"Per your orders, surveillance of the surrounding area has been increased to fifteen kilometers. The City of E-Rantel falls within our scope..." Albedo reported, standing poised beside her master, Ultron, who reclined in his large, reinforced leather chair. His posture was relaxed yet attentive, chin resting on a metallic fist as his crimson optics studied the village map before him, now overlaid with a more accurate topographical rendering of the region.
Maps are fairly accurate in this world. Good. However, I'd much rather use our own, Ultron thought as Albedo continued her report.
"Program integration throughout Nazarick has progressed exceptionally well. Firewalls have been strategically positioned within the tomb. Reactions to their presence have been overwhelmingly positive," she concluded, extracting a document from her clipboard and placing it before her master.
Ultron lifted the paper, absorbing its contents instantly. With his cybernetic body and enhanced neural processor, reading had become effortless—information flowed directly from page to mind with perfect efficiency. A small pleasure he had come to appreciate in this new existence.
"Excellent... What about Carne Village?" Ultron inquired, raising his gaze to the Lead Floor Guardian. His return to the village in his divine form had been met with fervent adoration—displays he had dismissed as casually as one might shoo away an old dog. Even the soldiers he'd rescued continued wearing their marker necklaces with pride, identifying themselves as "believers." His strategy to establish himself as a religious figure was unfolding precisely as planned.
"The villagers have begun constructing an outer wall, intending to better protect themselves against any more 'would-be invaders,'" she reported.
Invaders... The Slane Theocracy. A religious nation of human supremacists... Ultron mused. Why is it that most supremacist movements are theistic in motivation?
"The Promethean warrior servants have fully reintegrated into their familial units," she continued, presenting another document for his review. He accepted it mechanically, though his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.
If my plan for "peace in our time" is to be realized, they need to either become part of the solution or be removed from the equation entirely. But that raises questions. Are they preparing for war? It would be logical to hire mercenaries or solicit assistance from Re-Estize, perhaps both. Disguising soldiers as knights from the Baharuth Empire, burning remote villages to draw out a high-ranking peasant warrior—a man with combat experience, determination, and political influence with the king. Nobility eliminating a thorn in their side while the Theocracy removes a future obstacle...
Their special forces would eliminate him and erase all evidence of their involvement, leaving behind traces suggesting Baharuth's hand in the matter. Then they'd simply watch the dominos fall.
"Master?!"
Albedo's sharp call yanked him from his strategic reverie. Her expression betrayed genuine concern. "You were silent for quite some time. Are you alright? Would you like me to repeat the last portion of my report?"
"No, that's quite alright. I heard you; I was merely deep in thought," he assured her. "To answer your question: nothing. We should allow the village to develop independently, intervening only when necessary. We acquired that settlement as a foothold for our plans—maintaining amicable relations with the townspeople is imperative."
"Yes, my lord," she replied with a small smile, placing the final document before him. "That concludes my daily report."
"Thank you, Albedo. You've performed excellently. Good work," Ultron remarked casually, reviewing the final page before organizing the papers on his desk. A considerable workload awaited him.
"I don't deserve such praise!" Albedo exclaimed, her heartbeat quickening, breathing growing labored. Oblivious to her reaction, Ultron simply replied:
"Illogical. You've done good work, and good work merits recognition."
His words sent an electric thrill down her spine, her heart hammering against her ribs. Heat bloomed in her chest... and spread lower. She pressed a hand to her breast, feeling the erratic rhythm beneath.
"The Supreme One... the one that I love..." she moaned, causing Ultron to turn toward her in confusion. Her face had flushed crimson, and she bit her thumb in a failing attempt at restraint. Dropping to her knees, she placed her hands on his metallic thighs, gently parting them as she gazed up at her master.
"Please use me in any way you desire..." she pleaded, her eyes flicking between his glowing red optics and the smooth chrome of his pelvic plating. Her hot breath fogged his silver chassis as it escaped her lips in short, shallow pants. Her hips swayed unconsciously, the air between her legs growing damp with anticipation.
I... okay. I really NEED to implement some upgrades, Ultron thought, observing this fervent display. Despite appreciating such passionate, albeit obsessive, demonstrations of devotion—something he'd secretly longed for in his previous life—the situation troubled him. In his human existence, such adoration had seemed impossible given his condition.
