"Only three questions? That's far too few. In that case, I'd rather subdue you here and draw out the answers slowly."

The glint in Ainz's eyes was anything but gentle—it was closer to a threat. Yet Monkyspanner stood proud, utterly unflinching.

Even facing overwhelming odds, he carried himself with the reckless confidence he'd boasted of before.

"But are you truly certain of victory? Yes, you would overwhelm me. Even if I poured out my hidden strength and fortune itself smiled on me, I would fall. And yet—" His gaze burned hotter, "do you truly believe my defeat means your victory? Even if you strike me down… can you stop me from choosing death myself?"

For once, Ainz faltered.

A level 100 NPC was openly declaring he would end his own life. Could they prevent it if he tried?

Subduing him… that might be harder than expected. If he were simply a generic level 100 it might be manageable, but this one was clearly built for battle—and clad in artifacts of unmistakably high tier.

He might rival even the Guardians—or worse, surpass them.

If he threw himself at them in a suicidal charge, the consequences could be disastrous.

Yggdrasil had contained many skills that sacrificed HP or MP to grant extreme power—some even outright self-destruction, abilities meant to take the enemy with you.

If Monkyspanner unleashed such a technique and fought with nothing to lose, it would be troublesome indeed.

The plan had always been to avoid killing him.

Seven against one might still not be enough if he resolved to die spectacularly.

Even World-Class Items were not designed to save an enemy; they were tools to destroy. And healing? Against a willful level 100 combat NPC who refused to accept it, no healing magic would bind.

Ainz felt unease gnawing at him. He hadn't expected his quarry to weaponize his own life as leverage.

After a moment's thought, he gave a slow nod.

"Very well. I accept your terms. If you answer three questions truthfully, then I swear—your end will come without humiliation. I will grant you the honor of being erased with my full power."

"You'll swear that on your honor?" Monkyspanner asked sharply.

"Of course," Ainz replied without hesitation.

It cost him nothing. His own "honor" meant little—what mattered was the honor of the guild, and of his lost comrades. His word, spoken in isolation here, carried no binding force. Once Monkyspanner was subdued, he could rescind it at will.

But the Guardians bristled visibly, trembling with barely contained outrage. The promise sounded too dangerous. Ainz hurried to move the conversation along.

"Then, the first question: …When did you arrive in this world?"

Monkyspanner answered without pause.

"Two hundred years ago."

"Be more precise."

"Very well. Two centuries past, in the midst of the Evil Deities, we fell into this world. For two hundred years we have lived here, endured countless ordeals, and at the cost of great sacrifice we gathered our heads together, one hundred and fifty years ago, to form what you know as Dragon's Dream. Does that suffice?"

"…That sacrifice you speak of—what was it?"

"Would you count that as your second question?" Monkyspanner asked evenly.

"…No."

Tempting as it was, Ainz held his tongue. The past mattered little. What mattered was the present—the size and strength of the guild this NPC belonged to, and whether it was intact.

"Then my second question is this: your master… or your comrades. Do they still remain in this world?"

This question was deliberate, seeded by the single word "sacrifice."

Monkyspanner had claimed to have lived for two centuries. His title of "Immortal Sage" suggested a special class extending his lifespan. But what of his creators? Ainz himself was undead, freed from mortal limits. But the other players?

The Six Great Gods and the Eight Greed Kings had perished. The Thirteen Heroes too—if any among them had been players, their names were now only legend. That suggested most players had remained bound to the lifespans of their chosen races.

So Ainz's question carried a hidden edge:

Are your creators—the players who fell into this world with you—still alive?

The answer would decide everything. Whether this ended here… or whether the true game had only begun.

Even at a glance, Monkyspanner was no ordinary foe. His gear alone told the story—shimmering artifacts of such power that most were likely Legendary at minimum, with his weapon radiating the presence of a Divine-class relic.

Few guilds in all of Yggdrasil had ever been able to equip their NPCs with such treasures. Only the truly vast and wealthy guilds had the resources—and even Nazarick would not treat such opponents lightly.

Whether he realized Ainz's unease or not, Monkyspanner's face broke into a twisted grin. It was a smile, yet it seemed at once furious and mournful.

"You, with your host of heteromorphic followers, ask cruel questions indeed… But fine. I'll honor the vow. For two hundred years since we fell into this land, I have lived through hardships beyond words. And now, I stand as the last one still walking, still breathing, still setting foot upon this earth. I alone remain. That is the only answer I can give you. Satisfied?"

"…Enough."

Ainz nodded slowly.

There was no hint of falsehood in his tone. Casting a glance toward Demiurge, Ainz caught the faint nod of confirmation. He had discreetly ordered his Guardian to sense deception, and Demiurge too judged it to be true.

Relief washed over him. This monkey sage was the final survivor of a guild that had fallen into this world two centuries ago. For two hundred years, he had endured alone, preserving the name of his masters.

Ainz felt an odd stirring in his hollow chest.

Was that not, in its own way, exactly what he himself sought to do?

