away bulk amounts of armor and weapons of average quality, more time efficient then transmuting spoons and the odd screw I find on the street.

For example, I now possess suits of pure scarletite armor, shields of pure celestial uranium, and a sizable armory of mismatch of weapons composed of differing prismatic quality just laying around. Granted most of the stuff was trash iron or steel when I got it, but one mans trash is another man’s treasure after a dozen hours of transmutations!

Actually, speaking of armor….

With the snap of my finger, my latest experiment walked over to me: a suit of scarletite armor driven by the power of a philosopher stone at its core. In short, it was a golem. It wasn’t even that hard to make. The armor was just a random suit of armor I transmuted, while a philosopher stone just needed a sufficient amount of celestial uranium to craft properly. Given the numbers of ingots in basement, that was hardly an issue.

“Go into storage and bring me a dozen star silver ingots,” I order, absently looking at my own reflection in the carmine breastplate of the automata.

Without a word the golem turned and walked out of the room with all the grace of a suit of plate armor could hope for, softly closing the door behind it as lumbering footsteps echoed off towards the basement.

With the stockpile of prismatic ores I have, it was only natural for me to try out some of the Player notes and spells listed in Magnum Opus. While I have my reservations of making living things with it like homunculi, golems have none of the moral implications of creating life that can think and feel. At least, I think it can’t think or feel. The golem doesn’t talk or seemingly want to do anything if it doesn’t have some instructions from me. Without me telling it to do something, it’ll just stand off in the corner waiting for its next set of orders.

Kind of creepy have a suit of animated armor just standing still in my room, but after I put a little thing on the ground for it to stand on, it looks like just another suit of armor on display!

Still not sure how strong it is. I mean the books says it should be level fifteen, each philosopher stone grants fifteen levels upon creation of a construct, but it also noted that the material used in creating a golem can either inflate or reduce its overall skill points. If so, how much does scarletite change?

Hmmm. Maybe I’ll have it clean up the streets of some Eight Fingers as a test? Oh, I can see how the people would react to it now: The Red Knight stalking the streets of Arwintar at night to stop any evildoers in his way. Armed with a sword of milky silvery, he dispenses justice and fights for the good of all!

If it works out, whose to say that I only need to have one of-

My little musings were interrupted by a message scroll linking me to someone.

“Master…it has happened,” the raspy voice of one of my wraiths whispered into the back of my skull.

One of my wraiths? I hardly see why…. Wait!

I shot out of my chair as I finally registered the words. “’It’? You mean Shalltear is incapacitated? She ran into the Black Scripture, and they used the World Item on her?”

“I do not know of these things Master… but events have occurred as you foretold…” it replied. Oh yeah, guess I never told them the name of the people I wanted them to find. “The vampire attack as you said she would… many lie dead… but the vampire now stands immobile. The human group is now fleeing … with their dead and dying.”

Then that was that. Showtime.

“Do not lose sight of them,” I order. “I will be arriving shortly.”

“Your will…be done,” with that the connection died.

I moved quickly, opening the door to my study I poke my head out. “Mya!”

“Yes, My Lady,” the homunculus’s voice replies from across the manor, a soft thud of footsteps race towards me.

“I don’t want to be disturbed for the next hour or so,” I tell the homunculi as she comes to a stop before me. “I’m going to be doing something very important and I don’t want any interruptions.”

“Certainly, My Lady,” Mya curtsied, “I shall insure you are free from distractions for as long as you wish.”

“Thank you Mya I-“my thanks were interrupted by the heavy set boots of the armor, returning from the basement with an armful of star silver. It would have bumped into Mya had the homunculus not moved out of the way, huffing in annoyance, and staring daggers into the red suit’s back as it marched back into the room and dropping all the bars on the floor by my desk.

Yeah…going to have to find a way to make it a bit smarter and self-aware.

---

“You honor us with your presence…Master.”

The first thing I saw when the glare of the teleport faded were three wraiths doing their best impression of a bow that could be performed without a set of legs.

“Where are they,” I question, taking in my own surroundings. The middle of a dark forest in the dead of night with only the moon to light the way.

You sure know how to pick em, Shalltear.

“Some distance that way…” one wraith pointed into the woods. “They have stopped for the moment…death claws for the eldest of them…”

“Fine let’s get this over with,” I sigh. “Actually, quick question: where is Shalltear?” I was curious to where the vampire was.

“There…” the second wraith motioned behind me.

Oh, so she was some distance behind- or I was behind HER!

The vampire was less then a dozen meters behind me, or I was a dozen behind her. All I could see was her back, her body hunched over with her weapon still in hand. Wasn’t she meant to have some aggro range where she attacked anything close enough to her? Or was it she only attacked if provoked?

