23 Phantom Encounter

"Stop! I concede!"

Hyumilla retracted her outstretched hand as she heard the words of surrender. She flexed her wrist, willing the crackling tendrils of electricity around her fingers to dissipate as she directed her icy gaze towards the charred figure on the ground several meters away.

A war troll clad in studded leather lay in a sizzling heap on the ground, his flesh and armor blackened from the countless scorch marks over his body. The troll crawled pitifully to a group of seven armed humanoids and demihumans standing at the edge of the pit.

One of them, a snakewoman covered in ritualistic tattoos and adornments, stepped forward and cast a healing spell:

[Middle Cure Wounds]

The war troll sighed in relief as his burns began to slowly fade away.

"Can you not show some restraint?" exclaimed the snakewoman mystic upon completing her healing. "This is a public training exhibition, and your antics may cause lasting injuries that will hamper us in the Connelier. Do you not care?"

The snakewoman glared at her with anger and disbelief, but Hyumilla could see the raw fear hidden deep within those bulbous eyes. She could also hear the slight tremor of the demihuman's voice as she uttered those words of protest.

Hyumilla said nothing in return. The matter was uncomplicated; the loud-mouthed troll had requested to spar, and she had obliged. As for the question….

A simple yes.

The group of eight "Chosen" huddled to the side were no more significant to her than the insects and reptiles that crawled about in the Karnassian undergrowth. Hyumilla did not recall their names, and she could barely distinguish between their misshapen figures.

They were weak and unruly; unfit to carry out the will of the Elothris Coalition. Hyumilla knew that she alone would suffice to prove the Coalition's supremacy in the Connelier, for that was her calling-to serve a greater purpose beyond herself.

If anything, their presence was an insult to the very ideal of power the Coalition sought to project in the upcoming tournament. Hyumilla's eyes narrowed in contempt as she considered this, and the smell of ozone filled the air as an invisible pressure rippled out from around her.

Suddenly, a slender but firm hand clasped onto Hyumilla's shoulder, and a soothing voice spoke softly into her ear:

"Take it easy, sister, there are outsiders watching us. I'm sure Sszithyia did not mean any disrespect."

The snakewoman bobbed her head up and down in agreement, recoiling in horror at Hyumilla's sudden release of killing intent.

A nonchalant look on her pale face, Hyumilla reigned in her vexation before turning to look at the individual beside her.

Sfeiza's striking features shone with a calm confidence, her leaf green hair glistening under the soft rays cast by the rising sun. Unlike the rest of the Elothris Coalition's representatives for the Connelier, Sfeiza, like Hyumilla, was a member of the Silent Sisters-the Coalition's deadly covert task force.

While Hyumilla had been reassigned to a public role as a Chosen for the Connelier, Sfeiza had also been brought on board to support the deadly sorceress in her endeavor. Before their reassignment, the two of them had only been referred to as their numbers: Three and Four. Now, they were Hyumilla and Sfeiza-reborn into the light.

Hyumilla's icy demeanor softened as she turned towards her comrade. The members of the Silent Sisters were some of the only people to whom she felt any kinship. For some reason, Hyumilla found a reassuring warmth in the sisterhood between them. It filled some distant void within her, and that small bond gave Hyumilla a faint sense of familial belonging that she could not seem to gather from anywhere else.

'This "training" we are conducting is a pointless exercise.' said Hyumilla, waving a dismissive hand towards the rest of the Chosen. "Just you and I should be enough to sweep the tournament."

"We must continue to follow the observed traditions even as we claim victory in the Connelier" Sfeiza patiently replied. "The Elothris Coalition provides a demonstration in the morning, the Kabelia Coalition provides a demonstration in the afternoon, and then the Brave Coalition holds the final selection for the tenth Chosen in the evening before the tournament. Ten representatives each will attend the Connelier-no more and no less."

"That is the custom observed when the tournament is held in a city of the Brave Coalition." she continued. "To stray from these procedures would be to provoke the ire of the spirits and the divine, especially when the city in question is the infamous Oaknys."

