The journey to the stunning underground tomb of Nazarick was in silence.
Draegor and his small escort passed unmolested through the seemingly infinite wilderness. Alongside him rode the skeletal general Korrak, his bones little more than a quiet whisper as his mailed steed walked. Synthia, the sorceress, floated close to the earth, her flaming robes whipping behind her in the breeze. In the rear, the giant wraith Velgrin walked in silent ghostliness, his huge halberd riding across his massive shoulders.
The earth was desolate, dead.
And yet Draegor felt like they were being watched.
It wasn't paranoia—it was cold, hard fact.
The unseen eyes of Nazarick monitored every move, ensuring their path remained perfectly in line.
And never once did he ever feel danger, but the sheer scope of control around them was palpable.
Ainz Ooal Gown was a commander who'd never leave anything to chance.
Draegor respected that.
Arrival at Nazarick
The gates of Nazarick were nothing that Draegor had ever seen previously.
They consisted of gold and obsidian, standing high and grim, giving off a perception of greatness and terror. Magical runes flashed across the surface, creating stacks of defenses and wards far stronger than anything ordinary magic could hope to accomplish.
Six of them guarded the gates.
She was the first to appear, a gorgeous woman in a clean white robe, her golden eyes shining with wonder but projecting an unmistakable strength. Her great black wings spread against the small of her back, projecting her as otherworldly creature—except for the faint, creepy smile upon her lips.
Draegor recognized her immediately.
Albedo.
The Guardian Overseer of Nazarick.
Her very presence served to guarantee that this was not some ordinary gathering.
Standing behind her were five other guardians, each one radiating immense power.
Draegor's eyes ran over them, taking in their forms, their gear, their auras. He was being sized up, just as he was sizing them up.
Albedo moved forward, hand resting on her chest in a gesture of dignity.
"Welcome, Lord Draegor. The Supreme One has been waiting for you."
Her voice was smooth, confident—completely unflappable.
Draegor nodded his head slightly, greeting her without respect.
"Honour. I trust my entrance is as forecast."
Albedo smiled. "Of course. This way."
A simple wave of his hand made the imposing gates of Nazarick open, and the magnificent hallway that lay beyond was revealed, with gold, obsidian, and a cold, alien, unnatural glow.
Draegor stepped forward willingly.
The Throne Room of Ainz Ooal Gown
The atmosphere inside Nazarick was dense, heavy with a magic so dense it seemed to have life of its own.
Every corridor, every hallway, every step was designed to evoke awe and fear in equal measure.
Draegor was not easily impressed.
And yet he could not help but acknowledge that this was the domain of a king unlike any other.
And as they approached the throne room, the great doors groaned slowly open, into a colossal hall filled with gold light.
And at the very center—upon a throne of gold and bones—sat the figure of Ainz Ooal Gown.
His skeletal form radiated an aura of complete dominance, his red eyes burning with an otherworldly light. He did not move. He did not need to.
His very presence commanded the attention of all.
Albedo bowed low, moving aside.
"Supreme One, I present Lord Draegor, king of the undead legion."
Ainz finally moved.
Slowly, he raised one hand, a slight gesture of acknowledgment.
"You have traveled far, Lord Draegor. Welcome to Nazarick."
His tone was measured—tranquil. Not hostile, but not too welcoming either. A king welcoming another king.
Draegor stepped forward, his expression stoic.
"I appreciate the welcome, Lord Ainz. I have heard much of your strength. Now, I behold it with mine own eyes."
Ainz's skeletal smile didn't change.
"And what do you behold?"
Draegor permitted a small smile to cross his face.
"A king on a throne. A throne well-earned."
The room was silent, and this silence was uncomfortable.
Then, to Draegor's muted surprise, Ainz laughed.
A low, hollow sound that echoed through the chamber.
"You have pleasant words. Come, let us talk."
Draegor inclined his head.
And thus, the meeting of kings began.
The Discussion of Power
Seated in a secluded room, away from the grand throne room, Ainz and Draegor sat facing one another at an impeccably clean obsidian table.
Standing to one side of Ainz was Albedo, whose golden eyes never left Draegor's face. Korrak, Synthia, and Velgrin stood on the opposite side of the room, watchful but not making a move.
Draegor was aware of the seriousness of this gathering.
This wasn't a battlefield.
This was a room where allegiances were made or broken.
Ainz started to talk.
"I've followed your rise, Lord Draegor. Not often that a power such as yours rises in this world."
Draegor leaned back in his chair, his hands tapping against the surface of the table. "And I've followed yours. An empire unparalleled. A power unrivaled."
Ainz tilted his head. "Compliment? Or fact?"
Draegor's smile was cold. "Both."
Ainz chuckled once more.
For the rest of the hour, the two communicated in layers of meaning, each hesitantly exploring the other's intentions, revealing just enough without revealing too much.
Ainz wanted to know Draegor's goal.
Draegor wanted to know Ainz's limits.
And out of that waltz of words, there was a mutual understanding.
There would be no war at all.
But no immediate trust, either.
By the end of their conversation, Ainz finally leaned forward.
"Tell me, Lord Draegor… what do you want?"
Draegor stared at him unblinking.
"Dominion. Order. And a realm where only the powerful can reign."
Ainz hesitated for a moment.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Perhaps… we are not so different after all."
Draegor smiled.
And thus, the seeds of a great alliance—or a predestined rivalry—had been planted.
For now, there would be peace.
But in the realm of rulers, peace was always temporary.