Not waiting to find out, I quickly fast walk in the direction indicated by the first wraith, the three specters following close behind me. It took only a few minutes before I ran across the others I summoned. They bowed, same as the trio before, then gestured to the clearing just beyond.

There were thirteen of them. Ten stood around talking to one another or keeping watch while three laid on the ground in a bloody mess. While two of them were still, the third was an old woman who was coughing up a storm while she was being tended to by a woman in an angelic themed outfit. My eyes locked in on the bloodied white Chinese dress. Bingo.

All bunched up like that, I know the prefect spell to use and a bit of meta magic to make sure it finishes the job.

“[Penetrate Magic: Cry of the Banshee],” I whisper, letting out the spell with the added effect of going around most magical defenses.

I wince as the shrill cry races across the immediate area. The old woman almost immediacy begins to flail about like she’s having a seizure coughing up blood before finally going still. However, the effects on the others in were less then desirable. Oh, it affected them, each and every member of the Black Scripture fell to their knees or braced against something as the wail came over them. Yet when the cry died out, they were all still alive.

What the fuck? I used an instant death spell on them! I even used it with the meta magic to ignore magical defenses!

As they struggled to their feet, I let out a second bout of magic with a different meta magic modifier.

“[Maximize Magic: Cry of the Banshee]”.

Another shrill screech echoed against the trees. Yet, as with last time, none of the Scripture members fell dead. In fact, they looked more disorganized then injured. As they returned to their feet for a second time, they were no doubt aware they were being watched and were now on guard.

Fuck…

FUCK!

Wait…No! I haven’t lost yet! I refuse to leave without that World Item!

That’s right, this is why I always have a backup plan. Right, Plan B, the Hard Way….

I reached into my Item Box and fished around for me ‘Plan B’ disguise, technically some ‘spare clothes’ the homunculi gave me, but I call them ‘Plan B’ clothes now. As I retrieved the outfit, cloak, mask, and all, I grimaced about how ridiculous I’m going to look in this. After all the trouble I went through to not look like some bargain bin power ranger’s villain yet here I am. But we work with what we have, not what we want.

While I was at it, I decided to buff myself up with a number of the spells I remember from the book.

[Greater Bastion], [Greater Physical Defense], [Greater Resistance], [Greater Agility], and [Greater Strength] all would buff my stats for long enough to finish this myself if needed. I highly doubted I needed all the stat buffing, but better to be safe than sorry. time to let me ‘tussle’ in

As I put the finishing touches on my ensemble I noted how, even buffed up, I may be a tad outnumbered. Not wanting to risk fighting people with Yggdrasil gear in a fair fight, due to how bullshit some of the gear can be regardless of my own higher level, I decided to move the odds in my favor.

“[Summon Specter: Wraith], [Summon Specter: Wraith], [Summon Specter: Wraith], [Summon Specter: Wraith], [Summon Specter: Wraith]….”

---

What was that…?” The Captain of the Black Scripture groaned as his ears still bayed with white noise from…whatever it was that assaulted them.

After ordering a retreat from the vampire, the Black Scripture had taken refuge in a distant part of the woods to recuperate and tend to their wounds. The Captain himself got off relatively lucky, owing in no small part to his own unique heritage and the sacred gear he was using: a bit of bruising and a sprained wrist, nothing The Fourth Seat couldn’t fix with ease.

But the others? Most of the Scripture managed to get away without any wounds to show for it. But Cedran and Beaumarchais were dead, killed by the vampire’s lance attack. He had the Tenth Seat use [Preservation] to keep their bodies from deteriorating during their trek back to Kami Miyako. Given the two’s age and capabilities, the Captain was sure the Cardinals will allow them to be revived and return to active duty.

But Lady Karie was different. While the wielder of Downfall of Castle and Country, she was getting old. He remembers her joking that she probably only had a year or two left before she was relieved of duty. As opposed to the other two Scripture members, he was certain that she would not be granted a revival should she die. It was a sound move, the Theocracy only had so many resurrection staffs on hand at any given time and even if she were revived, she would only be combat effective for another year at most. He can easily see the logic of not wasting such a valuable resource on someone who is already ‘on her way out’ Lady Karie joked some weeks ago.

Yet there was still hope she could be saved. If they could just stabilize her and get her to the healers in time.

But that hope died in a wail of the damned.

Like nails running over his mind, the Captain was struck with a pain he has rarely ever experienced. Immense pain flooded his very being as it felt like even his bones were grating under the sound. It went on for what felt like hours, only to stop as suddenly as it arrived.

Before he could even question what had happened or check the status of everyone else, a second shriek deafened him. Hands slammed onto his ears in a vain attempt to stem the noise. He could feel blood begin to drip from his nose and ears. But just as before, the sound stopped almost as soon as it arrived.