Hyumilla made a skeptical face. "Baseless superstition. Besides, Lord Elothris has already decided to break with tradition following the end of the tournament. I do not see why it is necessary to observe these nonsensical beliefs to the end." she muttered in a low voice.

Sfeiza merely smiled, long accustomed to her companion's unorthodox demeanor. "Why are you so entrenched in your disbelief against our faith and customs, Sfeiza? It is quite a surprise considering your utter devotion to Lord Elothris's cause."

Hyumilla kept silent. In truth, she was not quite sure. There was something simply absurd and blasphemous to her about worshipping such things. Her disdain was rooted in something beyond simple logic; it was like a feeling of instinctual disgust similar to how one felt upon seeing some revolting lower life form.

"Perhaps in my previous life, I worshipped some form of deity." she finally replied. "And the residue of that faith lingers in me even now."

Sfeiza raised her eyebrows in surprise at the unexpected response.

"Knowing you, you must have been quite the zealot indeed." she teased with a smile, but her expression turned serious as she continued, lowering her voice to a whisper: "Although...I seldom hear you bring up that forgotten past of yours. Do you still wonder what life you once led all those years ago? Do you still wonder what you...are? Because you certainly aren't human."

"No." Hyumilla lied in spite of herself. "That time is past. I must…"

Her eyes widened as a strange, otherworldly feeling shot through her body. It was like an overwhelming sensation of loss, followed by a cold melancholy that resonated throughout her being. She clutched at her chest, doubling over from the rapid infusion of emotion.

Hyumilla heard Sfeiza by her side, frantically asking her if she was alright, but she ignored it as she urgently turned around to sweep her gaze across the breadth of the spectator stands. Her eyes darted back and forth, driven by the inexplicable thought that something there could quench that gnawing void that had suddenly split open her heart and soul.

Several seconds passed, but she saw nothing besides the same unremarkable vermin littering the stands. Soon, that mysterious feeling rapidly faded away, leaving Hyumilla standing there wondering if it had all been some strange working of her imagination.

"I'm fine." She turned to reassure Sfeiza, only to find the green-haired elf staring back at her with wide eyes of shock; a hand over her mouth.

"Hyumilla, you're…."

Hyumilla blinked in surprise, finally realising the cold, wet sensation on her eyes and face. She reached up with her hand to touch her cheek, feeling the tears flowing for the first time in one hundred years.

The Necroplasmic Mantle fluttered behind him as Ainz's greaves clanged against the stairs on his way out of the training arena.

There could be no mistaking it: the woman he saw in the pit moments ago was none other than Narberal Gamma of the Pleiades Six Stars.

Ainz's mind raced with an overwhelming number of possibilities. He had been very close to calling out to her, to latch onto the one tangible thread to Nazarick that had suddenly appeared before his eyes. But an icy panic took over before he could complete the act, stifling the sound of Narberal's name before it could leave his nonexistent lips.

He had excused himself from the stands, leaving Vamir behind. Fortunately, the tiger beastman seemed oblivious to Ainz's sudden distress as the latter scurried out of sight.

Ainz exited through the stone archway from whence he had entered and slumped against the sandstone wall of the stadium. He scanned the surrounding area, making absolutely sure there were no observers before dispelling his magical armor to reveal his illusory human self draped in an unassuming robe.

[Greater Teleportation]

Ainz reappeared a moment later at the mouth of the cave he had used the previous day. He went inside, setting up another [Anti-Information Magic Wall] and summoning an [Eyeball Corpse] to monitor the surrounding area.

Finally, he sat down, the human illusion melting away to reveal the Overlord beneath.

Up until this point, Ainz had emboldened himself through his own ignorance; he had embraced the unknown as some great adventure for himself to conquer. He knew hardly anything of what had happened over the past century, and the fates of the NPCs were a mystery that he had resolved himself to slowly unravel.

In a way, Ainz had allowed that absence of tangible evidence to delude himself into a state of hopeful denial. It allowed him to stave away the dire thoughts that lurked beneath, so that he could keep moving in spite of the dreadful reality that loomed before him.

