Chapter 23

Jett sat hunched at the edge of the clearing, his knees tightly tucked against his chest, his scrawny frame partially concealed by a torn cloak that barely kept off the early morning chill. The damp grass was uncomfortable to the touch, but he was accustomed to it; it stuck to him like a second skin. Despite what they had seen, his eyes remained wide and innocent as he watched the traffic through dense shrubbery. His eyelids felt heavy, and his eyesight was blurry due to sheer boredom and exhaustion. He yawned, attempting to quell the dull ache that had settled in his back after sitting in one position and place for so long.

At fourteen, he was smaller than most boys his age, with a slender, wiry body that had not yet filled out with muscle. His skin was pale, almost sickly white, with subtle dark circles under his eyes from many sleepless nights in a row. His brown hair draped in unkempt strands around his face, tips greasy and uneven from weeks without washing, not rinsed even once. When he talked, his voice remained soft and hesitant, not yet hardened into the harsh, dominating bark of a man.

The path spread out before him like a snake weaving through the forest, filled with niches and crevices to be inspected or used. The trees stood tall on either side, their branches swinging effortlessly in the breeze, casting lingering shadows across the singular dirt path. Occasionally, a cart would pass by, pulled by tired-looking horses, its drivers completely oblivious of the tiny kid lurking just beyond their view as they went on their way. But now the road was silent, and Jett felt boredom creep up into his bones.

Nothing ever happened. Not on days like this, anyway. Days when the world seemed to forget that he even existed, like most days.

He yawned again, louder this time, and cast a sideways glance at the others in his group. Darrel, Winstor, and Moore lay spread in the tiny tent they had set up, snoozing lightly beneath their few ragged blankets. They had the luxury of sleep. His gut twisted with envy, and a bitter smirk appeared on his lips. Lucky bastards, he mused. Jett was not given such things. As the youngest member, he was required to maintain watch - another unwritten rule of the Brotherhood. You earned your place by enduring hardship. Only when another took up the place were you spared of it. Nobody had to say it out, but the manner in which they stared at him said it all. Too young to lead, too small to fight, yet sufficiently grown up to be of service. That was his lot given by life, nothing more.

His thoughts wandered to his family - not the one he had currently, but the one that had discarded him like garbage. His father, whose palms were as rough as the earth he dug, had little use for a son who couldn't do his part on the family farm and could only act as another mouth to feed. His elder brothers, strong, harsh, and quick to remind Jett of his worthlessness, had made certain of this. They were always determined to take on the most difficult chores to show their worth to the family, whereas Jett was assigned the crumbs, the worthless and dirty ones. When his family ultimately abandoned him, his eldest brother led the charge in persuading their parents that their farm had no room for dead weight.

Jett clenched his jaw, feeling a hollow pit of rage and hatred rising within him. His fists clenched unintentionally, nails digging into the soft skin of his hands, threatening to draw blood. When the Defias Brotherhood took him in, he was desperate, famished, scavenging for scraps, stealing what little he could from the streets, and a few times getting beaten to within an inch of his life. He had even tried his luck in the town of Sentinel Hill, but the local marshal had wanted to send him to the stockades after he was caught stealing food. He would've done anything in order to prove himself, but nothing had gone his way.

He could and did do so to the Brotherhood. He had shown his value by leading them back to his family's property in the darkest hour of the night, leading them with a bitter precision that belied his age and rage. He remembered holding a blade in his hand and feeling his elder brother's blood dripping on his fingertips. His resolve had faltered a little as he witnessed his mother and eldest brother's wife scream and wail as the men assaulted them to death, the memory remaining etched in his mind. His resolve had been shaken then, something inside him recoiling from the cruelty. But they earned it, didn't they? That's what he told himself in the quiet moments when remorse was gnawing at him like a rodent. They had all deserved it, every last one of them.

At least they had spared his sister. The Brotherhood had taken her in, just like they had him. She rose in rank promptly, marrying one of the upper-level leaders and adopting the Brotherhood's ruthless mindset as she slew and seduced her way through life. Last he heard, she was doing well in her new life, far from the rubble of their previous one and far from his current rank.

