Nihil – POV
As I sat in the command room, Gnarl shuffled in, his hunched form casting a long shadow across the stone floor. His crooked grin betrayed a mixture of anticipation and delight as he announced, "The enemy is almost here, sire."
I rose slowly from my seat, the leather of the chair creaking under the movement, and stepped out onto the balcony. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of distant fires. Reaching into my coat, I pulled out the Falcon's Eye.
Speaking its name aloud, I felt its magic stir. I placed it carefully over my left eye, and my vision magnified many times over. The world snapped into sharp focus — every rock, every ripple of heat, every glint of armor.
Far off in the distance, the enemy moved in formation. After studying them for several long moments, I lowered the Falcon's Eye slightly and turned my head toward Gnarl.
"I was wrong, Gnarl. They didn't send adventurers."
Gnarl tilted his head, one bushy brow arching as he stepped closer. "Who did they send then, Lord?"
"They sent what they call 'the Workers.' Former adventurers, mercenaries, and people who are just… down on their luck. They work directly for the government — and get paid less for it. They're basically sent when the Emperor doesn't want to risk his own men… kind of like how I send the ShadowKhan when I don't want to potentially waste a minion."
Gnarl's gnarled fingers tapped together thoughtfully, his lips curling into a sly grin. "Ohhh, that makes sense… Wait — does that mean you actually care about us?"
I stared at him for a moment, my expression utterly flat. "Moving on."
He chuckled under his breath, clearly amused by my non-answer.
I returned my attention to the Falcon's Eye, sweeping my gaze across the approaching forces. Among the scattered formations, one party immediately caught my attention — Foresight. Recognition hit instantly, along with the memory of the horrific fate they suffered in Nazarick.
The priest… brainwashed into worshiping Ainz, an experiment to see if his spells would still work even if he stopped worshiping his god.
The leader and his elf companion… I couldn't remember the exact details, but their end was worse. They were either made into eternal food for the cockroaches, or placed in a breeding pit for parasites. I was almost positive it was the second. Either way… truly gruesome.
And finally — the blonde mage. Arche. Her story stood out the most. She had been given hope that she might escape, only to be hunted down like prey by Shalltear. Drained of every drop of blood, her corpse had been divided like spoils — her voice box taken by Entoma, her organs by Demiurge, and the rest served to those in Nazarick who enjoyed the taste of human flesh.
To make it worse, her two little sisters had been sold into slavery… by their own parents.
If I still had a heart, I might have felt sorrow at that moment. Instead, I found myself coldly weighing the pros and cons of whether they should live or die. At least at my hands, they would die quickly — and I would see them given a respectful burial.
I lowered the Falcon's Eye. "Is everyone in place?"
"Yes, Lord," Gnarl said with a slight bow, before hesitating. His eyes glimmered with something I hadn't seen in a while — battle lust. "But if I may ask something of you…"
"Speak, Gnarl."
"I wish to cover the East Wing personally."
"Why?" I asked, narrowing my gaze.
He straightened his back slightly, pride and excitement in his voice. "I crave battle, Lord. I may be old, but thanks to you, I can fight. Besides…" — his grin widened to something wicked — "I'll have the ShadowKhan with me."
I let out a long, quiet sigh. "Do as you wish. Just… don't die."
"Thank you, Lord," he said, bowing deeply before turning away. "Time for some fun." His laughter echoed down the corridor as he took off toward the East Wing.
I placed the Falcon's Eye back over my face, my grip tightening. "Now… let us begin."
Gash – POV
I sat waiting on the stairs leading deeper into the city. Buildings flanked me on my left and right—the only directions forward or back. A decent bottleneck.
My troops stood at attention: ten Browns, five Reds, and five Blues. We were all in new battle armor. Mine was made of Durium, signifying my status as a commander, while the Browns wore Steel and the Blues that new Ebony metal I'd heard about. The poor Reds were saddled with Leather armor—apparently we don't have a decent metal for them yet—but Sire says he's working on it.
As we waited for the enemy, I sharpened my axe. After some time, they appeared.
One man with long blonde hair strode forward—wearing a white coat, white pants, and brown boots. The only armor he wore, if you could call it that, was black-steel pauldrons, elbow, and knee guards, inlaid with gold. A long katana hung at his hip.
