The world dissolved into a familiar, yet utterly nauseating, sensation of trans-dimensional displacement. One moment, Momonga—or rather, Ainz Ooal Gown, the Sorcerer King of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick—was overseeing a minor trade dispute in the throne room. The next, a vortex of chaotic, non-system magic, a rogue artifact's backlash perhaps, tore through his defenses. There was no time to alert the Floor Guardians, no time to activate a precise counter-spell. Reality shattered, and he was pulled through the cracks.
He did not land with a crash, but materialized with silent, unsettling grace. The air was wrong. Thick, humid, and reeking of iron, fuel, and a profound, collective terror that was almost tangible. The cacophony hit him next: screams, not of battle but of pure primal fear, the crunch of metal, the wet, tearing sounds of… feeding. He stood in an alleyway between concrete structures, his towering skeletal frame clad in his regal black and gold robe, the Red Orb of Momonga pulsing softly in his ribcage.
[Auto-Message: Connection to Nazarick… Error. Connection to the Guild System… Error. World Item Synchronization… Incomplete. Current Location: Unknown. Tier Magic Operational. Racial Abilities Operational.]
A frown that his face could not make crossed his consciousness. An unknown world. No Nazarick. No Guardians. A scenario straight out of the old DMMO-RPGs Yggdrasil players would dread: a solo player, dropped into a hostile, unknown zone. His primary objective immediately crystallized: Gather intelligence, assess threats, secure a base, and find a way home.
He stepped out of the alley onto a street of chaos. Vehicles were crashed and burning. Panicked humans in identical blue uniforms—students—ran in every direction. And pursuing them were more humans, but… wrong. They moved with a shambling, jerky gait. Their flesh was pallid, eyes milky, clothes stained with gore. They moaned mindlessly, lunging at the living to bite and tear.
Ainz observed dispassionately. 'Low-tier undead. No intelligence, driven by base instinct. Physical capabilities slightly above a normal human, but coordination is null. No magic sensed. They appear to be a plague-type, infectious through fluid transfer, likely blood or saliva. Designation: 'Them' or 'Zombies' for local reference.'
A zombie, a former male student with a ruined neck, lurched towards him. Ainz didn't even gesture. [Negative Touch]. A faint dark aura emanated from his finger as the zombie made contact. Instantly, all necrotic energy sustaining it was snuffed out. It collapsed into a truly inert corpse. 'Negative Energy attacks are hyper-effective. They are basic undead with no resistance. A simple [Create Undead] could likely seize control. This world has no apparent magic, meaning no counter to necromancy. Interesting.'
His analysis was interrupted by the roar of an engine. A pink motorcycle, ridden with desperate skill by a girl with blonde pigtails, swerved around a corner, followed by a busty woman in a leather jacket on another bike. A bus, driven erratively, plowed through a crowd of zombies behind them.
'Survivors. Displaying coordination, combat pragmatism, and leadership traits. Prime intelligence sources.'
Ainz decided to observe. He activated [Perfect Unknowable] and vanished from all perception, trailing the group as they fought their way to the school roof, then to a survivor-filled bus. He watched the chaos at the bridge, and the group's eventual escape to a seemingly safe house—a lavish Western-style mansion.
He saw their dynamics: Takashi Komuro, the everyman with a strong moral core and growing leadership; Rei Miyamoto, the skilled, emotionally conflicted martial artist; Saeko Busujima, the serene yet terrifyingly proficient swordswoman whose blade danced with a killer's grace; Saya Takagi, the genius, sharp-tongued strategist; Kouta Hirano, the otaku who weaponized his knowledge with shocking, brutal efficiency; and Shizuka Marikawa, the well-meaning but often spacey nurse.
'A balanced party,' Ainz mused from the shadows of the mansion's garden. 'Tank, DPS, strategist, healer, and a wildcard. Their cohesion is nascent but genuine. Their world has no classes or levels, but their individual skills are notable. The swordswoman, in particular, has a 'killing intent' that would rival a mid-tier warrior.'
His moment of observation ended when a horde of zombies, drawn by the noise, surrounded the mansion. The group was trapped, their ammunition low, morale fraying. Saeko and Rei prepared to make a stand at the barricaded door, their faces set in grim determination.
