As the dirt that had been blown in the air fell back to the ground, the obscuring cloud gradually settled.
Once the dust cleared, the first notable sigh was of the crumbled wall—it couldn’t even be called ruins.
As for the fate of the soldiers, one look at the gouged-out wall was enough to know.
There was no way for mere humans to live after being subjected to such a cataclysm.
Of course, Demiurge knew better than that. There were humans who could survive. The fools who had set foot in the sacred land created by the Supreme Beings, the Great Tomb of Nazarick, had been such people. But he had done his due diligence and made sure no humans like that were here.
“Now then, I think that’s more than enough.”
Demiurge brushed his suit off. He hadn’t gotten very dusty, but perhaps a few motes kicked up in the impact had floated his way. And maybe he smelled a bit earthy. No, even if he didn’t feel that way, he probably still would have made sure his clothes were clean. This suit was a precious gift from his Creator.
Naturally, Demiurge had plenty of other outfits, but that didn’t make it acceptable to neglect taking care of this one.
The thought of his great Creator made him smile with joy beneath his mask; then he turned to face the humans in their shameful state.
If he launched a follow-up attack now, his enemy’s confusion would only deepen, and if he then sent the subhumans in, a complete collapse of the defenses would be a simple matter. But that wasn’t why he had used magic just now.
Demiurge had an extremely limited repertoire of spells. On tier ten, there was only one other he could use. His true value lay in skills; he had cast the spell to save energy, but the scene before him was already quite pitiful.
No one attempted to counter—they were desperate to gather information and reorganize.
I didn’t even kill their commander… And this disarray doesn’t seem to be caused by them finding it strange that I didn’t try to cripple their chain of command… Are they all right over there?
Demiurge turned his back to the humans and started strolling back toward the camp his slaves were building.
He wasn’t even on guard against an attack from behind him.
He already had the information he needed; that was why he could be so relaxed.
Demiurge was strong.
Among the floor guardians, he may have been near the bottom, but he was confident he would win in a fight—because he understood that fighting should only start after victory was assured. Unless he was ordered otherwise, he knew better than to fight if he wasn’t absolutely sure he would win.
There was only one person Demiurge couldn’t win against—in other words, he wouldn’t be able to prepare a scenario where he could definitely come out on top. That being was the ultimate, the apex, the one who held everything in the palm of his hand, he who possessed a greater intellect than Demiurge, who could conspire in unimaginably crafty ways, and whose foresight seemed to stretch into eternity.
The highest ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, Ainz Ooal Gown.
Yes, the only one he couldn’t best was the Supreme Being to whom he had devoted himself.
Creating a huge number of undead is part of his scheme. Once that plan is in place, Lord Ainz will be untouchable. What a terrifying being. And everyone else must surely understand the joy of being ruled by one such as—
The thud was the first unexpected thing that had happened so far, and Demiurge turned around to see what had caused it.
A man was slowly rising to his feet. He must have jumped off the wall.
“He’s dead! The man I wanted to defeat is gone!” the man said, drawing a sword with two hands.
Demiurge searched the data he’d collected based on the man’s appearance. The answer came up instantly:
Threat Level: E—a worm.
Chance of Miscalculation: E—none.
Importance: E—guinea pig.
In other words, he was trash. But since he was one of the powerful Nine Colors—not that all of them were strong—Demiurge thought he would be useful as experiment material if taken prisoner.
“Rrrraaaghhh!”
The man charged at him with a battle cry.
How slow. Far too slow. If this is all the speed you can muster, shouldn’t you use your head a bit more? Maybe try casting Silence and approach quietly to close the distance a bit…
The man came running—at a leisurely pace—across a distance Demiurge’s colleagues would have closed in the blink of an eye.
According to the data he had gathered, this dim-witted man had a skill that enabled him to land a blow many times stronger than his usual attack whenever he broke a weapon. That was why he held one sword in his hands and had more on his hip.
How should I kill him? Since I’ll be taking him back, it would be better to do it neatly— Oh, he’s finally here?
After taking care to stay back far enough to avoid getting spattered even if the man’s blood spurted, Demiurge issued an order. “Slit your throat with that sword.”
There was a thudding noise.
The eyes of the man who had sliced his own neck open were filled with confusion. When the light faded from his eyes, leaving only cloudy glass marbles—that was when he collapsed with a thud.
Screams of grief could be heard from atop the wall.
Demiurge approached the man, hooked a pointer finger on the back of his collar to lift him up, turned on his heel, and went back to his camp.
Upon his return, the representatives from each race—though none of them held any authority—gathered before him.
Demiurge had mentally divided the subhumans into two categories.
On one side were the bloodthirsty types who fed on humans. They willingly submitted to power and followed him out of positive emotions. On the other side were those who followed him out of negative emotions such as fear.
The ones he chose were from the