Still, he could hear nothing beyond a deafening white noise as he watched his comrades struggle back to their feet. Then all at once, his hearing returned as an aura of green flooded the area. It was Divine Chant using a wide area healing spell. Which one was irrelevant now that his hearing had been restored.

In one fluid motion, he readied his lance and scanned his surroundings looking for the foe. “Ready yourselves, whoever could be on us any moment,” he rallied his team.

From the corner of his sight, he saw Lady Kaire’s still from before the Fourth Seat with her eyes rolled back and blood drip from her ears and nose. The Black Scripture’s healer only noticed the condition of her charge when she looked back after healing the group of their injuries and mending a series of glass cuts across her fingers from a health potion shattering in her hand. She quickly placed a hand on the old woman’s neck and arched her head onto her still chest. The Fourth Seat frowned, looking to the Captain, she shook her head and moved to close the woman’s eyes.

“Was that the vampire?” The Third Seat commented aloud using his staff to stand up, the mage conjuring a ball of fire in anticipation of an attack.

“If it was, we’re in no state to fight her,” Sixth Seat replied bracing himself against his sword. “Damn it, we weren’t in a state to fight her in the beginning.”

“Captain! We need to go!” The Seventh Seat, the vaunted Thousand League Astrologer, shouted. Before he could even ask her what was wrong, he felt it.

The sky shifted and warped momentarily. And the various sensory spells the sixth seat had cast shattered one by one.

Something was coming.

‘As if the situation wasn’t bad enough,’ he swore to himself, doing his best to not show any of his frustration and concern to the other seats.

For a moment, there was silence. Then a voice:

“Wow! And here I thought I was going to be the weirdly dressed one!”

The Captain turned to the voice’s direction, spear at the ready. Standing atop a large branch was a single figure in a thick black cloak with silver spiked edges along the shoulders and arms. Little talismans and symbols of indeterminate origin hung from silver chains draped around the torso. The figure’s face was concealed by a smooth sliver mask with blood red lenses.

He could feel everyone tense up at the figure’s arrival.

“Ridiculous you say,” the Fifth Seat was the first to speak, sporting a calm smile.

“I mean, look at all of you,” the figure gestured to them with their gauntlet. Their voice was beyond off-putting with their tone and pitch changing erratically. Were they magically altering their voice or was it that mask? “You all look ridiculous!”

“Oh? Ridiculous you say?” Fifth Seat joked, gesturing over the masked figure’s ensemble. “I don’t know where you’re from, but my mother taught my sister and I about playing with fire when you live in house of thatch.”

“Where I’m from its ‘throwing stones when you live in a glass house’, but I suppose I understand the point,” they shrugged at the Fifth Seat’s assertion. “I guess I over did overdo the whole disguise thing, but even still some of you look weirder then anything I could ever come up with.”

“Would you still say that knowing of the power these divine sets of gear hold?” he questioned back.

“Yes,” they seemed beyond amused. “I mean sure, some of you look pretty intimidating, but let’s be honest for a moment. You have a guy with a little top hat, a girl dressed in bikini armor with miss matched stockings, and a girl in an honest to God Japanese school girl uniform with bunny ears and a pink pocketbook! So yeah, some of you guys are pretty out there.”

While the captain had no idea what a “Japanese school girl uniform” was, he can understand an insult when he hears it.

“You seem to know an awful lot,” the Fifth seat countered.

“Of course I know a lot. For example, I know who you all are,” the figure explained. “You’re the Slane Theocracy’s Black Scripture, currently licking your wounds following your disastrous attempt to mind control Shalltear.”

“And I suppose you’re one of her accomplices here to demand we undo what we did to her?” The Captain interjected for the first time, quietly noting the vampire’s name for future reference.

“Hardly,” they seemed annoyed at the assumption of comradery. “That problem will fix itself in a little while. I will say you guys got off really lucky. Shalltear is the kind of girl who likes to play with her food if you get what I mean. Also loves to add women to her harem. So yeah, really lucky.”

The captain could see the Eleventh Seat shiver at the notion. “So if your not here to aid the vampire, why did you attack us? I assume that thing from earlier was your doing.”

“While I always love underdog stories, I didn’t come here to cheer you on from the sidelines about Shalltear,” the figure stated. “In short, you have something I want: the World Item.”

“The World Item?” the captain repeated, his eyes glancing back to Lady Karie’s prone form. Despite not being familiar with the term, it was obvious what they were referring to. “You speak of Downfall of Castle and Country.”

“I do,” he nodded.

“What could you possibly want with a relic from the Gods?"

“Gods?” they seemed amused. “Your Gods are no more divine then the Eight Greed Kings. Hell, they’re no more divine than you and I for that matter.”

