3,407The Golden Empire, the Milathgroth Empire, the Inerius Kingdom, and the Tregenid Kingdom—once grand bastions of human, and elvish power—now lay in utter ruin. Their soaring banners, once symbols of hope and unity, had long since been reduced to tattered rags, flapping weakly in the eerie winds that swept across the devastated lands. The aftermath of the vampire invasions had left nothing but ashes in their wake, with entire populations crushed under the weight of a relentless, undead onslaught.
Villages, towns, and cities—once vibrant with life and culture—had been turned into desolate graveyards. Streets that had echoed with laughter and the bustle of trade were now silent, littered with the bones of the fallen and the twisted remnants of battles that had claimed countless lives. Nearly half of the populations of these nations had not been given the mercy of death. No, they had suffered a far worse fate—they were transformed into vampires, forced into eternal servitude to the vampiric lords of the Kulux Dominion, their former humanity nothing more than a distant memory.
The vampire lords, once conquerors and tyrants, had reveled in their near-total dominion, waging wars across the ruined nations with their newly created vampiric thralls. The mortal realms, it seemed, were doomed to crumble beneath the shadow of eternal night.
Yet, just as despair seemed absolute, something even more sinister emerged from beyond the vast ocean to the east. The war with the vampires of the Kulux Dominion did not end in victory for men and elves—it ended in mystery. In the blink of an eye, the seemingly unstoppable vampire legions had faltered. Not from within, but from an overwhelming force that came crashing down from the skies like a nightmare brought to life.
The unknown Nazarick Empire had arrived, not as liberators, but as conquerors.
Whispers traveled quickly, spreading like wildfire across the ruined lands. The Kulux Dominion, the once-proud empire of vampires that had terrorized nations, had been crushed. Subjugated not in months, nor weeks, but within a matter of days. How could such a powerful force be obliterated so swiftly?
"They came like a storm," the survivors muttered in disbelief, their eyes wide with fear. "An unstoppable wave of death."
From the east, across the horizon, it was said that flying ships of unimaginable size and power had darkened the skies. Their black hulls seemed to swallow the light, and from them descended legions of undead monsters the likes of which no mortal had ever seen. Dragons, undead armies, and beings of unfathomable strength tore through the vampire defenses as if they were nothing. The vampire lords, who had once bathed in the blood of their enemies, were themselves hunted, driven from their castles, and slaughtered like cattle.
In one infamous battle, the heart of the Kulux Dominion had fallen without even the opportunity to defend itself. Not a single vampire lord survived, their bodies reduced to ash, their souls claimed by the relentless undead forces that served only one master.
This Nazarick Empire—no mortal empire, to be sure—was something far more terrifying. Not a savior, but a new kind of nightmare. Their armies were comprised not of the living, but of the dead. Wraiths, skeletons, liches, and abominations that defied all logic and nature. And their emperor? None dared speak of the figure shrouded in mystery, said to command all with a mere thought. A being that existed only to conquer.
There was no hope. This was not a liberation. This was an undead horde with a singular purpose—to dominate everything: land, sea, mortal, and immortal. The lands were not being freed from tyranny; they were merely trading one nightmare for another, and this one showed no sign of mercy or restraint.
Today, the undead knights of the Nazarick Empire patrolled the streets of once-great mortal nations, their heavy, metallic footsteps echoing ominously through the ruined cities. The sight of their cold, unblinking eyes and the haunting glow that radiated from their skeletal forms brought a wave of terror to every soul who crossed their path. The kings and emperors of these lands, the once-proud rulers of the Golden Empire, the Milathgroth Empire, the Inerius Kingdom, and the Tregenid Kingdom, were powerless—mere figureheads under the looming shadow of Nazarick. Any defiance, any attempt to resist, would be met with unspeakable brutality. Everyone knew the consequences of crossing these undead overlords.
But amid the fear and whispered prayers for salvation, there was an unexpected undercurrent of acceptance. Some—humans and elves alike—had begun to welcome their new undead rulers. It seemed paradoxical, even impossible, that the mortals would see hope in such monstrous beings. Yet, there was a reason for this strange allegiance.
