Overlord: The Wandering Sorcerer Chapter 19 — The Forgotten Guild
The armored NPC remained kneeling.
Momonga studied him carefully.
There was something strangely familiar about the scene.
Not the armor.
Not the enormous sword.
Not even the ancient guild hall.
It was the attitude.
The absolute certainty that Momonga was someone important.
Someone who belonged here.
Yet Momonga knew the truth.
He had never seen this place before.
He had never met this NPC.
And whatever guild had once ruled this underground fortress had nothing to do with him.
At least, that was what he believed.
“Stand up,” Momonga repeated.
The armored warrior rose.
“What is your name?”
The warrior hesitated.
“My name…”
His hand moved toward his helmet.
“I do not remember.”
Momonga frowned.
“You don’t remember your own name?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was created with one.”
“And?”
“It was taken from me.”
Momonga glanced at the silver-haired woman.
“Like yours?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“Who took them?”
Neither answered.
The armored NPC looked toward the empty throne.
“The Master.”
Momonga’s expression hardened.
“The player?”
“Yes.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you still obeying him?”
The warrior was silent.
Finally, he answered:
“Because he told us to wait.”
Momonga stared at him.
“For how long?”
“Until he returned.”
A strange feeling passed through Momonga.
He understood.
He understood far too well.
If Nabe had been left behind in Nazarick…
If the others had disappeared…
If she had been ordered to wait…
Would she have waited?
Of course.
That was what NPCs did.
They existed to serve the wishes of their creators.
Momonga looked at Nabe.
She was watching him.
Neither said anything.
Evileye broke the silence.
“How many of you are still alive?”
The warrior looked at her.
“Seven.”
Momonga’s eyes narrowed.
“Seven NPCs?”
“Seven who remain.”
“And the others?”
“Dead.”
“What killed them?”
The warrior looked toward the darkness.
“Time.”
Momonga didn’t understand.
“Time?”
“They were not designed to survive without their Master’s power.”
The silver-haired woman nodded.
“Some weakened.”
“Some went mad.”
“Some simply stopped moving.”
Momonga looked around the vast chamber.
All those statues.
All those empty rooms.
An entire civilization created by a player…
and abandoned.
He suddenly felt something very close to sadness.
“How old is this place?”
The warrior answered:
“Two hundred and thirteen years.”
Momonga froze.
Evileye looked at him.
“That’s…”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
The timing was too close.
The woman they had met earlier had also mentioned two hundred years.
Momonga looked at her.
“You said you were created here.”
“Yes.”
“Two hundred and thirteen years ago?”
She nodded.
“Approximately.”
“Then the player arrived here more than two centuries ago.”
“Yes.”
Momonga’s thoughts accelerated.
That meant the transfer of players had happened long before his arrival.
Perhaps this guild had been one of the earliest.
Perhaps the world had been shaped by them.
Perhaps the legends of the Six Great Gods, the Eight Greed Kings and other mysterious beings were connected to the same phenomenon.
The New World wasn’t merely a world where players had appeared.
It was a world where players had been appearing for centuries.
Momonga looked at the throne.
“Who was your master?”
The armored NPC lowered his head.
“I cannot say.”
“Why?”
“He forbade us from speaking his name.”
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
“Why?”
The warrior looked at him.
“Because the name itself is dangerous.”
Evileye stepped closer.
“A name can’t be dangerous.”
The warrior turned toward her.
“This one can.”
Momonga raised a hand.
“Enough.”
He looked toward the seven empty passages leading away from the hall.
“Where are the others?”
“Scattered.”
“Why?”
“The guild fell.”
“What happened?”
The warrior’s answer was simple.
“War.”
Momonga’s eyes narrowed.
“With whom?”
“Other players.”
Silence.
That single sentence changed everything.
Momonga walked slowly toward the throne.
“Other players attacked this guild?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I do not know.”
“Did they win?”
The warrior looked at the empty throne.
“No.”
Momonga stopped.
“Then who did?”
The warrior answered:
“Everyone.”
Momonga turned.
“What?”
“They destroyed one another.”
The silver-haired woman continued the explanation.
“There were too many factions.”
“Too many players?”
“Too many powers.”
“Some wanted control.”
“Some wanted freedom.”
“Some wanted to return.”
“Some wanted to become gods.”
“And some…”
She looked toward the broken walls.
“…simply wanted to survive.”
Momonga remained silent.
It sounded painfully familiar.
Even in YGGDRASIL, guilds had fought over territory.
Players had betrayed one another.
Alliances had collapsed.
But this…
This was different.
They had brought their wars into another world.
And the world had remembered.
Momonga turned toward Evileye.