Jett let out a long sigh, watching as the wind gently stirred the bushes in front of him. Life was cruel and everyone was out to get you unless you fought back. The Brotherhood was his sanctuary now. They were outcasts, just like him, abandoned by the world and left to fend for themselves. There was power in numbers, even if individually they were weak. And they had plenty of numbers; the powerful were always all-too-eager to emphasize just how worthless the rest of them were after all.

He stole another glance at Darrel, Winstor, and Moore. Their breathing was deep and even while they snuggled together around themselves as they slept. Jett envied them for their ability to drift off through everything and find calm in the midst of their troubled lives. With a soft groan, Jett stretched his arms above his head, feeling the muscles in his back protest from sitting for so long. His stomach growled, reminding him that it had been a while since his last meal, a stale piece of bread stolen from a passing farmer yoinked off the back of his cart. Hunger gnawed at him continually, however it was a familiar ache that he had grown to ignore.

Jett slumped back against a tree trunk, letting out an exaggerated groan as he stared ahead at the vacant road. The forest's quiet was terrible. A gust of wind would sometimes rustle the bushes or a bird would squawk from the treetops, but the rest of the time was quiet. His eyes were weary with boredom, and the rustling of leaves seemed like a lullaby meant to send him to sleep, enticing him to let down his guard.

'Maybe the next cart will have some booze.' He sighed and gazed at the road with deep longing. He could already imagine it: a big wagon rumbling along the path, loaded with barrels of booze or ale, the property of some rich merchant who had been too stingy to hire proper guards to keep costs down. Something strong enough to bring him out of this painful routine, to spice up what he could see and think. He pictured his first sip burning its way down into a warm fire in his gut. 'This is so boring.'

Days like these were the worst. The wait. The unending, mind-numbing wait for something - anything - to happen. On the odd occasion, a wagon or two would pass by, but half of the time it contained little more than spoiled bread or other useless junk that hardly warranted the hassle, mostly farmers or poor merchants with little worth to steal. The few good hauls they'd managed to make previously had at least enabled them to return to Moonbrook with enough cash to keep Jett from going insane. That was his one solace: the prospect of Moonbrook at the conclusion of this perpetual boredom.

The notion of getting his share of the loot put a slight, sly smile on his lips. He already knew what he was going to spend it on. Moonbrook wasn't much, but there was one comfort in that dreary place - Lira. Jett adored the girl, despite the fact that she was barely a year older than him. She had a way of calming his fears, if only for the night he paid for. Her presence soothed his worn spirit, and he would fall into her with the urgent desire of a drowning man reaching for breath. Her sweet words and touch let him forget about the hardships of his existence, like the hunger and the cold, replacing it with soothing and temporary feelings of warmth.

Jett allowed himself to fantasize about the future during quiet times such as this. A future where he wasn't keeping guard for hours at a time, freezing his ass off in the woods, waiting for some rich fool to enter their territory. Perhaps if he rose high enough in the Brotherhood's ranks, he could afford a proper home. Not a large one, just something tiny and comfy. Somewhere he could relax after a long day of work. Maybe - just maybe - he could persuade Lira to come with him and make it their home. She would keep him warm at night, he would keep her safe, and together they would be able to live a life free of the worries that were now consuming him, bit by bit.

Jett stifled yet another yawn, stretching his arms as far as they could before letting them hang limply at his sides. His bones felt stiff, as if the dull boredom had penetrated to his very marrow. Anything would have been preferable to sitting here, waiting for wagons that never arrived, even preparing for a raid. The sun hung lazily overhead, creating long shadows among the trees, as if it, too, had become tired of this monotonous day.

'Can't some rich fool wander in and give us a big payday?" Jett pondered as he stared down the dusty road with a half-lidded gaze. His fingers twitched, longing to wrap around the handle of a purse loaded with coins. He craved action, anything to stir his blood, something to make him feel alive again. 'I want to do something!'

