Chapter 13: The Predator's Trap and the Overseer's Advance
The faint, distressed signal tugged at Ainz's very core, a dissonant chord in the symphony of his burgeoning power. It was undeniably one of Nazarick's own, weak yet insistent, laced with pain and fear. All thoughts of the Whispering Peaks, the continuing ley line, or even the shadowy watcher Nyx, receded in the face of this immediate, urgent crisis.
"Sebas," Ainz said, his voice as Lord Elian sharp with an uncharacteristic edge that made the butler instantly alert, "The signal… it's one of ours. In distress. We must go to them. Now." He gestured vaguely south-east, the direction the feeling emanated from. "It's not far. A few hours' ride at most. Greywater Keep can wait."
Sebas's calm expression tightened with concern. "Understood, my Lord. Another of Nazarick's children is in peril. We will not delay." The thought of one of his comrades suffering spurred him as much as it did Ainz.
They wheeled their horses, abandoning their planned return to Greywater, and rode hard towards the source of the faint, desperate cry that only Ainz, with his unique connection to Nazarick's denizens and the amplifying properties of the obsidian amulet, could clearly perceive. The amulet itself pulsed in sympathy, a warm throb against his chest, seemingly helping to guide him, to narrow the focus of the distant plea.
Meanwhile, Albedo, Overseer of the Guardians, stood upon a rise overlooking a shallow valley, her dark wings, now fully unfurled, casting an imposing shadow in the late afternoon sun. Her undead retinue – death knights on skeletal steeds, skeletal mages clutching gnarled staves – were arrayed behind her, a silent, terrifying legion awaiting her command. The Fell-wing had returned, its telepathic report precise: Greywater Keep lay just beyond the next ridge, a small, somewhat dilapidated holdfast nestled beside a sluggish stream.
A beatific, almost predatory smile graced Albedo's perfect lips. Her beloved Ainz-sama was near. After weeks of agonizing separation, of scouring this primitive world, she was finally on the verge of reunion.
"Excellent," she purred, her golden eyes blazing with fanatical light. "The reports from those sniveling human informants spoke of a 'Lord Elian Hollow' and his 'wise advisor.' Clearly, my Ainz-sama is operating under a clever guise, with that ever-loyal butler Sebas at his side." She imagined her lord, perhaps weary of maintaining his disguise, eagerly awaiting her arrival to restore order, to bring the full might of Nazarick to bear upon this unsuspecting world.
"You," she commanded, pointing a slender, gauntleted finger at the captain of her death knight honor guard, a towering figure whose ebon armor seemed to drink the light. "Take a squadron. Establish a secure, hidden perimeter around this 'Greywater Keep.' Allow no one in or out without my express permission once I have made my presence known. The rest of you will accompany me. We shall make a… formal approach. My Lord Ainz deserves nothing less than a grand entrance for his most devoted servant." Her heart hammered in anticipation. The thought of kneeling before him, of feeling his gaze upon her once more, was an ecstasy she had craved for an eternity.
Back at Greywater Keep, Ser Desmond Grell was in a state of mounting agitation. The tales spun by the terrified "refugee" minstrel, Lyra (Nyx in disguise), of a "demon queen with an army of bone soldiers" marching from the coast, had thoroughly unnerved him. He had dispatched riders to the nearest hamlets loyal to Greywater – Oakhaven and Hilltop Cross – instructing their small militias to be on alert and to report any unusual sightings. He had also sent a messenger to Lord Karstark's last known encampment near the Ruby Ford, and a more urgent one to Riverrun, detailing the alarming rumors and requesting guidance, though he knew any response would be days, if not weeks, in coming.
Lord Elian and Master Tian were still away on their survey of the northern territories, leaving him, a young Tully knight, in de facto command of this strange, isolated keep. Hal and Timms, while surprisingly capable in their own rustic way, were clearly out of their depth when faced with the prospect of a supernatural invasion.
Nyx, observing Ser Desmond's increasingly frantic efforts from her concealed vantage points within Greywater's crumbling architecture, relayed his activities to Demiurge. The half-elf assassin found a grim amusement in the knight's earnest panic.
Demiurge, in Harrenhal, received Nyx's reports with a cool, analytical satisfaction. The "demon queen" rumor was clearly an exaggeration of Albedo's advance, likely embellished by Nyx to maximize its psychological impact on Ser Desmond. Perfect. The chaos Albedo's arrival would inevitably cause at Greywater Keep, especially with Lord Ainz and Sebas temporarily absent, would provide an unparalleled opportunity to observe the keep's true defenses, the loyalty of its inhabitants, and the reactions of the Tully liaison.
