Arrival in an isekai

You pluck a roast beef sandwich from the perpetual Heroes Feast table, its bread still warm and meat perfectly seasoned. A moment's concentration summons the familiar shimmer of Gate magic, the portal opening directly into Jircniv's private study.

The emperor looks up sharply when you knock on the wall while stepping through, his fountain pen pausing mid-stroke. His eyes widen fractionally before his diplomatic mask settles into place.

"Lord Blank," Jircniv says carefully, setting down his pen. "As usual, you don't bother with doors."

You cross to his desk and set the sandwich beside his cooling tea. "I know I don't sleep, but you do. You should take better care of yourself, my aggravatingly handsome friend."

Jircniv glances at the sandwich, then back to you with something resembling cautious amusement. "Aggravatingly handsome? That's a new one. Most people settle for 'Your Imperial Majesty' when they drop into my office unannounced."

"Most people are boring," you reply, settling into the chair across from him without invitation. "Oh, that reminds me. I intended to give you something."

You reach into your inventory, sorting through the dimensional storage. Jircniv watches this display of casual magic with the expression of someone who's stopped being surprised by impossible things.

"Here it is," you say, withdrawing a pillow that shimmers with faint blue enchantment. "A Restful Pillow. Once a day, it gives the user a full night's rest in only four hours."

Jircniv accepts the pillow carefully, turning it over in his hands. The enchantment pulses gently under his touch. "Four hours instead of eight," he murmurs. "That would be extraordinarily useful for someone in my position."

He sets it on his desk beside the sandwich, studying you with calculating interest. "I assume this gift comes with conversation attached? The timing seems deliberate, given your recent announcement to the entire continent."

"You received information of Demiurge's message then," you observe.

"The entire world received notice of the Slane Theocracy's message," Jircniv corrects dryly. "Simultaneously manifesting in every street corner, council chambers, and military headquarters across an entire nation tends to make an impression that's hard to hide. Your subordinate has a flair for the dramatic."

He leans back in his chair, fingers steepling. "I've already identified all six enslaved elves in Imperial custody. The transfer orders are drafted and ready for my signature. Is that why you're here? To ensure compliance?"

"The Elven ambassador's should be here in a few days. Actually, I came to check on you," you say honestly. "The sandwich and pillow weren't bribes. They're gifts for a friend who works too hard."

Jircniv blinks. For just a moment, genuine surprise breaks through his diplomatic exterior. "A friend," he repeats slowly, as if testing the word.

"At least I'd like you to be a friend, as comical as your depiction becomes in the original series, I imagine you'd be a fantastic drinking buddy, one I wouldn't have to worry about trying to sleep with my girls, considering the multiple concubines and children you have." You pause "How far has your reading progressed by the way "

Jircniv processes your casual declaration of friendship with visible wariness. His diplomatic training wars with genuine surprise at your reference to 'the original series.'

"Comical portrayal?" he asks carefully, picking up the sandwich. "You've read accounts of my future actions in another world."

He takes a bite of the roast beef, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "As for drinking companions who won't pursue your women, yes, I have concubines and children already. My interest lies elsewhere than competing for the affections of women powerful enough to flatten armies." There's dry humor in his voice. "Self-preservation makes for excellent fidelity."

The emperor sets down the sandwich, leaning forward with sharpened attention. "Volumes five and six were disturbing reading. The systematic corruption consuming the Kingdom from within, the manipulation of factions, the rotting foundations beneath seemingly stable institutions. I confess I kept expecting you to intervene as the protagonist did in those texts, reshaping the political landscape through overwhelming force and careful manipulation."

"I've already taken what I was interested in from the Re-Estize's corruption," Your laughter makes him pause, reassessing. "Tsuare was rescued by Sebas I should check on her it's been a few days, I've made contact with Princess Renner, what happens to the country's criminal organizations now are irrelevant to me. "

"You've already extracted what interested you," Jircniv repeats slowly, genuine curiosity replacing calculation. "And you simply don't care what becomes of Eight Fingers or the criminal networks strangling the Kingdom's economy."

"Not unless Renner or the girls of Blue Rose make it entertaining. As for Volume seven, your spy likely already reported that Arche and her sisters are living at my Carne Manor, the tomb in this world is a much smaller portal. Harder to find but just as much a death-trap, so nothing in that volume is particularly use-able."

