Prologue

Looking up, he saw the dark clouds, which had covered the sky since early

morning, begin spitting a light rain as if unable to resist the urge any longer.

The captain of the Royal Select, Gazef Stronoff, clicked his tongue at the

hazy world before him.

A little earlier and he would have been able to reach home without getting

soaked.

He peered out across the sky but couldn't see any breaks in the dark

clouds that completely enveloped Re-Estize, the royal capital sharing a name

with the wider Re-Estize Kingdom. Even if he waited, it didn't seem like the

rain would stop.

Abandoning the idea of lingering inside the castle, he pulled his cloak's

hood over his head and stepped into the rain.

The guards at the gate knew him, and he passed freely onto the city's

main street.

Normally this street would have been full of activity, but now there were

hardly any people to be seen. Only a few were out, picking their paths

carefully so as not to slip and fall on the road that looked almost black, it was

so drenched.

From the lack of crowds, he figured the rain must have started some time

ago. Then maybe it wouldn't have mattered if I had left earlier.

As his cloak grew gradually heavier in the shower, he walked in silence,

passing by a few people similarly outfitted with rain gear. His cloak was

serving as a rain jacket for now, but when wet, the way it clung to his skin

was uncomfortable. Gazef picked up his pace to hurry home.

He was nearing his house and sighed with relief, knowing he would soon

be free of his sopping wet cloak, when suddenly his attention was almost

magnetically drawn down an alley off to the right where, in this thinly veiled

world, a shabby-looking man sat letting the drizzle soak him as it pleased.

The wet hair plastered to the man's forehead, dripping raindrops, was a

different color at the roots. Perhaps it was a half-hearted dye job? Since the

man was looking down, Gazef couldn't make out his face.

The reason Gazef's eyes had stopped on him was not because he

wondered why the man had no weather-appropriate clothing and was steadily

becoming drenched. Instead, he had the feeling something was off about this

stranger. Something inconsistent. The man's right hand in particular caught

his attention.

The weapon gripped there, tightly like the way a child holds their

mother's hand, didn't match the grimy man at all. It was an extremely rare

weapon, a katana, made in a city that was said to lie far to the south in a

desert.

Did he steal it…? No. I don't get that feeling from him. He seems familiar

somehow… Gazef felt a bizarre sensation, like he'd buttoned his shirt one

hole off.

The moment Gazef halted and saw the man's profile, memories came

flooding back to him.

"Could it be…U-Unglaus?" The minute he'd said it, the thought Not a

chance flashed across his mind.

Brain Unglaus was the man he'd once fought in the final match of the

royal tournament.

The image of the man he'd had such a close battle with was seared into

his brain. He couldn't forget the face of the strongest warrior he'd dueled

since picking up a sword, the one he still considered a rival—even if the

feeling was one-sided.

Yes, the man's hollow cheeks resembled his rival's face.

But—it couldn't be him.

Certainly, his appearance was similar. Despite the changes that

accompanied time's passage, his features were clearly recognizable. But the

man Gazef remembered would never wear such a pathetic expression. He had

been a man overflowing with confidence in his sword and enveloped in an

intense, burning will to fight. He wasn't an old, wet dog like this.

Gazef approached the man, footsteps splashing.

Reacting to the noise, the man sluggishly raised his head.

Gazef gasped. Seeing the man's face head-on confirmed it. He was Brain

Unglaus, the brilliant swordsman.

But he had none of his former radiance. The Brain who Gazef looked

upon now had been completely broken, like a beaten animal.

Brain staggered to his feet. His slow, or perhaps listless, movements were

not those of a warrior, nor even an old soldier. He dropped his eyes and

turned around without saying a word. Then he set off, dejectedly walking

away.

As that back receded into the rain, Gazef had the feeling if they parted like

this they would never meet again, so he closed the distance and shouted. "…

Unglaus! Brain Unglaus!"

If the man said he was wrong, Gazef would tell himself it was a

coincidental resemblance. But the very quiet voice that reached his ears did

not contradict him.

"…Stronoff?"

There was no soul in that voice. Gazef never would have thought it was

the same Brain he had clashed swords with. "What…what happened to you?"

he asked in shock.

What in the world could have happened to him?

It's possible for anyone to ruin themselves. Gazef had known a few who

had done it. When people were always seeking out easier ways to live, one

failure could cause them to lose everything.

But he couldn't imagine that genius swordsman, Brain Unglaus, having

anything to do with those people. Was it because he didn't want to

acknowledge that his greatest opponent ever had fallen so far?

Their eyes met.