Of course, there was an old saying: 'Careful what you wish for, it might come true,' At that moment, Jett's wish was fulfilled, but in a way that made his stomach drop. His daydreams faded instantly as his instincts shot like fireworks at something new. His body tensed, his hand gripping his worn mace. His senses sharpened, trained on the road ahead. 'Finally,' he thought with a spark of excitement, 'Maybe it's time to get some action.'

At first, it seemed like the air itself had bent and twisted in front of his eyes. The ground darkened unnaturally, and a cold breeze slashed through the heat of the afternoon like a knife. His eyes widened as a swirling black portal emerged in the middle of the road. He could almost hear it sucking the very light from its surroundings, devouring the air and guzzling the monotony. It was like a wound in the fabric of reality, widening with each passing second before his very eyes.

"Oi, Something's happening!" Jett's voice cracked as he scrambled back, his heart thudding with anticipation. This was it, the moment of action he'd been waiting for. His cry shook his three colleagues awake, sending the elder men scrambling to their feet, wiping sleep from their eyes and searching for their weapons. Darrel, the group's eldest member, mumbled something about Jett being a paranoid brat, but even he paused when he saw the dark portal.

The swirling mass of dark energy didn't surprise them. These sorts of magical occurrences weren't exactly common, but when you lived the life they did - cutthroats and mercenaries for the Defias Brotherhood - you got used to seeing strange things. Magic, necromancy, undead, they'd seen it all before. This was just more magic of the rich. And rich meant they had a target.

Its appearance didn't inspire dread … No, it was more like a bell ringing to announce an opportunity to him. Jett watched eagerly as the portal stabilized and out stepped two figures. A grin split his face as his mind raced with thoughts of loot and rewards. 'An undead and a warrior… Why do the pretty ones need to be messed up in the head,' he grimly mused, hefting his mace, ready for a battle.

First came a skeletal undead. There was no mistaking him - a tall, gaunt figure dressed in expensive robes. His skeletal frame was adorned with a staff so intricately carved that Jett's greedy eyes couldn't help but linger on it, devouring its beauty. The staff was capped with glowing crystals of various colors radiating power. Jett knew instantly that if he managed to return the thing to their boss, he would receive more gold than he'd ever seen in their lives, possibly even elevated up a few ranks in the forces. The necromancer moved slowly and purposefully, as if he had all the time in the world, and why wouldn't he? The undead weren't concerned about time like the living did, they had eternity to do what they wanted.

Then came the woman. Jett's brows furrowed as his gaze fixed on her. She wasn't what he had expected. She was beautiful... no, stunning didn't even begin to describe her - with flowing, dark hair and eyes that seemed to pierce right through you. She donned full plate armor, black as the night, trimmed in fiery red that shone faintly in the early dawn. It appeared custom-made, evidently outrageously expensive, and exuded an air of menace about it.

Jett's heart raced because of her potential, not her otherworldly beauty. That armor was undeniably valuable by itself, worth hundreds of gold coins, if not more when brought to the right superiors, and possibly had strong magic to enhance his abilities in the future. And what if they could capture the woman alive? He could imagine the kind of price a woman like her would fetch - no doubt the brotherhood's leaders would want to keep a pretty toy like her and would pay absurd sums for a chance to spread the shapely legs that came with such a pretty face.

With his resolve steeled, he joined his peers and surged forward, leaping out from his place. Their feet pounded against the cold soil, their weapons gleaming in the morning light. There was no fear in Jett's heart, just a surge of adrenaline as they charged without a care in the world. The armored woman slowly cocked her head, as though she had sensed them long before they made their move, her expression unreadable. For a split second, Jett could've sworn she looked amused, yet this only fueled him as he thought of turning that smugness into fear. He swung his mace high above his head and prepared to strike.