The Kulux Dominion, which had ruled these lands for centuries, had not just waged war on the human and elven nations—it had enslaved them. For generations, millions of elves and humans had been abducted, ripped from their families, and forced into the horrific confines of the vampire-run blood farms. The farms were nothing short of hell on earth, where the captives were drained of their blood to feed the insatiable thirst of their vampiric masters. Entire bloodlines were reduced to livestock, treated as nothing more than a resource to be consumed, and entire families were torn apart, their fates sealed in dark, damp cages far beneath the earth.
But when the Nazarick Empire stormed the lands of the Kulux Dominion, something miraculous happened. The mortals who had been enslaved for centuries were liberated. The undead overlords—the very beings who had decimated their vampiric captors—had freed the captives from the blood farms, offering them something they had not dared to hope for: a second chance at life.
Across the shattered cities and crumbling villages, families who had thought themselves lost forever were reunited. Mothers who had been taken by the vampires to serve as food were returned to their children. Fathers who had been drained of their strength were set free. The tearful reunions and the joyful cries of survivors could be heard in the streets. No one had expected this mercy from creatures of death. It was a gesture that shook the very fabric of what mortals believed about the undead.
"Can you believe it?" an elven woman said, her voice trembling with disbelief as she hugged her long-lost daughter, who had been taken to a blood farm a decade ago. "I thought I'd never see her again. I thought she was… I thought she was gone forever."
A human farmer, who had barely survived the raids of the Kulux vampires, stood in awe as his brother—once nothing but a distant memory—was returned to him by the skeletal hands of an undead knight. "They're monsters… but they've done something no one else could." He wiped away tears, his voice cracking. "I don't care what they are. They gave me back my family."
Even as the skeletal knights stood silent, their eerie presence looming over the streets, there was a sense of uneasy gratitude. Many mortals had begun to realize that, while their new rulers were terrifying and strange, they were not the same kind of evil that the vampires had been. The undead did not enslave, nor did they feed on the living. Instead, they had ended a centuries-long reign of horror that no one thought could be broken.
In the central squares of the ruined capitals, the Nazarick Empire made an even bolder statement. At the heart of each city, the heads of the five Kulux brothers—Lazarus, Remus, Marcus, Ulfred, and Zoltan—were displayed for all to see. Mounted on dark, jagged spikes, their faces were frozen in eternal agony, a chilling testament to the power of their conquerors. The once-untouchable rulers of the Kulux Dominion, the very vampires who had drenched the lands in blood, were now nothing more than grotesque trophies, symbols of a regime that had been decisively ended.
Crowds gathered, their eyes wide with awe and disbelief. The Kulux brothers, who had ruled with an iron fist for as long as anyone could remember, were dead. The vampires' reign of terror was over.
"They're really gone…" whispered a young elven man, staring up at the lifeless head of Lazarus Kulux, the most feared of the vampire lords. His voice was shaky, caught between fear and relief. "The vampires are really gone."
An older woman beside him nodded slowly, her weathered face streaked with tears. "For the first time in my life," she said quietly, "I feel like there's a future again."
The Nazarick Empire, however, did not bask in glory or revel in their conquests. Their silence was unnerving, their motives still unclear. The undead showed no interest in ruling with cruelty, nor did they demand tribute or force submission. Instead, they patrolled the streets with the same mechanical precision, their glowing eyes scanning for any sign of unrest. They were conquerors, yes, but they were also something more—a force beyond understanding. Of course, if there were a rebellion, the undead wouldn't hesitate to crush it.
Though some feared what the Nazarick Empire's next move might be, others found strange comfort in the notion that, for now, the bloodshed had ceased. The Kulux Dominion had fallen, and with it, the nightmare of the blood farms. Perhaps, under the cold, unblinking gaze of the undead, there was a chance—however slim—that peace, in some form, could be found.
But as always, in the hearts of mortals, there lingered a question no one dared to ask aloud: What would Nazarick want next?
In the ruins of what was once the proud Kingdom of Inerius, the air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and decay. The sun, obscured by dark clouds, cast an eerie, ashen light upon the broken city. Its once grand walls lay in shattered heaps, and the streets were lined with the twisted remains of buildings, toppled statues, and broken banners that once flew in honor of a kingdom that no longer existed. Now, the undead walked these streets, the new rulers of this land, sent by the Immortal Nazarick Empire to claim what remained.
