# OREBOROS: THE SERPENT OF FATE
## Chapter 1: Prophecies of a Foreign World
I drifted through the boundaries between realities, perceiving the shifting tides of probability that flowed around me like currents in an endless sea. The multiverse was a tapestry of infinite possibilities, each thread representing a different outcome, a different path. As a Serpent of Fate, I had long since transcended the limitations of a singular existence. My consciousness expanded across dimensions, allowing me to observe the grand design of creation with detached curiosity.
Yet something had changed. A ripple in the cosmic order had drawn my attention to this specific reality—a world of tier magic and fantastical beings, where players of another realm had abandoned their digital creations to become living gods. The disturbance was subtle but unmistakable, like a discordant note in an otherwise harmonious symphony.
I felt my essence coalescing, compressing from the infinite into the finite as I manifested in this new world. The sensation was both familiar and strange—the eternal paradox of my existence. The skies above this unfamiliar land darkened as reality bent to accommodate my arrival, clouds swirling in unnatural patterns that defied the physical laws of this dimension.
"Interesting," I murmured, my voice reverberating with an otherworldly timbre as my form solidified. "This world's fate is... unstable."
My appearance would be unsettling to the inhabitants of this realm—a tall, lithe figure with features that seemed to shift subtly when not directly observed. My skin gleamed with an opalescent quality, and my eyes reflected the mercurial silver of fate's fluid nature. Long, dark hair cascaded down my back, occasionally appearing to move against the wind. I wore simple garments of an indeterminate dark color that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light, giving the impression of depth beyond their surface.
The Book of Prophetic Calamity hovered before me, its ancient parchment pages fluttering without the aid of wind. I reached out with long, elegant fingers and grasped it, feeling the familiar surge of power and the immediate subtle twist of fortune around me—the price of wielding such an artifact.
I smiled thinly. The misfortune would come, as it always did. But I had long since accepted such consequences as necessary sacrifices for the greater good. After all, what was my temporary discomfort compared to the potential salvation of countless souls?
The landscape before me was mountainous and wild, covered in dense forest. In the distance, I could perceive a village—primitive and small, but a starting point for my observations. I needed to understand the current state of affairs in this world before I could begin my work.
With a thought, I manipulated the probabilities around me, making it infinitesimally more likely that I would remain undetected as I made my way toward civilization. Not true invisibility, but a subtle nudging of fate that would cause eyes to overlook my presence, minds to dismiss unusual glimpses, and memories to fade concerning my passage.
As I walked, I opened the Book, allowing its mercury-colored light to illuminate my face in the growing darkness. The pages were blank for a moment before words began to form, script appearing and disappearing like ripples in a pond:
*The undead lord reaches beyond his tomb.*
*The dragon's gold will seal a nation's doom.*
*Eight fingers spread, but cannot grasp the tide.*
*The Slane Theocracy's gods have lied.*
I closed the book with a thoughtful expression. True prophecies or false ones? It mattered little at this stage. Whether the predictions were accurate or fabrications, they provided insight into the significant players in this world's unfolding drama. The undead lord—that would be the being known as Ainz Ooal Gown, whose presence I had sensed even across dimensional barriers. His power was remarkable, but it was his potential impact on this world's fate that had drawn my attention.
The village came into view as I crested a hill. It was larger than I had initially assessed, with wooden palisades surrounding clusters of simple buildings. A banner flew above the main gate—the symbol of the Baharuth Empire, if my preliminary research into this world's political landscape was correct.
I paused, considering my approach. Direct intervention was rarely my preferred method; subtle manipulation of probabilities and nudging key individuals toward specific choices yielded more sustainable outcomes. Yet time was a factor I could not ignore. This world stood at a crossroads, with catastrophe looming on multiple fronts. The actions of Ainz Ooal Gown and his Tomb of Nazarick were merely the most prominent of many converging threats.
"Perhaps a more... engaged approach is warranted," I mused aloud, feeling the weight of the Book in my hands.
I focused my attention on the village, extending my senses to perceive the threads of fate that bound each inhabitant. Most were inconsequential—simple lives that would have minimal impact on the world's future. But there... a brighter thread, pulsing with potential. Someone whose choices could ripple outward, affecting events far beyond this humble settlement.