<X >

It came as no surprise that the thugs barely hesitated when they saw him and Buku emerge from the portal. In a world driven by greed and desperation, self-preservation often took a backseat to the allure of wealth, and to these bandits, all they saw was a massive payday falling into their lap, nothing more. The gleam of Buku's impeccable armor and the glint of Ainz's breathtaking staff appeared to drown out any sensible ideas of self-preservation within the men. And so, without a second thought, the bandit camp erupted into a frenzy as the Defias Brotherhood thugs charged recklessly towards them, weapons drawn, like moths to a flame.

The first to reach them swung his blade with all his might, his gaze fixated on Buku's unprotected head. The blade rang out with a hollow metallic clang as it rebounded off her skull, leaving no not even a scratch. The thug stopped and examined his weapon in surprise, his hands trembling slightly from the vibration. "Oi, What the hell is this!?" he exclaimed in surprise. It was as if he had hit an anvil with a butter knife.

Buku didn't even flinch, her eyes drifting to the insignificant brute. "We only need one or two for questioning, right, darling?" She casually inquired, her tone cool and casual, as if the bandit's attacks were nothing more than an unpleasant buzz in her ear despite their incoming attempts. She didn't even lift her weapon, and her tone was humorous, masking the danger beneath her cool exterior.

Ainz calmly observed the scene with the relaxed detachment of a god surveying the foolishness of mortals, knowing the immense power difference between them. His gaze flicked to Buku, then to the struggling thugs. "We can always find more," he responded, his voice reverberating with that deep, regal timbre that could chill the spine of even the bravest of souls. "If these ones do not provide anything useful." One of the smarter goons, realizing the grim reality unfolding before him, spun on his heels and bolted, his feet pounding the ground in frantic desperation. But he had barely made it a few paces before Ainz simply flipped his bony wrist at him. A fireball lit in his palm, emitting an eerie, otherworldly brilliance as it flew into the air with an unsettling whoosh. It struck the fleeing thug in the back, and the man was instantly engulfed in flames, burnt to ash without a single scream in the blink of an eye.

Seeing one of their own killed instantly made the remaining three come to their senses. The aroma of burnt flesh filled the air, and for the first time, the gleam of horror shone through their greed-clouded thoughts. They exchanged glances before turning to face Ainz, their weapons hanging limply in their hands. This was no ordinary opponent. This was completely beyond their comprehension and their lives were in the hands of the woman and the undead monster.

"H-hey let's make a deal… Alright?… W-what do you want to know?" The group's leader fumbled, his voice betraying his growing panic. He still held his curved blade, though the hand gripping it was visibly shaking now as the others gathered behind him. His dark-brown eyes, filled with an amalgam of fear and despair, focused intently on Ainz. The man was lanky, his frame thin and wiry beneath his tight dark leather gear, and his face was half-hidden behind a blood-red silk bandana that now seemed more ridiculous than intimidating.

Ainz let out a low, rumbling chuckle that rang across the clearing. "A deal?" His voice was filled with mockery. He cocked his head slightly, the flames in his eye sockets flaring with merciless satisfaction. "What makes you think you have any bargaining power here?" He let out a cruel laugh to play up his evil undead image, flame practically flying out of his skull. "You will give us all the information we need no matter what you choose to do… Alive or dead? It makes no difference."

Beside him, Buku couldn't help but roll her eyes at her husband's theatrics. He was really leaning into the whole evil overlord persona today, wasn't he? She had to admit, though, he was good at it. He had been good at it in-game, he had kept it afterward during their numerous roleplaying sessions, and it had only grown even more chuunibyou here. Nonetheless, she had her own role to play, and while Ainz had mastered the 'bad cop' act, she had taken on the mantle of the 'good cop' - or, at least, something slightly less horrifying.

"My husband," Buku began, casting a sideways glance at Ainz with a smirk, "can extract information by directly destroying your brain while you are still alive and then raise you as mindless husks, but I prefer to give humans a chance to prove their worth." Her voice was smooth, almost sweet, as she shifted her stance, adopting a more relaxed posture, swaying her hips.

