Chapter 2 Arrival in nazarick

The gates of the Great Tomb of Nazarick stood like a monument to death, vast and cold, their black stone surface absorbing the faint light of the ever-present magical flames. Every step Lyria took as she followed her escorts, Demiurge and Albedo, felt heavier than the last, as though the very air in Nazarick was pressing down on her. Her heartbeat remained steady, her silver eyes forward, but inside, a storm of anger, betrayal, and carefully controlled fear raged.

The Supreme Being, Ainz Ooal Gown, had taken her in the wake of her people's betrayal. The elves, those she had devoted her life to protecting, had handed her over as if she were nothing more than a bargaining chip. Her anger simmered beneath her composed exterior. I will remember this, she vowed silently. All of it.

Demiurge led the way, his tailored suit immaculate, his dark eyes gleaming behind his glasses as if he were enjoying every moment of her captivity. Albedo, equally composed in her flowing white gown, walked beside him, her golden eyes betraying nothing but quiet satisfaction.

"Lady Lyria," Demiurge began, his voice dripping with false politeness, "you are about to see the heart of Nazarick, a place that very few outsiders have ever set foot in. You should consider yourself fortunate. Lord Ainz's generosity in allowing you to serve him is unparalleled."

Lyria's face remained impassive, though inside she seethed. Generosity? Fortune? I've been captured, forced into servitude—there is nothing fortunate about this. But she gave nothing away, her expression carefully neutral.

"I understand," was all she said.

Demiurge's smile widened at her measured response, his sharp eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good. You are wise to be so compliant. It will make your time here… smoother."

The dark corridors of Nazarick stretched endlessly before them, each passage lined with arcane runes and wards that hummed with magical energy. Lyria's sharp mind absorbed it all, noting every flicker of magic, every subtle shift in the air. This place was a fortress like no other, its power woven into every stone and corner. It wasn't just a place of residence—it was a tomb, a domain of absolute control.

As they walked, Lyria mentally mapped the path, her mind racing through possibilities. She had no illusions about escaping. Nazarick's labyrinthine halls were designed to crush any who dared try. But that didn't mean she couldn't learn. I'll need time. Time to gather information, to understand how this place works. Time to plan.

Eventually, they came to a massive set of doors, each one carved from dark wood and etched with intricate gold inlays. Demiurge stepped forward, the doors opening at his command, and Lyria felt her breath catch for a brief moment as the room beyond was revealed.

The throne room.

At the far end of the chamber, seated on an impossibly grand throne, was Ainz Ooal Gown. His skeletal form, draped in black and gold robes, radiated an aura of authority and power. His hollow eyes glowed faintly with crimson light, staring down at her as though peering into her very soul. Surrounding him were the Guardians of Nazarick, each one more imposing than the last. Cocytus, the towering insectoid warrior, stood tall and silent, his icy breath chilling the air around him. Shalltear Bloodfallen, the vampiric beauty, watched her with cold amusement, her eyes gleaming with hunger.

Lyria kept her head slightly bowed as she approached, not in submission, but in acknowledgment of the overwhelming power that surrounded her. She had no illusions of her position here—she was at the mercy of Ainz and his minions, for now. Outward defiance would be foolish. But inwardly, her mind was already working.

Demiurge stopped a few paces from the throne and bowed deeply. "Lord Ainz, I present to you Lady Lyria, as you commanded."

Ainz's gaze shifted toward her, and for a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his attention settling over her like a shroud. Lyria felt the subtle pressure of his magic, the oppressive power that seemed to fill every inch of the room. But she didn't flinch.

Internally, Momonga, the man behind the Sorcerer King's façade, struggled with a moment of indecision. He knew Lyria was intelligent—perhaps dangerously so. She wasn't just another captive; her alchemical expertise had earned her a reputation that even reached Nazarick. Can I really trust her to work for us without monitoring every move she makes? He wondered.

But outwardly, Ainz remained calm, his voice deep and hollow as he spoke. "Lyria of the Elven Kingdom, you have been brought here to serve Nazarick. Obey, and you will live comfortably. Defy me, and you will suffer."

The threat hung In the air, and Lyria bowed her head slightly in response, though her eyes remained defiant beneath the surface. "I understand, Lord Ainz. I will do as you command."