With deliberate care, I opened the Book again and allowed my consciousness to merge with its power. Words formed in my mind, and I transferred them to the page with nothing more than intention:
*The imperial knight who doubts his path shall find a stranger at the crossroads. Their conversation will lead him to the court of the Emperor, where his words will plant seeds of caution regarding the Sorcerer King.*
I felt the subtle shift in probability as the prophecy took hold, embedding itself in the fabric of reality. Not an absolute certainty, but a significant nudge toward a potential future. The manipulation of luck was delicate work—push too hard, and the natural order would resist, often with catastrophic consequences.
A sharp pain lanced through my temple, and I winced. The first manifestation of the Book's downside—a minor misfortune, but a reminder of the price I paid for my interference. I accepted it without complaint. We must all pay the price for the greater future.
Night had fallen completely by the time I reached the village gates. They were closed, as expected, with two guards stationed outside. Their postures suggested boredom rather than vigilance—this remote outpost likely saw little trouble worth noting.
I could have simply manipulated probability to find another way in, but I chose a more direct approach. Information gathered through conversation often provided nuances that mere observation missed.
"Halt!" One of the guards raised his spear as I emerged from the shadows of the tree line. "Who goes there?"
I allowed the subtle influence that had kept me unnoticed to dissipate. "A traveler seeking shelter for the night," I replied, my voice carefully modulated to sound unremarkable. "I have journeyed far and would appreciate your hospitality."
The guards exchanged glances, their suspicion evident. I couldn't blame them—my appearance was unusual by any standard, and strangers were inherently threatening in uncertain times.
"Where do you come from?" the second guard asked, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"From lands beyond the sea," I answered truthfully, if incompletely. "I am a scholar of sorts, studying the various cultures and powers of this continent."
The first guard snorted. "A scholar? With no pack, no supplies? In these clothes?"
I smiled. "I travel light."
They clearly didn't believe me, but I had no need for them to. I simply required entry to the village. With subtle intent, I opened the Book just enough for a sliver of its mercurial light to be visible.
"What's that?" The second guard's eyes widened at the sight of the ancient tome.
"Merely a record of my observations," I said mildly. "Though some might call it a book of prophecies."
Their expressions changed immediately—a mixture of awe and superstitious fear. In this world of magic and monsters, those who claimed connection to fate or divination were treated with cautious respect.
"A prophet?" The first guard lowered his spear slightly. "Are you associated with any temple?"
"I serve no institution," I replied. "My gift comes with significant burden and responsibility. I simply go where I am needed."
The guards conferred quietly before the more senior of the two nodded reluctantly.
"You can enter, but I'll need to escort you to the headman. Any stranger must be registered, especially one claiming... unusual abilities."
"Of course," I agreed smoothly. "I would expect nothing less."
The gates creaked open, and I stepped into the village. It was quiet at this hour, with only a few lanterns illuminating the main street. The smell of wood smoke, livestock, and humanity created a familiar tapestry of scents that varied little from world to world.
As we walked, I noticed subtle signs of recent prosperity—new construction, well-maintained roads, sturdy-looking barns filled with harvest. Yet there was also an undercurrent of tension evident in the reinforced walls, the weapons stored in communal racks, and the watchful eyes that peered from windows as we passed.
"Your village seems to be doing well," I commented.
The guard grunted. "For now. The harvest was good this year, and the Empire has kept taxes reasonable. But with all the strange happenings lately—monsters appearing where they shouldn't be, rumors of war, and that business with the Katze Plains..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"The massacre at the Katze Plains," I said softly. "When the Sorcerer King demonstrated his power."
The guard shot me a sharp look. "So you've heard of that, have you? Were you there?"
"No," I admitted. "But news of such events travels far. One man obliterating an army with a single spell—such power shifts the balance of the world."
The guard's expression darkened. "I had friends in that army. Good men. Never had a chance." He spat on the ground. "They say he's not even human, this Sorcerer King. An undead monster playing at being a ruler."
I nodded thoughtfully. "And how does the Empire view their new... ally?"
The guard laughed bitterly. "Officially? With respect and cooperation. The Emperor himself knelt before the Sorcerer King. But among the common folk and soldiers? There's fear and resentment aplenty. Nobody trusts the undead, no matter how civilized they claim to be."
Interesting. The political situation was as complex as I had anticipated. Emperor Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix—the Bloody Emperor—was known for his cunning and adaptability. His decision to become a vassal state to the Sorcerer Kingdom had preserved his empire from destruction, but at the cost of sovereignty and pride.