“Quite the claim to make, especially in the presence of those who serve the Six Great Gods,” the Fifth Seat chimed in once more.

“It’s the truth,” the masked figure shook their head. “I am willing to concede that their powers were god-like by your measure of power, but they were far from divine in nature. Else why are they not alive right now?”

“So you claim to be a God,” the Captain commented at the figure’s claims.

“No, I claim that they aren’t Gods, that there are no Gods,” he sighed in frustration. “But I can see that you don’t care what I have to say, and I don’t care enough to debate theology with a bunch of zealots so I will be blunt: give me the World Item, and I will let you live.”

His ultimatum hung heavy in the air.

“You think we’d just give a random mage, one who attacked us without cause, one of the Theocracy’s most sacred relics?” the audacity was almost beyond the pale.

“No,” they admitted, “but it will be quicker then me having to kill each one of you to get what I want.”

“You seem awfully confident with your chances,” the captain looked to the sides as the other Seats readied themselves for battle. They may be down two Seats, but it was still ten against one. “Since you know so much about us, and what we can do, I can only assume your brazenness comes from a suicidal mixing of pride and arrogance.” The Captain gave a single hand gesture to the other Seats in their coded sign language. Capture. Had the mage just attacked them, The Captain would have had no qualms with killing him and getting rid of the evidence. But someone with the knowledge he has is worth taking in alive for questioning.

“And you seem like you are not going to just give it up,” the masked figure shook their head.

“No, we won’t” he said. “But I am willing to accept your surrender, in spite your attack on us and killing Lady Karie. It would be quicker than simply killing you.”

“Oh I see what you did there,” he joked at the Captains words. “Still, she was going to die anyway. Not to brag, but I know a thing or two about curses and I can tell you with certainty that nothing you could have saved her from whatever Shalltear gave her.”

“You seem to underestimate the healing magics of the Theocracy,” out of the corner of his eye, the Captain saw the Eleventh Seat began to channel magic for a paralysis spell. If he could keep this person talking, there might not be a need for a battle. Not that he was uncertain of defeating the masked man, but the cost, given their already weakened state from the vampire- Shalltear he corrected himself, victory might be steeper then it needed to be.

“I’m not underestimating, it’s just fact,” they seemed to chuckle at their own words.

Without warning, the Eleventh Seat’s attack shot forth to incapacitate the masked figure. However, there was no affect as the spell washed over them. No. It appeared as if they hardly noticed anything had hit them! The figure only stared at the woman's magic circle as he realized what just happened.

“Oh, you sneaky little bastards!” the figure laughed, the constant tone shifts made his voice sound inhuman. “And here I was thinking I was the one playing you like a marionet.”

“What?” it slowly dawned on the Captain what their opponent meant.

“You think I’ve just been standing here monologuing for the past few minutes just because I like the hear myself talk?” With a snap of their finger the Captain noticed movement all around them from the previously dead quiet foliage. A collection of ethereal figures with human like skulls that blazed a unearthly red light from empty sockets.

Wraiths. In the time they had been talking, he must have summoned and been directing them. Damn it! But how did they avoid the sight of-

“As entertaining as this has been, I do have a schedule to keep,” the figure gestured to the enteral horde surrounding them and issued them a single order. “Kill them.”

On command, the host let out a banshee like cry and them charged with all the ferocity their nature allowed.

‘Just wonderful,’ the captain swore as he jabbed his spear into the first wraith that charged him, the enchantments woven into it destroying the phantom almost upon contact. Whirling it around, the slashed into another pair who attempted to attack him from behind.

His compatriots were in similar states of combat. Back to back so their flanks were covered, the wraiths swarmed them like a cloud of nats. While any seat of the Black Scripture was more than capable of dispatching specters of any sort, these ones seemed stronger than usual. This meant little to the Captain as the inherent strength from his God-kin heritage was giving him the clear edge regardless of the numbers he was facing.

But the rest of the Scripture?

The Sixth Seat swore aloud as razor sharp claws racked themselves across his armored back as his great sword dispatched two specters in a single swing. The Third Seat’s conjured black flames kept a number at bay, however several swarmed between the gaps and fell upon Divine Chant’s barriers. The other seats were faring little better. Against these wraiths one on one, the Captain had no doubt they could overcome them. But swarmed as such?

They needed to end this battle quickly.

But as the Captain lanced another pair of wraiths, he caught movement near the bodies of their fallen from beyond the shadowy swarm before them.

Damn it all!

“He’s going for the artifact!” The Captain yelled over the constant hisses and wails of the specters. “Renvul, Grargor, stop him!” The Second and Tenth Seats acknowledged the order by breaking from the formation and charging the masked man.