Carrying the name of Ainz Ooal Gown, spreading it across the world, in hopes that one day his lost comrades—those who might have also fallen into this reality—would hear of it and find him.

Though they stood as enemies, Ainz felt a strange kinship with the creature before him. His esteem, his "affection," was climbing.

So, for his third question… Ainz chose not to probe, but to propose.

"Then for my third and final question—a proposal. Would you consider… becoming mine?"

"What?" Monkyspanner blinked.

The Guardians reeled.

"My lord Ainz?" Albedo gasped, shocked enough to forget his command not to speak his name. But Ainz ignored her, his crimson gaze locked on Monkyspanner.

"Two centuries, and still you never faltered in your loyalty. You have upheld your creator's will and the name they entrusted you with. But that master is long gone. So now, let me be the one you serve. Monkyspanner, swear loyalty to me, and I promise you—your station will be no less than that of my most trusted Guardians."

Monkyspanner barked out a laugh.

"Oh? After ambushing me, dragging me here, and interrogating me, you expect me to swallow such sweet words?"

"You insolent cur! To scorn Lord Ainz's offer—!" one Guardian snarled, her killing intent exploding outward.

"Dismember him, leave nothing but his howling jaws—!" another hissed.

The Guardians surged with wrath, their aura like a storm, but Ainz's skeletal hand rose and froze them where they stood.

"Silence. Am I not the one speaking?"

"My lord, but—!"

"Must I repeat myself?"

His burning gaze swept them, and all fell instantly quiet.

Truthfully, Ainz's collector's heart was aflame.

He wanted this being—not just to devour Dragon's Dream through him, but to claim him as a prize.

A level 100 NPC, two hundred years of wisdom, a tongue sharp as a bard's, and a mind cunning enough to endure alone.

He was no mere rarity—he was beyond rare. Perhaps the most valuable being Ainz had ever encountered since arriving in this world.

"Yes… I want him," Ainz thought, hungrily.

Out loud, he said, "If you cannot choose now, I will grant you time to consider. The offer stands."

The sincerity in his words was real—Ainz would honor such a pact. A position on par with the Guardians was no empty promise; it was the measure of the worth he placed on this quarry.

But beneath it all, his mind whispered feverishly:

I must have him. If I could make him mine… so many problems would vanish in an instant.

If Ainz only wanted Dragon's Dream, he could simply twist Monkyspanner's mind—use mental domination to hollow him out into nothing more than a puppet.

Yet doing so would destroy the very radiance that made him valuable: the boisterous, free-spirited Monkey Sage, full of laughter and life.

No, as Demiurge had urged, if they could win him over as he was, the prize would be far sweeter.

But Monkyspanner answered not with submission, but with a booming laugh.

"Hahaha! So you break your own conditions already? Fine then, before I respond to your… proposal, I'll ask a few questions of my own. Not to you, masked one—but to them."

He lifted a long finger, pointing one by one at the Guardians seething behind Ainz, their auras flaring with rage.

"Can you permit that, Ainz Ooal Gown? I won't ask for secrets of your guild. Just answers from their hearts. After that, I'll give you mine."

Ainz considered, then nodded. "Very well. Guardians, you may answer—yet divulge nothing of Nazarick itself. Understood?"

A chorus of firm nods followed. Their faces were tight, every one of them determined not to let slip even the smallest scrap of information.

Monkyspanner's gaze fixed first on the hulking insectoid with four arms, Cocytus.

"You there. If your master were to vanish one day, with not a word, for decades… for centuries… would your loyalty fade?"

"Such—nonsense! Never!" Cocytus rumbled.

Monkyspanner smiled faintly. "Good. Next—the twins. If the one who made you were to abandon you without explanation, would you bear anger toward your creator?"

Aura bristled. "Huh? What kind of question is that?"

Mare stammered, "K-keep saying weird things and I'll… I'll get mad…"

"Understood," Monkyspanner nodded.

The Guardians froze, their anger suddenly tempered.

Even Ainz, who at first felt his ire rise, realized what Monkyspanner was doing. These weren't idle provocations—he was measuring their convictions.

Monkyspanner's crimson eyes turned toward Demiurge.

"And you, devil. If your master was taken, bound, lost forever, and your enemies commanded you to betray that loyalty… would you?"

Demiurge's smile was sharp and certain. "Never. Even if my life were forfeit, I would not betray my lord. Not for an instant."

"…As expected," Monkyspanner muttered, nodding once more.

At last, his gaze fell upon the armored figures—

Albedo in black, Shalltear in crimson.

"And you two… if your master were struck down, lying in endless sleep with no hope of waking for years, decades, centuries—could you abandon him and live only for yourselves?"

"Foolishness," Albedo scoffed. "My love and loyalty to Lord Ainz will never change."

Shalltear echoed, "No matter what, my devotion is eternal."

Monkyspanner's booming laugh returned.

"Good. Thank you for your answers."

Then he turned back to Ainz, eyes gleaming with both mischief and a strange dignity.

"And that—Ainz Ooal Gown—is my answer."

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