We arrived at a larger building in the center of the village. A light still burned inside despite the late hour.
"Wait here," the guard instructed before knocking on the door.
I obeyed, using the moment to extend my senses again, feeling for the threads of fate that converged in this settlement. Most were dim, as expected, but there—a bright strand leading from the building before me. The village headman, perhaps? Or someone else staying there?
The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man with a weathered face and the bearing of someone accustomed to authority. Not a nobleman, but a leader nonetheless.
"Headman Yorick, we have a visitor," my escort announced. "Claims to be some kind of prophet or fortune-teller."
The headman's eyes narrowed as he assessed me. "At this hour? Well, bring him in. Better to sort this out now than let a stranger wander about."
I was ushered into a modest but comfortable room that served as both living quarters and office. Maps of the surrounding region were spread across a large table, along with various documents bearing official seals. A fire burned in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
"So," Yorick said without preamble, "who are you, and what brings you to our village?"
"My name is Oreboros," I replied, choosing to use the designation that most closely approximated my essence in this realm's language. "As for my purpose, I am drawn to places where fate hangs in the balance. Your empire stands at a crossroads, as does this entire continent."
The headman's expression remained skeptical. "A prophet, then? We get your kind occasionally—traveling charlatans promising good fortune or warnings of doom, whichever pays better."
I smiled faintly. "I seek no payment. My gift is as much curse as blessing."
To demonstrate, I opened the Book fully, allowing its mercurial light to illuminate the room. The effect was immediate—both the headman and the guard took involuntary steps backward, their expressions a mixture of awe and fear.
"What manner of magic is that?" Yorick demanded, his hand moving to a concealed weapon beneath his desk.
"Not magic as you understand it," I explained. "This Book contains prophecies—some true, some false. Believing the false ones can make them come true. Writing new prophecies can influence the flow of luck and chance. A dangerous tool, but useful in these uncertain times."
The headman's eyes narrowed. "And why should I believe you're not just another magic caster with a fancy spell to impress the gullible?"
In response, I allowed the Book to reveal a prophecy, the words forming on the page in silver script:
*Before the moon wanes, a knight in purple will arrive bearing news of the Emperor's illness. The village will be ordered to provide double tribute, but those who hide their goods beneath the southern granary will be overlooked.*
The headman leaned forward despite himself, reading the words with growing alarm.
"The Emperor is ill?" he whispered.
"Perhaps," I replied. "Or perhaps not. The prophecy may be false—but if you believe it and act accordingly, events may align to make it true. Such is the nature of fate and probability."
Yorick straightened, his expression hardening. "If you're attempting to incite treason or tax evasion—"
I raised a hand placatingly. "I merely demonstrated the Book's nature. What you choose to do with the information is your decision. I do not advise hiding tribute from your Emperor."
The tension in the room was palpable. I could sense the headman's internal conflict—dismissing me as a fraud would be the safest course, yet the strange Book and my unusual appearance gave him pause.
The moment was interrupted by a commotion outside—shouting voices and the sound of horses. The guard moved to the window.
"Imperial riders," he reported with surprise. "At this hour?"
Yorick frowned. "Five days early for the regular patrol." He gave me a suspicious look. "Quite a coincidence, stranger."
I merely smiled. Not coincidence—probability manipulation. I had sensed the imperial patrol nearby when I arrived and had subtly influenced their decision to stop at this village tonight rather than continuing to their intended destination.
"You should greet them," I suggested mildly. "It would be impolite to keep imperial knights waiting."
The headman hesitated only briefly before nodding to the guard. "Watch him," he instructed before hurrying outside.
Left with the guard, I took a seat by the fire without waiting for permission. "Your name, soldier?" I asked conversationally.
He seemed startled by the question. "Diorn," he answered after a moment.
"You served in the imperial army before becoming a village guard," I stated rather than asked.
Diorn's eyes narrowed. "How did you know that?"
I smiled enigmatically. "The way you stand. The calluses on your hands. The reaction when I mentioned the Katze Plains. Small details reveal much to those who observe."
The guard shifted uncomfortably but maintained his vigilance. "And what else do you observe, prophet?"
"That you dream of returning to service," I replied softly. "Not out of desire for glory, but concern for comrades still serving. You fear what the alliance with the Sorcerer Kingdom means for them."
