Egoism

A few things before we start:

1. This is not your typical Self-Insert into Overlord. The approach is more realistic than dream-like. This means you will no doubt disagree with some of the decisions made by the MC, thus if context isn't provided, you are welcome to ask questions and explanations.

2. The story (world) won't revolve around the MC. It's not him against the world, nor will every problem require his direct intervention. If something can be resolved by someone else (and the MC expresses reluctance) then it will most likely be resolved by someone else.

3. The MC is a very big fan of Overlord, with only the cd dramas being his weakest link. Of course this doesn't mean he hasn't a general view of them. Also to note is that the MC can differentiate between fiction and reality.

4. There won't be any game like mechanics or restrictions in this story. Everything will have an explanation, including thaumaturgy, racial/ job skills, skill acquisition, mana, martial arts, world item mechanics, wild magic, talents, affinities, bloodlines, spell casting, and etc. All these things will be rooted in reality.

5. Because the insertion starts in the world of 2138, the butterflies in the New World will be extreme. Still, the new world characters will retain some of their original personalities, but their circumstances will not be the same as the OG. Example: There's no Adventurer's Guild (there's an in-world explanation for this).

6. There will be foreign elements that might pop up. But this won't mean that the story is a crossover. The reason for this is that YGGDRASIL is inspired by a number of different media and games.

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Lucas POV

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The World of 2138.

It presented a stark reality that initially seemed more apocalyptic than dystopian, as he had perceived while reading the novel. In his imagination, he'd envisioned a landscape where dying individuals and desperate scavenging gangs were barred outside the fortified walls, forced to subsist on the remnants discarded by the wealthy corporal overlords who had managed to gain the reins of the world…

He bit on a supplement bar that smelled of honey and chocolate but tasted like sponge.

…no longer content with ruling from the shadows.

A speeding hover-car passed by his rented Lensphrid C-36L, illuming him in its brilliant lights.

"Fuck!"

He swore, quickly ravaging through his passenger's seat for his shades. Crazy as it was to wear shades in the dead of night, everyone was a little mental in this alternate future reality.

Plus, he couldn't be advertising his face to the many surveillance throughout the city, especially if this plan of his ended up in failure.

Honestly, the place looked more cyberpunk than a fetus hellscape. Sure the air was a bit poisonous, but it was only so in the big cities. Gangs were abundant, but they mostly kept to themselves— except for those revolutionaries asswipes. Real food was rare, but people didn't starve to death.

And best of all, luxuries and pleasures were cheap, both visual and real.

He refrained from indulging in either, reserving himself for far more profound pleasures in a world of utmost fantasy and dreams. And he would be there in…

He pulled at the sleeve of his coat and glanced at the cheap device coiled at his wrist.

19:27

…about four hours and thirty-three minutes from now.

"Just three minutes left until the operation," he muttered, his own voice causing a cringe to crawl up his spine, stirring a sense of discomfort within him. This body he inhabited was not to his liking. It felt feeble, too thin, almost emaciated, and disappointingly short and lacking the firmness he'd grown used to.

But it would do. Lucky was the fact that he wouldn't be inhabiting it for long, and a more superior body was already in wait for his soul.

Discarding the wrapper of the finished supplement bar, he tossed it aside and began rummaging through his pockets, his hands exploring for the device that held the key to his future. After a brief search, his fingers finally grasped it within the confines of his coat's breast pocket, safely nestled and ready for its transfer.

True to his ever-present paranoia, he subsequently ensured that all the other backups were securely placed within the confines of the briefcase. He left no room for failure, as the mere possibility of any mishap stemming from his actions was unacceptable.

His gaze fixated on the apartment building beside which he had parked, his attention drawn to the specific unit on the seventeenth floor, door number 5. The illuminated lights within confirmed the presence of his intended target.

Good, this meant that plan B was no longer necessary.

Running his fingers along the cool, metallic surface of the modified Colt M1911 pistol, he sought solace in its familiar touch, hoping to calm his frayed nerves. Retrieving the silencer, its cylindrical form coated in a hasty layer of inexpensive black paint, he seamlessly affixed it to the pistol, as he took on the role of Grim's assistant.

He loathed that he needed to resort to such extreme methods, but his desires demanded no less.

He reached out for the gray respirator mask, fitting it snugly over his mouth and nose. It bore an appearance unlike anything he had encountered before, a product of time's relentless passage that had transformed it into a fusion of simplicity and complexity that wouldn't have looked out of place on Tony's face.