The only thought I had was: Great. A weakling. Why did he have to be my opponent? Does he at least have a competent party?
I looked past him and saw three elven women wearing rags and collars: one with short blue hair, one with short brown hair, one with short blonde. And worst of all—I could see their ribs. Great. A weakling with a party of mistreated slaves.
My heart twisted, rage simmering. I turned to my troops. Sire will want those girls secured. The tower needs cleaning, ladies. And he said, Don't kill those who surrender. I'm pretty sure people with no will to fight count.
Out loud, I ordered: "When I start fighting this jackass—secure those three. Don't harm or kill. Just subdue."
They nodded crisply, "Yes, sir."
Finally, the jackass walked straight up to me and said, "Hello, their foul creatures. I am Erya Uzruth."
I blurted out before thinking, "I didn't fucking ask."
He continued, unfazed, "I'm here to kill you and your Master—as well as make off with your treasure."
My blood boiled. My voice shook as I unleashed my rage. "I can only put up with so much mockery! I've fought in bloody wars the likes of which you've never seen! I've fought monsters that would make you piss yourself—and—hell—I've eaten things more terrifying than you! I was just gonna kill you, but now, I think I'll play a little."
Erya drew his sword, arrogance radiating off him. "Enough of you, monster. Time to die."
He charged, sword drawn and slashed—but cut only empty air.
I shouted, "Over here, dumbass!" and swatted him on the back of the head with the flat of my axe.
Erya staggered, gripping his head in pained disbelief. "You'll pay for that!"
Then, his voice rang out: Ability Boost!
His body glowed with a bright aura and he moved—faster. But I was faster.
He roared, Greater Ability Boost!
The aura intensified.
Then, with an eerie whisper—Shukuchi!
He vanished, reappearing at my chest with a thrust… or so he thought.
Instead of flesh, his sword struck bone-hard Durium. He looked up and saw my axe intercepting his blade in slow motion.
Erya stared in horror. "Impossible… you shouldn't have been able to react to—"
Then he noticed me: now glowing with a fiery red aura. My eyes were shining gold.
My voice deepened, darker than before: "So those are the martial arts Sire told us about? Physical enhancement. Not bad. But we minions have had that for a long time. You see… our Lord has a spell that lets him temporarily imbue us with a tiny fragment of his power. Older minions have the privilege of borrowing it without him having to do anything."
With one swift motion, I knocked Erya's blade aside and, with a mighty slash, chopped off his armor—and arm. It hit the ground. He screamed in pain as blood gushed from the stump.
He turned, delirious, calling to his slaves, "What are you useless women doing—come save me!"
But when he looked up, he saw something that made his face go pale. The elven women were being fed fresh bowls of stew by the other minions. The girls were happily eating, and one of them—a gentle Brown—was patting them on the head, cooing, "Poor elfies, eat up! Get strength back."
Unable to comprehend it, he turned back to me. I stared back coldly.
I said."I really wish I'd taken the other side. Having you as an opponent was a waste of time."
Without hesitation, I raised my axe and brought it down on Erya's head—ending him.
Then I turned to my troops. "When they finish eating—take them back home to await our Lord's decree. I'm off to give my report."
They gave a crisp salute. "Yes, sir."
Giblet – POV
Me sat and waited for prey to come, crouched low, tail twitching with anticipation. Me troops stood ready, their weapons clenched, eyes fixed ahead, prepared to kill any that didn't surrender—just like the Master said.
Then, finally, me saw them. A group of armed and armored men trudged toward us. They were all so bland and boring that me could tell at a glance—none in this group were worth fighting.
So, instead of wasting me time, me just had the Reds rain fire upon them. Flames roared from their hands, lighting the sky in bursts of orange and red. The Blues, grinning with toothy glee, launched ballista bolts that tore through the air with deadly speed.
Me stood and watched, arms crossed, as the screams rose, echoing in the stone corridors, and then slowly died down to nothing. The smell of burning flesh and singed cloth hung thick in the air.
Then, me cruelly commanded the Reds to burn them to ash—ensuring no survivors. The flames danced higher, devouring what little remained.
Then out loud, me said, "Me going to give me report. Go home."
Me troops gave a sharp salute and turned away, marching in disciplined silence, heading for home.