Satisfied for the moment, Ainz turned to Demiurge. "Show her the laboratory. It once belonged to one of the Supreme Beings. She will work there."

Lyria's heart quickened. A lab created by one of the Supreme Beings? The idea was both exhilarating and dangerous. If she could gain access to even a fraction of the knowledge stored there… But she quickly quelled the excitement. She had to be careful. This could be a trap.

Demiurge gestured for her to follow, leading her deeper into Nazarick's labyrinthine halls. They descended into the lower levels, passing through vast spaces lined with arcane symbols, walls brimming with ancient knowledge. The weight of the tomb's power pressed down on her, but Lyria refused to let it overwhelm her. She kept her mind sharp, alert, counting the steps, noting the wards, analyzing every potential point of entry or exit.

Eventually, they arrived at another set of grand doors. Demiurge waved his hand, and the doors swung open with a soft hiss of magic, revealing the space beyond.

The laboratory was vast, a masterpiece of magical and scientific design. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes, their spines glowing faintly with embedded enchantments. Glass beakers, vials, and arcane devices were meticulously arranged on polished black counters, each artifact humming with dormant power. A soft, eerie light filled the room, cast from chandeliers made of magical crystal that floated just beneath the ceiling.

"This," Demiurge said, stepping inside, "is where you will work. It was once the domain of one of the Supreme Beings, and now it has been entrusted to you. Lord Ainz expects results."

Lyria stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over the tools and resources before her. The lab was beyond anything she had ever seen, filled with items she couldn't even begin to identify—yet. But her mind was already calculating, already filing away the possibilities. With this, I could create anything.

"Of course," Demiurge continued, "you will be monitored at all times. Lord Ainz has granted you access to this space, but your freedom within Nazarick is… limited."

Lyria nodded. She had expected as much. They weren't foolish enough to let her roam freely, especially not with the potential she had to create something dangerous. But that didn't mean she wouldn't use every resource available to her.

"I understand," she said simply, her voice neutral.

Demiurge studied her for a moment, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of deception. But Lyria kept her face carefully blank, giving nothing away. She would play their game—for now.

"You will begin immediately," Demiurge said, turning toward the door. "I'll leave you to your work."

As the door closed behind him, Lyria exhaled slowly. Alone at last. She allowed herself a moment to take in the full scope of the laboratory, her eyes lingering on the ancient tomes that lined the shelves. She approached one of the counters, running her fingers lightly over the glass vials filled with strange, shimmering liquids. Every tool, every piece of equipment in this room was valuable. Powerful. And it was all hers to use.

For the first time since her capture, she felt a flicker of hope. If I can unlock the secrets hidden here, I can gain the power I need.

But she would have to be careful. The Sorcerer King and his minions were watching her closely, waiting for any sign of rebellion. Lyria was no fool. She would play her part, acting as the obedient servant, while quietly gathering the tools she needed to turn Nazarick's power against them.

She approached one of the shelves, her fingers tracing the spine of a large, leather-bound tome. It pulsed faintly with magic, the air around it humming with ancient energy. She opened it carefully, her eyes scanning the intricate symbols and arcane equations inscribed within.

This lab had once belonged to a Supreme Being—one of the architects of Nazarick. Whoever they were, their knowledge was far beyond anything the elves had ever imagined. But Lyria was no ordinary elf. She had devoted her life to the study of alchemy, magic, and the mysteries of the world, and though the scale of the magic here was daunting, she felt a familiar hunger for knowledge stir deep within her.

Her eyes moved across the pages of the tome, absorbing the foreign symbols, the ancient formulas that danced across the yellowed parchment. Her mind worked quickly, decoding what she could. Much of the text was written in an arcane language she only partially understood, but what she could grasp was enough to tell her that this book contained more than just the basics. It was advanced—alchemy, enchantments, life creation. Homunculi, golems… and perhaps more.

Her fingers tightened around the edges of the book as her mind raced. If I can learn the magic and alchemy stored here, I could create my own army.

Her heart pounded at the thought, but she quickly quelled her excitement. It would take time—time and subtlety. The Guardians of Nazarick were always watching, and Ainz Ooal Gown was no fool. If they sensed her true intentions, they would crush her without hesitation.

