The wave of fervor mattered little to him. Raising one hand, Monkyspanner silenced the thunderous cheers. His voice, calm yet heavy, carried across the assembly.

"Good. Even in such peril, you have shown courage to gather here. You've all heard the briefing earlier—I trust you understand the situation."

The demons' invasion. The capital aflame. And the appearance of the masked fiend, a being of overwhelming power.

For this emergency, adventurers had rallied—not for princes, nor for the princess Renner, nor for the hollow authority of nobles.

They gathered beneath the banner of Dragon's Dream, trusting in the legacy of one hundred and fifty years, in the weight of the Great Clan's name.

The sight alone was enough to make the members of Blue Roses feel a pang of inadequacy.

Adventurers though they were, they could not deny the gulf of prestige and faith that separated them.

Such was the nature of history and legend: even without speeches, their deeds compelled men to bow their heads.

"Then… from here, each of you shall advance and fulfill your duty."

"My Lord, what of you? How will you act?"

"I will remain here. When the 'masked demon' reveals itself, send word at once."

"…Understood!"

The young adventurer Rot bowed deeply, his heart still pounding.

A part of him was disappointed that his Lord would not lead the charge in person.

Yet he understood.

Against a foe estimated to be of difficulty level 200 or higher, only the Clan Head himself could possibly stand.

If Monkyspanner left to fight elsewhere, and the demon struck from another direction, the entire defense would collapse. His place was here, to intercept.

That did not mean he sat idle.

Already, several of his Immortal Sage clones—born of a hidden class technique—had been dispatched across the city.

Each weaker than the original, each costing vitality to manifest, but enough to reinforce multiple fronts at once.

"I've sent my doubles to the most dangerous lines. Use them freely as bait if you must, but guard your lives."

"Yes, my Lord!"

"Then go! Show them your strength! Let no demon dare trample mankind!"

"As you command!"

—"OOOOOOOOHHHH!!!"

Rot's roar ignited another surge of cries, steel raised skyward. Hundreds of adventurers surged forth, a tide of iron and will.

Almost the entire strength of Dragon's Dream's Kingdom branch was assembled, bolstered by the independent adventurers who had flocked here.

Their skill was respectable by surface standards, and their morale soared.

But Monkyspanner's gaze remained cold.

At best, these were forces to cull lesser fiends—specters, soul-eaters, the rabble. Against the masked demon—the one calling itself "Jaldabaoth"—they would break like twigs.

In the end, it will fall to me.

This so-called "Momon" had rushed ahead, but Monkyspanner's mistrust lingered. No—his suspicion grew deeper by the moment.

It was this very adventurer, Momon, who had triggered the order for Shinshi to withdraw from the outside world.

Reports had classified him as potentially linked to the beings known as Players—the godlike ones.

That alone had been enough for the Council to decree a full retreat.

Monkyspanner had half-intended to merely observe him from afar before returning.

Yet fate had placed them face-to-face. And the more he saw, the more the unease oozed through him.

The papers had already been suspicious enough.

Now, in person, the dissonance clung to Momon like a stench, thick enough to drip.

A warrior, yes—but what sort of warrior? His movements were… off. If it were only a matter of raw physique, Monkyspanner would have admitted the man rivaled his own body.

But the way he used that body was clumsy, unrefined.

He fought by brute-forcing strength to cover for lack of skill. Purely by technique, that hot-headed youth Rot would be the better fighter.

And yet… something feels wrong.

A knot of unease tightened in Monkyspanner's gut.

He trusted his instincts, and those instincts screamed that something here was unnatural.

The whole situation… felt staged.

Like a performance.

The capital in ruins, fire clawing the sky, demons rampaging through the streets—yet when his head cooled, the impression that lingered was that it all looked too much like theater.

That impression had peaked when the masked demon clashed with him… and suddenly, clad in obsidian armor, this "Momon" descended.

The heat in his blood evaporated in an instant. Too convenient. Too contrived. Others, distracted by chaos, likely failed to notice. But from his calmer vantage, details leapt out that stank of falsehood.

Why had the demon appeared at all? Jaldabaoth was far beyond what any adventurer of this world could withstand.

Such a being descending suddenly, conveniently, on the very day the Eight Fingers purge was launched?

