**Chapter 1: The Thirty-Day Death Sentence** 

**\[The Kingdom of Re-Estize\]** **\[The Royal Palace: The Throne Room\]**

The heavy oak doors sealed shut.

The loud reverberation severed the **Kingdom of Re-Estize** from the outside world. Albedo was gone. The Prime Minister of the Sorcerer Kingdom had delivered her mandate and departed, removing her pitch-black wings and white gown from the blue carpet of the dais. Yet her terrifying presence lingered. A thick silence flooded the grand chamber, rushing in to fill the vacuum of power. It pressed down on the lungs of the gathered aristocracy like an iron weight.

Standing rigid near the base of the royal steps, **Zanac Valleon Igana Ryle Vaiself** clamped his jaw shut. A single drop of cold sweat slid down his back. He ground his teeth together, straining to keep his jaw from trembling.

The weight of an impending death sentence now loomed over his entire nation.

He looked toward the elevated throne**. King Ramposa III** sat paralyzed. The aging monarch had just offered his own severed head to spare his nation. The Prime Minister of the Sorcerer Kingdom had rejected the royal sacrifice with casual disdain, tossing the king's life aside like a tarnished copper coin.

That brutal rejection aged Ramposa ten years in a single minute. The golden crown rested upon the brow of a broken man. Staring blankly at the sealed doors, the king's eyes reflected the collapse of a 200-year dynasty.

To Zanac's left sat his sister, Renner. Keeping her eyes cast downward, she clutched her delicate hands tightly in her lap. Her face was pale with shock. She projected the flawless image of a terrified princess witnessing the end of her fairy-tale world.

The oppressive quiet could not hold.

"This is a conspiracy!"

Breaking from the rigid ranks, a prominent noble wearing a crimson coat pointed a trembling finger toward the oak doors. His voice cracked with hysterical pitch, providing the spark the terrified room needed to ignite.

"The Sorcerer Kingdom manufactured this crisis!" the baron roared. Spittle flew from his pale lips. "The attack on their grain carriage was a fake pretext! They engineered the theft to justify an invasion!"

The room was packed tight with Ministers, high lords, and diplomats of the kingdom, and the discipline of the royal court collapsed into a vicious shouting match. Cornered prey took over the minds of the aristocrats.

"Then execute Philip!" another lord demanded. His face turned purple with rising panic. "Sever the idiot's head today! Send it on a silver spike to E-Rantel! We must appease them!"

"Appease them?" **The Minister of Military Affairs** countered. Gripping the pommel of his ceremonial sword, he stepped toward the screaming noble. "They rejected the King's life! Diplomacy is not an option anymore. Those monsters want us dead! Therefore, we must mobilize the levies! Call the provincial banners! And draft the peasantry to fortify the capital!"

"With what army?!" a noble wept, clutching his manicured face. "They slaughtered seventy thousand men on the Katze Plains! In a single breath! In a single spell, have you forgotten that? Our stone walls and Combined Army are wet paper to them!"

Watching the wealthy men devolve into rabid animals, **Count Meriven** stood near the edge of the mob. The aristocrat tugged frantically at his silk collar, struggling to draw a full breath. Acidic bile pooled in his throat. His vast estates and high stone walls offered zero protection against a god of death. Noble titles no longer functioned as geopolitical shields. They were targets painted in blood. Meriven embraced the grim truth. The wealth they hoarded meant nothing to rotting bone.

To prevent a full riot, the **Minister of Internal Affairs** stepped forward. He raised his voice, projecting a fragile authority over the mounting hysteria, and slammed his walking cane against the marble floor.

"Quiet! Reclaim your dignity!" the Minister argued, silencing a pocket of weeping lords. "We still possess diplomatic avenues. The Sorcerer Kingdom rejected our formal apology. We must send urgent missives to the Argland Council State and the Slane Theocracy. We will expose this unprovoked extermination."

Sweeping his gaze across the terrified faces, the Minister offered them a lifeline woven from political spin.