She tried not to laugh at how ridiculous it was that she would be seen as the "good guy" in this situation, no matter what they did or schemed up. Ainz was a more terrifying presence by simply existing and there was nothing she could do about it. It was part of the fun though, a game they played while the mortals trembled. The bandits weren't about to test her, though. They may not have understood the full depth of her words, but the casual way she mentioned brain destruction and zombification was enough to shake even the hardiest of souls.

"Whatever you need, lady," one of the other bandits whimpered in a soft, high-pitched voice. He was a short man, his eyes betraying primal fear as he sheathed his mace and inched ever so slowly away from Ainz. Apparently, the intimidating skeletal overlord was too much for him, and he sought the relative comfort of Buku's presence. The irony wasn't lost on her, this man was choosing her as the 'safer' option, when in reality, she could tear him limb from limb with even greater efficiency than Ainz given their close range. Her sharpened blade could piece his skull faster than his lightning spells at this distance of just a few meters.

"You will lead us to the leader of Defias Brotherhood," Ainz demanded. As he spoke, his [Aura of Despair] began to seep out of his impressive frame like a dark mist, thickly covering the ground. He had set it on the terror-inducing level one - a bit overkill for pitiful creatures like these bandits.

"W-we don't know who runs Defias. No one knows., The group's leader stammered in response. His voice was a pitiful squeak, a far cry from the brashness with which he had first addressed them.

Ainz's patience had its limits. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the man and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him. His bony fingers closed around the man's neck with terrifying ease. The bandit's eyes bulged, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as Ainz held him aloft with chilling composure while his legs kicked uselessly beneath him, his hands clawing at the iron grip that held him helpless. He and Buku had agreed to test out other interrogation methods before he used [Dominate, as relying on one spell wasn't a sound strategy and more diverse methods for extraction of information were needed.

"Then I have no reason to keep you alive," he stated, his tone final and devoid of empathy, flames flaring up from his eyes. "You will serve me as an undead."

Before the frightened leader could even register the full horror of what was about to happen to him, another thug saw his opportunity to flee. The man bolted, his heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted through their pitiful camp, desperate to escape the nightmare that had descended upon them. He thought, perhaps foolishly, that if the undead overlord's attention was occupied elsewhere, he could slip away unnoticed.

But he hadn't counted on Buku. Like a specter, she appeared in front of the fleeing bandit, her movements as fluid and swift as the ever-present wind. Before the man even realized what was happening, Buku's enormous flamberge swung in a graceful arc, its crimson blade gleaming in the dim light allotted by the canopies. With a single, effortless motion, she severed the thug's legs from his body in a clean sweep. The man sank to the ground in a matter of seconds, his shrieks filling the air as the scent of burning flesh wafted up from the cauterized stumps, legs toppling beside him.

Buku's expression remained nonchalant as she stood over the writhing, legless man. She glanced over at Ainz, who observed the scene with deliberate indifference. "End him!" Ainz ordered Buku, extending his arm towards the screaming man.

Buku smirked in response and stomped on the man's head, crushing his skull with a sickening crack, followed by the wet squelch of brains and blood splattering across the ground. "Dammit, I got brains on my boots." She grunted as she tried to wipe the brain matter off her boots against the clothing of the now-lifeless corpse of the bandit.

Ainz watched the scene with a bemused expression. Despite his undead state, there was something oddly comforting about Buku's practicality. Her irritation over the most mundane inconveniences, even in the midst of violence and death, was almost endearing to him. "You could have used a weapon for this insect," Ainz commented dryly, flicking his fingers lazily as dark magics swirled around his fingers, flying towards his wife. The corpse rapidly melted into a black goo. From the bubbling ooze, a new shape emerged - a large, rotting vulture with patches of decaying feathers and hollow eyes that glowed faintly with necromantic energy. He had wanted to try out the new spells that he had gained with the freedom from the game's constricting system, and now was the perfect time to do so.

"I know I know. Dealing with these mortals is such a chore. I don't know why I want to be merciful." Buku stepped back, folding her arms as she watched the grotesque creature spread its wings.