"Continue observation, Nyx," Demiurge instructed. "If the 'sorceress' and her retinue do indeed arrive, your priority is to witness the interaction with Greywater's defenders, and particularly Ser Desmond's response. Do not intervene unless your own position is compromised. This… unfolding drama… promises to be most illuminating." He almost looked forward to Albedo's characteristic blend of terrifying efficiency and dramatic flair. It would certainly test the mettle of this Elian Hollow's domain.
Ainz and Sebas rode with a grim urgency, the faint, distressed signal growing stronger, clearer, as they plunged deeper into a dark, tangled woodland several leagues south-east of Greywater Keep. The trees here were ancient, their branches interwoven like skeletal fingers, blocking out much of the sunlight. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of decaying leaves and stagnant water. The amulet around Ainz's neck pulsed insistently, guiding him through the gloom.
"The signal is very close now, Sebas," Ainz said, his voice low. "And it is tinged with… insectoid pheromones? And the scent of… fear, yes, but also something akin to frustrated hunger."
Suddenly, they broke into a small, muddy clearing. And there, Ainz's non-existent heart gave a lurch of recognition and fury.
Entoma Vasilissa Zeta, one of the Pleiades Six Stars, lay entangled in a series of crude but brutally effective iron traps. They were clearly designed for bears or other large game, their toothed jaws clamped cruelly around several of her slender, chitinous limbs. Worse, the iron bands of the traps were crudely etched with what looked like silver inlay in unfamiliar, jagged symbols – local attempts at monster-warding sigils, Ainz surmised, which were clearly causing Entoma additional distress, her insectoid nature reacting badly to the combination. Her elegant maid outfit was torn and stained, and some of her mask-like faceplates, which concealed her true monstrous features, were cracked.
She was not alone. Three burly, rough-looking woodsmen, armed with rusty spears, pitchforks, and flickering torches, were cautiously circling her, their faces a mixture of fear, greed, and cruel excitement.
"Look at it, Jory!" one of them crowed, prodding at Entoma with his pitchfork. "Some kinda spider-demon, it is! Those markings Old Man Hemlock etched on the traps are workin'! It can't break free!"
"Them fancy clothes… reckon it's some lord's pet monster what got loose?" another speculated. "Or maybe a forest spirit? Either way, its head'll fetch a fine price from that crazy Maester at Lord Harroway's Town, the one who collects weird beasties."
Entoma let out a series of frustrated, pained clicks and hisses, her multifaceted eyes, visible through a crack in her mask, blazing with helpless fury. She tried to summon her insectile weapons, her voice-stealing bugs, but the silvered wards seemed to be suppressing her abilities, causing her intense discomfort.
Ainz felt a surge of icy rage so profound it almost overwhelmed his carefully maintained Elian persona. These… vermin… dared to harm one of his children, one of the denizens of Nazarick? Unforgivable.
He dismounted smoothly, Sebas instantly at his side. "Unhand her," Ainz commanded, his youthful voice now laced with an arctic chill that made the very air seem to freeze.
The woodsmen, startled by their sudden appearance, spun around. "And who might you be, boy?" the one called Jory sneered, hefting his spear. "This ain't your concern. We caught this… thing… fair and square on Lord Goodbrook's lands."
Ainz didn't waste words. "[Fear Aura: Despair]!" He unleashed a fraction of his true Overlord's aura, not the full, soul-crushing terror, but enough to utterly unman these primitive thugs. A wave of invisible, mind-numbing dread washed over the woodsmen. Their bravado shattered instantly. Their eyes widened in primal terror, their weapons clattered to the ground, and two of them simply collapsed, blubbering and clawing at the dirt. Jory, the leader, stumbled back, his face a mask of horror, then turned and fled, screaming.
Sebas moved with silent, impossible speed. A blur, and Jory let out a choked cry as a precisely delivered blow to the back of his neck sent him sprawling, unconscious but alive. The other two were similarly incapacitated by Sebas before they could even fully register their companion's fall. Ainz needed them alive, for a moment. For information. And then, for their souls.
He strode towards the trapped Pleiad. "Entoma," he said softly.
