The air in the throne room seemed to freeze.
Led by Albedo, the Guardians of Nazarick sank to one knee, offering their absolute loyalty and awe to the new sovereign upon the throne—Rei Ao. Their devout, unified posture was the clearest possible statement of his authority.
And then, in that solemn, hushed moment, the teleportation pad at the center of the hall—the one used by guild members—suddenly flared with the light that meant a player had logged in.
When the glow faded, a figure stood there: a tall skeleton in lavish black wizard's robes embroidered with blood-red sigils, a staff in hand that radiated ill omen. Crimson soul-flames burned in his hollow sockets, and thick necromancy coiled about him.
He was the undead avatar "Momonga," the in-game ID of a member of the guild Ainz Ooal Gown in YGGDRASIL.
The player known as Flying Squirrel had logged in.
At the very last moment before the game shut down, he had returned—nostalgic and faintly heartsick—to the land he had poured so much of himself into: the Great Tomb of Nazarick. He meant to sit quietly on the guild hall's throne and wait for the servers to go dark, drawing a final line under this virtual world—and his youth.
But the empty, silent hall he expected wasn't there.
Instead he saw a brightly lit chamber, Guardians kneeling in ranks to either side—and a completely unfamiliar man seated on the throne that ought to have been his.
Momonga froze. The soul-fire in his skull flickered violently, betraying the chaos inside.
"W-what… what is this?"
For a second he thought he was hallucinating.
"A game bug? Or… someone's prank?"
He reflexively wondered if another guildmate had logged in. His gaze swept the kneeling Guardians—Albedo, Demiurge, Cocytus, Shalltear, Aura, Mare… They looked exactly as he remembered.
But they felt utterly different.
Maybe it was his imagination, but they no longer moved like NPCs bound to fixed routines. Their very presence radiated a living aura—true feeling and will. And what chilled him most: after he appeared, they clearly "noticed" him—he caught surprise flash through Shalltear's eyes; Cocytus subtly adjusted his posture even while kneeling; Demiurge pushed up his glasses; Aura and Mare sneaked a glance at him—but not one of them rose.
After the briefest look in his direction, every gaze returned—utterly respectful—to the stranger on the throne.
The eerie quiet and complete disregard sent a nameless cold through him. Forcing down the surge of panic, he fixed his attention on the man above.
The man wore black that looked plain, yet somehow felt extraordinary. His eyes, deep as a star-strewn cosmos, regarded Momonga calmly, with a hint of knowing amusement.
"Who are you?" Momonga asked, voice low, tightening his grip on the staff. The vigilance of a top-tier player snapped to full. Maybe this was Touch Me? Ulbert? Don't joke around like this.
Rei Ao's mouth curved, just barely. He didn't answer. He simply tilted his head toward Albedo at his side.
Albedo understood at once. She stepped forward to face Momonga. On her flawless face there was none of the excitement or nostalgia one might show a former master—only cool, official solemnity, and the absolute devotion to her current Supreme that smoldered in her eyes.
"Before you stands the sole ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick—the one who saved us and this land from the abyss of nothingness, who commands the world's very source and granted us true life and will: the Supreme Lord, Rei Ao!"
Her voice was clear and steady, every word striking like a hammer against Momonga's soul.
"You, undead—this place is no longer the game you remember. The covenant of the past has ended. The Great Tomb of Nazarick and all who dwell within it, myself included, have sworn fealty to Rei Ao-sama as the one and only Supreme."
"Know this: what stands before you now is real life—not the virtual data you think you know."
"—!!!"
Albedo's words crashed over him like thunder. He was dumbstruck. His mind almost stalled.
Nazarick… a sole master? Not a game? Real life? Albedo… speaking? Speaking fluently, with logic and emotion?!
He looked around. Demiurge's eyes glittered with calculation. Cocytus's silence held a weighing gaze. Shalltear's disdain was open, her scrutiny unhidden. Aura and Mare watched him, a little tense yet resolute.
All of it pointed to a truth he couldn't grasp—and that horrified him.
These NPCs… had come to life.
They possessed true intelligence and self-awareness.
This was beyond a "game bug" or a "prank." YGGDRASIL was only a full-dive game. However realistic, NPCs could not break their base logic and awaken into real sapience. That was impossible. Absolutely impossible.
He stumbled half a step back; the soul-flame in his skull lashed.
"Who… who are you really? Are the GMs messing with me? Is this some new invasion event?"