"Find any Defias camps and report to me immediately," Ainz ordered the undead vulture. It gave a low, guttural growl before taking flight with disturbing speed, vanishing into the shadows of the tree canopies as though it had never been there.

The clearing, once teeming with the bandits' reckless greed, had become a graveyard of broken bodies and shattered egos. Ainz tightened his grasp on the bandit's neck as he finished crushing the man's windpipe with ease, the horrible sound of bones splintering beneath his undead fingers barely registering to his always-moving mind. With a flick of his wrist, he discarded the corpse on the ground. "We should finish here and move on. Sooner or later, we will find someone who knows."

Satisfied, Ainz turned his attention to the last remaining thug. The boy, no more than sixteen by the look of him, had collapsed to his knees, trembling like a leaf in a storm. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stared up at Ainz, his eyes wide with terror. His face was dirty and streaked with tears, a pitiful sight, and his hands were clasped together in a desperate plea for mercy.

"I-I'll lead you to my boss," the boy stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. "He will know who is above him. P-please, spare me."

"Where can I find your superior?" Ainz asked as he reached out with his skeletal hand, gripping the edge of the boy's mask and pulling it off with a swift motion.

"He runs Moonbrook, w-we need to travel south. I-I won't run just please spare me!" He continued to whimper.

Ainz let out a slow, almost disappointed sigh. "A child. How pathetic," he remarked. Beneath it was a pale, gaunt face that bore the unmistakable signs of youth and malnutrition. The boy's eyes were wide and sunken, his lips quivering as he fought to form coherent words against his fear. His whole body seemed to shrink under Ainz's withering gaze.

Beside him, Buku approached, her flamberge held casually at her side. The large sword gleamed ominously in the fading light, its jagged edges glistening with traces of blood from her earlier kill. She glanced down at the boy with the same look one might give a particularly annoying insect, "We know where our next stop is now. We don't need this little criminal anymore." She raised her sword slightly, the blade catching the dying light of the evening sun.

The boy's face turned a sickly shade of white as Buku approached, his eyes widening in sheer terror. He clasped his hands together in prayer, his voice shaking as he began to plead for his life. "Light, please spare me. I will lead an honest life. I won't kill or steal, please save me!" he cried, his voice rising to a desperate pitch.

For a moment, Buku paused, her blade hovering inches from the boy's throat. The heat coming from the sword began burning his soft flesh, only escalating the boy's fervent prayer and torrent of tears. "Pathetic indeed. I wonder how much suffering this little thug has caused. The light won't come if you beg," She chuckled, the sound as sharp and cutting as her sword. "No boy. You have to believe you deserve it. But I suspect you know deep down that you don't."

As much as she wanted to feel sympathy for the boy who likely joined the cartel because of his hard life, she felt nothing. The boy had made his choices and embraced a life of crime. Thus he could be treated as an obstacle, a witness who could cause problems if they were to let him go.

Something snapped in the boy then. His fear transformed into a raw, animalistic desperation. He scrambled backward, slipping in the dirt, before somehow finding his footing in the loose dirt. Without thinking, he turned and bolted, his heart pounding in his chest, driven by the primal instinct to survive. His legs pumped wildly beneath him, his arms flailing as he made a mad dash for the tree line. He didn't even glance back; the only thing that mattered was getting as far away from these monsters as soon as possible.

Buku watched him run with mild amusement. "Should we spare him?" She asked.

Ainz regarded the boy's retreating figure with calculating indifference, "I don't see a reason why. It's safer to dominate him and let him guide us." he replied.

Buku shrugged. "Do you want to get him or should I?" She asked casually. She could have caught up to him in a heartbeat if she exerted even a fraction of her power, but she was more than happy to let Ainz handle it if he so desired.

"I'll get him," Ainz replied calmly. He then teleported right in front of the boy who had no other choice but to crash into him as he couldn't change his momentum at the last moment, being untrained and lacking muscle. He bounced back and fell to the ground, dazed, his wide, terrified eyes staring up at the imposing figure before him.

