Chapter 13: A Game of Wits and Blood

"Checkmate."

"Oh? Defeated already?"

"Don't jest. It's just the roll of the dice."

Solution, in her elegant lady's attire, stood as an attendant rather than lounging on the sofa. Sixth stood ramrod straight, exuding discipline. The host was the young master of the mansion, and the guest was a distinguished visitor from Nazarick.

Demiurge, a Floor Guardian of Nazarick, cut an intellectual figure in his refined, eccentric attire. Beneath the polished exterior lurked a demon, far superior in status and strength to Solution or Sixth.

The two engaged in a board game popular among the Kingdom and Empire's educated elite, placing pieces alternately on a grid to simulate a battlefield, aiming to topple the enemy's king.

(Borrowing the Supreme One's words, this is a perfect information game. Play optimally, and the outcome is clear from the start. If luck's involved, it's no surprise Albedo lost.)

Their conversation pleased Demiurge.

They discussed the Kingdom's decline, strategies for recovery, and policies the Empire might adopt post-conquest. Talk of gold, land, and loyalty brought up the late Warrior Captain's name. Loyalty and justice—what is justice? Demiurge mused he'd love Sebas to hear this. The Kingdom's greatest failure, he argued, was mistreating this man, clipping his wings.

(Albedo keeping humans for her amusement? Unexpected, but intriguing.)

Unaware of such thoughts, the young master, teased as carefree, noted Demiurge seemed weary.

This game wasn't new to him; he'd played it often with Larna. Initially, knowing only the pieces' movements, he suffered crushing defeats, mocked each time: "Not just ugly, but utterly foolish." His faint pride stung, he strategized relentlessly. His conclusion: precise moves from the start determined the outcome. Realizing he'd been competing without knowing all the rules, he fumed, "That witch toyed with me!" A fond memory now. Though the game lacked thrill due to its predetermined nature, it sharpened his mind.

"Where did you gain such knowledge?" Demiurge asked.

A tricky question. Reading and writing were stolen skills from childhood. Recent Kingdom affairs came from Larna's chatter. But the ideas shared with Demiurge were his own, distilled from scant information.

"As you may know, I once endured days of agony, unable to sleep from burn pains. Black powder wasn't always available, so I escaped into thought, diving deep into a palace of memories."

"You reached these insights through relentless thinking? What's this memory palace?"

"Everything I've seen or heard is stored in a palace-like construct. It's here," he said, tapping his temple.

Demiurge hummed, genuinely impressed a rare sentiment toward a human.

"You forget pain by retreating there?"

"Yes."

"May I test it?"

"If you heal me afterward."

"Agreed. You're Albedo's prized pet, after all."

"Then, proceed."

"Solution, you may want to leave. It'll get messy."

"Y-Yes…"

Solution glanced back thrice before exiting.

"Impressive. Your face pales, yet not a flinch. A torturer's nightmare."

Demiurge wiped his hands, marveling again. Solution had cleaned the blood pooling—ten cups' worth. A perk of her role.

"Pain announced beforehand is bearable. Useless in practice."

"No, remarkable."

"My thanks."

Demiurge praising a human? Solution's shock went unnoticed.

"But this skill's no use in combat. Still, some battlefields need no fighting. That mind—would you serve Lord Ainz?"

"If Albedo commands it."

A flash of killing intent chilled the room.

"Were you not Albedo's pet, I'd kill you. But fine."

A silent bow. Then, a sudden thought: "How fares Lady Albedo?"

Demiurge's cunning sparked.

"I'm away from Nazarick on business, worried Albedo's overburdened. A capable aide could ease her load."

"Command me."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

As expected of Demiurge—master manipulator. Yet, the young master wasn't ready. Sharp, but his warped life left knowledge gaps. Politics were beyond him; he'd need study. "I have high expectations," Demiurge said, departing.

"Ex…hausted…"

Having passed Demiurge's covert test, the young master collapsed. Nabe's blows hurt worse, and he'd braced for this. The game was fun, organizing his thoughts, but the final pressure was brutal—his body screamed to flee. Standing took all he had.

"Demiurge expecting something from a human?" Solution gasped.

