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"Come on, you're a grown man. You're not going to cry just because of a few words, are you, Momonga?"
Orion noticed Momonga's barely contained emotions and said with amusement.
Though his smile was eerie, sending shivers down the spine.
For someone like Momonga, who valued relationships deeply, was naturally good-natured, and wasn't extreme or stubborn, even if some might not particularly like him, few would dislike him.
At the very least, since Orion had been reborn into this world and spent twelve years in the game with Momonga, he quite liked this amiable fellow.
"Hey, hey, Zarathustra, don't slander me like that! I'm nowhere near crying!"
Momonga's terrifying skeletal head shook vigorously, adamantly denying his earlier emotional outburst.
However, the brief exchange with Orion warmed Momonga's heart.
Back when all members of **Ainz Ooal Gown** were present, this was how they used to joke, chat, and banter.
Meanwhile, Orion leisurely walked over to the massive throne and sat down, pulling out a book and casually flipping through its pages.
Momonga stole a glance and saw the title: *Thus Spoke Zarathustra*.
Momonga knew this book was written by a German philosopher named Nietzsche roughly two hundred years ago.
He wasn't particularly erudite himself; he only knew this because Orion was always reading it, sparking Momonga's curiosity enough to look it up online.
"Zarathustra, are you logging off soon, or are you staying here until shutdown?" Momonga asked cautiously, a glimmer of hope shining in his crimson eyes.
"I'll stay with you until shutdown. It's not long now anyway," Orion replied casually, glancing at the countdown timer on his interface.
Hearing this, a flicker of joy ignited within Momonga. Eagerly searching for topics, he started, "**Herohero** logged in earlier, but he was only online for a few minutes before logging off again. He looked really exhausted in real life."
Momonga sighed sympathetically. As a fellow corporate drone, a mere cog in this 'cyberpunk' society, he deeply understood Herohero's fatigue.
"Oh, right! Herohero mentioned there might be a Yggdrasil II. If it's true, Zarathustra, will you come play with us?" Momonga added hastily, remembering the tidbit.
Orion closed the book in his hands, pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "...I haven't heard anything about Yggdrasil II being developed."
Momonga slumped visibly at the news. "Oh... so Herohero must have gotten false information then."
He trusted Orion implicitly. Knowing Orion likely held significant social status in the real world, if *he* said it wasn't happening, it must be true.
"Don't dwell on it, Momonga. People experience joy and sorrow, parting and reunion, just as the moon waxes and wanes. No feast lasts forever under heaven," Orion comforted him gently.
"...Regardless, we shared laughter and joy, spending many happy years together in this game."
"Cherish those feelings in your heart. Bringing them out to reminisce occasionally makes them the most important memories of our lives."
Orion knew Momonga secretly hoped to rebuild **Ainz Ooal Gown** in another game, but he also knew it was a pipe dream. People couldn't live in games forever. Especially after starting families, game time inevitably took a backseat. The members of **Ainz Ooal Gown** were already scattered to the winds, becoming precious memories, just as Orion said.
"I understand, Zarathustra. It's just... sometimes it's hard to accept," Momonga admitted, lowering his head bitterly.
Orion deftly changed the subject. "...I remember you complaining about your real-life job last time we met. Still stuck with it?"
"Yeah, still there. You know how high unemployment is now, Zarathustra. Having a job at all is tough. No matter how exhausting, I have to keep going." Just mentioning the real world gave Momonga a headache. His intense attachment to **Ainz Ooal Gown** was partly an escape from that harsh reality.
"In that case, give me your contact info. I'll get in touch after we log off and find you a job that's both high-paying and easy," Orion declared lazily, leaning back into the enormous throne chair.
"Th-this... wouldn't that be inconvenient? Could it cause trouble for you?" Momonga stammered, a surge of hope making his voice tremble.
"No trouble at all. A small favor for a friend. It's only natural after knowing each other for nearly twelve years." Orion waved a dismissive hand.
Momonga was deeply moved. If it weren't for the setting, he might have rushed over to hug Orion's leg and shout, "...Take me under your wing, boss!"
He felt no embarrassment or shame about this impulse; he'd done similar things in the game before. Momonga sighed internally. Just as everyone suspected, Zarathustra was indeed a big shot in the real world. In this society, only those with genuine power could arrange such things so easily.
The two chatted idly until the shutdown countdown hit five minutes. Both Orion and Momonga fell silent simultaneously.