At the heart of the crumbling capital, a solemn figure stood. Cloaked in his regal robes of black and gold, the Sorcerer Emperor Ainz Ooal Gown gazed upon the destruction with his hollow, glowing eyes. His presence was overwhelming, a suffocating aura of death and power emanating from him, casting an oppressive silence over the entire city. Behind him stood two of his loyal servants, the Undead Paladin Arc and the Chaos Lord Darius, both kneeling before their Emperor, their skeletal and demonic forms bowed low in respect.
"My lord," Arc's voice was steady, filled with an almost worshipful reverence, "it is a blessed day to stand in your presence again. I am honored.
"Rise," Ainz commanded, his voice cold and authoritative, echoing with a spectral undertone that sent chills through the air. The two undead warriors rose to their feet in unison, towering figures standing silently as they awaited their master's next words.
Ainz's gaze swept across the ruined city, the hollow glow of his eyes illuminating the wreckage before him. He observed the crumbling buildings, the collapsed towers, and the remnants of what was once the heart of the Inerius Kingdom. His skeletal hand gripped the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown, the symbol of his dominance over life and death, tapping it lightly against the ground as he surveyed the carnage.
"Hmm…" Ainz murmured, his voice carrying a faint note of curiosity. "The battle must have been very destructive here."
Darius, the Chaos Lord, stepped forward, his armor clinking as he moved. "Yes, my lord. The clash between the mortals and the Kulux fleet was brutal. The city held out for weeks, but the defenses finally collapsed when the Dark Elf Lord unleashed his Sea Serpent upon them."
Ainz's gaze narrowed as he listened, his mind processing the details. "A Sea Serpent?" Ainz asked, more intrigued than surprised.
"A leviathan of the deep, my lord." Arc stepped forward, his silver, undead armor glinting in the pale, unnatural light that hung over the city. "The serpent was formidable, my lord, but not even it could stand before the might of the Nazarick Empire. Our forces overwhelmed the Kulux Dominion's army with ease. The serpent, too, fell to the superior power of your undead dragon."
Ainz gave a slow nod, his skeletal fingers lightly tapping against the ornate staff he carried. "Great work, Darius, and you as well, Arc," he said, his voice echoing with a dark, chilling resonance that filled the air.
The two undead generals lowered their heads in unison, their loyalty unwavering. "We exist to serve you, my lord," they intoned, their voices filled with reverence and devotion.
Ainz's glowing red eyes flickered for a moment, studying the two figures before him. He was not one to lavish praise freely, but he understood the value of acknowledging the efforts of those who carried out his will. The Nazarick Empire's rapid expansion and iron grip over the continent were largely due to the competence and loyalty of his commanders.
"You have done well," Ainz continued, his tone softening ever so slightly. "Your victories here have brought the Nazarick Empire one step closer to its ultimate goal. The fall of the Kulux Dominion and the conquest of this continent is only the beginning."
Arc, his undead armor shimmering in the pale light, raised his head slightly. "It is an honor to fight in your name, my lord. The enemies of Nazarick will fall before your might, one by one."
Darius, the Chaos Lord, nodded in agreement, his dark, chaotic aura swirling subtly around him. "We will continue to serve without fail, my lord. No power, mortal or immortal, can stand against the Empire of Nazarick."
The wood elf citizens outside the palace watched in a mix of fear and confusion as their new undead overlords marched with military precision. These creatures, terrifying and unnatural, were not the mindless monsters they expected. They moved with a chilling order, governed by rules and discipline, something the wood elves had never associated with undead beings.
Ainz Ooal Gown, the Sorcerer Emperor, strode confidently toward the royal palace, his regal form radiating power. His steps were silent, yet the atmosphere grew colder with each one, as if the world itself acknowledged his presence. Arc, the Undead Paladin, and Darius, the Chaos Lord, followed closely behind, their armored forms casting long, dark shadows on the marble floors of the ruined city.