What a face…

Brain's cheeks were hollow, and there were dark patches under his eyes.

The eyes themselves contained no energy, and his skin was pale. He looked

almost like a corpse.

No, a dead person would look better… Unglaus is dead on his feet.

"…Stronoff, it's broken."

"What?"

The first thing Gazef glanced to when he heard those words was the

katana in Brain's hand, but he realized that wasn't what the other man meant.

It wasn't the sword that was broken, but—

"Tell me, are we strong?"

Gazef couldn't answer in the affirmative.

What came to Gazef's mind was the incident at Carne. If the mysterious

caster Ainz Ooal Gown hadn't come to his rescue, he and all his men would

have died. That had been the extent of his strength, even if he was said to be

the strongest in the kingdom. There was no way he could puff out his chest

and say he was strong.

How did Brain interpret that silence? He replied, "Weak! We're weak. In

the end, we're only human. Our skills with swords are garbage. Humans—we

belong to an inferior race."

It was true that humans were feeble.

The gap in physical strength between humans and dragons, the most

powerful race, was obvious. Dragons had tough scales, sharp claws, wings

that carried them into the sky, and breath that could annihilate anything,

whereas humans had nothing comparable.

That was precisely why warriors aspired to slay dragons. There was honor

in overcoming that overwhelming gap with cultivated ability, comrades, and

gear. It was a feat reserved for those so strong they could be called ultrawarriors.

So had Brain failed to kill a dragon?

Had he aimed too high to reach and thus lost his balance and fallen?

"…I don't know. Doesn't every warrior know that? That humans are

weak."

No, he didn't understand why this was suddenly so upsetting to Brain.

Everyone knew there were heights that couldn't be scaled.

People sang his praises, calling him the strongest warrior, but Gazef

himself wondered if he really deserved the title. For one thing, there was a

good chance the theocracy was hiding warriors stronger than him. Also,

subhumans like ogres and giants had higher base physical strength than the

human Gazef. If they acquired the same level of ability he had or even a little

lower, he probably wouldn't be able to win.

The pinnacle was simply beyond sight. Gazef knew full well it still

existed. Had Brain not understood something so basic, something that any

warrior should know?

"There are heights to aspire to. That's why we train ourselves to win,

right?"

Believing you'll get there someday.

But Brain shook his head emphatically. His soaking wet hair flung drops

of water everywhere.

"No, I don't mean that level!" he cried in a pained voice.

Gazef saw the man before him superimposed on his memory. Gazef felt

the soul of Brain's attacks had been present in that shout, even if the

declaration itself was antithetical.

"Stronoff! The true peaks can't be reached even with hard work! Humans

can't touch them. That's the true nature of peaks. In the end, we're nothing

more than children with sticks. It's a continuation of the knight games we

used to play as kids!" He turned to Gazef quietly with an emotionless face.

"…Hey, Stronoff. You have confidence in your sword, too, right? But…that

thing is garbage. You only take up that junk and feel like you're protecting

people!"

"You saw something that beyond our grasp?"

"I did. I learned. There's a peak that humans will never scale. No—"

Brain practically laughed at himself. "What I saw wasn't even so high. I

wasn't even capable of seeing the true summits. It was a game. Actually, it's

a funny story."

"So if you train to be able to glimpse that peak…"

Brain's face twisted up with rage. "You don't understand anything! No

human could ever even approach that monster's ability! You can swing your

sword infinite times, but you'll never reach it! …What a joke. What was I

even aiming for?"

Gazef couldn't respond.

He'd seen people with wounded psyches like this before, people whose

friends had died before their very eyes and had their spirits simply broken.

There was no way to save them. It couldn't come from outside. No matter

how many people tried to help, if the fallen couldn't gather the resolve to

stand up again, it was futile.

"…Unglaus."

"…Stronoff. The power you can obtain with a sword is meaningless! In

the face of true dominance, it's trash."

No, there was nothing of his former bravery now.

"…I'm glad I was able to meet you at the end."

Gazef watched with sorrowful eyes as Brain turned to go.

He couldn't summon the energy to call after the receding, pitiful, wornout figure who had once been his great rival. But Gazef couldn't miss the few

brief words that Brain uttered as he left.

"Now…I can die."

"Wait! Wait, Brain Unglaus!" he cried out after him with burning

emotion.

He strode forward, grabbed the retreating man by the shoulders, and

yanked.

There was none of the former brilliance in that stumbling figure. But

though Gazef had pulled him using all his strength, though Brain's stance

broke, Brain didn't fall—because his body was well trained, and he possessed

a supreme sense of balance.

