The power structure Nefarian had established left much to be desired, if it could even be called a structure at all. On paper, it was an alliance between the dark horde led by Warchief Rend Blackhand, with his faction leaders as his subordinates, and Black dragons with Nefarian at the helm. In reality, the "alliance" was a dysfunctional pit of vipers, to put it generously. It was more of a constant tug-of-war between various factions fighting for resources and influence with lots of infighting, treachery, and sabotage to even teach Earth's corporations a lesson or two. The only thing spared was Nefarian and his experiments, who stood untouched by it all. And it all was seemingly by design as if mortal races fully united under Blackhand could wipe out dragons through sheer numbers if they went on an all-out suicidal war. It was less of a military coalition and more of an elaborate game of "Who Wants to Stab Their Ally in the Back First?"
This sort of governance would spell doom for the empire and regular cullings of the upper echelons would be a grim necessity under such a system, resulting in inefficient use of resources. The alternative possibility; mind-controlling every subject into perfect obedience, wasn't an option either. Total domination might ensure compliance, but it would smother innovation, ambition, and the fragile spark of loyalty born from the genuine trust he wanted from his subjects. Ainz understood that a sustainable empire required more than fear or force; it needed a foundation of mutual cooperation and a shared vision for the greater good by all contained within. To achieve this, he needed to understand the wants and needs of his subjects, from the strongest to the weakest.
Thus, he convened a gathering of the various leaders in a conference room while Buku, together with Vancleefs, were making plans for a cultist hunting force as the old god's influence was a constant threat and needed to be addressed immediately. The dark stone hall seemed to drink in the light of the countless flickering candles, their pale flames casting long, sinuous shadows that danced like specters of power. The atmosphere was heavy, Ainz could only compare it to villains meeting in their lair to plot a world takeover, but then again he and his subordinates fit the bill to the Tee by his previous world's standards.
He sat at the head of a long, polished black table with Nefarian to his right side. The dragon for now was still in direct control of nearly all Blackrock spire and the surrounding Burning steppes, but he would step back and take upon more assistant and researcher roles once his input wasn't as necessary anymore as the dragon's primary goal now was to strengthen the black dragonflight and do research regarding chromatic dragons while simultaneously planning the foundations for the necrotic Dragonflight with him at the helm.
On the left of Ainz was a diverse group of leaders whose reasons for ruling and attendance ranged from deeply personal grievances to far-reaching dreams of dominance. The difference between them gave a clear image of the divided alliance he hoped to bring together into something resembling cohesion at this meeting.
Closest to Ainz sat Rend Blackhand, the self-styled Warchief of the 'Dark Horde' or 'True Horde.' His title carried a weight of irony, for though his forces were a shadow of the first Horde's might, Rend clung fiercely to the notion that his faction was the rightful heir. His claim was bolstered by bloodlines - he was the son of Blackhand the Destroyer, the first Warchief. Rend's ancestry gave him an almost palpable sense of entitlement, with every action imbued with the swagger of someone who believed their place at the table was predetermined.
Rend was massively built, his scarred grey skin stretched taut over immense muscles that seemed more stone than flesh. His spiked pauldrons protruded dangerously outward, each spike dulled by years of battle and the blood and bone of his enemies. His face was as grim as the orcish legends that preceded him, the embodiment of orcish brutality and aggression. His right eye was covered by a single black eyepatch, while the left glared with the intensity of a smoldering forge. His wiry grey hair and beard framed a mouth that was constantly twisted into a grimace as if the place itself offended him.
Further down the table sat War Master Voone, the crazed voice of the forest troll tribes. Trolls were less populous than orcs under Blackhand's banner, but their ferocity in battle made them indispensable allies - or dangerous enemies if deemed beneficial. Voone epitomized this wild energy of his people. His lean, sinewy frame was draped in animal pelts and adorned with crude fetishes, charms that jingled softly whenever he shifted his weight. His face was a riot of color, painted with jagged streaks of blue and white that mimicked the tribal markings of his people. A mane of wiry green hair burst from his head like an unruly bush, raring to go. His yellowed tusks curved outward like sickles, ready to impale his enemies.