It was time to make contact.
He released [Perfect Unknowable] and simply walked through the front gate, which he had previously noted was unlocked. The zombies ignored him completely. [Desecration Aura], a passive skill that made lower undead recognize him as their supreme sovereign, caused them to part around him like a dark sea.
He stepped onto the porch and knocked on the heavy wooden door.
Inside, the knocking froze everyone. It was too… normal. Too polite.
"Is it… a person?" Shizuka whispered, hope in her voice.
"No one could be out there," Takashi said, peering through a crack. His blood ran cold. He saw a skeletal figure in a magnificent robe, standing calmly amid the mob of undead, which paid it no mind. "It's… not human."
"A monster?" Rei gripped her spear tighter.
"A new type?" Hirano hefted his modified shotgun, hands trembling but resolve firm.
Saeko's eyes narrowed, not in fear, but in intense study. "It is not attacking. It is… commanding them."
Ainz's voice, deep, resonant, and devoid of any biological warmth, echoed through the door. [Message]. "Survivors within. I mean you no immediate harm. I seek information. I will dispel the lesser undead as a gesture of goodwill."
Before they could respond, Ainz raised a hand. [Turn Undead]—but reversed, amplified a thousand-fold through his Overlord class. A wave of absolute, tyrannical dominion washed over the horde. Every zombie within a hundred meters instantly stopped moving. Then, as one, they turned and shambled away, dispersing into the night, utterly obedient to the unspoken command.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Slowly, Takashi, urged by a stunned Saya, opened the door.
Ainz Ooal Gown stood before them, a figure of impossible nightmare and regal authority. His empty eye sockets held tiny red pinpoints of light that seemed to swallow the ambient light. He looked down upon the group, his emotional suppression perfectly containing his internal monologue of interest and calculation.
"Greetings," Ainz said, his voice a calm rumble. "You may refer to me as Ainz. I am a traveler, displaced into this… outbreak. Your handling of this crisis has been observed and is deemed efficient for mortals with no access to the arcane. I propose a transaction."
Saeko immediately placed herself between him and Shizuka, her sword not raised, but her stance was that of a spring-loaded trap. "Transaction?"
"Information," Ainz stated. "You possess knowledge of this world, its current state, and its geographical and political structures. I require this. In return, I can provide security. This domicile is insufficiently fortified. I can remedy that."
"What are you?" Rei demanded, her voice hard.
"I am what your legends would call an Overlord. A ruler of death. These shambling creatures are beneath even my lowest servants." He gestured idly, and four shadowy, armored knights with greatswords materialized from the ground—[Create Middle Tier Undead: Death Knights]. The Takagi group stumbled back, weapons raised. The Death Knights took positions at the corners of the mansion, standing motionless as statues. "They will guard the perimeter. Nothing of that level will approach."
Saya, her analytical mind overriding her terror, pushed her glasses up. "An 'Overlord.' Ruler of death. You're claiming to be a… a magical being? And you want a map and a news report?"
"Correct. A comprehensive exchange. My protection and potential assistance for your knowledge. I have no interest in your flesh, your souls, or in propagating this mundane undead plague. My goals are… elsewhere."
Takashi, the de facto leader, looked at his friends. Saeko gave a barely perceptible nod; the being's power was absolute, and opposition now was suicide. Saya looked intrigued. Hirano was muttering about "ultimate Lich-type boss characters." Shizuka was simply staring, wide-eyed.
"We… accept," Takashi said, his jaw tight. "But any harm to my friends, and we fight."
Ainz's head tilted. A display of loyalty. Admirable, if pointless. "A acceptable condition. Now, let us begin. Explain everything, from the first signs of this outbreak to the current status of national authority."
As they moved inside, Ainz learned of the "Them," the collapse, the Flu. He learned of Fujimi Academy, the city, Japan. He absorbed maps from Saya's smartphone (a fascinating non-magical communication artifact). All the while, his mind worked.
'This world is a near-total collapse scenario. Resources are plentiful for one with my abilities. The survivors are a potential asset—this group especially. Their skills could be cultivated. The swordswoman, Saeko Busujima, has latent potential that could be honed into a true weapon master. The strategist, Saya Takagi, has a mind for tactics. But they are fragile. Emotional. Burdened by morality.'
