The halls of Nazarick stood silent, save for the soft echo of solitary footsteps.
Ainz Ooal Gown—still clad in his noble traveling cloak, hair tied loosely behind his back—moved without escort. No Albedo. No Demiurge. No Aura watching from the treetops. He had ordered everyone to leave him alone.
This was a test he needed to conduct alone.
No interruptions. No misunderstandings. No accidental injury. The only companion he brought was a single recording orb, stationed at a safe distance to observe in silence.
He entered an unused chamber on the Ninth Floor—one originally built as a PvP dueling arena. The tiles gleamed faintly beneath illusionary moonlight. A perfect place to test the unknown.
He stood in the center, arms crossed.
Let's go over what we know.
The moment he had worn the Bloodlord of Elegance skin, something had changed. No stats were attached to it, not even hidden modifiers in the equipment tab.
And yet—his spellcasting speed had increased dramatically.
Passive:Noblesse Bloodline – For casters above 10,000 MP:
Spellcasting speed drastically increased.
All spells cost triple the normal mana.
No cooldown for Tier 1–4 spells.
Tier 5–10 spells cast 50% faster.
A synergized effect he hadn't even known existed.
Then came the Crimson Flow trait:
Cooldown reduction: moderate.
Slightly increased spell damage scaling when bleeding.
Blood loss accelerates magical force output passively.
I still don't know if Crimson Flow is an extension of the skin or a new ability entirely… but it's real. And it's dangerous.
And then there was the crown jewel—Apocalypse.
A spell unlike any in his arsenal.
He raised one gloved hand, remembering the moment he first invoked it. The words hadn't come from his grimoire. They had welled up from inside him, urged by the unnatural fusion of cold undeath and noble blood.
"It wasn't written anywhere. Not even in the code. But I spoke the name, and it obeyed."
He stepped into the center ring.
Mana flowed naturally now. Almost too naturally. And his HP, though stable, felt… reactive. His body no longer lost health automatically, not unless he cast while bleeding.
"That's the price. Apocalypse only triggers while I'm wounded—actively losing health. It uses mana and blood to empower itself."
His expression hardened.
"Minimum 10,000 MP to activate… and it's not sustainable unless I'm already in battle."
But he had cast it twice.
Twice.
Without dying.
He'd been lucky. Perhaps it had a per-day limit. Perhaps it was tied to how deeply the skin had fused. He didn't know. And that's why he was here.
"No assumptions. Test everything."
He opened his inventory.
Carefully, he retrieved a high-grade alchemical dagger—standard in testing blood-trigger effects. With a small breath, he lightly cut across his palm.
Blood welled. A slow, deliberate trail.
His HP dipped—just slightly.
He raised his hand.
Nothing.
"Not enough."
Another cut. Deeper.
Now, HP began ticking.
Mana surged toward his fingertips, responding automatically. He could feel the crimson aura coil around his form—subtle, regal.
Ainz narrowed his eyes.
Then, in a low voice that didn't echo, he whispered:
"Apocalypse."
The ground trembled.
The sky darkened—not from clouds, but from absence. Color drained. Sound muffled.
The world wept silence.
At the spell's center, crimson light spiraled into a lotus-shaped bloom—elegant, slow, inevitable—before unfolding with regal finality.
No explosion.
Only collapse.
The enemy dummy was there—then wasn't. The earth was solid—then hollowed.
And when it ended, the only thing left in the air was a trace of iron and dignity.
He bled quietly, power still circling him like a silent requiem.
When the light faded, he stood still, breathing slow.
HP dropped by 38%.
MP dropped by 60%.
"So… it scales with both. But the damage output… it was stronger than [Reality Slash]."
He stared at his hand, where the aura still lingered.
"And yet… I can't cast it now. The blood flow stopped. My health stabilized."
He clenched his fist.
"That explains why I could only use it twice during the Shalltear battle. The spell requires active bleeding. When the body stops bleeding, the spell becomes dormant."
He slowly smiled.
"Good. That gives me control. I'm not going to drop dead in a throne room by sneezing too hard."
Still…
It also meant if he ever bled again, even from a minor cut, and had over 10,000 mana, Apocalypse might trigger unintentionally. Or worse—leave him vulnerable after.
"Risky. But powerful."
He raised his hand again and cast a Tier 7 spell: [Black Hole Flare].
It erupted instantly. a bit delay.
"Cast time almost zero. I'll never go back to old chanting."
He followed up with [Ice Storm], [Summon Undead: Wraith Generals], and a Tier 3 spell [Magic Arrow].
Each flowed seamlessly.
No cooldown between the low tiers.
He tested Tier 9 and 10 spells next: [Reality Slash], [Time Stop], [Triplet Maximize Magic: Infernal Divide].
