Ainz Ooal Gown: Noble Knight

Barubro stopped in front of the door, glanced back at the way he had come, and saw that the alley was empty except for a stray cat in the corner staring at him with its green eyes.

He raised his hand and knocked rhythmically on the door a few times.

Nine shallow and one deep.

A slight noise came from behind the door, and the door opened a crack, revealing half of a fierce-looking face. The murky eyes swept over Balubro.

"who?"

“…Guests from the capital.” Barubro lowered his voice.

The man with the menacing face remained silent for a moment, then pushed the door open a little more and stepped aside to make way.

Barubolo slipped inside.

The door slammed shut behind him, the hinges making a dry creaking sound, like a sigh that had been cut off.

Behind the door was a narrow corridor, with an oil lamp that was about to burn out embedded every few steps on the walls on both sides. The dim yellow light spread out in a small circle in the air, but could not illuminate the darkness at the end.

At the end of the corridor, there was another door. The man with the menacing face stopped and turned to make a gesture towards Balubro.

"The master is inside, please."

Barubro pushed open the door.

The room was more spacious than I had expected.

A long table was placed in the center, with several candles lit on it. The candlelight remained motionless in the enclosed space, illuminating the room brightly.

At the other end of the long table sat a man in his fifties.

He wore a dark robe with a water god emblem pinned to his collar. He had a kind face and a faint smile on his lips, looking like a benevolent old priest in a rural church.

Barublow knew that this person was the unifier of the eight fingers.

The behemoth that once entrenched itself underground in the kingdom, controlling eight departments including the slave trade, drug smuggling, assassination, and gambling, was organized and managed in the open by this man.

Although Eight Fingers has now been wiped out by Lana and Blue Rose, even a weakened camel is bigger than a horse.

Some of the remaining forces hidden beneath the surface still obey his commands.

"Your Highness," the Integrator bowed slightly, "Is there something urgent that brings you here so late at night?"

Barubolo made no small talk.

He sat down in the chair opposite the Integrator, took off his hat, and tossed it casually onto the table.

The candlelight fell on his square face, illuminating the anxiety between his brows.

"That thing you mentioned last time," Balbro said bluntly, "the sacred relic that can summon demons, do you still have it?"

The integrator's eyebrows twitched slightly.

He picked up the teapot on the table, poured a cup of tea, and pushed it in front of Baruburo.

"Please have some, Your Highness."

Barubro didn't touch the cup of tea, staring intently at the other person.

The Integrator paid no heed to the threat in the eldest prince's eyes; the smile on his kind face remained unchanged.

"Of course it's still there. It's a sacred relic that we [Eight Fingers] discovered in the world's greatest demonic ruins. It's extremely precious, so we naturally won't consume it easily."

The candle flame flickered, casting the two shadows onto the wall.

“Since it’s so precious,” Baruburo said, ready to negotiate, “what are your conditions for using this sacred relic?”

The candlelight flickered in the Integrator's eyes, casting his seemingly gentle gaze on and off.

"It's simple, help us rebuild the [Eight Fingers]."

Barublow frowned slightly.

“Right after Your Highness becomes king,” the Integrator added, “at that time, all you need to do is slightly tilt your policies and leave a crack for [Eight Fingers], and we will be able to take root and grow on our own without causing Your Highness any trouble.”

After a moment's thought, Barubolo made his decision.

“Of course, that’s no problem,” he answered readily, but then changed the subject, “only…”

The integrator looked at the eldest prince, patiently waiting for what would follow.

"The demons summoned by your artifacts," Balubro's voice was somewhat low, "are they truly controllable? I'm worried..."

"Don't worry, Your Highness," the Integrator said, reassuring the prince. "While the demon attack will cause some civilian casualties, the number will definitely not be too high. We will control the scale and ensure that the situation remains under control."

Barubro's expression turned somewhat incredulous.

"What a joke." His voice suddenly rose a few decibels. "Who cares about the lives of those lowly people?"

The integrator's smile froze for a moment.