The Tenth Seat was the first to reach the man, batting away wraiths with his gargantuan axe as they tried to delay him. With his weapon arced up, the Strongest Human moved in to cut the masked mage down in one mighty swing. Using the momentum of his movement, the man cut downwards with the intent to carve the mage in two.

Yet the Tenth Seat could only stare in shock as his mighty blow was caught by the masked man just below the axe head. The ground shook with the force of his strike yet with a single hand the mage held the blow of one of the strongest humans in the known world as if he were holding a stick. Only the slight shaking of the arm indicated that any force was even being pushed against him.

Moments later the Second Seat’s blow struck, a rapier jab into the back of the masked man’s skull. Yet even more shocking than the thin man catching the Tenth Seat’s axe was the fact that the rapier failed to even penetrate the man’s hood! Beyond a slight jerking of his head from the impact, the man did not even acknowledge the Second Seat’s attack.

The Second Seat immediately jumped back to get some distance from the mage upon seeing his attack yield nothing, the Tenth Seat was not so fortunate. The barbarian of a man attempted to wrench his axe from the mage’s grip to no avail. Grargor raised his fist to beat the man into submission only to cry out in pain when his fist contacted the man’s head and was thrown back by an unseen force, fingers bent in unnatural directions.

Through all this, the masked figure appeared more annoyed then fearful.

As Grargor raged in pain and anger, the mage held his free hand up and cast a spell. The Captain was too far to hear the incantation but the eldritch black light that bathed his form and the Tenth Seat’s blood curling roar left little the imagination. In seconds it was over, both the spell and the barbarian’s life.

The Tenth Seat’s body emerged from the eldritch light desiccated with a corpse like skin tone, a stark departure from his almost bronzed tone from mere moments ago. With a soft tap by the mage, Grargor’s body fell under its own weight. Even in death, the Tenth Seat still held his, even as the figure tried to wrench it from his dead hand. In the end, the masked mage was forced to peel the fingers back one by one before the axe left Grargor’s grip.

As the figure examined his spoils, holding the axe with ease that should not exist for a person of his build, Renvul resumed his assault. Rather than attack head on like before, the Second Seat used the ability that coined him the name “Time Turbulence”: he conjured a bubble of stilled time around the masked man.

The Second Seat smirked as his chronomagic took hold and confidently strode over to the figure in the time bubble he crafted. But as he moved in to thrust his rapier into the mage’s unprotected throat it appeared, as with the Tenth Seat’s magic before, the figure was seemingly unaffected by it.

The masked figure turned to see the attack coming and reacted accordingly with a swiftness even the Captain could barely keep track of. In one fluid motion the mage parried Renuvl’s attack with his arm, avoiding the rapier altogether, then brought the Tenth Seat’s axe into the nape of Renuvl’s neck. Bones broke and muscles tore as the boney teeth of the oversized weapon tore into the Tenth Seat’s fleshy collar bone. Renvul could do little more then let out a series of wet gasps as blood started to ooze from the wound and pool in his mouth. Rather than withdraw the blade from the same way it entered, the masked man ripped the axe out by carving through the front of the dying man’s throat.

Renvul stood with mute horror for but a moment before falling to his knee in a fit of wet coughs. But as the figure leaned down to examine the foe at his feet, the Second Seat moved to strike while the masked man’s guard was down. With the last of his strength, he stabbed his rapier into the soft juggler of his foe in an attempt to take him down as well.

Sadly, or horrifyingly in the Captain’s eyes, the thin blade failed to break the skin of the masked mage’s throat. No it was worse, the blow didn’t even look like it even irritated the bare flesh!

In response, the mage grabbed the shaft of the rapier digging into his throat, genteelly moved it away, before brining Grargor’s axe down once more upon Time Turbulence with an exaggerated swing. Renvul did not flinch or look away as it came down, his body quickly going limp as his head was thrown some distance from his body.

The figure looked at his gory work, the death of two Black Scripture members, some of the strongest humans in the known world, and shrugged with indifference as he resumed his march to Lady Karie’s body.

Who was this man? This level of strength is…unprecedented. As the Captain watched the figure walk away from his blood carnage, he couldn’t help but wonder if he similar to the Extra Seat and himself....

Strangely, as the figure walked to Divine Chant as she prepared to protect Downfall of Castle and Country, the figure did something odd. After running his fingers over the blood-soaked teeth of Grargor’s axe, he conjured a portal of sorts to his side that was no larger than a crate in size. Without looking away from his objective, the mage deposited the axe into the portal that closed shortly thereafter.

‘So that was how he was going to do it,’ he grimaced as he swung his lance into another specter.

The Fourth Seat readied herself to face the mage with layer upon layer of barrier magic, one of the protections she used the Captain recognized as the Fourth-Tier spell [Divine Barrier].