Tapping a finger on the respirator's activator, its numerous filters came to life with hisses and clinks. It also enabled the function that enabled transparency, allowing his face to be seen.

'Really don't see the need for cybernetic lungs when these things work just as well.' He mused with a shake of a head, and not for the first time. Despite the remarkable progress of technology over time, he couldn't help but feel that humanity's wisdom had failed to keep pace with its advancements.

People still fought over dumb things, sidelining things of greater importance. It was a true wonder how they even managed to survive this long.

Shaking those thoughts out of his mind, he took a deep breath, the action syncing with the watch's alarm as steely determination settled on his face.

He reached for his cross pendant and brought it to his lips for a peck.

"Dear God watch over me as pave a path towards my future…"

He knew not if it was Christ's deadbeat dad that brought him here or another type of deity, but whoever or whatever it was, he needed their help now more than ever…

Exiting the sleek blue Lensphrid C-36L, his concealed firearm safely tucked within his coat, he presented himself with an air of professionalism. Adorned in blue dress pants, complemented by polished black whole cut Oxford shoes, he aimed to project a businesslike facade.

A white shirt adorned with a patterned tie was elegantly accentuated by a waistcoat, adding an additional layer of formality to his attire. With a carefully crafted smile, he ensured its authenticity, avoiding any trace of strain. Holding a briefcase in his left hand, he entered the apartment building, met with no resistance or suspicion as he made inquiries about his target's floor, despite already possessing the knowledge.

The woman who worked the counter was far too willing to give him information about his target, going as far as to offer him surveillance of what he was doing in his apartment at present.

He refused the offer, it and the woman's not so subtle offering of her body despite her being easy on the eyes.

Such were the powers of the corporate look in these trying times, but he couldn't be thinking with his cock at a time like this.

As for the secret surveillance in his target's apartment, the recording playing was of his creation long back.

He did, however, have the woman disable visual from that unit, the wad of bills he staffed down her bosom proving better incentive, then the promise of a later call.

Glancing at his watch once more, he positioned himself strategically outside the limited reach of the surveillance — even though his respirator did much interference — as he stepped into the elevator.

He subtly adjusted his tie, using the opportunity to maintain a composed appearance while enduring the dreaded elevator music.

'Even after a century, elevator music remains unchanged,' he thought with a tinge of amusement, his anxiety serving as a catalyst for such reflections.

Harnessing the capabilities of the futuristic cellular device embedded in his neural port, he willed it to activate and swiftly accessed the target's recent conversations and messages. This lax security in public communication was honestly frightening, rather than creating their own personal back doors in public spying, the Corps just chose to weaken the lines all together.

«…master, are yer gonna to be logged in tonight? Yer kno' say one last hurrah to YGGDRASIL?»

«Amata-san, I told you to stop referring to me as guild master outside the game.»

«and I told yer to stop bein' stiff, bud. Yer kno gals don' like stiff guys. So, wat yer say? Comin' or no?»

«*sigh* yeah, I'm coming. I just hope that the rest of the gang show up as well.»

«so old buddie Amata not good enough for yer? I'm wounded, guild master.»

«come on, Amata-san. You know what I meant.»

«ya, ya! I'm kiddin' with yer, buddie mine. I be missin' the gang too, 'specially da cultured perv. An' who kno's one of 'em might show for one last hurrah. ;)»

«hopefully, but I doubt Peroronchino will show.»

«ya, so wat time yer be showin'? Imma login around 23:30. Me work is very hectic today.»

«bit late, but as long as you come. I'm going to login after I'm done eating, so around 20:00.»

«nice, nice…I hope yer change yur avatar to somethin' fleshie an' humanoid, though. It might even surprise da gang if dey show.»

«*sigh* you've been saying that for the past year. I told you it would be an insult to our guild and friends. *shrug* I guess it doesn't matter anymore.»

«yer too stiff, buddie mine. Yer opt to enjoy yurselv in-game, be free an' wat not. Plus, yer don't have to be one of 'em humanoid races, just a humanoid heteromorph.»

«fine, fine. I'll do it. Just go back to work already.»

«ya, guild master. Tonight's gonna be magic, yer just wait an' see!»

He scoffed…

As he awoke in this world, he had questioned why he, out of all people, had been granted a chance in a dying realm. Initially, he attributed it to karma and his lack of faith, but his perspective shifted dramatically upon discovering the name "YGGDRASIL" and the computational abilities bestowed upon him.