Entoma Vasilissa Zeta looked up. She saw the young human boy, then the tall, dignified elderly man who had dispatched her captors with such effortless grace. She recognized Sebas Tian almost instantly. Her multifaceted eyes then focused on the boy, on the aura of absolute command, the familiar, overwhelming presence that transcended his physical form. Despite the human guise, despite the unfamiliar face, the essence was unmistakable.
"L-Lord… Ainz?" she chirped, her voice a mixture of childlike disbelief, excruciating pain, and soaring, ecstatic hope. Tears, or some insectoid equivalent, welled in her large eyes. "Is it… truly… you, Ainz-sama?"
"It is I, Entoma," Ainz confirmed, his voice softening. He knelt beside her, examining the cruel traps. "Sebas, carefully now. These wards… they are causing her pain."
Together, with Sebas's immense strength and Ainz's careful guidance (and a touch of [Greater Break Item] on the enchantments themselves), they prised open the iron jaws, freeing Entoma's damaged limbs. She slumped against Sebas, whimpering softly, her small body trembling.
"Thank you… thank you, Lord Ainz… Sebas-sama…" she whispered, her relief palpable.
Ainz then turned his cold gaze upon the now-conscious, terrified woodsmen, who were being held immobile by Sebas's implacable grip. "Tell me everything," he commanded. "Why you set these traps. Who taught you these wards. And who else knows of her presence here."
Under the combined pressure of Ainz's chilling aura and Sebas's terrifying presence, the woodsmen babbled their story. They were local hunters, occasionally poaching on minor lordly lands. An old hermit, Hemlock, rumored to be a hedge wizard, had taught them how to inscribe silver with crude protective symbols to ward against "dark things" from the forests and swamps. They had set the traps for a monstrous bear said to roam these woods, and Entoma had blundered into them.
Once Ainz had extracted all useful information, his expression remained glacial. "They have seen too much, Sebas. And they dared to harm a denizen of Nazarick." His unspoken command was clear.
"It will be done, my Lord," Sebas said, his voice devoid of emotion. A few moments later, three more souls, insignificant but satisfying in their acquisition given the transgression, flowed into Ainz's reserves. The clearing fell silent save for Entoma's soft clicks of pain.
Sebas gently tended to Entoma's wounds, his touch surprisingly delicate. Her chitin was cracked, some internal fluids leaking, but her Pleiades physiology was resilient. She would recover.
"My Lord Ainz," Entoma said, her voice stronger now, her gaze fixed on him with adoring loyalty. "I arrived in this… strange land… weeks ago. Alone. Confused. I sensed your faint calls, then the glorious Beacon… I was trying to reach what I thought was its source when… when I fell into these disgusting traps." She shivered. "The silver… it burned…"
"You are safe now, Entoma," Ainz reassured her. "You did well to endure." He felt a profound warmth towards this small, deadly battle maid. Another piece of his family, restored.
Entoma then looked around, a new urgency in her voice. "My Lord… just before I was trapped… I sensed another. Another powerful presence from Nazarick. Approaching from the south-east. It felt… like a beautiful, terrifying, winged lady… Her aura was… overwhelming."
Albedo. Ainz and Sebas exchanged a look.
Just as Entoma finished speaking, Sebas, who had been subtly extending his senses, tensed. "My Lord," he reported, his voice grim. "Multiple powerful entities are indeed converging on Greywater Keep from that very direction. At least one possesses power consistent with a Floor Guardian. The 'winged lady' Entoma sensed, I presume. They are… very close now. Less than an hour's ride, if they maintain their current pace."
Ainz processed this rapidly. Albedo was about to descend upon Greywater Keep. Ser Desmond Grell was there, likely already in a state of high alert due to Nyx's (Demiurge's) rumors. He now had an injured Pleiad under his protection. This was escalating far beyond his control. Or perhaps, into a new, more chaotic, but ultimately more powerful, phase of his plans.
"Sebas, Entoma," Ainz declared, his voice regaining its full Overlord authority, the Elian Hollow persona momentarily forgotten in the face of this new urgency. "We ride for Greywater Keep. At once! It seems the Overseer of the Guardians is about to make her presence known. We must be there to… extend our welcome."
A small, almost human smile touched his lips. The thought of Albedo, in all her glorious, terrifying devotion, interacting with the rustic simplicity of Greywater Keep, and the earnest, hapless Ser Desmond, filled him with a unique mixture of foreboding and dark amusement. The carefully constructed stage of Elian Hollow, Lord of Greywater, was about to receive its most dramatic and unpredictable actress.