"Ugh… Solution, something sweet, please…"

"Oh, Brother, you're hopeless. But matching wits with Demiurge? Incredible."

"Really?"

His interactions were few. For a decade, he'd spoken to barely a handful, Albedo's freeing him the turning point. Larna was his benchmark—clever but ignorant, a narcissistic genius at self-preservation.

"Absolutely. Want a reward? My breasts, perhaps?"

"Solution, you don't lactate."

"Try me."

She sat beside the sprawled young master, offering a lap pillow. Tugging her dress, her ample breasts bounced free, pink tips nearing his mouth as she leaned.

She giggled. "Suck hard. Enjoy Solution's special treat."

Solution, a slime, could secrete anything from anywhere. Like Scroll, she stored consumed items tea, sweets blending them with her essence, releasing them at will.

(Oh, Brother's sucking so eagerly. Six called him adorable, and she's right. Usually, I'm the one sucking, but today, feast as you like.)

Stroking his hair, she recalled their talk. "You mentioned justice. Where does Lord Ainz's justice fit?"

"Lord Ainz's justice is a small justice."

A killing intent, fiercer than Demiurge's, erupted.

"Even Myself, I'm Albedo's meal, but mocking Lord Ainz is unforgivable."

"You heard us, didn't you? You were right there. Justice's size isn't about superiority. Your words are like judging a chef by foot speed. It's meaningless. And 'Brother' is a facade, isn't it?"

"How cruel! I truly see you as my brother…"

"Don't dodge."

He launched into a lecture, venting frustration disguised as explaining the conversation. Albedo's absence and the maids' teasing fueled him. Solution's ignorance needed correcting, but the scene—her breasts in his mouth was absurd.

"Maybe you're the fool?"

"No! That's Shalltear's role!"

Bad move.

That night, in the young master's blood-splattered bedroom, he glowered, Solution stared upward, and a figure in a red-and-black dress knelt in apology.

Shalltear Bloodfallen, Nazarick's Floor Guardian, a stunning teenage girl in appearance, but a True Vampire surpassing even Ainz in combat. She found the young master's blood delectable and resented Albedo's monopoly. Sharing was joy, including for herself. So, she launched a vampire's night raid.

The mansion, Albedo's dining hall and maid training ground, was impregnable to beastmen but child's play for Nazarick's elite. Shalltear slipped through with a Gate spell, targeting the delicious blood bag.

Out of courtesy, she gently requested a sip.

"No."

Enraged a human daring to refuse her? she struck, nearly staining the wall with him.

Solution, sleeping separately to let him rest post-Demiurge, rushed in at the commotion.

"Lady Shalltear?! He's Albedo's meal!"

"Who cares about that big-mouthed gorilla? He defied me!"

"But Demiurge has high hopes for him."

"What?"

"And Lord Momon enjoyed his conversation."

"Lord Ainz?! Solution, heal him!"

"Immediately."

"Keep this from Lord Ainz, please!"

"No."

"What?!"

"It's not about revenge or self-preservation. Lies can't hide from Lord Ainz. Even small ones hurt him. For a loyal servant like you to suggest deceit—it's betrayal's seed. He'd never suspect you, yet…" He feigned anguish. "His heart would ache!"

"No… I didn't mean…!"

Shalltear, once manipulated against Ainz, crumbled. Albedo would laugh; Ainz would call it too harsh. The young master pressed on, oblivious.

Solution, pitying Shalltear but wary of interfering, felt déjà vu. This devilish man, Albedo's favorite, matched Demiurge's wit.

"How can I earn forgiveness?"

"It's not about forgiveness. It's your heart."

Tears streaming, Shalltear chanted Ainz's name, performing the ultimate apology pose of her creator, Peroroncino.

It was revenge not for the near-fatal blow, but for calling Albedo a gorilla. Such disrespect! Yet, Shalltear's pitiful sobbing tugged at his discarded conscience. A rift with Albedo would be trouble.

He prepared to relent: Your loyalty to Nazarick is clear. Lord Ainz would be pleased. I'll bear this burden for you. Raise your head.

But Shalltear, wiping her eyes, stood resolute.

"Hit me! We'll be even!"

Solution sighed. No way that evens it. But Shalltear wouldn't listen.