It was for naught as it took the masked man a single spell to break it. A “wing” of black light shot forth from the mage’s open hand and tore through both [Divine Barrier] and Divine Chant herself. She was thrown several meters from Lady Karie’s body, a bloody wound running down the length of her torso. He saw her twitch and squirm on the ground, so at least she was still alive.

As the figure knelt down and tore the relic from Lady Karie’s still warm corpse, the Captain’s veins went cold as the man shoved the dress unceremoniously into the portal like the axe before. The loss of so many Black Sculpture members in a single mission, a full third by this point, while unfortunate, is considered an acceptable casualty rate. Costly, but acceptable. Even the loss of the gear they had, while gifts granted to the theocracy from Gods themselves, are numerous enough to merely be disgraceful.

But if an enemy were to take hold of something, Anything, that originated from the Gods own Reliquary it would be an unmitigated disaster! Beyond the spiritual significance, every artifact from the Reliquary was powerful beyond imagining.

In the hands of someone who summoned wraiths who in turn follow him like trained dogs, he could only imagine the worst.

“I’m moving in,” He cried out as he broke formation to engage the mage himself.

Extending his hand, the mage willed The Second Seat’s weapon into his hand. He examined the rapier’s spiral design before noticing the Captain’s charge. Twisting the needle thin blade in hand to examine the swirl designs. With a casual shrug, he willed another small portal to appear by his side. Sheathing the rapier, the masked man deposited the blade into the shimmering tear in much the same way he did Downfall of Castle and Country.

The Captain readied his lance and charged the figure with the intent of skewering him in one strike. Cross the short distance, he had to dispatch several wraiths along the way who attempted to place themselves between him and their master. His foe readied a barrier to meet his spear.

On contact, the magical defense repulsed his deadly thrust with such force that he was thrown back several meters. But he quickly recovered and charged again. While not blow back, his spear tip still failed to penetrate the barrier.

Moving around, he tried to attack around the barrier. Faster than the mage could react, the Captain maneuvered behind him and finally landed a blow on his exposed side.

However, rather than tear through the figure’s cloak and cut into the weak flesh beneath the bladed tip bounced off its side. The force of the blow still sent the surprised masked figure into the air and tumbling to the ground, but there was no evidence that his blow had penetrated anything.

The Captain was no stranger to enchantments that reinforced clothing to repel attacks. In his youth, he remembered seeing a simple linen travel cloak within the Reliquary that was stronger than even a suit of mithril plate armor. But that was a Relic let by the Gods themselves. Why does this random magic user have such powerful equipment?

Clutching his side, the mage regained their footing. Even with the mask on, he could tell the mage was glaring at him. The assailant seemingly forsook any restraint he may have had as he directed untold amount of black magic at him. Bolts of eldritch energy, lances of ethereal lightning were hurled in his direction.

It would appear that he had the man’s full attention. Ignoring the strange sensation of pain racing across his nerves, he resumed his attack.

As he avoided each bolt and lance and crossed the distance between them once more.

To the mage’s side, another small portal opened, extending his arm inside it, a short sword emerged from the tear. The mage swung his newly drawn blade to meet the Captain’s spear. While the two blades clashed, it was clear that for all his power in the dark arts, the mage clearly never trained with a blade before for. He swung it around without skill or technique, leaving himself open to parrying attacks which the Captain exploited to the fullest.

After landing several successive blows against the mage, the Captain moved with pinpoint precision to strike the masked future’s head. It was only through sheer luck that he avoided the Captain’s blow and merely had the spear scrape against his mask. Noticing a hint of red on the tip of his weapon, he reflexively thrusted his blade once more into the figure’s torso. While again not penetrating the cloak, it did send the mage flying backwards into the ground.

In tumble to a stop, the Captain noticed that the mask had been thrown off and his hood thrown back. Now bereft his mask, the Captain could finally see who his opponent had been. And it was… a young girl?

Going by her face, her skin was a deathly sort of pale as if she had never seen the light of day. The paleness only made the cut at the edge of her face all the more noticeable, as a thin trickle of blood ran down her cheek. Her hair was pale blonde, as if most of the color was drained from it. From what little of her unobscured features he could see, her face was youthful in an unnatural way. But what stood out most was her eyes, a sickly gold that held something that wasn’t quite human.

Had he met her on the street, he would have assumed her to be no older than himself at the most. Actually, his foe’s features remined him of children’s toys sold in the streets of Kami Miyako, specifically the porcelain dolls noble girls collected.

She hissed in pain as she moved her hand to her face, a gloved finger tracing up to the flesh wound. A flesh wound. A strike he has seen time and time again pierce even the mightiest armor barely grazed past the outer most layers of skin.