These still had short animation delays—but far shorter than expected.
"About half a second delay for Tier 9 and 10. Tier 1 to 4, no delay. Tier 5 to 8, 50% casting time reduction. That much, at least, is consistent."
He wiped the drying blood from his palm and summoned a healing potion.
The moment the wound closed, he tried again.
"Apocalypse."
Nothing.
Exactly as expected.
"Only during bleeding."
He stepped back, noting the last of the mana drop had regenerated slightly faster than normal. He checked the overlay.
Passive Detected: Noblesse Pulse – Mana regeneration increased when not in combat. HP regeneration disabled unless resting.
So that's how I recovered 50% of my HP in the bath, he mused. Passive HP regen is gone—but if I rest in non-combat, it slowly returns.
And with my gear still focused on mana efficiency… triple mana cost isn't a death sentence.
He opened his log and began to jot everything down—mentally noting to inform Demiurge only what he needed to know.
"I won't share everything just yet. This isn't Yggdrasil anymore. No need to min-max with a forum build."
Ainz turned toward the exit.
He had learned much.
Now it was time to put it to use.
Not just as Ainz Ooal Gown.
But as the Crimson Sovereign.
******************
Within the central chamber of the Eighth Floor—the Hall of Stars—seven figures gathered around a projection array conjured by observation orb that has been used by ainz in experimenting his newly found power. A swirling image of Ainz casting Apocalypse hovered above the marble dais, replaying the scene in perfect detail.
A moment of silence passed.
Then a voice broke it.
"Astounding…" Cocytus rumbled, arms crossed over his chest, breath steaming in the cold aura that always surrounded him. "Such elegance… such destruction. To think that was no World Item. No super-tier. Merely Ainz-sama's will."
Aura whistled softly. "That spell—Apocalypse, right? It felt like the air cried. I thought the training room might get erased off the map."
"It nearly did," Mare added timidly, clutching his staff tightly. "The entire floor's mana flow changed. Even the trees reacted."
Demiurge adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable but voice reverent. "This is no longer mere magic. It is poetry in devastation. Our master's form has transcended the confines of Yggdrasil's system. This... 'Crimson Sovereign'... is the emergence of a true apex entity."
"You mean…" Sebas tilted his head, voice calm yet edged with curiosity, "...he's evolving?"
"Not in the biological sense," Demiurge replied. "But conceptually? Yes."
Shalltear, seated quietly on a velvet-cushioned chair, still feeling guilty, lowered her gaze. "I... fought that power. Twice. And even then… I didn't survive it. Not truly. i watch the recording, without the resurrection item...... i would"
"You should not feel shame," Albedo said gently but firmly, placing a hand over her heart. "You were merely the first to witness his evolution firsthand."
Then she stepped forward, facing them all.
"Let us not speak of him now as only the Supreme Ruler of Nazarick," she said, voice rising with solemn pride. "What we saw in the duel… what we felt when he cast that spell—was sovereignty incarnate."
A pause.
She turned to Demiurge.
"You saw it, didn't you?"
"I did," he replied.
The others looked to him.
Demiurge's gaze turned toward the projection again—toward the moment the rose-petal-shaped blast of Apocalypse bloomed and devoured the battlefield in silence and grace.
"That was not rage. Nor was it divine punishment. It was clarity. Precision. Restraint in ruin. Our master could have reduced the floor to ash—but chose instead to conduct it as a performance. He transcends mere domination."
Cocytus nodded slowly. "A warrior may win by force. A king by command. But Ainz-sama… he wins by essence."
"Indeed," Albedo agreed. "From the Supreme King of Death… he has become something more. One who commands even the domain of life."
"And bleeds with purpose," Shalltear added softly, her eyes distant. "Every drop fueling that power…"
Aura grinned. "Which means if anyone tries to hurt him—they're just making him stronger!"
Mare looked worried. "But… won't that also mean he's hurting too?"
Demiurge placed a hand gently on Mare's shoulder.
"He carries that pain for all of us."
Albedo's voice softened.
"And we must ensure no one outside Nazarick ever makes him bleed again."
The projection dimmed, but the tension in the room did not.
They all understood something fundamental had changed.
Their master was still undead. Still the overlord who had ruled them with flawless strategy and infinite dignity.
But now…
He walked with a different power.
A nobility not granted by class or item—but by presence.
The Crimson Sovereign had awakened.
They all understood something fundamental had changed.
Their master was still undead. Still the overlord who had ruled them with flawless strategy and infinite dignity.
But now…
He walked with a different power.
A nobility not granted by class or item—but by presence.
The Crimson Sovereign had awakened.
And the world would tremble to know him.
The Crimson Sovereign… the one who controls both death and life.