Seated a few spaces down sat Urok Doomhowl. He ruled over all Spire's ogres and had done so for two decades through his puppet Highlord Omokk, killing anyone who dared to challenge the highlord and thus keeping himself in the shadows. From a few interactions Ainz had with the ogres, it was easy to see they were often smarter than they led on, their biggest setback was the difficulty in expressing themselves through speech. Just because one couldn't speak properly, didn't mean they weren't intelligent - it just served as a disguise to hide their intelligence.
Another Ogre, Gorlop, commanded the Firegut Ogres living in the Burning Steppes, a slightly smaller ogre group. This clan was far more independent than the rest and ran a mining operation within Nazarick's domain and regularly traded with the dark horde. Ainz noted this with interest, this much freedom was problematic for his reign. Of course, private companies would be allowed to exist, capitalism was fine as long as it was regulated, but if Firegut ogres didn't become part of the Nazarick Empire, they couldn't be permitted to do as they pleased in Nazarck's lands as they did now.
There were lesser representatives present as well, like Brorg Shadowfall who stood in for the warlocks of various lesser clans. The older orc had the same graying, almost rotten skin Ainz had anticipated, with veins of fel magic pulsing beneath the surface as the one Ainz met in Orgrimmar. His sickly neon-red tint in his beady eyes was unsettling, their light seemingly too bright for such a decayed frame.
The hunched figure oozed fel magic which Ainz was both cautious and curious about. Fel magic was one of the most potent magic out there, but it came at a steep cost. It consumed flesh and soul as currency for its use unless a wielder was a perfect demon, exchanging lifespan for power. Brorg's hollowed cheeks and gaunt figure were a testament to this, having turned a possibly healthy figure into little more than twigs. Yet, there was power here, waiting to be tasted and harnessed. Ainz shelved this idea for later study.
The last one present was a neurotic-looking goblin named Krixixx, also known as the Master Elemental Shaper. His stature barely allowed him to peer over the table's edge, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in reputation. Krixixx had a nervous energy about him, his spindly fingers constantly fidgeting with a shard of Elementium - a legendary material capable of holding vast magical energies and could be possibly used as a catalyst to create new divine tier gear.
Despite the circumstances of his presence, having been enslaved by the Black Dragonflight along with many of his kind, his skills were beyond reproach. Few across Azeroth could claim the mastery over Elementium that Krixixx wielded, and Ainz saw potential in retaining such talent under better terms. The goblin's bulbous eyes darted around the room, betraying his anxiety. His green skin shimmered with a sheen of slick sweat, and the constant twitch in his oversized ears made it seem as though he were perpetually listening for an explosion that only he could hear.
"I have gathered all of you here to establish how things will be run from now on and to address the pressing issues that threaten Nazarick's stability." Ainz began.
Before he could elaborate, Rend grunted with the bluntness of an orc who cared little for ceremony, "Food".
"Silence!" Nefarian roared in response, making the whole table shudder. The dragon wasn't one to tolerate interruptions, and his reputation for cruel and sadistic punishments ensured that even the most stubborn among them hesitated before drawing his anger, fearing his retribution.
But Ainz was unimpressed. With a wave of his hand, he quelled the tension. "Let him speak. We are here to get input on issues, not brush them aside. I will invite all of you to speak freely but remain mindful of your position."
Ainz then addressed Rend, "Continue."
The Warchief of the Dark Horde didn't flinch at Nefarian's display. Instead, he continued, his voice calm and steady, "Emperor, we lack food. The raids in Redridge are not enough to feed our people. We need the whole region to establish farms and the staging point for further raids into human lands."
His words carried the heavy practicality of a soldier, but the subtext was clear; without food, there would be no Horde to command.