Gazef felt a little relieved recognizing that his onetime opponent hadn't

gone weak. It wasn't too late. He couldn't let him die now.

"…What are you doing?"

"We're going to my house."

"Stop it. Don't try to save me. I want to die… I'm tired of being scared.

No more jumping at shadows, thinking someone's creeping up behind me. I

don't want to face reality anymore, I don't want to think how happy I was

wielding a piece of crap…"

Listening to Brain's practically pleading voice irritated Gazef. "Shut up

and follow me."

Although he'd instructed Brain to follow, Gazef seized Brain's arm before

walking off. The way Brain stumbled along without any resistance disgusted

Gazef in a way he couldn't put into words.

"You're going to get changed, eat, and go straight to bed."

26 Mid-Fire Moon (August) 1:45 PM

Re-Estize Kingdom's royal capital, the city of Re-Estize…

"The old city" was the best way to describe the capital that nine million

people called home, not only in the sense that it had history but in other ways

as well—the days plodding along, the depressing backwardness, the lack of

change.

A mere stroll down its streets was enough to understand.

Many of the houses lining the streets were old and roughly made,

completely lacking in dynamism and brilliance. But different people saw this

in different ways. Yes, there were probably some people who saw the city as

traditional and calm, while others found it boring and eternally stagnant.

It seemed like the capital would continue to be as it always had, without

change—even though nothing stays the same forever.

The royal capital had many unpaved roads, so as soon as it rained, the

paths became muddy. The sight made it hard to believe this was inside the

city. The kingdom wasn't necessarily underdeveloped, though. It was an error

to compare it to the empire or theocracy in the first place.

Since the roads weren't very wide (and no one walked straight down the

middle in front of the carriages), pedestrians bunched up along the side of the

lanes, making for the picture of squalor. The residents were used to it, so they

weaved their way through. They approached one another head-on and deftly

dodged at the last second.

The road Sebas was walking down, however, differed from most places in

the capital. It was a broad street nicely paved with cobblestones.

From a glance to either side, it was easy to see why. The houses lining the

street were large and splendid. One could practically smell the affluence.

That was because this lively promenade was the capital's main boulevard.

As Sebas walked in his dignified manner, most of the women in the street

turned to watch him, charmed by the refinement of his middle-aged face.

Some even stared directly at him with obvious passion, but Sebas paid them

no mind, only keeping his posture erect and his head forward as he strode on

without a single step out of rhythm.

He wouldn't stop until he reached his destination—at least that was the

impression his gait gave—but then he suddenly halted, and after looking both

ways for carriage traffic, he turned at a right angle to cut across the street.

He headed toward an old woman. She'd set down a frame pack piled high

with baggage and was rubbing her ankle beside it.

"What seems to be the matter?"

Perhaps surprised by the sudden question, the old woman had eyes filled

with suspicion when she raised her head. The moment she saw Sebas's good

looks and fine clothes, however, her expression softened.

"You seem to be having some trouble. May I help you?"

"N-no, it's nothing I would trouble you with, sir."

When Sebas grinned, the old woman's cheeks reddened. This charming

gentleman's wonderful smile broke through her remaining defenses in an

instant.

She'd finished business at her stall for the day and was on the way home

when she twisted an ankle, which was now giving her a hard time.

This main avenue wasn't dangerous, but that didn't mean everyone

present was a good citizen. If she asked the wrong person for help, it was

possible they'd steal all her goods and profits.

She knew things like that actually happened, so she was hesitant to seek

help indiscriminately.

So this was a simple matter.

"I shall accompany you. Would you show me the way?"

"Are you sure, sir?!"

"Of course. It's only natural to help someone in trouble."

The woman thanked him repeatedly, and he turned his back to her. "Now

please, get on."

"I—I could never!" She sounded embarrassed. "My grimy clothes will

soil your fine garments!"

But—

Sebas smiled kindly.

What did dirty clothes matter? Such things needn't be taken into account

when helping someone in trouble.

Suddenly the faces of his colleagues from the Great Tomb of Nazarick

came to mind. Dubious looks, furrowed brows, and even open contempt. But

no matter the feelings of Demiurge, who would probably be the first to react

in such a fashion, Sebas believed this was the correct thing to do.

It was right to help someone.

She protested several times, but Sebas finally convinced her to climb

aboard. Then he hoisted up her pack with one hand.

The old woman—and everyone else who saw him steadily carrying that

apparently very heavy luggage—sighed in admiration.

He set off according to his passenger's directions.