Inside the throne room, the air was thick with dread. Several undead warriors stood at attention, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. At the center of the room, a group of mortals knelt, their heads bowed so low that their foreheads nearly touched the floor. They were trembling, their fear palpable in the vast hall. For in front of them, seated upon the grand throne of Inerius, was the supreme ruler of the Nazarick Empire, Ainz Ooal Gown himself.
"Glory to the Supreme One!" one of the undead warriors bellowed, his voice echoing off the high stone walls. The other undead remained silent but alert, their weapons held with unwavering steadiness.
Ainz moved with deliberate grace, passing through the room like a shadow, until he reached the throne. His skeletal form settled into the seat, and for a moment, the room was deathly still. The mortals dared not move. Some even held their breath, unsure of what this dark god would demand of them.
"Rise," Ainz commanded, his voice calm yet resonating with authority.
The mortals hesitated, their fear anchoring them to the floor. They did not dare to stand fully in the presence of such overwhelming power. Instead, they merely raised their heads, their faces a mixture of awe and terror, but their bodies remained hunched, too afraid to rise to their full height.
Arc took a step forward, his voice sharp and commanding. "State your names!"
One by one, the rulers answered, their voices weak and quivering, betraying the great weight of their positions, now reduced to mere pawns in the game of their conqueror.
"I… I am Zaos, the Emperor of the Milathgroth Empire," declared the high elf, his once-proud demeanor now broken, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and shame.
"I am Rothomir, the Emperor of the Golden Empire," came the human's voice, filled with desperation and defeat. His once-proud empire lay in ruins, and now he knelt before an undead being more powerful than anything he had ever known.
"I am Theodmer, the King of Inerius," declared the wood elf, his eyes reflecting the sorrow of his people. The battle had decimated his lands, and he alone had survived the reckoning that had befallen his kingdom. His voice was soft, but there was a hint of pride still buried within him, though it seemed to fade with each passing second under the gaze of the undead.
Only one royal was missing from this assembly—the coastal elf king of the Tregenid Kingdom. He had fallen heroically in battle against the Kulux invasion, refusing to kneel to any force, mortal or undead. His absence hung in the air like a ghost, a reminder of the resistance that had once been, but no longer existed.
Ainz regarded the gathered rulers with a quiet intensity. The glowing red orbs in his skull seemed to pierce their very souls. "You have been spared," he began, his tone slow and deliberate, "because I have deemed it so. Your lands are now under the banner of Nazarick, and you will govern them in my name."
The mortals shuddered, knowing full well that their fates were no longer their own. The Kulux Dominion had been a reign of terror, but what stood before them now was something far more terrifying—a power beyond comprehension, an empire ruled by death itself.
Arc and Darius stood as silent sentinels at Ainz's side, their loyalty to the Sorcerer Emperor unquestionable. The mortals in the room could only nod, their hopes for defiance long since crushed under the weight of Nazarick's might.
Theodmer, the old wood elf king, hesitated before speaking, his voice trembling but resolute. "M-May… may I speak?" His eyes flickered with a mix of apprehension and desperation, fully aware of the weight of his words in this room filled with undead.
Ainz, seated on the throne, turned his skull-like visage toward the wood elf. The dim, crimson glow of his eyes locked onto the king, causing a chill to crawl down the spines of everyone present, mortal and undead alike. "Yes," Ainz said, his voice carrying an almost casual authority, as though granting the request was a mere flick of his will.
Theodmer swallowed hard, visibly trembling under the gaze of the Supreme One. "Thank you, your Majesty! First, I must express our gratitude," he began, his voice a touch steadier now. "Thank you for saving us from the vampires of the Kulux Dominion. We would be dead by now—slaves or worse—if it wasn't for Nazarick's intervention."
His words were genuine, yet laced with the unspoken terror that came with praising an undead emperor. Theodmer's eyes darted quickly toward Arc and Darius, who stood like silent sentinels, before he focused once more on Ainz. "But… I would like to ask, your Majesty…" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "What do you truly desire?"
Ainz's glowing red eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained unreadable beneath the skeletal mask. "Can you be more clear with that question?" he asked, his voice calm, yet a faint undercurrent of curiosity slipped through.
