The Battlefield of Ruin
The once-thriving town lay in ruins.
The scent of charred wood and burnt flesh filled the air.
Buildings were reduced to rubble. The streets, once bustling with life, were now littered with craters, debris, and the bodies of the fallen.
Fires still burned in places, the crackling flames adding to the grim silence.
The town's protective walls, meant to withstand even the strongest monster raids, had massive gashes torn into them.
Blood soaked the cobblestone roads, and the metallic stench was so thick it made people gag.
The battle was over—but no one celebrated.
Instead, everyone stood frozen—staring at one man.
The Stunned Adventurers
Ainz stood at the center of the devastation, his breathing steady, his expression unreadable.
His clothes were torn, drenched in blood—some of it his, most of it not.
At his feet lay the Tyrant Warlord's mangled remains. The once-fearsome dungeon boss was unrecognizable, its enormous body split apart by Ainz's final attack.
The adventurers around him were in disbelief.
"No way..."
"That thing… was impossible to kill."
"And he took it down… alone?"
Some looked at Ainz with awe. Others with fear.
A burly warrior, his armor dented and barely holding together, wiped blood from his face. He turned to his companion—a mage whose robes were singed from spell backfires.
"Did you see that?" the warrior whispered.
The mage nodded, still shaken. "See it? I felt it. That last attack... it wasn't normal."
A younger archer, barely able to stand, muttered, "He's not just an adventurer... is he?"
The murmurs spread.
Ainz ignored them.
But he knew.
They were starting to suspect him.
Guildmaster's Confrontation
The sound of heavy boots crunching over debris snapped the tense silence.
The Guildmaster approached.
His face, usually calm, was hardened with suspicion.
He stopped a few feet away from Ainz, arms crossed, eyes narrowing.
"Kid… what the hell are you?"
Silence.
The air was thick with tension.
Ainz's mind raced.
Lie. Distract. Change the subject.
He forced a casual grin, wiping some blood off his cheek.
"Just a lucky adventurer, I guess?"
The Guildmaster didn't react. His sharp gaze searched Ainz's face.
"Lucky?" He scoffed. "I've been an adventurer for over twenty years. I've seen 'lucky.' That—" he pointed at the ruined battlefield—"wasn't luck."
Ainz stayed silent.
His body was still aching from the battle. His mana was low.
He couldn't afford a confrontation now.
A Change in Focus
A sudden cry broke the tension.
"Help! We need healers!"
Ainz turned.
A group of injured adventurers lay sprawled across the ground.
A warrior was clutching his shattered ribs, coughing up blood.
A rogue's leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.
A mage barely clung to life, her breath ragged and weak.
The few remaining healers rushed between them, but it was clear—
They weren't enough.
Ainz saw the look in their eyes.
Hopelessness.
They didn't have the mana left to save them.
Some would die within minutes.
Ainz stepped forward.
"I'll heal them."
The nearest healer, a woman with tear-streaked cheeks, turned to him in desperation.
"We already tried! We're too drained—there's nothing more we can do!"
Ainz ignored her and knelt beside the dying mage.
Her skin was pale, her pulse weak.
She had minutes. Maybe less.
He placed a hand over her wound-ridden chest.
"Divine Regeneration."
A soft golden light spread from his palm.
Everyone froze.
The deep, fatal wounds sealed instantly.
Her breathing stabilized.
Within seconds, the dying mage opened her eyes.
A stunned silence followed.
Then—
Gasps of shock.
"What… what the hell?!"
"That's not normal healing!"
"His wounds closed instantly—what kind of magic is that?!"
The Guildmaster's eyes widened slightly.
Ainz realized his mistake.
Shit.
Slipping Away
Ainz stood up quickly, brushing the dust off his coat.
Too late.
People were whispering.
Staring.
Not just at him. At his power.
He had shown too much.
"I need to leave."
The Guildmaster took a step closer.
"That magic…" he muttered. "I've never seen anything like it."
Ainz forced a laugh, scratching his head.
"Ahh, well, you know… some abilities are just built different?"
The Guildmaster's stare hardened.
Ainz felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck.
He had to get out now.
"The town still needs help," Ainz quickly said. "I'll go check the other areas."
The Guildmaster hesitated, then nodded.
"Fine. But we'll talk later, kid."
Ainz turned and walked away.
Fast.
He needed a plan.
Ainz's Next Move
Ainz slipped into the shadows of the ruined town, avoiding further attention.
He clenched his fists.
This wasn't normal.
The dungeon outbreak shouldn't have been that bad.
The Tyrant Warlord was far stronger than it should've been.
And now… people were starting to notice him.
If the wrong people learned what he could do—
His peaceful life would be over.
"I need to lay low for a while."
But first—
He needed answers.