"God! My god! You truly are a god!!!"
Fluder, the Empire's greatest magic caster, who had offered his Loyalty to Ainz in order to learn magic from him, now fell to his knees at Leman Russ's feet. The reason was simply that in less than a second, Leman Russ had learned and cast a seventh-tier spell that Fluder had exhausted his knowledge and sold his soul merely to reach.
Yet Leman Russ had no interest in Fluder's fervor. He merely looked at the pale-faced, balding Blood Emperor kneeling on the ground and asked about Ainz.
Jircniv raised his head tremblingly. Looking at Leman Russ's magnificent Primarch armor, he found himself unable to say a word. When he compared its splendor to Ainz's robe, he could not find a single point with which to praise Ainz.
An unhappy snort reached him. Blood Emperor Jircniv immediately felt his throat tighten, and even swallowing became incomparably difficult.
He blinked, using all his strength to keep himself from collapsing onto the floor like a puddle of mud. His voice trembled as he said, "Can I be spared if I tell the truth?"
"Oh?" Leman Russ regarded Jircniv with some amusement. He had not expected the emperor of such a tiny empire to dare bargain with him.
"Among us, death is often a gift." Leman Russ pointed at the servitors brought by the Adeptus Mechanicus. Jircniv looked over and immediately understood what he meant.
Talk, and you can die quickly. Refuse, and we have plenty of ways to make you wish you were dead.
Jircniv had seen many horrifying things in Ainz's Great Tomb. A palace occupied by countless black insects, where heaps of clean white bones stripped of flesh surfaced amid their rolling sea.
Prisons controlled by grotesque, twisted creatures. The torture implements in