Momonga stared blankly at the timer, feeling reluctant yet strangely relieved. He wasn't overwhelmed by sadness or loneliness this time because a friend was seeing it through with him until the very end.
Orion reopened his book, but his attention wasn't on the pages. He watched the countdown, his own heart filled with trepidation.
This was the second world he had transmigrated to.
After 'dying' in the experiment called 'Third Star Particle' in a world called the **Little Garden **, Orion had transmigrated here.
Again, he was reborn as an infant. This time, however, luck wasn't on his side. Instead of a wealthy family, he was born into the social underclass.
To his surprise, this transmigration wasn't starting from scratch. The mysterious entity called the 'Third Star Particle' still flowed within his blood.
While it didn't grant him world-shattering power, it bestowed him with physical and mental capabilities far exceeding the norm.
Although the society of this transmigrated world was overwhelmingly bleak, Orion believed this 'cheat' would allow him to easily rise to the top.
Holding onto this hope for the future, Orion lived through his teenage years. Even in a world with rigid class stratification, his exceptional intellect allowed him to leap social strata multiple times.
He had planned to start researching the 'Third Star Particle' in his blood once he gained sufficient power. Back in the lab, he'd heard his 'father' mention it was related to a **Third Type Perpetual Motion Machine**.
Coincidentally, his current world faced an energy crisis. If he could develop the Third Type Perpetual Motion Machine, he would become humanity's savior, rewriting civilization itself while gaining supreme prestige and power. This was the goal Orion had set for himself: to become humanity's **Emperor **!
However, the emergence of the game 'Yggdrasil' disrupted Orion's plans. He realized he was in the world of **Overlord**!
He had only watched the first season of the anime. While he wasn't familiar with later content, he knew the basic setting. Naturally, he dove into the game, joined **Ainz Ooal Gown**, spared no expense on microtransactions, grinded relentlessly, and leveraged his superhuman reflexes and awareness to win five consecutive World Championships, reaping immense fame and rewards.
He had even considered using real-world influence to directly alter the game data. Ultimately, that idea proved futile. In the current social climate, the corporations first releasing virtual games in response to global government initiatives were colossal conglomerates. Even with his extraordinary intellect, reaching that level of influence in such a rigidly stratified society would take, in Orion's estimation, at least five to ten more years.
Moreover, Orion felt an inexplicable sense that some kind of 'Will' or 'Principle' was preventing him from achieving this within the game's twelve-year span. He even had a premonition that the numerical stats in the game weren't merely data; they represented his *actual* latent power! The game was simply manifesting that power into numbers. Altering the data would be pointless.
*Forget it. If I actually tampered with the game data, maybe the transmigration wouldn't happen.*
*...Compared to the crushing despair of this world's reality, a world of swords and magic sounds much more appealing.*
*If this transmigration fails, I'll just continue researching the Third Type Perpetual Motion Machine.*
With this thought, Orion's anxiety vanished. Regardless of whether this transmigration succeeded, he had paved a path for himself. Besides this game, Orion held another, greater secret related to the dark void where his consciousness had once resided.
**23:59:10, 9—**
Watching the timer, Momonga looked at Orion. "...So, Zarathustra, we'll connect in reality later?"
"...Oh, and after knowing you for so long, I still don't know your real name."
Momonga rubbed his bald skull, sounding embarrassed.
"**Orion Vesper!**" Orion declared firmly.
Simultaneously, the timer hit **0:00:00**.
"Huh?" Momonga realized he hadn't been forcibly logged out. The timer continued counting upwards.
*What's going on? Server lag?* Momonga wondered, puzzled.
Meanwhile, Orion's expression shifted beneath his demonic visage of black flame. He clearly felt power surging within him.
The power roared, it raged. It felt as if Orion could truly bestow decay upon all things, as if he had transformed into one of the Six Great Demons of Zoroastrianism!
At the same moment, the 'Third Star Particle' within him, which had flowed sluggishly before, suddenly surged violently, coursing through his body. As it surged, 'energy' manifested from nothingness!
Just as Orion was captivated by this sudden surge of 'power', a voice, both respectful and tinged with purity and allure, echoed through the Throne Room:
"...Is there anything you require, **Supreme Beings**?"
Orion snapped back to reality. He slowly turned his head to the side.
The beautiful, pure-white demoness stood there, her head bowed slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips.
The statue-like goddess had finally come to life.
Orion rested a hand on his chin, studying the white demoness with keen interest for a long moment. His tone shifted, becoming low and commanding:
"...Come. Grovel before me, **Albedo**!"
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