Chapter 7: The Steward's Counsel and the Amulet's Echo
The silence that followed the monstrous guardian's demise was thick enough to be carved. Hal, Timms, Wat, and Petyr stood frozen, their weapons slack in their hands, their faces pale masks of disbelief and terror. The sheer scale of the creature, now a broken mountain of scaled flesh and shattered bone, was overwhelming. That their young lord and the quiet, elderly scholar had dispatched it with such devastating, almost casual power, was simply beyond their comprehension.
Ainz, feeling the immense surge of the guardian's soul integrate into his being – a torrent of power that dwarfed all previous acquisitions combined, expanding his mana capacity by a truly significant margin – allowed himself a moment of internal exultation. This was progress. Real, tangible progress.
He surveyed the scene, his Elian Hollow persona firmly in place. "A magnificent beast," he commented, his voice remarkably steady. "And a tenacious guardian. It seems the old tales of the Blackmorass hold more truth than Maester Hannis might believe." He turned to his men, whose eyes were fixed on him with a new, profound awe that bordered on religious reverence. "Your courage in the face of such a horror was commendable. We faced death, and we prevailed."
He knew they had been mostly paralyzed by fear, but acknowledging their presence, their 'bravery,' was crucial for morale and loyalty. He then gestured to the colossal carcass. "Its hide is thick, likely resistant to mundane weapons. Its teeth are like daggers. Harvest what we can carry. Such trophies will serve as a warning to any who doubt the strength of Greywater Keep. And perhaps Maester Hannis can find some use for its other… components." He subtly directed their attention, using his YGGDRASIL knowledge of monster drops, towards areas like the heart, eyes, or any visible glands that might contain alchemical or magical reagents.
Sebas, reverting seamlessly to the role of Master Tian, nodded sagely. "Indeed, my lord. Such creatures often possess unique properties. Their bile, their blood, even their bones can hold potent virtues for those who know how to unlock them." His calm, scholarly tone helped to ground the men, providing a veneer of academic curiosity over the raw, terrifying power they had just witnessed.
The butchering of the colossal crocodilian was a grim, exhausting task that took hours. The men worked with a feverish intensity, fueled by adrenaline and the sheer unbelievability of their situation. They managed to flay large sections of its incredibly tough hide and extract several of its dagger-like teeth. Ainz, under the guise of ensuring no part was wasted, had Sebas discreetly retrieve the creature's enormous, surprisingly intact heart and a pair of its six unnervingly intelligent eyes, wrapping them carefully. He could sense lingering traces of magical energy within them.
Later that night, a fortified camp was established in the clearing, the standing stones looming silently over them. The Oakhaven men, Wat and Petyr, huddled together, speaking in hushed, fearful whispers and casting frequent, wide-eyed glances at both Elian and 'Tian.' Hal and Timms, while still deeply shaken, maintained a more stoic front, their loyalty to their lord now absolute, unquestioning. They had seen him face death and emerge not just victorious, but as a figure of almost divine power.
Once the others had finally succumbed to an uneasy sleep, Ainz and Sebas sat by a low, crackling fire, the harvested hide and bones of the guardian piled nearby like the spoils of a dragon's hoard. The pretense of 'Lord Elian' and 'Master Tian' fell away.
"My Lord Ainz," Sebas began, his voice a low murmur, filled with the profound relief and joy of their reunion. "To see you, to serve you again… it is more than I dared hope for."
Ainz felt a genuine warmth in his chest, a human sentiment that still surprised him at times. "Your loyalty, Sebas, has always been a source of strength for Nazarick. And now, for me, in this strange land." He looked into the flames. "To find even one of you… it changes everything. I was… adrift."
"We were all adrift without you, my Lord," Sebas corrected gently. "The Great Tomb of Nazarick… do you believe it might also have been transported?"
Ainz sighed, the sound thin in the damp air. "I don't know, Sebas. It is my greatest hope and my deepest fear. If it is here, we must find it. If not… then we are all that remains of Ainz Ooal Gown's legacy." He paused. "The others – Albedo, Demiurge, Aura, Mare, Cocytus, Shalltear, Pandora's Actor, the Pleiades… we must find them. Some, like Shalltear or Demiurge, if left to their own devices for too long without my direct guidance… their inherent natures could cause… significant complications in a world like this."