Laughable.

And its reason? "Searching for a summoning item?"

Ridiculous.

A monster of that power could have erased the city without effort. Yet it didn't. That restraint, that spectacle—it meant purpose. A staged purpose.

And in the center of that stage was Momon. The way he threw himself forth, boldly proclaiming he would slay the demon single-handed, drawing every eye… too certain, too timed.

Suspicion bloomed. The vampire Honyopenyoko, linked to Momon. The whispers of "Players," linked to Momon.

And now this attack, with him in the spotlight again.

Every road led back to that black-clad adventurer.

What is he after? Why force the world to look at him?

The memory of Princess Renner surfaced then—her mask-like smile as she requested the purge of the Eight Fingers, treating Monkyspanner like a hired thug.

He had laughed at her arrogance, certain she underestimated how easily he could swat her aside.

But was it arrogance? Renner was no fool. In cunning alone, she might match even Orochi or Mary. Perhaps she knew more than she ever let slip.

Would a woman like her—Princess Renner—really call upon him simply to "clean up" the Eight Fingers, a group utterly unrelated to her?

She knew well how he would interpret such a request.

No—Renner was not that foolish. She was someone who weighed everything in numbers.

If something brought no benefit, she would not do it.

Only in matters involving that boy, Climb, did she seem to cast aside such cold arithmetic. But the Eight Fingers? No, that didn't fit.

Then why? The answer came to him in a flash. It was not her will at all. Someone else's intent had crept in.

No… could it be?

Monkyspanner's eyes flew wide. Over and over again, the thought echoed.

Was the target all along… me?

The veil lifted.

The truth of the unease crystallized.

Everything had been staged.

Renner, the Eight Fingers, the attack on the capital, the appearance of the demon—all of it set-dressing.

The stage had been built for him, and he had danced across it, oblivious, believing he was acting freely when he had only been following the script.

The realization left him shaking with cold dread.

Invisible claws of malice had already reached his ankles, binding him.

The royal capital itself had become a giant trap laid for him.

Come to think of it, the entire city had been covered by a spell preventing teleportation.

Evileye had claimed it was to stop her own escape.

But no—its true purpose was to prevent him from fleeing, and the excuse had been crafted only so he wouldn't suspect.

So much effort. So carefully prepared, just to catch him.

How much scheming had gone on beneath the surface?

He had trusted Renner too easily—had even handed her a ring, thinking it safe. But he had overlooked one crucial point.

The ring's restriction was "all matters concerning Shinshi," not "all matters concerning Monkyspanner."

She had no idea he was a High Priest of Shinshi.

That meant she was free to spread information about him as much as she liked, right up to the limit of what she knew.

A mistake.

A foolish oversight.

I need to flee.

Forget Dragon's Dream, forget adventurers, forget the flickering lives of these fragile humans—the real target was him.

Some unknown hand, a group suspected to be Players, had marked him.

In over two centuries, never had he felt such peril.

Death itself didn't frighten him.

But the impact his death would have on Shinshi—that was terrifying.

Exiles had been executed before, others had fallen in training.

But if a High Priest-level figure were slain by an outside power, the consequences could be catastrophic.

And with God still slumbering… the backlash was unthinkable.

Nor might death even be the end.

He remembered the mysterious item that had stolen the will of the vampire Honyopenyoko. If the same befell him—if his will were stolen and his body turned into a puppet—that fate was worse than death.

And yet he could not simply bolt.

Perhaps even now, hidden watchers lay in wait for him to make a rash move. To startle the snake in the grass would be suicide. He would have to move cautiously, slip toward the outskirts, and then escape at full speed.

And then—

Across the camp, he spotted a familiar figure. Climb—the boy he had once briefly trained—was speaking with another man, his face now far more composed than before.

Monkyspanner's sharpened hearing caught every word, though they were spoken tens of meters away, as clear as if whispered in his ear.

"That fire… it was terrifying, a spell of unspeakable power. Brain-sama, perhaps even rivaling that magic caster Gazef-sama spoke of… Ainz Ooal Gown."

And Monkyspanner froze.

At first he almost dismissed the name, dulled by the weight of looming dread. But then it struck home—and this time his eyes nearly burst from their sockets.

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