He saw the way Rei glanced at Takashi, the quiet intensity between Takashi and Saeko, the group's shared trauma. Bonds. They were both their greatest strength and their most glaring weakness.
Days passed under the silent guard of the Death Knights. Ainz, needing no sleep, would often stand on the roof, surveying the dead city. One night, Saeko approached him. Her usual serene mask was down, revealing the dark emptiness she fought within—the thrill of the kill she both feared and embraced.
"Ainz-sama," she said, using the honorific without prompting. "Your knights… they feel no fear, no doubt. They are perfect."
"They are tools," Ainz replied, his red pinpoints fixed on the horizon. "Efficiency without consciousness. Is that what you seek? To shed your humanity?"
"I seek to understand the blade. And myself. Can you… teach me?"
He looked at her. Here was a truly valuable specimen. A human pushing against her own limits. 'Albedo would appreciate her dedication. Perhaps a test…'
"Very well. Demonstrate your form against a Death Knight. Do not hold back."
The duel in the garden was a one-sided ballet of death. Saeko was faster, more fluid, but her blows that would sever zombie limbs merely sparked off the Death Knight's black plate. It moved with ponderous, unstoppable force. She fought until exhaustion, her sword chipped, her spirit burning. She finally yielded, not in defeat, but in awe.
"I am nothing before true power," she breathed, kneeling.
'Such dedication… It reminds me of the Guardians. This world, in its ruin, may yet yield interesting things.' Ainz felt a flicker—not emotion, but a strategic satisfaction. "You have potential. To reach further, you must first understand what you are: a predator. Embrace it, control it, or be consumed by it. Your choice."
Meanwhile, Saya engaged him in intellectual warfare, probing for information about "magic" and "other worlds." Ainz, finding her mind sharp, offered tidbits of Yggdrasil mechanics, which she documented feverishly. Hirano babbled about game lore, surprisingly stumbling close to the truth of Ainz's origin, which Ainz carefully neither confirmed nor denied.
The group's dynamic shifted. Ainz was not one of them—he was a force of nature they housed. A terrifying, polite, unfathomable patron.
The crisis point came a week later. A massive, coalesced horde, thousands strong, drawn by some residual noise or scent, moved toward the mansion. The group's earlier confidence shattered. Even with the Death Knights, they would be overwhelmed.
"We need to run!" Kohta urged.
"There's nowhere to run to," Saya said, despair in her voice for the first time.
Ainz stood from the chair he'd occupied for days. "Running is unnecessary." He walked outside, facing the tidal wave of rotting flesh.
He could simply command them. But that would not demonstrate the value of his continued partnership. He needed to show an investment.
He raised both hands. The air grew cold and heavy. "[Fallen Down]."
A pillar of pure, searing white light, a divine-tier spell perverted to evil purposes, lanced down from the cloudless sky. It struck the center of the horde. There was no sound, only a blinding flash. When it faded, a crater fifty meters wide smoldered in the street, lined with glass. Over two thousand zombies were simply gone, vaporized.
The remaining zombies on the edges were shredded by a follow-up spell, [Iä Shub-Niggurath]; dark tendrils erupting from the ground, crushing and piercing.
In less than a minute, the apocalyptic horde was annihilated.
Ainz turned back to the mansion. The group stood at the window, their faces pale, their understanding of the world irrevocably broken. They had seen monsters, but now they had witnessed a god of death.
He re-entered. "The immediate threat is neutralized. My offer remains. Continue to provide intelligence. I will secure a larger, more permanent base of operations. This city's resources are now… manageable."
Takashi could only nod, the weight of their new reality crushing him. They were alive, but they had made a pact with something beyond comprehension.
As Ainz returned to his watch, his plans solidified. 'This world has no Yggdrasil players, no World Items, no threat to me. It is a resource farm. These humans are capable assets. Their loyalty, through dependence or guidance, can be secured. I will find a way to contact Nazarick—the dimensional rift that brought me here must have a signature. Until then, I shall rule this dead world. It is, after all, what an Overlord does.'
He looked at the stars, so different from the ones above E-Rantel. Here, he was truly alone. But loneliness was a small price for supreme power. And in the silence of the apocalypse, the Sorcerer King began his new campaign.