Ainz wasted no time. He raised his hand and cast [Dominate]. A faint, eerie glow surrounded his bony fingers, and the boy's eyes glazed over as the spell took hold, doing exactly as it said in its name. His mind was no longer his own, completely in the control of Ainz.

The boy stood stiffly, his posture robotic as he awaited orders. Ainz's voice was calm and collected, but there was a hint of satisfaction in it. "You will guide us," he commanded.

When Ainz rejoined Buku a few moments later, the two exchanged a brief look. Ainz waved his hand once more, summoning a [Gate] to their next location: Moonbrook.

Stepping through the portal, they were immediately greeted by the sight of a desolate town. Moonbrook was a rundown, decrepit place, with buildings that looked like they hadn't seen maintenance in years. Rotting wood and crumbling stone made up most of the structures, and the few residents who dared to venture outside quickly scurried back into the shadows as Ainz and Buku appeared.

The moment they emerged from the [Gate, a larger group of Defias thugs surrounded them. They were clad in their usual ragtag assortment of armor, most of it stolen or scavenged, and their faces were obscured by their signature blood-red bandanas. Despite their numbers, there was a palpable sense of unease in the air. They knew, at least on some instinctive level, that they were out of their depth.

"Is your boss among them?" Ainz asked the boy.

The boy, still under the effects of [Dominate, shook his head mechanically. "No, Master," he stated in a dull monotone. "He is in that building." The boy pointed at a two-story wooden building that stood at the far end of the town. The building was slightly more intact than the others, but it was still worn and weathered, its once-sturdy frame now sagging with age and neglect. The faint flicker of torchlight could be seen through the cracks in the shutters, and the sounds of muffled voices drifted through the air.

"[Chain Lighting]" Ainz cast a spell with a lazy movement of his arm. His ability to control the magic grew with each cast and he could easily make the lightning jump through all the thugs with the fraction of a thought. The scent of charred flesh filled the air as their bodies convulsed in midair, eyes wide with shock and pain before collapsing into smoldering heaps around him, blackened and unrecognizable. The entire affair took mere seconds.

As they fell in a circle around them, the remaining Brotherhood members hid away, hoping that by cowering in silence, they could avoid the fate of their comrades. The two guards who had been standing watch outside the larger building dropped their weapons and fled without so much as a glance back, leaving the way forward wide open.

The building the boy had pointed to earlier now loomed before them, a weathered relic of what must have once been a proud structure, a fine two-story house. Its wooden frame creaked ominously in the wind, sagging in places as though it had given up the will to remain standing. Inside, the dim flicker of candles cast long, distorted shadows across the goods and stolen treasures that littered the room. The smell of dust and mildew hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stench of old sweat.

Ainz and Buku strode inside without hesitation. At the far end of the room sat an older man, grizzled and scarred, behind a makeshift desk cluttered with half-empty flasks and ill-gotten loot. Beside him stood two hulking brutes, their muscles rippling beneath layers of poorly maintained armor, each gripping a heavy spiked mace in their meaty hands. The entire room was one large chamber, its windows boarded up and blocked by stacks of crates, allowing only the flickering candlelight to illuminate the grim scene.

"The hell is an Undead doing in here? Guards, kill that thing!" The older man barked, jumping to his feet, and ordering the two men to charge.

The two brutes sprang into action immediately, charging forward with a surprising lack of hesitation. But they were no match for Buku. With blinding speed, she dashed, her flamberge slicing through the air in a deadly arc. By the time the older man had blinked at his guards' response, it was already too late. The older man could only stare in surprise as the two heads rolled off their shoulders and hit the dirty floor, followed by the thuds of their headless bodies.

The thug froze in disbelief, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted between the headless corpses at his feet and Buku, whose blade was now pointed directly at his throat, glittering crimson. He swallowed hard but quickly tried to regain some semblance of composure. "Since when do necromancers play heroes? What do you want, missy?" He sneered as he sat back down. His hand shook slightly as he fished a small flask from his jacket pocket, taking a nervous swig.