Getting back to her feet, she held her over the shallow cut and hissed in pain as she attempted to stifle the bleeding.

“You…hurt me?”

The Captain almost shivered at the tone of her unaltered voice. It was…off putting in a way words could not describe. Youthful, perfect even in a way that it ceased to be human. Almost like a siren’s wail to lure sailors to their watery deaths.

Her golden eyes darted to a scene behind him, it appeared the last of her wraiths were being dispatched and the rest of the Scripture was now moving in to aid the Captain.

With a grimace she readied a new spell to send their way, “[Maximize Magic: Open Wounds]”.

The Captain cried out in pain as the wounds that had been healed a short time ago manifested themselves once more as his flesh warped and twisted under the girl’s foul magic. His wrist cracked and exploded in main as pain shot through his mind once more. He fell to one knee as pain blossomed in his sides, forcing him to use his spear to stay upright as his energy was sapped away.

“This…isn’t…over,” she coughed, clutching her side in pain. With that said, she was enveloped in a flash of light, when it faded she was gone.

The Captain barely heard the inquiries to his status as he finally collapsed from the exhaustion of it all.

---

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!

I fall onto one knee as I reemerge in the confines of my home still filled with adrenaline from my fight. Hissing as pain flares up in the side where that Captain guy got me, I jam my hand into my Item Box and pull out a Greater Health Potion. Popping the glass cork, I spill its contents onto my bare head, thankful that health potions of all kinds don’t actually need to be drunk to be effective. As the last of the sanguine liquid soak my hair and drip down my face, I feel the pain emanating from my abdomen subside and the burning sensation of parted flesh mend itself across my face.

Finally catching my breath, patting my side down to ensure I wasn’t still injured, I dropped the container onto the floor and stood myself back up.

Why didn’t any of them die when I used [Cry of the Banshee]? Sure, most of them went down in pain and were out of the fight entirely, but it was an instant death spell. And then that Captain just ‘noped’ my [Black Blood]. It has to be something he was wearing. But….ugh.

I groan as I feel the onset of a new headache come on as I run through all the variables and what ifs.

The biggest question of course, as I stumble over to my desk, is if it all this hassle was worth it in the end?

I fished around again in my Item Box for my prize: the World Item. Even I had to admit, there was a certain style to the dress that was neat. I have no doubt the Chinese looking dress would look wonderful on a more youthful person then its previous owner, once the bloodstains have been properly scrubbed out of course. I’m more interested in its mind control effects and the immunity to other World Items. Though that would facilitate me actually wearing this thing. Maybe I can alter the appearance into something less overtly feminine? If I’m not actually changing the stats or its abilities, it should be no problem.

Which reminds me of the other ‘goodies’ I took.

I place the rapier and battle axe down on my workshop’s table. Let’s see what I have to work with.

It only took a quick cast of [Appraisal] for me to get all the info on these things that I wanted.

The axe was the first to register to me: [Warlord’s Bite]. Poetic as names went since I have no doubt that this axe was part of the armor set that buff guy was wearing. Knowing these religious types, they wouldn’t dare mix and match the gear they have because ‘something, something the Gods’. Appraisal came back that this was a Legacy tier item, not surprising given they have an armory of gear left over by Players under their control. While about mid-tier by Yggdrasil terms, I’d guess this thing is in the top ten percentile of weapons in this world given how “powerful” it is.

The rapier was next: [Grandfather’s Walking Stick]. Wow, that’s actually kind of funny. Even funnier that this item is a tier higher than the axe, Relic tier. If I had to guess, I would say that is because of this weapon’s time manipulating abilities. Even I have to admit, being able to stop projectile attacks in midair is beyond useful. I’d also assume that the former holder of this weapon tried to use some time magic on me. He had such a shocked face when I gapped his wrist after his little pin prick did nothing to me.

I frown as I recall that I wasn’t so invincible as I thought I was.

That guy, the Captain, was one hell of a surprise for me. And that damn lance of his. Definitely an Yggdrasil weapon, has to be if it could actually hurt me. I took a damn battle axe to the arm and a barrage of stabs by a rapier, while also tanking every spell those mages sent my way. It’s actually funny, I felt more ‘impact’ from garbage mid-tier weapons then all their magic combined.

Ugh…. Impact. Just saying the word makes the muscles in my side sore.

Still how could a bunch of New Worlders actually fight me!? The wraiths? Sure, they just level thirty. But me!? I’m, level ninety for fucks sake! No. It wasn’t all of them, just the Captain guy with the spear. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have had any problem dispatching them all.

But this whole situation just goes to show how dangerous someone can be with just a handful of Yggdrasil gear. It turns run of the mill humans into genuine issues. And now that I left witnesses, oh geeze this is going to be such a pain in the ass to deal with! If they can link my Lilly persona to what I ‘actually’ look like, then I’d be forced to rely on Nazarick for more support then I want.