"Da small ones grow up weak. No new warriors for da horde if we let dem starve." Voone joined in. His sharp tusks and wild gestures punctuated the urgency of the problem, and the room buzzed with murmured agreement. Even if they were from rival groups, if one group turned to starvation and the humans put up too much of a fight for one reason or another, it would be their turn to become pillaged.
"Yes, I am aware that food is a pressing issue. I have a potential solution in mind, but we will keep the option of invading Redridge in mind." Ainz tapped his fingers against the stone table, the sound echoing like a death knell that silenced the group.
He planned to test the super tier Creation spell which could terraform large areas and hopefully create permanent green areas with rivers and lakes in his domain for sustainable farming. As for rain, he could periodically utilize 'Change Weather' which would work as a permanent solution especially if a spell could be repeated by the warlocks or at least automated with his abilities. Best of all if one of them wasn't enough they could repurpose the spell as a group ritual, enabling it to be cast anywhere.
Ainz turned his attention to the orc, "Rend, how many soldiers are under your command? Although the dragons and I could deal with organized invasions just fine, I prefer to rely on regular warriors for defense and occupation of new lands," Ainz inquired.
"Around twenty thousand, give or take. About forty thousand if we arm anyone who can carry a weapon," Rend answered.
"Does that include ogres and trolls?"
"Yes," Rend admitted, his gruff voice tinged with frustration. "Our numbers have been steadily dwindling. The constant siege on the lower Blackrock has bled us dry. Emperor, if you are as mighty as Nefarian claims, you could break the siege for us and let us raid the Blackrock Depths."
The veiled challenge in his tone was unmistakable to everyone in the room. Ainz tilted his head, silently observing the orc. The room seemed to grow colder as he considered his response. 'Orcs and their obsession with strength. I guess some demonstration won't hurt.'
It was both a weakness and a strength in their culture, keeping the strong in place regardless of whether they were competent in the mind or not. Still, challenges to his authority couldn't go unanswered.
"I want a detailed plan for an assault and intelligence on what we'll be facing before committing to such a campaign," Ainz said in response.
He leaned forward slightly, his red orbs blazing with an unsettling intensity. "And Rend, if you think you can challenge me, do it now. I will let you live once. After that, insubordination will not be tolerated." Ainz let a sliver of his [Aura of Despair] seep out, an invisible wave of terror crashing over the room like a tidal surge.
The effect was immediate. Rend's confident posture faltered, his massive fists trembling as if the weight of a mountain had settled on his shoulders, straining with all their might. Around the room, lesser lieutenants shuddered uncontrollably, their eyes wide with primal fear as they subconsciously backed away in their seats from their new ruler.
Only Krixixx and the elderly orc warlock Brorg remained unaffected in their own strange ways. The goblin gawked at Ainz with his jaw nearly unhinged, awe written across his jittery features as he shivered. The warlock, on the other hand, lowered his head, seemingly absorbing his dark energies, the old orcs face twisting into an unsettling smile.
"Are you… one of the old ones, Your Imperial Majesty?" Krixixx croaked, his voice barely a squeak as heads turned to him.
Playing into their fears could yield results, but he had no interest in being mistaken for those insidious forces. The Old Gods, with their eldritch schemes, were beneath him - quite literally. "No, my wife and I are known as Supreme Beings, and we stand above the Old Gods." Ainz went with a slight bluff which was substantiated in fact to at least some degree. If he and Buku could usurp the Old God's control, then they had to at least part with them.
Krixixx's reaction was predictably over the top. He jumped from his chair and prostrated himself, crying out, "Deliver us to the new age, to the promised paradise!"
"Rise," Ainz commanded, waving a skeletal hand. "Such declarations are unnecessary. I want my subjects to live happy and fulfilled lives, serving our common cause. We will build this paradise together." He fixed his gaze on the goblin. "Speaking of which Krixixx, you and your kind are no longer slaves and will work for proper wages. I ask you to work out all the details, but I prefer no one left and your kind continues serving me."
"Thank you, Great one, your kindness knows no bounds," Krixixx whimpered.
"Good, take your seat," Ainz replied, canceling his aura and turning his attention back to Rend.