"We must ensure the world knows Ainz Ooal Gown acts as a ravenous butcher. We will ruin their geopolitical reputation. We will turn the world against them."

Desperate aristocrats latched onto the logic. Affirmative murmurs rippled through the hall as the illusion of a counterattack provided a temporary balm to their shredded nerves.

While the nobles embraced the fragile hope, Zanac analyzed the proposal. The core logic rang hollow. He tuned out the shifting arguments of the court and retreated into his own mind. He needed to dissect the thirty-day ultimatum.

*A month.* The deadline echoed in his head. *Ainz Ooal Gown commands legions of the undead. Skeletal soldiers require no sleep. They consume no rations. They suffer no fatigue. A forced march from E-Rantel takes days, not thirty.*

He dug deeper into the catalyst of the war.

*A stolen grain carriage. A petty, foolish crime committed by a bottom-tier noble. A true sovereign does not burn a continent over a single cart of wheat. This is an excuse. The Sorcerer King orchestrated this conflict. He wanted a war, and Philip handed him the blade.*

A cold, heavy knot tightened in Zanac’s stomach. Connected to the absurdity of the crime, the agonizing delay made cruel sense.

*It is not a diplomatic grace period. It is a psychological weapon. He grants us time to turn on one another. He wants greedy merchants to hoard grain. He wants starving citizens to riot in the streets. We will tear our own throats out before a single Death Knight breaches the walls. The Sorcerer Kingdom does not need to conquer the capital. The Kingdom of Re-Estize will implode on its own.*

"Silence."

The rising murmur of the court met a scraped, dry voice. King Ramposa raised a trembling hand. The single word carried enough residual royal authority to quell the chamber, shifting the focus back to the dais.

"No one will act in blind panic," the King commanded. He gripped the armrests tightly to hide his shaking fingers. "Philip will be summoned and questioned tomorrow morning. Evidence will be gathered. The court will prepare an official account of the incident."

A furious murmur rose from the faction demanding Philip's execution. Ramposa silenced them with a heavy glare.

Zanac understood his father's logic perfectly. Executing a vassal under foreign pressure would shatter the fragile trust of the aristocracy. The nobles would assume the crown intended to sacrifice them one by one. Panic would transform into open rebellion. Maintaining the illusion of due process served as the only thread keeping the court together.

"Messengers will be readied," Ramposa finished. His shoulders sagged under the invisible weight of a doomed nation. "The ministers and major lords will convene in my private chambers this evening. Dismissed."

**\[The Royal Palace -- Evening Emergency Council\]**

The court dispersed, carrying the contagion of panic into the outer corridors. Hours later, the emergency council convened in a windowless tactical room.

The air grew foul with the scent of burning wax and nervous sweat. The Minister of Internal Affairs leaned over detailed maps spread across an oak table, pushing wooden markers across the parchment.

Watching from the shadowy corners of the meeting room. Zanac listened as powerful men spoke in hushed, defeated tones. They reviewed their foreign options. Every diplomatic door was welded shut. The Holy Kingdom remained fractured. The Baharuth Empire operated as a sworn vassal to the enemy. The Slane Theocracy maintained a hostile silence.

Finding no external salvation, they agreed to spread the narrative to the border cities. They drafted conscription quotas and mandates to control public panic. Yet, looking into their sunken eyes, Zanac knew the bitter truth. They were merely rearranging furniture inside a burning house. The ink on their orders felt like spilled blood.

**\[The Royal Palace -- The Servant Corridors\]**

The grim reality of the council poisoned the rest of the night. Following a bleak royal dinner, the polished steel boots of Climb struck the marble floor. The young knight escorted the Golden Princess toward her private chambers.

Renner walked close to his side. A subtle tremor shook her delicate shoulders, projecting the heartbreaking image of a fragile maiden crumbling under the weight of tragedy.

"My poor father," Renner whispered. Her voice cracked with practiced sorrow. 