Buku's eyes narrowed. In one swift motion, she slapped the flask from his hand, sending it crashing into the wall where it shattered, spilling its contents across the dirty floor. "You will tell us who runs Defias and where we can find him."

"Like hell I will, I am a dead man if I do," The man grunted back, glaring at Buku.

"You should be more worried about what we will do to you," Ainz said coldly, his skeletal hand gesturing over the fallen guards' corpses. "Death is a mercy you might not get to see."

As if on cue, the two headless corpses rose, picking up their heads and putting them back in place, moving as one. The heads sat crookedly on their shoulders, their dead eyes rolling jerkily as if adjusting to their new position.

The older man's face paled considerably as he watched the macabre display. "Point taken. But what's stopping you from turning me into one of those after I tell you what you want?" His eyes darted nervously between the zombies and Ainz, fear creeping into his voice.

Ainz let out a bone-chilling laugh, playing up the evil overlord role once more. "It seems you are under the impression these are negotiations."

Buku took that as her cue to test out her own limits of cruelty. She grabbed the thug's right hand and began squeezing his fingers, the bones crunching audibly under her iron grip. The man howled in pain, his other hand slamming against the table in a futile attempt to stave off the agony, his breaths growing sharp and labored as his fingers crunched, one by one.

"The Brotherhood will-" He didn't finish the sentence. Buku, bored of his bravado, reached for his cheeks and shattered his jaw with one brutal swing. The sound of splintering bone echoed through the room, followed by the wet gurgle of the man's screams.

But this was only the beginning of his torment. Buku grinned darkly as she healed the man's broken jaw with a flick of her wrist, watching as his face twisted with disbelief and horror at the sudden lack of pain and appearance of light, only for her to crush his hand once again, eliciting another agonized scream. "I will break and heal you as long as it takes," Buku whispered into his ear, her voice dripping with malicious glee as she pulled him close. "Hands, feet, balls… over and over again until you tell us what we want to know."

"You sick bitch-" The thug's words were cut short as Buku reached into his stomach and yanked out a portion of his intestines with a sickening squelch. His scream was raw and primal, echoing through the room, but Buku only grinned, casting another healing spell to mend the wound as she held the man's entrails in her hand. "What shall we break next?" she continued, her voice almost playful.

"I have all day… tough guy and a lot of things I want to try out." She cast heal again, repairing her torture subject.

"Fine! Fine! Fine! I'll talk!" the man shrieked, his face twisted pink in agony. "I will tell you what you want to know. You are sick in the head, you know that?"

"Go on, then," Buku urged him, tossing his intestines back into his lap with a wet slap. "And don't pretend your social club hasn't done similar things."

"Edwin VanCleef" the man gasped, his breath ragged and uneven. "you can find him in his cabin… on the dreadnought. The farmhouse at the end of the main street has an entrance into the mines. You'll have to go past hundreds of our men… and even more, once you reach the ship."

"There, was that so hard?" Buku taunted, patting the man's cheek condescendingly with her gauntleted hand. "You sit tight and wait for the news. We will be your new owners." Buku grinned and continued. "For your sake, I hope you didn't lie to us. Because if you did, not even killing yourself will let you escape."

"I'm not lying!" the thug spat, his voice trembling with fear and anger. "What the hell are you? And what's with that boy? Is he one of ours?"

"We are supreme beings," Buku replied dismissively. She then turned to Ainz. "Oh, Ainz do we still need that boy?"

Ainz shook his head. "We can leave him here and let Defias deal with him." He released the boy from his control.

The boy slumped down in the corner clutching his head. "I am dead, I am so dead."

"Watch over these two." Ainz ordered the two zombies," If they try to leave this room, kill both."

As they left the building, Ainz reanimated the corpses strewn across the street, ordering them to guard the premises until further notice. The shambling dead lined the perimeter, their dead eyes unseeing yet vigilant, ensuring no one would escape.

Edited by NabeisWaifu and aidan_lo.

Proofreading by nate051499j6, IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, Malguis, aidan_lo, and I AM THE STRING CUTTER.

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