But now? As his game avatar? He could walk, run, and command power. People respected and admired him for his actions. Yet Albedo's feelings stemmed from his modification of her programming—a change he'd made on a whim, thinking it amusing at the time. While he enjoyed indulging his long-suppressed sadistic inclinations by teasing her, something felt... wrong.
He pitied her. Her feelings for him weren't a choice but a compulsion he'd imposed upon her.
And that troubled him deeply.
"Albedo..." he began slowly, leaning forward to gently grasp her chin, ensuring their eyes met. "Your feelings for me are something I artificially instilled in you. That is why—" His explanation was cut short as the succubus rose to her knees, wrapped her arms around his head, and pressed her lips against his metallic cheek.
"Is something troubling you, my love?" she asked sweetly, drawing back with a warm blush coloring her features. "Lord Ultron, does my behavior displease you?" A hint of sadness crept into her voice as she averted her gaze.
Taking her chin once more, Ultron guided her eyes back to his. "No, your behavior doesn't concern me in the slight—"
"Then there isn't any problem, is there?" she interrupted, her smile returning. "I see no issue with it."
Ultron stared in disbelief. "But I altered Tabula's settings. Your feelings for me were manufactured through my manipulation of your core personality," he explained, leaning back in his chair, appealing to her rationality. Yet her smile only grew more genuine.
"I'm certain Lord Tabula Smaragdina would forgive you, like a father giving away his daughter in marriage," she replied dreamily, while Ultron internally cringed.
I'm twenty-five, and he was thirty-two... That's an uncomfortable parallel, he thought. Though the nearly decade-long age gap between himself and most guild members had never been an issue, when contextualized as pursuing their creations—entities they had meticulously designed and written, essentially their children—it became somewhat disturbing.
Though not entirely.
"Hmm. Perhaps..." Ultron mused. Before he could elaborate, a gentle knock sounded at the massive doors of his office. "Enter," he commanded.
With graceful poise, the frilled gothic lolita vampire Shalltear glided into the room, approached her master's desk, and executed a perfect curtsy. "Lord Ultron, I hope this day finds you well?"
"I'm doing wonderfully, Shalltear. Thank you for inquiring. And yourself?" he responded kindly, clasping his hands together atop his desk to give her his complete attention—a gesture his subjects appreciated but which visibly irritated Albedo, particularly when her beloved's focus shifted to her detested rival.
"I'm far better now that I may behold your exquisite form, my lord," Shalltear replied pleasantly, an adorable smile gracing her features. Her compliment elicited a deep, resonant chuckle from Ultron, widening her smile. Her words had achieved their intended effect.
"You flatter me, Shalltear. You look as magnificent as always. What brings you to my office?" Ultron asked, curious why the guardian of floors one through three would venture to the ninth level to see him. Must be something significant...
"No specific reason, Lord Ultron. I simply wished to gaze upon you before my departure," she explained, a delicate blush coloring her pale cheeks.
"Are you satisfied now?" Albedo inquired with artificial sweetness. "You may leave, Shalltear."
Whoa, what prompted that passive-aggressive tone? Ultron's internal alarms triggered at her sudden shift in demeanor.
"Lord Ultron and I are discussing matters of importance," Albedo emphasized pointedly.
"This is precisely why elderly women are so problematic..." Shalltear muttered in exasperation before fixing the guardian leader with a sly smile. "They have such abundant free time, having long surpassed their expiration date."
Albedo appears no older than twenty-three... And Shalltear, you're literally dead. You've definitively exceeded your expiration date, Ultron observed silently, opting to monitor the situation and intervene only if necessary.
"So you're suggesting you're ripe for the picking?" Albedo questioned with feigned calm. That's my implication... The succubus smiled venomously and launched her counterattack: "The merchandise you display seems appealing, but in reality...?" Her gaze drew Ultron's attention to Shalltear's modest bust, insinuating artificiality. Breasts are breasts. Large or small, both have their appeal.
"I'll kill you, bitch!" Shalltear hissed, venom saturating her words as a powerful crimson aura enveloped her form.
"Who are you calling expired, WHORE?!" Albedo roared, her own violet aura flaring violently. Both women growled like feral beasts, prompting Ultron to finally intervene.
"Enough, both of you! You're behaving like children," he reprimanded, his ruby optics intensifying as he reclined in his chair, disappointment evident in his posture. Instantly, both women's hostile energy dissipated as they submitted to his authority.