His expression confirmed my assessment. This was the bright thread I had sensed earlier—not the headman, but this former soldier whose concern for his comrades created a nexus of potential influence.
"The Empire made the practical choice," Diorn said carefully. "Better to kneel than to be destroyed like the Kingdom's army."
"Practicality and wisdom are not always the same," I noted. "Tell me, in your assessment, does the Emperor truly believe the undead can be trusted, or is he playing a longer game?"
The guard hesitated, clearly uncomfortable discussing imperial politics with a stranger. "It's not my place to question the Emperor's decisions."
"Of course not," I agreed. "Yet you wonder nonetheless. As do many others."
Before he could respond, the door opened, and Headman Yorick returned. Behind him stood a knight in the distinctive armor of the Baharuth Empire's elite forces. The knight's surcoat was deep purple—the color of the imperial knights who served as the Emperor's personal messengers.
I suppressed a smile. Probability manipulation at its finest—I hadn't specified the knight's arrival in my subtle shifting of chance, merely increased the likelihood that an imperial messenger would be among the patrol. The purple surcoat was a fortunate detail that would lend credence to the prophecy I had shown.
"Captain Cedran," Yorick introduced the knight, "this is the visitor I mentioned."
The knight's gaze was sharp and assessing. He was younger than I had expected for his rank, perhaps in his early thirties, with a face that suggested both intelligence and caution.
"A prophet, was it?" the captain asked, his tone making clear his skepticism. "We have enough charlatans and doomsayers in the capital without them spreading to the provinces."
I inclined my head politely. "I make no claims to holiness or divine inspiration, Captain. I merely observe the currents of probability and occasionally nudge them in beneficial directions."
The knight raised an eyebrow. "Probability? An unusual term. Most self-proclaimed prophets claim connection to gods or spirits."
"I find honesty serves better than mysticism," I replied. "Though I understand why religious frameworks are comforting to most."
The captain's expression suggested he found my response intriguing despite his skepticism. "And what brings you to our Empire, observer of probability?"
"Curiosity," I answered, which was not entirely untrue. "Your Emperor's decision to ally with the Sorcerer Kingdom represents a fascinating inflection point in history. Few mortal rulers would have the courage—or pragmatism—to kneel before an undead sovereign."
Captain Cedran's eyes narrowed. "You speak casually of matters that have cost lives and changed the balance of power across the continent."
"Casualness implies lack of care," I corrected gently. "I assure you, my interest is anything but casual. The consequences of recent events will echo for generations."
The knight studied me for a long moment. "Headman Yorick mentioned a book of prophecies."
In response, I opened the Book again, allowing its mercurial light to illuminate the knight's face. His hand moved instinctively to his sword, but he checked himself, eyes fixed on the shifting text that appeared on the pages.
*The Emperor's gambit plays into ancient hands. The web is larger than he perceives. Eight spiders move while one sleeps.*
The captain's expression betrayed nothing, but I sensed his tension. "Riddles and vague warnings," he said dismissively. "The standard fare of fortune-tellers."
I closed the Book with a slight smile. "Perhaps. Yet even riddles contain kernels of truth. Your Emperor knows this better than most."
An awkward silence fell over the room. I had pushed far enough for now—planting seeds of doubt and curiosity that would germinate in time.
"Headman," the captain finally said, turning to Yorick, "I'll need quarters for my men tonight. We ride for the capital at dawn."
"Of course, Captain. We have space in the barracks, and the inn can accommodate your officers."
"And the prophet?" the captain asked, glancing back at me.
I stood. "I require little rest. A corner by the hearth in your common hall would suffice."
The headman nodded reluctantly. "Diorn will show you to the hall and make sure you're... comfortable."
I understood the implication—I would be watched. It mattered little. My purpose in this village was already accomplished. The seeds were planted; now they needed time to grow.
As Diorn led me to the village's common hall, I noted with satisfaction that Captain Cedran was already engaged in intense conversation with the headman, their voices too low to be overheard. The knight's thread of fate had brightened considerably, suggesting that my subtle manipulation was already bearing fruit.
"Your captain seems troubled," I commented to Diorn as we walked.
The guard glanced at me suspiciously. "Imperial business isn't for village gossip."
"Of course," I agreed. "Though I wonder if he might value the perspective of someone who served in the field, particularly someone who has friends still in active service."
