Chapter 52: Ainz Recalibrates
The fifth underground floor of the Great Tomb of Nazarick was a frozen wasteland built on the concept of a glacier.
Blue-white ice formations glowed as though lit from within, rising across an endless white expanse like tombstones stretching to every horizon. Heavy clouds blanketed the sky above, and snow fell in drifts, turning and rising in the cold wind that carried its own particular taste of ice.
The wind caught at Ainz's robes and snapped them. He glanced at Albedo beside him and asked: "Aren't you cold? There's still time — you could put on your armor."
Ice-attribute attacks had no effect on Ainz whatsoever. Cold was not something he experienced.
Albedo was another matter. She was in a white ceremonial gown. He'd asked before the teleportation, but he suspected she might simply be enduring it.
Albedo only gave him a gentle smile. "Thank you for your concern. This level of cold is nothing to worry about."
Ainz gave a nod. "I see."
The area would ordinarily apply ice damage and movement-slowing effects, but running those required spending gold coins, so they were currently deactivated. Whether that was fortunate timing, or whether Albedo's equipment or abilities simply included ice damage resistance — Ainz wasn't sure. His knowledge of individual NPC configurations was far from comprehensive; he had full confidence in his command of only a handful, Pandora's Actor among them.
He looked ahead toward the two-story mansion rising out of the frozen landscape before them. In all this ice and snow, that building radiated an atmosphere unlike anything else around it.
It looked like something from a fairy tale — except that its entire surface was encased in thick ice, lending it a cold and deeply unpleasant quality. This was the Ice Prison, where every enemy of Nazarick was held.
"Let's go."
Ainz said it simply and pushed open the frozen door. It opened easily, as though welcoming a visitor.
A wave of cold air hit them the moment it moved — colder inside than out. Albedo shivered visibly. Ainz noticed and reached into his inventory, producing a deep red cloak with a hem embroidered in a pattern imitating flame.
"Put this on, Albedo. It doesn't have particularly strong magic properties, but it's more than sufficient for keeping out the cold."
"To be given such a precious gift — my deepest gratitude! I shall treasure this as long as I live!"
Ainz hadn't intended to give it to her permanently, but faced with Albedo's undisguised delight, he found he couldn't say anything about that, and redirected his gaze toward the passage ahead.
"So warm... like being held in Ainz-sama's embrace..." A low, contented sound followed.
"...Is that so. I'm glad, then."
'How would flesh-less arm bones ever feel warm.' The thought remained entirely unspoken. Ainz moved Albedo's expression firmly out of his field of view and set off at a measured pace.
"What are you doing — we don't have time for this. The situation is unusual."
"Y-yes! Coming!"
"...Albedo, we're nearly at your sister's room. Are you ready?"
Albedo, who had been radiantly happy a moment before, went serious in an instant. "Understood. I will produce the doll now."
"Yes, go ahead."
Albedo reached toward the wall. A pale, semi-transparent arm extended from the stone surface and placed a doll in her hands. It was the size of a newborn infant.
Ainz took it and examined it. "Repulsive thing." The design was grotesque and distorted, like a cupid doll that had been systematically warped beyond recognition, the oversized rolling eyes most unsettling of all.
He shifted his brow ridges in something like a frown, and looked toward the far end of the passage. A massive mural was painted there, centered on the door — a mother and infant. Old age had caused the plaster to flake and peel; what remained was hardly comfortable to look at.
Ainz pushed open the door.
Infant cries reached him — dozens, hundreds of them woven together into a single continuous sound. The room contained no infants.
In the center of the otherwise empty space sat a cradle. A woman in a black mourning gown was rocking it gently.
"It should begin shortly," Ainz said.
"It should. Please be ready."
As if their exchange had served as a signal, the woman's movement froze. Slowly she reached into the cradle, withdrew the infant doll resting inside.
"Wrong. Wrong. Wrong."
She hurled the doll against the wall. It struck with a crack and came apart in pieces.
"My child. My child. My child!"