"I see that neither I nor all my people ever stand a chance to oppose you," Rend stated solemnly, striking his chest with his fist. "We will serve you with devotion, Emperor."
"As is expected. Now let's see if I can do something about the food problem. Follow me." Ainz stood up and opened a gate behind him to the top balcony of the tallest spire overlooking the Burning Steppes.
The spacious stone balcony, carved with intricate runes of ancient craftsmanship, jutted out like a sentinel into the ashy wasteland of the Burning Steppes. It provided ample space for Ainz and his entourage to stand, though most gave the Overlord a wide berth, more out of reverence than need. The air was thick with scorched heat, each gust of wind carrying ash that clawed at skin and eyes as a bitter reminder of the land's desolation. Ainz, ever impervious to such discomfort, raised a skeletal hand and invoked a shimmering barrier to block it regardless.
The group gazed out over a land that seemed to have been cursed into perpetual lifelessness, a land they were familiar with from the ground up. This land needed to change to serve its people and he would be the one to bring in the change. Ainz clapped his hand and changed weather to heavy rain, the gray clouds that were already above from preparation now pouring water by the bucketful, quickly overcoming the heat that at first evaporated every attempt at cooking the ground.
From what he knew the entire region was like this because of Ragnaross and his scorching energies seeping into the very land. If any change was to stay, he would have to neutralize these energies sooner or later, but to get to the Firelord, the entirety of Blackrock depths needed to be conquered first. It would take time, but this would make a decent stopgap measure.
Ainz took a long breath, feeling the air clear up with rain catching the ash particles despite not having lungs. For someone who had grown up in a dystopian nightmare, the clean air was already a gift even if he didn't need to breathe.
The first step was done, now came the main event. Ainz raised his arm as magical circles appeared with a flash, rotating around him. A beam of pure magical energy shot in the air as the [Creation] spell took its roots, spreading across the skies. It was time to test his limits in both skill and raw power.
He reached out, extending the spell range, but the limit didn't come, the affected area spread further and further away, yet there was no resistance as if he was casting a casual fireball, not the pinnacle of magic. Soon he targeted the entirety of burning steppes and the Blackrock mountain itself on top of it and it still only took a noticeable portion of the power readily available to him. Not too much, but a decent amount that was nothing to sneeze at.
'If I went all out I could terraform at least the entirety of the Eastern Kingdoms, if not the entire world. Just how much power did Artemel give us?' This question came with a disturbing realization. The mysterious entity parading as a teenage girl likely was capable of cosmic-level feats and her making him and Buku was a small task for her, which meant she could have littered this universe with beings like him for her amusement. His current feat could potentially alert other powerful beings to him, but this risk needed to be taken.
Now came the more precise part. Ainz used all his awareness to ensure his subjects and their positions wouldn't be struck by the spell along with the vegetation grown around existing structures.
Finally, he unleashed the spell. The wave of green energy that exploded from him was a spectacle of creation, a blinding aurora of rebirth that swept across the land. Grass erupted from the earth, vibrant and lush, spreading with impossible speed. Trees, ancient and towering, grew as if fast-forwarding through centuries of life in mere moments. Valleys and craters filled with water, the rain joining forces with the soil to form glistening lakes and snaking rivers as far as the eye could see.
What was once a barren, ashen wasteland now bloomed with unprecedented vitality. The Burning Steppes had been reborn, its dormant landscape transformed into a verdant paradise.
For a long moment, there was only silence. Ainz turned to observe his subordinates, their expressions ranging from disbelief to awe. Krixixx, ever the dramatic goblin, clutched his head with both hands as though struggling to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Rend appeared as though his legs might give out, the defiance in his eyes now replaced with unshakable loyalty.
It was Nefarian, the dragon prince, who finally broke the silence. His voice was low but filled with conviction. "I told you, master was a God of Gods."
Ainz let the words hang in the air, his crimson eyes flickering. He finally had proper control of his side of politics.
Edited by NabeisWaifu
Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, fvvck
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