Ainz Ooal Gown.
In Yggdrasil, the name carried weight even among the strongest. It was a heteromorphic guild whose existence alone inspired hostility, envy, and fear. Its fame was not born from numbers, nor from propaganda, but from conditions so restrictive that only a specific kind of person could endure them.
The first condition was race.
All who entered were required to abandon humanoid forms. In Yggdrasil, races were broadly divided into three categories: humanoid, demi-human, and heteromorphic. Humans, dwarves, and elves belonged to the first. Goblins, ogres, and orcs to the second. The third category—heteromorphic—contained all races that defied familiarity and comfort.
Those forms possessed greater innate potential, but they were never without cost.
Heteromorphic races bore weaknesses ingrained into their very existence. More importantly, their kind was hunted. Certain professions could only be acquired through the extermination of heteromorphic beings, and as a result, they were targeted relentlessly. Many deleted their characters and fled that fate rather than endure it.
Surviving such an environment required more than strength. It demanded resolve.
The second condition was more subtle.
Members were required to be adults who had already entered society. Officially, it was to protect minors. In truth, it ensured that only those who understood loss, responsibility, and restraint would remain.
Because of this, even at its height, Ainz Ooal Gown never reached full capacity. Forty-one members stood where a hundred might have been.
And yet, no other guild inspired the same dread.
That fear originated from their stronghold—the Great Tomb of Nazarick.
A fortress that once endured an assault by fifteen hundred elite combatants and emerged unbroken.
By any rational measure, such a defense should have been impossible. But Nazarick was not built on rationality. It was layered with guardians of terrifying power, traps designed for annihilation rather than deterrence, and overseen by members whose coordination was absolute.
More than that, the guild possessed eleven World Items.
Artifacts that distorted reality itself.
There were only two hundred such relics in existence. Each one ignored conventional limitations. Among them, the most infamous—those belonging to the "Twenty"—could impose changes even upon the laws governing the world.
To possess eleven was not dominance.
It was a scene.
No other faction came close. The next most fortunate guild held three.
That disparity alone rendered resistance meaningless.
And now, that entire guild—its members, its guardians, its tomb, its relics—had crossed into another world intact.
For Lock, this was not a development to be celebrated.
"…Absurd," he muttered quietly.
To inherit power simply by remaining until the end—such a fortune was grotesque. Yet his gaze drifted across the hall surrounding him, and the irritation faded.
He, too, was not empty-handed.
Unlike the man who would become the Sorcerer King, Lock was not a player born of that world's logic. He had entered Yggdrasil by other means, under other rules.
On the day Yggdrasil first opened its gates, Lock had entered in his true body and chosen a humanoid form. Death within that world did not end him. Growth translated directly into reality. What he gained there became his own.
He had not questioned the mechanism behind it. Power did not require explanation—only utility.
Over twelve years, he had accumulated influence quietly. He worked as a mercenary, selling precision rather than loyalty. He allowed others to believe they used him while extracting what he required in return. Through careful contracts and calculated risk, he acquired relics others would never even glimpse.
World Items among them.
Thirteen.
He never sought to stand in the open. He never proclaimed destiny. His purpose had always been singular: preparation.
Joining Ainz Ooal Gown had never been an option. To abandon humanity in a game was trivial. To do so in reality was irreversible.
Nor would he gamble on the assumption that proximity to Suzuki Satoru guaranteed survival. Lock was not a player bound by the same fate. He would not entrust his existence to coincidence.
If annihilation was inevitable, then resistance must be absolute—or nonexistent.
Having made his decision long ago, Lock rose from his throne.
The treasure hall sealed itself behind him as he departed. Two immense metal doors closed soundlessly, their surfaces engraved with layered defensive enchantments. Teleportation was denied. Surveillance was blinded. Intrusion was unthinkable.
Flanking the gate stood two armored figures, spears planted firmly against the stone. Magical patterns pulsed beneath their plating like veins of light.
Golems.
Each exceeded the power of most elite combatants in defense alone. Their purpose was simple: delay, endure, and notify. Anyone foolish enough to challenge them would never go unnoticed.
Lock passed without a glance.
Beyond the sealed hall, teleportation carried him upward. Stone, traps, and silence gave way to a vast underground city—his city.
Countless golems stood in silent formation, guardians embedded into every avenue and structure. The ceiling itself was bound by stabilizing enchantments, ensuring permanence.
No living being had ever set foot there but him.
And if that changed, the city would awaken.
Lock's expression remained calm as he surveyed what he had built.
Heroism had no place here.
Only inevitability.
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