Overlord: Crimson Sovereign

The artificial sun of Nazarick dimmed slowly into simulated twilight. Beyond the marble corridors of the Supreme Floor, deep within the private quarters of the Supreme Being himself, silence reigned. Not the silence of absence—but that of contemplation.

Ainz Ooal Gown sat submerged in the steaming waters of his personal bath. Steam rose in slow spirals, curling into the gilded ceiling, reflecting soft light off the obsidian tiles. The waters, infused with enchanted minerals, were warm—but to Ainz, they were only… still.

He didn't breathe. He didn't need to.

And yet, he sighed—purely out of habit.

His eyes drifted down to his exposed hand above the water. The pale skin looked unchanged, yet he could still sense it—that faint shimmer of crimson running beneath the surface. It no longer pulsed violently like it had during the battle, but the afterimage lingered.

Suzuki Satoru: "It's stabilizing…"

He opened his status window.

His HP had recovered. Slowly, naturally.

Fifty percent.

More than expected.

"So… it wasn't permanent," he muttered aloud, voice quiet in the warm echo of stone and water. "The drain stopped the moment the battle ended. And now… rest is enough to restore it."

It was a relief he hadn't dared voice during the debriefing. The last thing he needed was Albedo or Demiurge panicking over his "mortal" fragility.

But inside?

The weight lifted.

He wasn't dying. Not unless he kept invoking that power carelessly. As long as he didn't tap into it recklessly, the skin's strange behavior seemed reversible. Manageable.

"Still… what was that?"

He remembered the feeling: a storm swelling inside him, intensifying with every spell cast. His body weakening, but his magic growing stronger, as if blood itself had become a catalyst. That wasn't normal. Not even in Yggdrasil. Not even in this world.

A cosmetic skin… had fused with his being.

"Lore mechanics?" he mused. "Or something this world invented on its own?"

He sank a little deeper into the water, letting it curl under his chin. The quiet was soothing, but his mind raced behind the stillness.

"I relied on items and mana efficiency… but the power I used came at a cost I didn't foresee."

He clenched one hand beneath the surface.

It wasn't the gold that bothered him. Nor the mana. It was how easily he had adapted to it. How natural it felt, losing health in exchange for power. Almost addictive.

Would he be able to stop the next time?

Suzuki Satoru: "If I let that power take root again, will I still be… me?"

Ainz looked up at the crystal-lit ceiling. The steam danced across his vision like distant ghosts.

"It's fine. I'm back to fifty percent. I can recover."

But even as he reassured himself, a quiet part of him remembered how effortless it had been to surrender his lifeforce in battle. Not as a last resort… but as instinct.

A new instinct.

"It's not just magic anymore," he thought. "It's a change in what I am."

He closed his eyes.

And beneath the still waters of the bath, somewhere deep and quiet, a pulse—not of blood, but of something far older—stirred once more.

**************

The dining hall of Nazarick was quiet, save for the gentle clinking of cutlery.

Ainz Ooal Gown sat alone at the long obsidian table, his Raizel-like appearance immaculate, robes restored and layered with subtle embroidery. Before him sat a small, simple meal: seared river fish, a bowl of vegetable porridge, and warm, crusty bread. Steam curled from the dishes, the scent surprisingly pleasant.

He picked up the spoon, dipped it into the porridge, and brought it to his lips.

Chew. Swallow.

There was no hunger. Not really. But he chewed anyway.

I don't feel the urge to eat… but I still want to taste.

The warmth spread through his mouth, down his throat. It wasn't exhilarating, nor was it dull. But it was something. Tangible. Real.

Back in Yggdrasil, food meant nothing. Even after arriving in this world, eating was symbolic at best—tasteless or outright repulsive. But now… I can enjoy this. Even if it's unnecessary.

He reached for the fish next. The texture was firm, the seasoning light.

Behind him, the Pleiades and Sebas stood in silent formation. They had seen him eat before, after the battle with Shalltear—but that didn't stop their eyes from flicking toward each bite he took.

Narberal's eyes lingered on his hand as he delicately broke off a piece of bread.

CZ's internal systems logged the moment with mechanical precision.

Yuri adjusted her glasses, but said nothing.

Sebas, ever-attentive, finally spoke in his calm, respectful tone. "Shall I inform the kitchens that your current dietary capacity remains unchanged, Ainz-sama?"

Ainz nodded once. "Yes. Maintain one meal per day. No changes to schedule."