“What I’m asking is,” Baruburo’s gaze was fixed on the other’s face, “whether the highest-ranking demon you mentioned is truly controllable and can be destroyed.”

The room fell silent.

The candle wax slowly slid down the candle body, forming a milky white tear stain on the bronze candlestick.

The Integrator looked at Barubro as if confirming something.

There was no feigned kindness on that face. He never cared about civilian casualties; he only cared about whether the play could end perfectly according to his script.

The integrator's lips curled up slightly, revealing a meaningful smile.

"Your Highness, you are truly unexpected."

His voice finally carried a hint of genuine admiration, as if he were getting to know the person in front of him all over again.

Barublow ignored this comment and waited for what was to come.

The integrator's smile faded, and he reverted to his gentle demeanor.

"Of course, with the abilities of that powerful adventurer Feifei, all you need to do is maintain order and let Feifei kill the highest-ranking demon. You will gain the greatest prestige by successfully saving the capital."

After listening, Baruburo did not nod, and remained silent for a long time.

“If…” Balubro suddenly began, “I would personally kill the demon.”

The integrators stopped moving.

He was unusually flustered for a moment, but quickly regained his smile.

"Of course, Your Highness."

“Then I will reduce the demon’s strength so that you can kill it and gain enough prestige.”

Looking at the other person's face, which had regained its smile, Barubro finally saw a look of satisfaction in those blue eyes.

He smiled slightly, revealing a smug expression.

"very good."

He stood up, picked up the hat from the table, and put it back on.

The integrator also stood up and bowed slightly.

"Your Highness, please take care."

The door closed gently behind him.

The Integrator was left alone in the room. He stood by the long table, the candlelight casting his solitary shadow on the tapestry, overlapping with the face of the merciful water god.

He reached out, picked up the untouched cup of tea in front of Baruburo, and poured it into the basin of sewage on the ground.

Chapter 63 is coming.

The capital city spent another day as usual.

The sun peeked out from behind the eastern horizon, first as a faint golden hue, then gradually spread out, enveloping the entire city in a warm halo.

As more pedestrians appeared on the streets, vendors opened their shop doors, the aroma of baking bread wafted from the bakery, and the first crisp sound of hammering echoed from the blacksmith's shop.

Several children chased each other across the stone path, their cheerful laughter startling the birds on the eaves.

Since the destruction of the Eight Fingers, the security in the capital has improved considerably.

The drugs that were once traded in the back alleys, and the slave trade hidden deep within brothels, all disappeared with the dismantling of that criminal organization.

Various factions, for their own purposes, have never stopped suppressing the remaining forces of the "Eight Fingers".

The capital city thus presented a thriving and prosperous appearance.

The citizens walking on the street looked much more relaxed than before.

But this false peace was soon shattered.

As night fell, the last rays of sunlight sank below the horizon, and the entire city was swallowed by darkness.

The number of pedestrians on the street gradually decreased, and shops closed one after another. Only a few lights leaked out from the cracks in the windows, casting faint patches of light on the road.

then

A scream pierced the night sky.

The sound came from an alley on the east side of the capital, sharp and short, as if it had been abruptly cut off by something.

Then more screams erupted from the last remaining stronghold of the Eight Fingers, rising and falling like an invisible net that enveloped the entire city.

Inside the stronghold, Demiurge stood in the center of the hall, the blood flowing from the corpses of the [Eight Fingers] members at his feet forming a bizarre pattern.

It looks like some kind of cult ritual.

A look of reluctance appeared on that cunning face.

He took out a palm-sized golden statue, engraved with twisted demonic patterns, and its six gems shone brightly.

[Armageddon Evil]

Demiurge whispered the name of the prop, his slender fingers gently stroking the surface of the statue, as if bidding farewell to an old friend.

This was a gift from his creator, Ulbert, who left this precious artifact to him before departing.

He had always been reluctant to use Lord Ulbert's gift.

But for now, he has no choice but to use this item for Nazarick and Lord Ainz's plans.

Demiurge took a deep breath and activated the statue's power.