"He offered his very life, Climb. What will become of the citizens of our kingdom? They are innocent. They have nothing to do with this. This is cruel, really sad. Climb, it aches my heart. What will happen to my orphanage, the Poor orphans? They have done nothing wrong. What will happen to them? I am really worried, Climb."

Climb gripped the hilt of his broadsword. His knuckles turned stark white as a physical ache throbbed in his chest. He swore a silent oath in his heart, a fanatical oath to lay down his life for her. He would carve through a thousand skeletons to ensure this saintly woman saw another sunrise. 

So the loyal knight remained entirely blind to the inhuman monster walking beside him.

Approaching her destination, Renner paused near a cluster of gossiping palace maids. The servants carried stacks of fresh linens, their eyes darting nervously in search of rumors.

Stepping gracefully into their circle, Renner bowed her head in manufactured despair.

"It is terrible," Renner whispered. Her vocal cords trembled as she leaked the exact, horrific details of the crisis. "The Prime Minister of the Sorcerer Kingdom rejected our formal apology and the life of our King. We have only one month until the massacre begins. They intend to spare no one. Please, you must all be careful."

The maids gasped in unison. Offering polite sympathy, they secretly mocked the princess for her loose lips. They absorbed the catastrophic information, eager to share the secret.

Renner smiled internally. Her mind operated like a cold machine. She knew these servants possessed deep ties to merchant guilds and lower noble houses. Passing this specific terror directly to them guaranteed the panic would hit the streets by dawn. Hoarding, inflation, and civilian riots would follow. She was actively poisoning the water supply of her own nation, aligning her actions flawlessly with Nazarick's desires.

Arriving at her door, Climb bowed deeply and departed to take his post.

**\[The Royal Palace -- Princess Renner's Chambers\]**

Renner entered her dark room and turned the heavy iron lock. The metallic click sealed her in isolation.

The fragile mask evaporated.

Genuine paranoia seized her chest. Her heart hammered in an irregular rhythm against her ribs. Pacing the plush velvet carpet, her fingernails dug deep into her palms until they threatened to draw blood.

*Total annihilation.* She chewed on the phrase. It tasted wrong.

*Ainz Ooal Gown declared the violent erasure of the entire map. This does not match our terms. My bargain brokered with the Great Tomb promised a localized, manageable tragedy. It promised a clean transition of power.*

Halting her erratic steps, she stared at the cold stone hearth. Fear spiked in her throat, causing her breathing to grow shallow.

*Why use such a petty incident? The Sorcerer Kingdom operates with flawless logic. A stolen carriage is a pathetic spark for a continental fire. What is their true agenda? Are they sending a message to the other nations? A demonstration of absolute supremacy?*

She gripped the fabric of her dress.

*Did Albedo change the plan? Are they clearing the board entirely? If they reduce the capital to ashes, what happens to Climb and me? Will we survive the Massacre?* *Has the Sorcerer Kingdom decided I am no longer a useful pawn?*

while the Rennar was having an internal conflict. The shadows gathering in the corner of her room bent at a jagged angle. The darkness thickened across the floorboards.

A Shadow Demon materialized from the oak floor. Its green eyes glowed like hot coals. It did not speak aloud, delivering a concise message directly from the depths of the Great Tomb.

The grand design proceeded exactly as planned. The Kingdom would fall, but her personal arrangements remained untouched. She must observe the Kingdom's political movements and await further instructions. Her reward remained secure.

The suffocating anxiety vanished from Renner's mind. A twisted euphoria flooded her veins, replacing the cold fear with a manic warmth. A genuine smile curled her lips. **The Kingdom of Re-Estize** was doomed to burn, guaranteeing her eternal, isolated paradise with Climb remained untouched.

Volume 14 Needed More Kingdom POV

The Kingdom basically received a 30-day death sentence… and I always wished we saw more of those final days from their perspective instead of just summaries.

So I’m writing those missing moments as a small Overlord fanfic project.

Nothing serious. Just a fun litt