Fuck!

Fuck!

God Fucking Damn- Wait!

Wait just a second….

My gaze goes over to the red suit of armor standing at attention to the far end of the room. Its head moves slightly to look at me staring at it. As always, it makes no action beyond awaiting my instructions.

Who says I need to rely on Nazarick for support?

---

Grem ran as fast as his feet could carry him through down the main street, creeping through shadows when he could and sprinting past burning homes when he had to. He ignored the carnage and bloodshed around him as neighbor slaughtered neighbor in an orgy of violence. Be it with weapons, tools, rocks, fists, or bare teeth, the denizens of the village they called home tore into one another with such savagery and bestial vigor that the scene was alien to the human mind.

Mere hours ago, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the village had been celebrating Vath and Rosemary’s marriage. The childhood sweethearts said their vows and been basking in the thanks and best wishes of the townsfolk. Grem himself had been raising his glass over and over as the toasts to good health repeated. It was to be a good evening.

Then, in the blink of an eye, it all changed.

While Grem didn’t see the first bout of violence since he had been relieving himself in a patch of forest some distance from the gathering after one too many drinks, he heard the first screams. When he rushed back, fearing an animal or stray monster was prowling about, he saw the sight of the blacksmith’s wife stabbing her husband of forty years through the eye with her steak knife with madness in her eyes.

As a strange fog descended upon the village, most of the townsfolk descended into similar ravenous violence. As the bodies began to pile up, those few who were not stricken with that insane madness fled in terror with Grem among their number. Yet try and they might, they were chased and killed by the monsters that had once been their neighbors until only he was left.

Yet, it all seemed to be over. After several hours of senseless murder, the last of the changed folk were dead now dead by their own hands. It has been several minutes since Grem saw a living person, the village’s resident carpenter Pappan. With blood-stained hands, amidst the sea of corpses, the man simply stood before the gore-stained door of the chapel unaware or uncaring of attacking anymore.

Was it over?

Even if it was, what life was left for him? Everyone he knew was dead, or insane. What could he possibly-

He was broken out of his thoughts by the sounds of footsteps. Grem hugged the corner of the building he was passing and silently preyed to every God in existence that they would spot him. Seconds ticked by, and the poor man began to hear…voices? They sounded like young women. Was he not the only survivor?

Taking a deep breath, Grem arched his head around the corner and saw them: two girls in the most out of place attire. They looked more like herbalists from the city then farmers. Something seemed…off about them. Maybe it was the light of the fires, but Grem could swear they were pale as ghosts and had eyes that shone with hues of burgundy.

As they drew closer to his hiding place, he could finally start making out what they were saying.

“-…and the radius still seems somewhat limited,” one of the maidens commented as if she were talking about the weather and not surrounded by corpses.

“Yet delivery is far simpler,” her companion countered, her quill racing feverishly across her parchment with he fires around her as torchlight.

“And I will concede that point, yet even when the humans were clustered together the ones at the extremities were unaffected,” the first one countered before sighing. “Perhaps rural environments are too open for these kinds of trials?”

“Yet if we run the tests without an established baseline then crucial data may be missed,” the second added. “But if we use the large urban centers to establish a baseline then we may negatively impact the number of experiments we can run later down the line.”

“I just wish this went faster,” the first woman whined. “Besides a human is a human, nothing special to even care about.”

“It’s not about humans being special, its about how they differ from what we have on record,” the parchment girl chided her compatriot. “Besides I have already noted no fewer than twenty-eight differences from already documented norms.”

“I only saw twenty-one,” the first tilted her head in confusion.

“And that is why I’m the one taking the field notes,” second girl tapped her finger on her parchment.

Before he could even question to himself what they were talking about his feet shifting against the blood slick mud and he fell to the ground, alerting the two girls to his presence.

“How odd, one of them survived,” the first noted.

“Not surprising, we did encounter a number of them during our stroll,” the second commented.

“But one on their own?”

“Hmm, it is a tad odd I suppose. Some variables we didn’t consider, luck perchance?”

“Irrelevant, the test is over.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the girl sighed and folded her parchment. “I’ll start with the bodies over here. You deal with that one, then start with the ones by the cluster of domiciles.”

The first nodded and turned to Grem.

Before the man could even question what the two meant by all that nonsense, he saw the girl conjure a magic circle before her. Grem hardly had a chance to step back before a small arrow sized lance of magic struck him in the chest. He felt himself slam against the wall of a building as he slid the ground clutching his wound.

Grimacing in pain, with the embers of his home behind her giving an inhuman look to her, Grem heard the last words that would ever grace his ears.

"[Maximize Magic: Burn]."