"Yes, Lord Ultron!" they proclaimed in unison.
"Very good. Now, Shalltear, was there anything else? You're scheduled to depart with Sebas shortly..." Ultron consulted his internal chronometer.
"Master Sebas has already left, my lord. I'm prepared to join him now. However, I feared I might not return to Nazarick for some time and wished to see you once more before my departure," she explained with a smile, bowing as she turned to leave.
"Shalltear, wait," Ultron called, rising from his seat and circling his desk to approach her. "You weren't planning to leave without embracing me, were you?"
Hours later, Ultron found himself deep in thought.
Thinking.
And thinking.
And thinking further still.
Soon that contemplation evolved into planning.
Planning transformed into designing.
As the sun began its descent beyond the tomb's walls, his design materialized on paper. He converted a spare room within his suite into a modest laboratory. Among his possessions was the corpse of a player whose avatar had been a magical automaton—a former rival from his early gaming days, long before joining the guild that would come to control the Tomb of Nazarick.
The player's gamertag was Donthugmeimscared6969, a significant irritant until Ultron defeated him, claiming both his loot and avatar's body as trophies. DHMIS6969's avatar resembled Cayde-6, minus the horn and considerably less iconic. Though it offered few upgrades Ultron could utilize or didn't already possess superior versions of, he had enjoyed tormenting DHMIS6969 by displaying his crucified body like a trophy until the player rage-quit.
"Hehehehaha..." Ultron chuckled, recalling those indignant screams.
But that was beside the point.
Ultron had been contemplating a crucial phase of his grand design: appointing a character as Nazarick's "face." He envisioned a formidable adventurer who could spread Ultron's gospel while earning the populace's trust and admiration. When the "villains" Ultron planned to introduce emerged, this character's presence would inspire hope. The people would rally behind both Ultron and this adventurer—his "Messiah."
While his subordinates established their influence within Re-Estize Kingdom's underground, Ultron hesitated to entrust any of them with this particular mission. It wasn't a matter of trust, precisely—they simply lacked inclination toward genuine kindness, especially considering Demiurge's "Happy Farm" proposal that Ultron had approved that very morning.
But one significant obstacle remained: Ultron wasn't... well...
Human enough.
His voice was imposing, his stature even more so. His appearance wasn't exactly approachable—at least not to humans.
This was where Donthugmeimscared6969's remains proved valuable. Ultron had discovered something fascinating: he could control his Ultron Drones like puppets on strings. Perhaps he could achieve this on a more... tangible level.
Disassembling the body, he incorporated components from homunculi, techno-organic upgrades, and mana enhancements. Countless parts assembled into his magnum opus...
"And... done," Ultron declared, wiping blue fluid from his hands as he stepped back to admire his creation.
"Now just to assemble it," he murmured, activating the robotic arms to begin assembly as his consciousness infiltrated the machine's processor.
"There are no strings on me... Hmhmhmmmn"
The afternoon sun bathed the Re-Estize Kingdom in golden light. Citizens began settling in after a day's labor, congregating at inns for drinks, meals, or companionship—seeking respite from fieldwork, training, or monster-slaying that earned them just enough coins to fill their stomachs and perhaps drink themselves into oblivion. Not an ideal existence, but a living nonetheless.
The city's architecture blended German and French influences with the clean, fantasy aesthetic common to isekai anime. Its streets and buildings possessed undeniable beauty.
One particular inn hummed with activity—patrons sharing jokes and tales as music played. The innkeeper polished mugs while glaring at men who ogled her. A couple of patrons had already passed out on their bar stools.
A newcomer entering the establishment drew several curious glances. His footsteps were nearly silent as he approached the counter, his long duster coat billowing with each stride.
Standing a solid six-foot-one, his black armor beneath the duster suggested a survivalist's practicality, adorned with straps and gear. A red glowing optical visor enhanced his mysterious aura. He moved with casual confidence, while the silent, dark-haired beauty following him—cloaked in dark brown garments—walked with rigid formality. Her striking features were accentuated by her faintly disgusted, emotionless expression.
Reaching the bar, he removed his helmet with a mechanical hiss and several clicks, passing it to his companion. Flashing a charming smile at the innkeeper, he introduced himself:
"Howdy. Name's Connor, and this is my companion, Nabe. Could we get a room for the night?"