“You said the legends of the Six Great Gods were more than six centuries old.”
“Yes.”
“And the Eight Greed Kings?”
“Several centuries later.”
Momonga looked at the woman.
“Then this isn’t the first guild.”
“No.”
“How many?”
She shook her head.
“Nobody knows.”
Momonga’s mind raced.
The entire history of the New World might be connected to YGGDRASIL.
The Dragon Lords.
The God-kin.
The legendary heroes.
The strange magical items.
The world-class items.
The mysterious ruins.
All of it.
And now…
another guild base.
A guild base that had been waiting for its master for more than two centuries.
Nabe stepped beside him.
“What will you do?”
Momonga looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
That answer surprised even him.
Nabe smiled.
“Then this is the first time.”
“The first time what?”
“You have admitted it.”
Momonga gave a quiet laugh.
“Don’t get used to it.”
Evileye watched them.
“You two really are strange.”
Momonga looked at her.
“Compared to this place?”
She considered the question.
“Fair enough.”
Suddenly, a bell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The armored NPC immediately turned.
“Intruders.”
Momonga raised his staff.
“Where?”
“Outer chamber.”
“How many?”
The NPC closed his eyes.
“Three.”
Evileye frowned.
“Human?”
“No.”
Momonga’s gaze sharpened.
“Then what?”
The warrior looked toward the entrance.
“Undead.”
Momonga relaxed slightly.
“Only undead?”
The NPC shook his head.
“They are led by a living human.” This story is hosted at g.com.
Momonga’s expression changed.
“Clementine?”
“No.”
The warrior’s answer was immediate.
“Another.”
Momonga turned toward the silver-haired woman.
“You said the tomb was hidden.”
“It was.”
“Then how did they find it?”
She looked toward the ceiling.
“They followed you.”
Momonga’s eyes narrowed.
“Me?”
“The mark.”
He understood.
The mark wasn’t merely identifying him.
It was broadcasting his location.
“Can you remove it?”
“No.”
“Can you hide it?”
The woman hesitated.
“Perhaps.”
“Do it.”
She approached him.
Before she could touch the symbol, the entire hall shook.
The armored warrior drew his sword.
“Too late.”
A distant explosion echoed through the corridor.
Then another.
Something was fighting its way toward them.
Momonga raised his staff.
“Everyone stay behind me.”
Nabe immediately objected.
“No.”
Momonga looked at her.
“You are not taking all the danger yourself.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
She smiled.
“We fight together.”
Evileye raised her hand.
“I hate to admit it, but she’s right.”
Momonga sighed.
“Fine.”
The silver-haired NPC stood beside them.
“You should know something.”
“What?”
“The enemies coming here…”
She looked toward the corridor.
“…are not here to kill you.”
Momonga frowned.
“Then what do they want?”
She answered quietly.
“The same thing everyone wants.”
“What?”
She looked at the empty throne.
“The guild.”
The first undead entered the chamber.
A skeleton warrior.
Then another.
Then another.
Behind them came armored undead soldiers.
Dozens.
At their center walked a man.
He wore a long black coat.
His face was hidden behind a silver mask.
Momonga immediately recognized something.
Not the man.
His equipment.
The magic radiating from it.
It was unmistakably YGGDRASIL.
The masked man stopped.
He looked at Momonga.
Then at Nabe.
Then at the throne.
Finally, he laughed.
“So…”
His voice was calm.
“…another player.”
Momonga raised his staff.
“Who are you?”
The man removed his mask.
Momonga’s eyes widened.
Evileye stepped backward.
Nabe drew her sword.
Because the face beneath the mask was not human.
It was skeletal.
But unlike Momonga…
this undead wore a smile.
And around his neck hung a familiar guild emblem.
Momonga recognized it immediately.
He had seen that emblem before.
In YGGDRASIL.
The masked undead smiled.
“Don’t you recognize your own kind?”
Momonga stared at him.
“You are a player.”
The undead laughed.
“No.”
He raised one hand.
“I am what happens when a player loses.”
The seven remaining NPCs appeared behind Momonga.
The masked undead looked at them.
Then at the throne.
“Interesting.”
His smile widened.
“The guild still has a successor.”
Momonga tightened his grip on his staff.
“You’re mistaken.”
“Am I?”
The undead looked directly at Nabe.
“Then why does the tomb recognize her?”
Momonga said nothing.
The undead laughed again.
“Now this is interesting.”
He raised his hand.
The undead army behind him advanced.
“Let’s see what kind of Supreme Being you are.”
Momonga’s red eyes burned brighter.
He lifted his staff.
“Very well.”
The underground guild hall erupted into battle.