Cherreads

Chapter 30 - Chapter 28

Nazarick was quieter than usual—but not in fear.

Not in tension.

The Tomb felt like it was holding its breath in reverence.

Word spread quickly:

"Ainz-sama walked past the training hall. He nodded to a squad!""He complimented the patrol team in person.""He visited the Sixth Floor again... and patted Aura's head."

For the first time in days—maybe weeks—the Guardians were smiling without hiding it.

"He's back," Albedo whispered in her chambers, eyes shining. "He's really back."

In the mess hall, the usually rowdy chatter among the NPCs had changed tone. They spoke softly, but with energy. Excitement.

Shalltear leaned over the balcony, kicking her legs and humming to herself—something she hadn't done since before the battle.

Aura and Mare tended the forest with a new spring in their steps. Even Mare, usually anxious, said it aloud:

"Big Sis… doesn't it feel like... Ainz-sama's smiling again?"

Aura grinned. "Yeah. Even though he still looks serious... it's the old Ainz-sama. Just cooler."

In the main corridors, Ainz walked without announcement, observing everything—floor by floor.

He said little.

But he nodded more often than usual.

And when Sebas gave his daily report, Ainz replied with something he hadn't said in weeks:

"Well done. I trust your judgment."

Sebas bowed, but there was the faintest upward tilt to his lips.

[Soul Orb Status: 50% Sealed][Trait: Noblesse Oblige — Passive Aura Active][Effect: "Dignity Without Distance"][Emotional Feedback Detected: Joy | Loyalty | Relief]

Demiurge stood beside Cocytus near the guardian elevator.

"Strange," he mused, adjusting his glasses. "The aura he emits now is deeper… but it no longer clouds the air."

Cocytus nodded. "It commands not obedience… but trust."

Demiurge smiled. "Which is more dangerous, in the end."

That evening, the Guardians were summoned.

Not to the throne room.

Not for orders.

But to the Sky Garden Hall, where stars shimmered on the illusionary ceiling and soft wind moved through summoned leaves.

They stood in a half circle.

Ainz sat—not on a throne, but on a simple black chair. Relaxed. Robed. Watching them.

Albedo, Demiurge, Cocytus, Shalltear, Aura, Mare, Sebas. Even the Pleiades nearby.

He looked at each of them.

Then said, with no dramatic flair:

"It's good to see you all again."

That was all.

But their hearts surged like they'd been waiting days for just those words.

Albedo had to hide her expression behind her fan.

Shalltear nearly squealed aloud before catching herself.

Even Demiurge allowed himself a full breath before bowing again.

"I will explain some things soon," Ainz said, more serious now. "About this change. The aura you feel. But for now… I only want to say thank you. For not turning away."

They all knelt—not just out of duty.

But in pride.

Their Lord had returned.

Changed, yes. Greater, yes.

But still theirs.

[Noblesse Oblige — Effect Stabilized][Field Status: Accepted][Message: "This power deepens reverence—but cannot fake love."][Sync Holding — Awaiting Resonance Trigger]

The stars shimmered above them.

In that moment, Ainz wasn't a tyrant, or a god, or a symbol.

He was simply… their master.

And they were glad.

************

The Grand Adventurer's Guild of E-Rantel buzzed with noise—boots scraping tile, armor clanking, and the low murmur of adventurers trading stories over watered-down ale.

But near the main desk, a hush settled as Guildmaster Ainzach unrolled a sealed scroll with trembling fingers.

"Request from the upper council," he muttered, setting it down in front of the battlemage seated before him.

Ainz sat in silence, blank and red robes flowing. He didn't fidget. He didn't ask questions. He simply watched.

"Lizardman Wetlands," Ainzach continued. "Reported signs of long-range mana interference. Ritual magic. Unstable field layers."

"Rank: Orichalcum-level or higher only. High risk. Remote location. Multiple disappearances from scout parties."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"They're calling it a containment-class threat. If this mission is completed solo and with minimal casualties…""…you'll be eligible for promotion to Adamantite."

Ainz tapped his gloved fingers together, thinking.

A containment-class threat meant three things:

Unexplained arcane phenomena.

A risk of region-scale damage.

And often… something divine or ancient at its core.

Perfect, he thought. A real test.

He nodded once. "I accept."

Ainzach exhaled. "Then the Guild will assign one support member. Interpreter, pathfinder, maybe just someone to sign the report when you're done."