She carefully placed the tome back on the shelf, her gaze sweeping over the rest of the room. The lab was filled with possibilities, and she knew that it was more than just a space for her to work—it was a weapon. Everything in Nazarick was designed with purpose, and though she was allowed to access only a fraction of its resources, she was confident that she could find a way to exploit what was available to her.

Lyria's mind began to formulate a plan. She would begin with simple, small experiments, things that wouldn't raise suspicion. Potions, charms, small alchemical creatures—all under the guise of serving Ainz. She would use the materials provided to her, but she would do so carefully, creating tools and resources that would serve her in the future. Nothing overt. Not yet.

She took a slow, deep breath, allowing herself to settle into the role she would need to play. Compliance. Patience. These will be my weapons.

As she walked through the lab, her fingers trailing over the glass apparatus and enchanted tools, she felt the beginnings of something deeper take root in her. The betrayal of her people still burned in her chest, but now it was no longer just a wound. It had become fuel, driving her forward, keeping her mind sharp and her resolve strong.

She was a prisoner, yes. But she was also a survivor.

Hours passed in silence as Lyria familiarized herself with the tools and resources of the lab. She began brewing a few basic potions, testing the alchemical materials provided to her by Nazarick. The precision of the lab's equipment was beyond anything she had ever worked with. The reagents reacted perfectly to her touch, each ingredient in perfect harmony with the others. She couldn't help but be impressed—there was no doubt that this space had been designed by someone who understood the deepest intricacies of magic and alchemy.

As she worked, Lyria allowed her mind to wander, thinking back to her brief encounter with Ainz Ooal Gown. There had been something strange about him, something she hadn't been able to place. His power was undeniable—his presence alone had made the very air in the throne room feel heavy with magic. But there had been a moment, just a flicker, when she had sensed… hesitation. It was fleeting, barely noticeable, but it was there.

She wondered, briefly, what kind of being he truly was beneath the façade. But that line of thought was dangerous. She couldn't allow herself to think of him as anything other than the enemy. Anything else would be a mistake.

Her work continued late into the night, and as she bottled the last of the day's potions, she allowed herself a small moment of satisfaction. The first step had been taken. Tomorrow, she would begin more complex experiments, slowly pushing the boundaries of what she was allowed to do.

The door to the lab creaked open, pulling her from her thoughts. Lyria turned to see one of the tomb's assistants—a low-level, humanoid servant dressed in simple black robes. He bowed deeply before addressing her.

"Lady Lyria, Lord Demiurge has instructed me to ensure you have everything you need for your work. Should you require anything, I will relay your requests."

Lyria nodded once, keeping her face calm and impassive. "Thank you. That will be all for now."

The assistant bowed again and left as quietly as he had arrived, leaving Lyria once more in the solitude of the lab. She stood still for a moment, letting the quiet settle around her like a protective shield. She was alone, yes, but not truly free.

Everything I do is being watched, every move analyzed, every word scrutinized.

It was a cage, even if gilded with the tools of power. And yet, within this cage, she would find her freedom. It would take time, careful planning, and immense control, but she was patient. She would survive. She would thrive. And when the time came, she would be ready.

As the hours wore on, Lyria found herself staring into the flickering light of the crystal chandeliers, her mind working through possibilities. The lab had everything she needed to create wonders, but there was something more she craved—access to the deeper knowledge stored within Nazarick. The libraries. They held the key to unlocking the true secrets of this place, the kind of magic that could turn the tide in her favor. But as of now, the libraries were beyond her reach.

Demiurge was clear about that. She could sense his veiled amusement when he spoke of limiting her access, as if he relished the thought of keeping her in the dark. And Ainz… his hollow eyes had fixed on her in that moment, as though he was weighing the risks of allowing her to know too much. He hadn't trusted her fully. Not yet.

But Lyria was patient. She knew how to earn trust, how to play the long game. If Ainz wanted her to prove herself, she would do so. She would show them all that she was a valuable asset. She would bide her time, gaining small victories here and there, all the while working toward her true goal.

One day, they will let their guard down. One day, they would give her what she needed. And on that day, she would begin to turn the wheels of her own rebellion.

With that thought settling in her mind like a stone sinking into still water, Lyria finally turned away from the lab, her heart steady and her resolve stronger than ever. She would wait. She would play their game.

But when the time came, Nazarick would remember her name. And they would regret ever thinking they could control her.