Theodmer nodded hurriedly, sensing the chance to clarify. "Yes, your Majesty. I mean… what is it that your empire needs? Do you… does your empire require sacrifices for your army?" His voice trembled slightly, and his ancient features betrayed his nervousness. It was a bold question, one that could either end in relief or ruin.
Ainz tilted his head, genuinely confused for a moment. "Sacrifices? Are you referring to some form of taxes?"
"Yes… yes, your Majesty." Theodmer's head bobbed up and down in rapid agreement, his hands trembling slightly as he awaited the verdict.
Ainz let out a soft, almost bemused chuckle, his skeletal form relaxing slightly on the throne. The other mortals in the room, still kneeling, dared to raise their heads ever so slightly, their fear of an immediate punishment slowly ebbing. "No," Ainz finally said, his voice firm but not unkind. "I don't need sacrifices. The taxes will be normal, as always." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in.
"I am here to rule over lands and people, not graveyards."
Theodmer blinked, clearly taken aback. "No sacrifices…?" he repeated, as if trying to absorb the fact that this terrifying undead emperor had no interest in bloodshed for the sake of power. Relief washed over him, but he dared not show it openly.
Ainz's gaze swept the room once more, falling on the other rulers. "I desire a prosperous empire, not one built on constant death. The Nazarick Empire will maintain order and ensure that life continues—under my rule, of course."
The rulers exchanged brief glances, some relieved, others still unsure of what to make of this. The thought of an undead empire that sought stability and governance, rather than the wanton destruction they had feared, was difficult to comprehend.
Theodmer, emboldened by Ainz's words, spoke again, his voice steadier now. "Then, your Majesty… what can we do to ensure our lands prosper under your reign?"
Ainz looked down at the wood elf, considering the question for a moment. "Serve loyally. Obey the laws I set forth. Manage your people well, and you will find that life under Nazarick is… much like life before, only without the chaos brought by the Kulux Dominion."
The room was silent, the tension that had gripped it moments before now slowly fading, though the aura of dread surrounding Ainz and his undead subordinates remained. The mortals before him realized that their fate, though not as grim as they had feared, was now entirely in the hands of this powerful, enigmatic ruler.
Ainz, satisfied with the outcome of the conversation, leaned back on the throne. "You are dismissed. Return to your lands and inform your people of their new ruler. Serve me well, and there will be peace."
Theodmer, Zaos, and Rothomir bowed deeply, murmuring their thanks as they rose shakily to their feet. They knew this was the beginning of a new era, one they could not resist. But at least, for now, they still had their lives.
As they exited the throne room, the heavy doors closed behind them. Ainz leaned back on his throne, his crimson eyes dimly glowing as he surveyed the throne room, now emptied of the mortal rulers who had bent the knee to him. His skeletal fingers tapped lightly against the armrest as he spoke, breaking the silence. "And we are done with this part of the world. What do you think, you two?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with an eerie sense of finality.
Darius, the Chaos Lord, stepped forward first, his voice filled with pride and fervor. "Absolute domination, my lord!" He bowed deeply. "It is a great sight to witness the mortals trembling at your feet. Their fear will keep them obedient."
Ainz glanced toward Arc, the Undead Paladin, who stood tall and unwavering, his loyalty etched into his every word. "Glorious, my lord!" Arc exclaimed, his voice carrying a sense of zeal. "I will work nonstop in turning this land into something worthy of the Nazarick Empire. It shall flourish under your reign, a testament to your power."
Ainz nodded, pleased with their responses. "Very well, I'll leave this part to you, Arc," he said. "Ensure that the transition of power remains smooth. We do not need any unnecessary revolts or instability. Darius," Ainz turned toward the Chaos Lord, "keep an eye on any possible threats. This world may seem subdued, but vigilance is our greatest weapon."
Both undead lords bowed once again, their voices echoing in unison. "We exist to serve you, Supreme One!"
As Ainz watched them depart to carry out his will, he contemplated the weight of his rule over the conquered lands. He had brought order to the chaos left behind by the vampires of the Kulux Dominion, and now, the Nazarick Empire would spread its influence even further. Mortals and immortals alike would bow before his might, and soon, all corners of this world would know the name of Ainz Ooal Gown.