The shriek was raw and grinding. At that signal, the crying from within the walls and floor rose sharply in volume, and semi-transparent flesh-things — baby-shaped, bloated, wrong — came sliding out of the stone. Putrid Children: roughly level 20.
"Tabula Smaragdina stationed this many monsters here..." Ainz murmured. "Just how much gold did that end up costing."
While he was still thinking about this, the woman produced an enormous pair of scissors from somewhere and closed her hand around them. From beneath tangled hair, sharp eyes fixed on the two of them.
"You — you — you. Stole — stole — stole. My child — my child — my child!"
"...A genuine resemblance," Albedo said quietly. "She truly takes after you."
"E — does she?"
The woman apparently interpreted their exchange as deliberate provocation. She came at them with the scissors — closing the distance in a few steps, driving the blades down at Ainz.
"Your child is here."
Ainz held the doll up to her face.
The woman stopped completely. She put the scissors away and took the doll with both hands, gathering it with infinite care.
"Good. Good. Good."
She held it with the complete devotion of someone who would never let go, and settled it tenderly back into the cradle. Then she reached up and brushed aside the curtain of hair that had covered her face.
What it revealed was a face without skin. Exposed muscle where there should have been cheeks. Teeth gleaming where lips should have been. Eyes luminous without lids to frame them. Each feature was beautiful on its own terms; together they produced only wrongness.
"Lord Momonga. And my dear little sister — how long has it been?"
"Long time, Nigredo. You seem to be... in good health as well. I'm glad of that."
He could meet her calmly only because he had been through this scene once before — in the game, when guild members had gone to look at the new creation, and everyone had screamed and attacked. He found himself almost nostalgic.
"Long time, sister," Albedo said.
Nigredo was Albedo's older sister, created by the same player — Tabula Smaragdina — who had made Albedo.
"Then, Lord Momonga — what brings you here?"
"Ah, my apologies — you weren't present at the Throne Room, so you may not know. I've changed my name. It's Ainz Ooal Gown now. Ainz is fine."
Nigredo drew a slow breath, then slowly raised her head. "Understood, Ainz-sama."
"Nigredo, I've come to ask for your help. Would you be able to assist me?"
"My abilities — living things, or non-living things?"
"...Living, I believe. Should be living. To be direct — the target is Shalltear Bloodfallen."
"A Floor Guardian?... My apologies. If this is Ainz-sama's command, I will act immediately."
Uncertainty was in her voice, but Nigredo agreed without hesitation.
"I leave it to you, sister," Albedo said, and gave an earnest thumbs-up.
Nigredo began casting. The spells came in a stream — many types, and not a few of them were ones Ainz had watched Narberal use only the previous night. As a magic caster, Nigredo stood at Nazarick's highest tier; her class structure was specifically optimized for intelligence gathering. It was for exactly this that Ainz had come.
But Nigredo's ability seemed to have failed.
She could not find Shalltear's location.
---
In the Theocracy's sacred ground, the [Icarus' Feather] was faintly glowing.
This divine-artifact-class item — the one Lucian had left behind for Silshana in YGGDRASIL, something like a parting gift between two people going their separate ways. And now, in this world, it was indirectly protecting Lucian.
---
"I am sorry, Ainz-sama. I am inadequate."
Nigredo's voice came from the toothless mouth, carrying genuine remorse and self-reproach. She lowered her head. The tangled hair fell forward and covered that exposed face.
Ainz stood where he was and said nothing.
Silence spread through the Ice Prison room, like something viscous and unstoppable seeping into every corner.
The Putrid Children had retreated back into the walls and floor at some point. The infant crying had stopped.
The room was quiet enough to hear the gentle creaking of the cradle's slow movement, and the occasional muffled sound from the doll in Nigredo's hands.
Ainz stood there. The dark red light in his eye sockets flickered unevenly.
She couldn't be found.
Even Shalltear's location could not be determined.
What did that mean?
It meant he could not complete even the first step of information gathering. He didn't know where Shalltear was. Didn't know who was around her. Didn't know what condition she was in.
He knew nothing.