Diorn stopped walking, his expression conflicted. "What game are you playing, prophet?"
I met his gaze steadily. "No game. Merely attempting to ensure the best possible future for your empire and its people."
"And what future is that?" he challenged.
"One where the living remain masters of their own fate," I replied simply. "Rather than pawns in an undead being's grand design."
The former soldier's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with calculation. After a moment, he nodded almost imperceptibly and continued walking.
The common hall was empty at this hour, the large fireplace banked to embers that cast a dim red glow over the room. Long tables and benches filled the space, with a small raised platform at one end for announcements or entertainment.
"You can sleep here," Diorn indicated a bench near the fire. "Someone will be watching the door all night, so don't get any ideas about wandering."
I nodded, taking a seat on the bench. "Before you go—the captain might seek additional perspectives tonight. If he does, remember that truth serves the Empire better than comfortable silence."
The guard gave me a long, measuring look before departing without another word. I smiled faintly into the darkness. Another thread tugged, another probability shifted.
Once alone, I opened the Book again, focusing my consciousness on the broader patterns of fate surrounding this world. The arrival of Players from YGGDRASIL had destabilized the natural flow of probability, creating cascading disruptions that threatened the very fabric of this reality. Ainz Ooal Gown was merely the most powerful of these interlopers, his every action sending shockwaves through the delicate balance of cause and effect.
I wrote carefully in the Book:
*The knight with doubts shall speak truth to power, and his words will find fertile ground. The Bloody Emperor will look beyond obvious threats to perceive the shadow behind the shadow.*
As the words sank into the parchment, becoming part of the world's probability matrix, I felt a sharp pain in my chest—the Book's price for my manipulation. I grimaced but endured it silently. A minor sacrifice compared to the potential benefits.
Closing my eyes, I extended my perception beyond the confines of the village, feeling the vast web of interconnected fates that spanned the continent. The concentration of power in Nazarick blazed like a sun, distorting everything around it. The Slane Theocracy's tangled knot of zealotry and ancient secrets pulsed with dangerous potential. The Dragon Kingdom's fading light as demihuman invasions threatened to extinguish it entirely. The Council State's cold, methodical calculations. The Holy Kingdom's rigid righteousness, brittle and vulnerable.
And there—a curiosity. A disruption in the flow that didn't originate from Nazarick. Another anomaly, another Player perhaps, or something else entirely. I frowned, focusing on this new disturbance. It was elusive, flickering at the edges of my perception.
"Interesting," I murmured. "You're well-concealed, whatever you are."
This would require further investigation, but not tonight. I had set events in motion here, and now I needed to observe their initial development before moving on.
I settled back against the wall, the Book clasped to my chest. Though I required no sleep in the conventional sense, a period of meditative rest would help me process the vast amount of information I had gathered since arriving in this world.
As my consciousness drifted, I reflected on the path ahead. My goal remained constant across all worlds I visited—to guide sentient beings toward the best possible future, even when they couldn't perceive it themselves. The means varied, sometimes requiring subtle nudges, other times demanding direct intervention.
This world would need both, I suspected. The forces at play were too powerful, the stakes too high for half-measures. Ainz Ooal Gown and Nazarick represented an existential threat to this world's self-determination, regardless of whatever benevolent intentions the undead might claim.
"We must pay the price for the greater future," I whispered to the empty hall, my voice carrying the weight of countless interventions across countless realities. "And I am prepared to pay mine."
As dawn approached, I sensed movement outside the hall—the imperial knights preparing for their journey to the capital. Through the threads of fate, I could feel the bright strand that was Captain Cedran, now intertwined with Diorn's. Their conversation had gone as I had intended, planting seeds of specific concern regarding the Sorcerer Kingdom's influence.
I smiled faintly. By the time they reached the imperial capital, those seeds would have germinated into a compelling case for caution—one that might eventually reach the Emperor himself. A small change in the vast tapestry, but potentially significant.
Rising from my resting place, I straightened my dark garments and tucked the Book securely into the folds of my clothing. My time in this village was complete. The next phase would require positioning myself closer to the centers of power, where the greatest influence could be exerted.
The Great Tomb of Nazarick awaited, as did its undead master. Our encounter was inevitable—a confrontation between two beings who manipulated fate, albeit with vastly different methods and purposes.
"The game begins," I murmured, stepping toward the door and the breaking dawn beyond. "May probability favor the vigilant."