Ainz raised a brow. "Unnecessary."

"Protocol," AInzach said with a shrug.

A beat later, a demi-human teen was pushed forward. Wiry, with wolf ears, a satchel of maps, and a slightly terrified face.

"This is Lein. Best scout we've got under 30."

Lein gave a nervous bow. "Sir. I've… heard things."

Ainz stood, robes trailing like smoke.

"You'll see more."

[Quest Accepted: "Voice of the Marsh"][Objective: Investigate the Lizardman magical disturbances and determine source][Difficulty: High – Unstable Mana Environment | Unidentified Divine Echo][Reward: Promotion to Adamantite Rank – Conditional Upon Completion]

**********************

The swamp greeted them with silence.

Not the natural hush of still waters or shy wildlife—but a heavy, expectant silence that pressed against the skin. As if the land itself listened. Judging. Waiting.

Lein stepped gingerly, claws barely breaking the muddy surface. His ears twitched constantly, searching for sounds that never came.

Ainz walked beside him, gliding effortlessly, his robe untouched by the grime below. The Soul Orb pulsed faintly beneath the layers of fabric, not glowing—merely aware.

Each step they took forward felt like stepping back in time.

Old magic lived here. Not dead. Not sleeping.

Just… listening.

"Sir," Lein finally whispered, eyes scanning the distorted horizon. "Mana threads are twisted. I—I can't read them properly. Not even where north is supposed to be."

Ainz raised a hand. Thin silver lines shimmered in the air—distorted leylines tangled like thread soaked in oil.

"Dimensional overlap," he muttered. "Something is bleeding through. A veil being stretched."

Before Lein could ask, Ainz stepped forward and traced the air with a single finger. The spell was silent, but the world rippled—briefly—like water struck by a drop.

And then they saw it.

Footprints.

Not physical—but impressions left in space. A staggered trail. Human. No, Lizardman. Three individuals. One wounded.

Another dragging something behind them.

The trail led deeper—into the blackened heart of the marsh, where the fog thickened and trees began to bend unnaturally, curved as if trying to shield themselves.

Lein swallowed. "W-we're following?"

"Yes," Ainz said. "Slowly."

As they moved, Ainz's thoughts sharpened. This place felt ancient. Not evil, but worn—like a wound left too long unattended. And whatever had opened it… had used divine residue.

They reached the last marker in silence.

Then they saw it—blood.

Smeared across the trees. Cracked spears. Trampled totems. The marsh stank of iron and smoke.

Lein knelt beside a gouged footprint, eyes wide. "That's not... Lizardman."

He scanned the wreckage. Then pointed toward a broken shield buried in the mud.

"There!" he gasped. "Those claw marks—those are ogre. But they shouldn't be this deep. Not unless…"

A guttural roar shook the treetops.

Something crashed through the far reeds—towering, twisted, and wrong.

An ogre, yes—but this one was different. Larger. Darker. Its muscles throbbed with corrupted veins, its tusks too long, eyes glowing with red glyphs that pulsed like cursed runes.

On its back? Half-melted armor. Stolen from mercenaries. A spiked war-club fused with bone.

It carried a Lizardman in one hand—barely alive.

"A berserker?" Lein whispered. "No—no, they don't get this strong. This is… cursed. This shouldn't be possible!"

The ogre turned to them and grinned, blood trailing from its teeth.

Ainz didn't move.He didn't flinch.He merely looked.

The ogre charged—roaring.

Lein instinctively pulled back, raising his dagger, shaking.

Ainz exhaled softly and raised his hand.

"Banishment: Divine Pulse."

There was no flash.No thunder.

Only silence.

The ogre froze mid-leap—eyes wide, body trembling as if it had just realized something ancient had looked back at it.

Then it disintegrated—atom by atom, erased in a swirl of soft light, as if it had never existed.

The blood it spilled evaporated. The air grew calm.

The Lizardman it had held dropped gently to the ground, cushioned by magic.

Lein stared in disbelief. "You didn't even chant."

Ainz lowered his hand. "That was no ordinary ogre. Something strengthened it. Artificially."

He stepped closer to the dissolved remnants—what little was left.

From the ash rose a faint trace of mana—not ogre, but something older.

He reached out—and the Orb pulsed.

[Foreign Catalyst Residue Detected][Binding Sigil: Incomplete | Origin: Unknown Divine Architecture][Soul Orb : 50% — Reactive Hostile Magic detected]

"Whatever did this," Ainz murmured, "it's testing the boundaries. Sending pawns to see who notices."