He stands, moving to pour himself wine from a crystal decanter. "I started volume seven yesterday evening. Fluder's betrayal was disappointing to read, though not entirely surprising given his scholarly obsession. The workers infiltrating the mysterious tomb seems straightforward dungeon exploration until things become horrifically wrong."

Jircniv turns back to you, wine glass in hand. "And you're telling me Arche Furt and her sisters are living safely at your estate, meaning those events simply won't occur. The tomb is your own smaller portal, similarly lethal but already under your control."

He returns to his seat, studying you with open fascination now rather than guarded diplomacy. "You're using these books as a guide to what might have happened rather than what will happen. Intervening at key points to extract individuals or resources that interest you while allowing the broader historical currents to flow however they will."

The emperor takes a long drink of wine. "That's simultaneously more terrifying and more reassuring than I expected. Terrifying because it demonstrates how thoroughly you understand causality across timelines. Reassuring because it means you're not trying to micromanage continental politics for some grand ideological purpose."

"So tell me," Jircniv says, genuine interest evident beneath his careful phrasing. "If you're not interested in the Kingdom's corruption or the criminal organizations, what do you actually care about in this world?"

You gesture toward the stack of Overlord volumes on Jircniv's desk. "We had a similar conversation a few days ago that resulted in our non-agreement. With Carne Manor having an increasing count of young women, I'd have figured it'd be obvious my answer is genuine. In this universe at least, only a small list of women in that series are of interest to me."

Jircniv sets down his wine glass, attention sharpening. "So the entire continental political landscape is just background scenery to you."

"The rest of this universe is simply a low-mid fantasy world," you continue. "Aside from the mostly blonde women and some comical political events, there's nothing really notable. It has minor convenience of being able to make a discrete manor and actions, but there's nothing to really gain from this world."

The emperor leans back in his chair, processing this declaration. "You're telling me that everything happening here, the wars, the economic systems, the centuries of accumulated power structures, all of it is just killing time while you collect young women."

"Essentially," you confirm. "There is a list of minor events like the Zurrernorn extermination and issues like the Elf Kingdom or Slane Theocracy I can entertain myself with. But that's just killing time while the multiversal girls like Milly and Lacus you met yesterday adapt from their futuristic worlds."

Jircniv pours himself more wine, his expression caught between relief and something resembling existential vertigo. "I'm still not certain whether that makes you more or less terrifying. On one hand, you're not trying to reshape continental civilization. On the other hand, we're so beneath your notice that reshaping us would be pointless."

"I'll likely have to find a different universe to move the Manor to once the girls outgrow the area," you add.

"Move to a different universe," Jircniv repeats slowly. "Of course. Why wouldn't you just leave entirely when this world no longer serves your purposes."

He drinks deeply before continuing. "So the Theocracy's existential panic about your capabilities is completely justified, but their assumption that you care enough to conquer them is laughably wrong. You'll crush them if they violate your ultimatum because they annoyed you, not because you want their territory or resources."

"That's, an accurate enough summary," you reply.

The emperor stares at his wine for a long moment. "That actually explains your behavior better than any grand ideological concepts would. You're not building an empire or reforming societies. You're just collecting interesting women and dealing with immediate irritations while waiting for your household to acclimate before moving on to the next world entirely."

He looks up at you with something approaching genuine curiosity. "What kind of world would you move to next? Another fantasy setting, or something completely different?"

You lean back in your chair, considering Jircniv's question with genuine interest. "A higher tier fantasy world, or maybe just a different low tier fantasy world that might benefit from having the girls present. Science fiction worlds, while convenient, cause dependence on civilization and prevent individual growth. That's what I'm trying to adapt the girls out of before we begin our adventure through the realms."

Jircniv sets down his wine glass, listening with focused attention.

"Supernatural worlds are more ghost and ignorance concepts," you continue. "Everything could only have been prevented if they had known a specific detail beforehand, and nothing is reversible. There are several fantasy worlds of different tiers that are almost designed for growth adventures."

The emperor picks up the sandwich again, taking another bite while processing your explanation. "So you're deliberately selecting worlds based on their educational value for your household. You want environments where they can develop personal capabilities rather than relying on technological infrastructure."

You confirm. "Lacus for example came from spacefaring civilizations, advanced medical technology, and complex political systems. They need time to adjust to more primitive settings before I take them somewhere truly dangerous."

Jircniv nods slowly. "And this world serves as a transition point. Magic is more intuitive than advanced science, but still civilized enough that they can adapt gradually."