The unknown is always more frightening than the known. Suzuki Satoru had understood this long before he ever came to this world. Those YGGDRASIL encounters with bosses whose mechanics were uncharted. Those surprise PVP situations with no intelligence. They had always inspired more fear than any challenge he knew the rules to.
And now, Shalltear's situation was exactly that kind of unknown.
No — he couldn't even be certain this was "betrayal."
A cascade of possibilities moved through Ainz's mind.
Suppose Shalltear had been mentally controlled.
But she was undead, just as he was. She should have been completely immune to mental effects of any kind.
If some force in this world could genuinely break through that immunity — what did that mean? It meant every Guardian in Nazarick, himself included, might face the same vulnerability.
Suppose she had betrayed of her own free will.
The problem was even graver in that case. What had dissatisfied her — treatment? Status? Or had a crack formed in her belief in the Supreme Being itself? If the latter — could that discontent spread to other NPCs?
Each possibility pointed toward a completely different response.
And he had access to none of the basic information he would need.
He could not judge.
Could not decide.
Could not act.
Ainz's fist struck the wall at his side.
The impact rang dully through the room. The knuckle-bones pressed against the stone trembled slightly — not from pain, but from the anxiety rising from somewhere deep inside.
"Ainz-sama!"
Albedo went to her knees immediately.
The white gown spread across the cold floor. Her forehead came almost to her knees, the posture one of complete abasement.
"Please, calm yourself!"
Her voice carried genuine distress, a faint tremor running through it.
"The fault is mine — for failing to monitor Shalltear's movements in time. This has caused Ainz-sama undue concern. I swear to you—"
She raised her head. Something burned in those golden vertical pupils.
"I will find Shalltear Bloodfallen."
Her voice had dropped very low, each word pressed out from somewhere tight.
"And I will kill her myself."
On the word "kill," Albedo's lips curved upward by the smallest degree — enough that it was clearly personal.
Ainz noticed it.
The relationship between Shalltear and Albedo had never been described as amicable. The rivalry between the Guardians. The competition for Ainz's attention. The veiled contests and pointed remarks — none of it had escaped him.
Could that be a factor in Shalltear's betrayal?
As that frustration started to rise again —
Something cool moved through Ainz's mind.
The undead's forced calm. Like ice water poured directly from above, freezing every surging emotion in a single instant. Fear, anger, frustration — all human feeling suppressed, replaced by something close to mechanical rationality.
The dark red light in Ainz's eye sockets steadied.
He slowly withdrew the fist he had driven against the wall.
"There is no need for that, Albedo."
His voice was level again, calm enough that the punch might never have occurred.
He turned and looked at Albedo still kneeling on the floor, that residual fervor not yet faded from her golden eyes.
"Stand up."
"Ainz-sama..."
She hesitated for a moment, then slowly rose. Her gaze never left his face.
Ainz began to think.
First: Nigredo could not locate Shalltear. That fact itself was information.
If Shalltear had not betrayed willingly, but had been controlled by some external force —
Something like an [Innate Ability]. Or [Martial Arts]. Products native to this other world that had no equivalent in YGGDRASIL.
If those forces could control someone who was completely immune to mental attacks by nature — then they could logically also block Nigredo's divination magic.
Then a specific problem came to him.
He had dispatched Shalltear to capture someone using [Martial Arts]. His original purpose had been to learn about this world's [Martial Arts] through her.
Now Shalltear was gone.
If Shalltear's situation had been caused by a special [Martial Art] striking her during the capture operation —
The red light in Ainz's eye sockets flickered once.
He found himself thinking that he might have underestimated this world's [Martial Arts] from the very beginning.
Not the obvious ones. That adventurer Clementine, who had supposedly "entered the realm of heroes" — her [Martial Arts] had been unimpressive from his perspective.
But the ones that were hidden. The ones recorded nowhere.
Perhaps those were this world's true power.
---
Even Lucian had not anticipated this.
After Shalltear's betrayal, Ainz could not find Shalltear. This chain of events would cause the Bone King to recalibrate his understanding of this world's [Martial Arts].