Sebas nodded gravely. "Their loyalty to you is absolute, my Lord. But their methods, without your tempering wisdom, could indeed draw unwanted attention. I will begin a systematic search immediately upon our return. Perhaps I can travel as an itinerant healer or scholar, covering more ground than you can from Greywater Keep."
"A good thought," Ainz agreed. "We also need a way to send a clearer signal. My mental call… it led you to me, but it was faint. With my mana reserves now significantly increased…" He focused inward, feeling the vast new wellspring of power. It was still a fraction of his original might, but it was growing exponentially with each powerful soul. "…perhaps I can project a stronger, more specific beacon. One that only those attuned to Nazarick's energy could perceive."
They spoke for hours, discussing strategies, the nature of this world's magic (which seemed far more primitive and elemental than YGGDRASIL's structured system), the disturbing soul-fueled mana growth, and the political landscape Ainz was beginning to navigate. Sebas listened intently, offering insightful counsel born of his own keen intellect and unwavering devotion. He reaffirmed his commitment to serve as Ainz's shadow, his protector, and his primary agent until the full might of Nazarick could be re-established.
At dawn, Ainz and Sebas approached the ancient standing stones once more. The eerie glow from the previous night had faded, but the palpable sense of dormant power remained. "The guardian is gone," Ainz mused. "What purpose do these stones now serve, I wonder?"
He held the obsidian amulet aloft. It felt different now, subtly changed after the influx of energy from the guardian's defeat and its resonance with the stones. "Sebas, stand ready."
Taking a deep breath, Ainz focused his will, pouring a substantial stream of his newly expanded mana into the amulet, simultaneously pressing its flat surface against the cold, damp stone of the central altar. The effect was immediate and far more profound than before. The symbols carved into all the stones flared with an intense, blinding turquoise light. The amulet in Ainz's hand grew searingly hot, though it did not burn his flesh, and it seemed to drink in the light from the stones, a conduit for the ancient power.
A new torrent of images, clearer and more coherent this time, flooded Ainz's mind. He saw the Children of the Forest not just performing rituals, but shaping the land, calling forth beasts from the mud, weaving illusions, and laying down intricate wards. He saw them battling tall, bronze-armored men – the First Men. And then, a specific vision: a Child of the Forest, ancient and wizened, with eyes like chips of amber, pressing a similar obsidian amulet to this very altar. The vision then shifted, showing a network of faint ley lines spreading across a map of the land, connecting several such stone circles, like stars in a constellation. One such line pulsed with particular brightness, leading north-east from their current position.
The vision faded. The light from the stones subsided, leaving them dull and inert once more. But the obsidian amulet in Ainz's hand now glowed with a faint, internal light of its own. It felt… permanently enhanced. When he focused, he realized it now granted him a constant, low-level [Detect Magic] in a small radius around him, without requiring conscious effort or mana drain. Furthermore, he felt a subtle connection to the natural world, an ability to sense the 'mood' of the land, the presence of hidden paths, or the spoor of unusual creatures.
"The amulet… it has absorbed some of their power," Ainz said, examining the faintly glowing disc. "It showed me… a network. Other sites like this. One path leads north-east."
Sebas looked intrigued. "A network of power, my Lord? Perhaps these sites can be used as beacons, or communication points, if their magic can be understood and controlled."
"Perhaps," Ainz agreed. "For now, it gives us a direction. And a new tool." He tucked the now subtly glowing amulet back under his tunic.
The journey back to Greywater Keep was markedly different. Hal, Timms, Wat, and Petyr walked with a mixture of reverence and trepidation, their eyes constantly darting towards Elian and the impossibly formidable 'Master Tian.' They carried with them the massive, intimidating skull of the crocodilian guardian and large rolls of its incredibly tough hide, trophies that would speak volumes. Ainz used the travel time for more hushed conversations with Sebas, refining their plans, and also to revel in the sheer volume of his expanded mana reserves. He could now probably cast a 3rd or even 4th tier YGGDRASIL spell, if he pushed it, though he still lacked the sheer diversity of his original spellbook access without a proper grimoire or staff.
Their arrival at Greywater Keep caused an immediate sensation. The sight of the monstrous skull, larger than a small pony, and the stories that quickly spilled from the trembling lips of Wat and Petyr, threw the tiny keep into an uproar. Maester Hannis, upon seeing the skull and hearing the tale, nearly fainted. He then besieged them with a flood of questions, his academic curiosity warring with his superstitious fear. Tom simply stared at his young lord, his expression one of utter, speechless devotion. The legend of Elian Hollow, the Boy Lord who communed with spirits and slew monsters, was now irrevocably cemented.