Lupusregina bounced lightly on her heels, grinning. "You eat so gracefully, Ainz-sama~ It's kind of soothing to watch!"

Solution's eyes narrowed slightly, her voice smooth. "If this continues… will our master truly walk among the living again?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he placed his fork down, wiping his fingers gently with a silk napkin.

And then—

Suzuki Satoru: Honestly… this whole thing is surreal. Me, eating breakfast like a vampire noble in a gothic palace, surrounded by beautiful battle maids… If my coworkers back at the office saw this, they'd probably assume I died and got isekai'd into a dating sim.

He resisted the urge to sigh.

And to make things worse, the food's actually good. I've had worse breakfasts in Tokyo. At least here, no convenience store curry is trying to kill me.

He glanced down at the warm porridge, then at the untouched bread.

No heartbeat. No need to eat. But the taste is decent and nobody's judging me.

He glanced at the maids again.

Okay. They are totally judging me. Probably writing mental essays about how majestic I look chewing bread like a mortal. Great.

But still… it was peaceful.

And somehow… that comforted him more than he expected.

****************

The laboratory was quiet again—only the distant pulse of magical cores humming like a heartbeat.

Ainz stood before a crystalline viewing array, reviewing the battle log for the second time he invoked Apocalypse.

No mistake.

The system had logged it. Named it. Recognized it.

But this time, something had changed.

There was no randomness. No anomaly warning. The system classified Apocalypse not as an event or glitch…

But as a spell.

So it's not a one-time lore effect…

It's real magic now.

My magic.

He tapped through system layers, bypassing administrative menus only the most dedicated Yggdrasil veterans could navigate.

After the aftermath of Shalltear's resurrection and his private reprieve, Ainz returned to what he did best—calculation, strategy, and study. No longer was he simply the overlord of Nazarick. The cosmetic form he had donned—the Bloodlord of Elegance—had proven to be far more than vanity. It was a conduit, a key to something deeper.

Within one of the private research halls of Nazarick, where arcane sigils glowed faintly across polished black stone, Ainz stood over a projection table. Magical diagrams and data floated in layers, suspended midair.

"Let's start by refining what we already know… and identifying what I've yet to understand."

Crimson Vein Form – Compiled Properties

Noblesse Bloodline (Passive):

Tier 1–5 spells: Instant cast, zero cooldown.

Tier 6–10 spells: 50% faster casting.

Mana cost x3.

Crimson Flow (Passive):

Spell damage scales with bleeding HP.

Requires the caster to be actively bleeding.

No set damage cap confirmed.

Activation Threshold:

Form only awakens above 10,000 MP.

Deactivates if mana drops below limit.

Unique Skill: Apocalypse

Classification: Unknown (Beyond Super-Tier)

Casting Condition: Active bleeding + Mana ≥ 10,000

Cost: Consumes large MP + proportional HP loss

Damage Output: Comparable to low-tier World Item destruction

Limit: Can only be used twice per transformation. Third attempt risks collapse or fatal backlash.

Form Requirement: Bound to the Bloodlord cosmetic body.

Ainz leaned over the table, watching simulations of the spell replay.

"It wasn't just raw destruction," he murmured. "The second casting pierced Shalltear's clone even deeper. The effect... compounded."

Apocalypse: Wide-area annihilation, forceful detonation. pierce resistance based on blood loss. 

"I was lucky," Ainz muttered. "I met the activation conditions twice. Had my regen gear not kept my MP up, I doubt the second would've been possible"

He paced in front of the mirror-like projection wall.

"The cost is steep… but the potential? Massive. This isn't just a transformation—it's a design. An architecture built for magical dominance… hidden behind a flashy event skin."

He paused, running calculations aloud.

"So long as I'm bleeding—and above 10,000 MP—I can use Apocalypse. Blood and mana both as fuel. The moment either condition drops, the spell locks. Logical. Dangerous."

He summoned a mirror and studied himself again.

"To think I picked this for the aesthetics…"

Then he laughed quietly.

"Twelve thousand yen well spent. But I better not tell anyone that this power came from a limited-time promo pack."

His voice dropped, half amused, half wary.

"And if this skin has already revealed so much... what else is hidden?"

He raised his hand and muttered:

"/analyze: latent traits."

No response.

Yet.

He turned from the glowing symbols, cloak trailing behind him.

"I'll figure it out. Alone, if I must. No one else should carry this burden… until I fully control it."

This power—of blood, of elegance, of sovereignty—was now his to master.

And it was only the beginning.