After this revelation, he couldn't help but wonder about his own significance and why he had been chosen. By no means did he consider himself special; there were countless others more deserving of this opportunity than him.

He yearned to be part of the New World, longing to join the ranks of Ainz Ooal Gown. However, with only a month remaining, he hesitated to rely solely on Satoru's goodwill.

That's when he stumbled upon something peculiar—an anomaly named Amata Ishida, also known as Merlin Pendragon, the Blade Mage. For some inexplicable reason, the legendary King of Britain was not a fable in this reality.

Amata's existence practically screamed "transmigrator," and what's more, he had been in this world since the inception of YGGDRASIL. Keeping a low profile, Amata had abstained from pursuing power and fame, instead preserving the canon events.

He discovered this thanks to his newly acquired hacking skills, and for that, he felt a deep sense of gratitude towards Amata.

He knew that his computational abilities were intended to provide an advantage, an opportunity to level the playing field with the enigma that was Ainz Ooal Gown, so as not to be overshadowed in the new world. However, he couldn't help but scoff at that notion.

Rather than exploiting these skills to gain an unfair advantage, he utilized his account and proficiency to acquire numerous items, rare or otherwise, utility was key, even his character's build revolved around it.

He gave little to personal power, the role he was about to take would null the need for that.

Through his search, he even managed to acquire a World Item—the Apple—in the process. He wrote codes, intending to deploy them strategically within the game, and meticulously researched role-playing purchases that would prove useful in the New World. He hacked into the accounts of 39 out of the 42 supreme beings, leaving out Amata, Satoru and Aoi (Herohero) as part of his preparations.

And now, the time had come to set his plan in motion.

As the elevator doors opened, he stepped out with determination, pulling out a file containing information on his fellow transmigrator.

…

Profile A — codename: Deceiver.

Name: Amata Ishida

Sex: Male

Age: 39

Marital Status: Single (Possibly a Virgin)

Citizenship: Japan

Profession: Cubical Drone.

Prestige: None

Personal Information: Fuckin' moron!

…

In-Game Profile.

Name: Merlin Pendragon

Race: Demi-Dragon.

Alignment: 100.

Affiliation: Ainz Ooal Gown

Level: 100

Classes

Racial Levels

Dragon Descendant: 10

Dragonoid: 5

Elder Race: 5

Job Levels

Spell Weaver: 10

Fighter: 10

Sword Master: 5

Arcane Magus: 10

Mana Twister: 10

Sorcerer of the Deep: 5

Dragon Hunter: 10

King of Knights (custom class): 5

Magic Swordsman: 10

Solomon's Chosen: 5

Stats

HP - 98

MP - 95

Phy. Atk. - 86

Phy. Def. - 71

Ability - 65

Mag. Atk. - 75

Mag. Def. - 89

Resistance - 125

Special Ability - 30

Total - 734

Info: Despite the high base stats, he is a mid-low level fighter due to the lack of skills and buffs.

This individual embodied everything he despised: an arrogant, delusional, and unintelligent being—a reclusive creature driven by base desires, devoid of any remarkable qualities and exhibiting the utmost genericness.

A baser creature undeserving of the opportunity he had been given…

Arriving at door D-5, he rapped his knuckles against it, the resulting echo producing a rhythmic pattern. His nerves, once taut, now succumbed to a resolute calmness that settled over his emotions.

Before long, the door cracked open, revealing a man in his early thirties, though his Asian heritage made it challenging to discern his exact age. A palpable wariness colored his face as he cautiously peered out.

"Hello, can I help you?" the man asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Satoru-san, my name is Yamamoto Lucas from the Kondo Foundation," he began, allowing a sorrowful and sympathetic expression to shape his features. "I'm here to discuss your father."

Satoru's eyes widened in a jolt of surprise and shock, his emotions clearly stirred by the unexpected mention of his long dead father.

"Bu—"

Lucas swiftly halted the flow of the man's words by introducing a series of new openings in his body. Countless hours spent practicing equipping and firing his gun paid off, providing him with both speed and precision in his actions.

Stunned and reeling, Satoru staggered backward. Seizing the opportunity, Lucas extended a hand to assist the man, guiding him inside.

"Let's move to a more suitable location, a hallway isn't an optimal place to discuss something as emotionally charged as this." His voice was smooth and calm, devoid of any frantic fluctuations.

As the door shut behind them, Lucas wasted no time in drilling four new holes on Satoru's forehead.