'Master Tian,' too, was now viewed with a new level of awe. His quiet wisdom, combined with the tales of his martial prowess, made him an almost mythical figure in his own right. He continued his duties with his usual serene competence, but his quiet suggestions to Lord Elian (which were, in reality, Sebas offering counsel to Ainz) were now treated as pronouncements of undeniable wisdom.
Days later, in the ruins of Harrenhal…
Demiurge, in his suave human guise of Jaldabaoth, a persona he was cultivating for broader operations, stood upon a crumbling battlement, overlooking the vast, cursed fortress. His crimson eyes, cleverly disguised as a mundane brown, scanned the horizon. For weeks, his carefully cultivated network of informants and spies had been feeding him scraps of information, rumors of unusual occurrences, whispers of strange powers. The faint mental call from Lord Ainz had been a constant, if frustratingly vague, guide.
Then, a few days ago, two things had happened simultaneously that had electrified his senses. First, an enormous surge of power, unmistakably that of his beloved Lord Ainz, had emanated from somewhere in the central Riverlands – a wave of negative energy so potent it was like a personal signature. Immediately following that, he had felt the distinct, familiar resonance of another high-level entity from Nazarick – Sebas Tian, he'd wager, given the butler's known predilection for reconnaissance and direct action – suddenly co-locating with their Master.
His analytical mind, a terrifyingly efficient machine, had gone into overdrive. Cross-referencing the magical signatures with the geographical data from his agents, he had narrowed down Lord Ainz's probable location to a remarkably small area: the desolate marshlands known as the Blackmorass, or the impoverished lands immediately surrounding it, including a previously insignificant holdfast named Greywater Keep.
A thin, predatory smile touched Jaldabaoth's lips. The time for cautious, widespread information gathering was drawing to a close. The time for direct action, for focused reconnaissance, was at hand.
"Inform our assets in the region," he commanded, his voice smooth as silk, to a shadowy figure kneeling behind him – one of his more capable human agents, thoroughly cowed and fanatically loyal after experiencing Demiurge's 'persuasion.' "Converge on the area surrounding the Blackmorass. I want eyes on every road, every village, every movement in or out of Greywater Keep. I want to know everything about its young lord, Elian Hollow, and his… elderly advisor. And prepare my personal effects for travel. It seems a reunion may be imminent."
The agent bowed low and vanished into the shadows. Demiurge looked out once more towards the distant Riverlands, a gleam of possessive, almost fanatical joy in his disguised eyes. Soon, Lord Ainz. Soon, all your loyal servants will gather at your side. And then, this world shall truly learn the meaning of Nazarick's glory.
Back in Elian's modest chamber at Greywater Keep, Ainz and Sebas were poring over a crudely drawn map of the Riverlands that Maester Hannis had provided. The obsidian amulet lay on the table between them, its faint glow illuminating their faces.
"The network of stones the amulet showed me… one path led north-east," Ainz mused, tracing a finger on the map. "Towards the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, or perhaps the edges of the Vale of Arryn. A dangerous territory, if the tales are true."
"The Vale is notoriously isolationist, my Lord," Sebas commented. "And the mountain clans are savage. However, if these sites of power exist, they may provide clues to the nature of this world's magic, or even attract others from Nazarick, should they also possess items that resonate with such energies."
Ainz nodded. "My priority remains finding our people. Albedo, Demiurge… their organizational skills would be invaluable. Aura and Mare could map these lands far faster than we. Cocytus could train a true fighting force." A pang of longing for his complete retinue, for the familiar halls of Nazarick, struck him.
Suddenly, old Tom burst into the room, his face flushed, foregoing his usual knock. "M'lord! A raven! A raven from… from Riverrun itself!" He held out a scroll, his hand trembling. The seal was unmistakable: the silver trout of House Tully, leaping on a field of red and blue.
Ainz took the scroll, his expression unreadable. Sebas stood a little straighter, his eyes watchful. A direct summons from Hoster Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident? His actions, and the rumors of his power, were clearly reaching the highest ears in the Riverlands. The game was escalating far faster than he had anticipated.