Lein shivered. "But… but it sent them here. This deep. To the Lizardmen."

Ainz turned, robe shifting like black smoke across the marsh.

"Then we'll find out why. And what's next."

The wind moved again, cleaner now.

Behind them, a weak Lizardman scout sat up, coughing.

He saw Ainz and began to cry—not in fear, but relief.

************

The Lizardman struggled to stand.

Ainz moved before him, robes parting slightly as he knelt—not out of weakness, but clarity.

"You're safe now," he said. "Where is your tribe?"

The scout blinked, eyes hazy with pain and disbelief. "C-carried… north. Chained. To the Old Hollow. Where the ground sings..."

Ainz's eyes narrowed. The ground sings.

Lein stepped beside him, clutching his map scroll.

"The Old Hollow isn't on any recent chart," he muttered. "It's supposed to be a dead zone—mana refuses to settle there. Even druids say the land doesn't listen."

Ainz stood.

It was time to make it listen.

He turned toward the fog ahead.

"Guide me."

Lein hesitated. "Sir, I—I don't think anyone's ever come back from there."

Ainz didn't stop walking.

"That's why we go forward."

They reached the Hollow just before dusk.

The trees ended abruptly—ripped away, not by age or nature, but force. The land had collapsed inward like a crater, now overgrown with moss and violet weeds that pulsed with faint magical frequency.

Above it all, a faint hum echoed through the air—not sound, but vibration. A song that made the bones itch.

Lein grabbed his ears. "That's not right. That's not right."

Ainz's eyes scanned the space.

Below, down the sloping hollow basin, dozens of sigils burned into the swamp mud—runic circles that pulsed in tandem with the hum. Ancient. Forbidden.

In the center: a black stone monolith, cracked—and bleeding white light.

And chained around it—

Lizardmen. Unmoving. Unharmed. But frozen in time, like puppets waiting for a cue.

"This is not ritual magic," Ainz said softly. "It's a conduit. Something is feeding off them. Drawing out echoes."

Then something moved.

From behind the monolith, a shape emerged. No footsteps. Just presence.

A figure cloaked in black and bone, face hidden by an antlered mask of porcelain and teeth. In one hand: a gnarled staff etched with silver chains. Its voice, when it came, was neither male nor female—but echo and command.

The figure stares. "......"

It raised its staff.

The Hollow shook.

Dozens of corrupted ogres burst from the surrounding ground—twisted, frothing, black-veined, bound by the same glyphs as the first.

Lein stumbled back. "T-this is a suicide trap! We have to—"

But then he saw him.

Ainz took a single step forward.

No panic. No casting.

He raised his hand—

And the air changed.

Mana thickened like mist before a storm. The ogres didn't slow down, but even they could feel something wrong ripple through the basin.

No chant. No incantation.

Just a wordless pull, like the world itself bracing.

Ainz's voice came low, clear, and absolute:

"Tier Five: [Hellfire Convergence]."

Above, the clouds split open in silence.

Then it rained.

Not water. Not fire.

But concentrated elemental plasma, each droplet a needle of burning force, infused with compressed thermal energy. Crimson streaks fell like divine retribution.

The ogres never had time to scream.

One by one, they ignited—then disintegrated, reduced to molten outlines in the marsh. The water hissed. The vines recoiled. The monolith cracked violently under the residual blast.

At the heart of the storm, Ainz stood motionless, robes billowing from the shockwave, his hand still raised in cold judgment.

Across the basin, a masked figure collapsed to one knee, losing half of its body.

Ainz didn't look at him.

He walked down the stone steps—slow, deliberate. Each step struck the ground not with force, but authority.

He reached the monolith, extended one hand— Break Greater Item.

A soft pulse surged from his palm, red lightning crackling along ancient glyphs.

The Lizardmen gasped—unbound. The chains of false magic shattered into dust, vanishing like lies exposed to truth.

They dropped to their knees. In awe. In instinctive reverence.

Ainz turned toward Lein, who was still frozen in place, quill trembling.

"Write this down," Ainz said calmly.

Lein nodded with pale, jerky motions.

"This wasn't a beast hunt," Ainz continued. "It was a test site. Someone—or something—is probing the barriers between domains."

He paused.

"And the next time…"

His eyes glowed faintly, not with emotion, but certainty.

"…they won't be this subtle."

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