But the shock of Narberal's appearance shattered that fanciful self-delusion. The presence of a custom-made NPC moving and conversing in stark contradiction to her setting was the fateful wake up call that would finally force Ainz to confront the cold, hard truth.

From the very moment he realised that he'd returned to the New World, Ainz already knew deep down that everything was wrong-

-the world did not burn.

If the Floor Guardians had indeed survived the fall of Ainz Ooal Gown, the only possible outcome would be Armageddon. Ainz was certain that the powers of the Slane Theocracy and the rest of the New World would not be sufficient to combat the might of Nazarick. Logically speaking, the NPCs would continue fighting with renewed ferocity after his own "death," and consume the world in their rage.

But the more Ainz learned about the current state of the New World, the more he understood that this was not the case. The nations still stood as they did before, and the tales of the Sorcerer King and his followers faded slowly into distant memory.

Under these circumstances, only two other possibilities remained:

Either the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown had been destroyed, and all of Nazarick was no more, or the Theocracy or some other entity had found some way to control the NPCs using the guild weapon.

The appearance of Narberal all but cemented the latter of those possibilities.

He gazed at the ring of Ainz Ooal Gown on his finger in dread as the terrifying revelation seeped into his bones like liquid frost. As his emotions reached a tipping point, his emotional limiter kicked in and the turbulence in his mind cleared momentarily.

The Ovelord calmed down, but his doubts and fears continued circulating in his head as he stood up and walked back to the entrance of the cave.

He'd stood at that very spot only yesterday, staring out into the lush wilderness with the naive and selfish hope that everything could go back to how it once was. It reminded him of that first night below the star-filled sky, when he had uttered the careless words of aspiration that would set in motion his own ultimate demise.

But what if the lost could never be reclaimed? Was the "spirit of adventure" truly enough? Ainz had long grown accustomed to having the mind and might of Nazarick behind him; what good could he do all by himself?

The burning conviction that he had rekindled only yesterday faltered as the sheer weight of reality pressed upon his bare scapula. An internal tidal wave of questions threatened to engulf him.

What if the NPCs really were lost to him forever? What if they had been warped into something else entirely, and turned against him the moment they crossed paths?

Was he truly prepared to take that next step forward? To reach for the knowledge that could destroy him; to reclaim the legacy that might never be whole again?

What was Ainz Ooal Gown without Nazarick? The Overlord finally asked himself as he brought his fleshless hands up to his face, beholding the inhuman grasp that was once again his own. What was the Sorcerer King without his Kingdom?

With the very essence of his subordinates' loyalties now called into question, Ainz felt more vulnerable and alone than ever before. It was almost as if he was back inside that frail human shell, huddled in a mire of his own helplessness as countless insurmountable odds loomed around him.

But in that very moment, as he remembered the pain and loss he had endured throughout all those years of banishment, he felt a new emotion course through him.

Rage

He could feel it like liquid fire in his bones-rage towards himself, towards the Old World and the New. To everything that caused his suffering and the suffering of those he cherished. It burned just intensely enough to send a slight tremor through his skeletal frame, and he could feel it edging closer and closer towards yet another activation of his suppressor.

The very premise that Ainz Ooal Gown's children had been subverted to serve some unspeakable end lit an ugly flame in the Overlord's heart. It was not the same as the self-directed fury he had felt when Shooting Star failed to remove Shalltear's mind control, nor could it be compared to the temper that had gripped him when the Workers had tried to use his friends' name to save their own skin.

It was a deep, tunneling disgust that crawled within his osseous structure, licking at his insides in perpetual torment. It writhed within him like a metamorphosis of his greatest fears.

The emotional suppression eventually came once more, but the mind that remained after that cleansing of the psyche had changed. Gone were the thoughts of running away, of freeing himself from the potential traps and betrayals that loomed all around him.

The crimson lights in his eyes smoldered with an unprecedented intensity, and the image of Narberal Gamma surfaced again in his mind-the first sight that planted the seeds of wrath not so long ago . As the shadow of a plan emerged in the recesses of his troubled thoughts, Ainz Ooal Gown understood then that the Sorcerer King's first reckoning was finally at hand.