"This world also has convenient scale," you add. "The kingdoms are large enough to taunt, but the village is small enough that individual actions have visible consequences. Perfect for teaching cause and effect without overwhelming them."

"You're using entire civilizations as training grounds," Jircniv observes, though his tone carries curiosity rather than judgment. "Finding worlds with the right difficulty curve for your household's development."

"The alternative would be throwing them directly into something deadly," you reply. "They'd either break or become too dependent on me for protection. This approach gives them room to adapt before being pushed to grow at their own pace."

The emperor finishes his sandwich, wiping his hands with a cloth napkin. "So when you eventually move on, you'll be looking for somewhere with higher stakes but still enough structure that they can navigate independently?"

"Something like that," you agree. "A world where personal strength matters more than political connections, but where civilization still exists to provide context."

Jircniv refills his wine glass, offering you the decanter. "You've clearly given this considerable thought. Most people with your level of power would just conquer whatever interested them and call it finished."

You manifest a crystal glass from thin air, pouring yourself a half-cup of wine before settling back into your chair. "Yes and no. Conquering whatever interests them is the general option or accusation once you get to higher tiers. The simple inability to avoid the usage of power becomes tyranny no matter how soft it's used. Stay somewhere long enough for weaker locals to accuse you of anything and it becomes abuse of power."

Jircniv listens intently, his own glass paused halfway to his lips.

"While many other stories completely ignore the fact that, as you well know, any human government is full of inner conflict, inadequacy and posturing. Humans are easily their own worst enemy. Ignore that fact and you get a conquering lord-hero that somehow never has to question why or how his human government is running so smoothly while somehow supporting his conquering in harmony."

The emperor nods slowly. "You're describing the fantasy that every conqueror tells themselves. That their rule will be different, that their power will somehow avoid the pitfalls of human nature."

"Close enough," you continue. "Once I've finished recruiting the group of girls I've read of in various stories, the first world they'll be adventuring to is a simple zombie scenario. Imagine a civilian city being overrun slowly by zombies. Technically they could simply grab some sticks and club the zombies and the threat would be over, but none of them mysteriously do. It becomes a very low tier adventure of learning to fight things that intend you harm and are easy humanoid targets."

Jircniv sets down his glass, fascinated. "Teaching them to kill without the moral weight of killing actual people first."

"The larger danger of such a scenario is hidden," you explain. "Surviving humans take advantage of the chaos to become worse than zombies. They'll learn that monsters aren't always the real threat."

The emperor absorbs this with the expression of someone filing away valuable tactical philosophy. "You're systematically training them to handle escalating dangers while teaching them about human nature itself. That's, remarkably deliberate."

You finish your wine and stand. "Thank you for the conversation, Jircniv. And remember about the elven ambassador's upcoming arrival."

"Already prepared," he confirms, rising as well. "The six enslaved elves are being transferred to a comfortable holding area as we speak. When your representative arrives, the handover will be immediate."

You open a shimmering Gate directly in his study, the silver-edged portal revealing the main hall of Carne Manor beyond.

"Until next time," Jircniv says, raising his empty glass in salute.

You step through the portal, feeling it close behind you as you emerge into the familiar surroundings of your manor. After a moment, you continue through the dungeon passageway, the familiar transition between dimensional spaces carrying you instantly to the vast expanse of Nazarick's 1102nd floor. The library stretches endlessly in all directions, crystalline shelves holding knowledge from countless worlds.

Jibril looks up from a massive tome detailing elven genealogies, her expression brightening immediately. "My Lord, you've returned from the Empire already?"

You cross the distance between you, pulling her into your arms and kissing her deeply. She melts against you, responding with genuine enthusiasm before you finally break apart.

"I need you to show me the next graveyard on the resurrection schedule," you say.

Her professional demeanor returns instantly as she gestures toward empty air. A scrying window materializes, displaying a cemetery on the eastern edge of the Elf Kingdom capital. Roughly two hundred burial markers dot the hillside, arranged in neat rows beneath ancient oak trees. Several elven guards patrol the perimeter while a small crowd of civilians watches from a respectful distance.

"The Eastern Memorial Grove," Jibril explains. "Approximately three hundred ninety-three burials based on archival records. Mostly civilians killed during Hougan's third decade of rule."

You place your hand on her shoulder, visualizing the location through the scrying window, and cast your teleportation spell. Reality shifts around you both.

You arrive directly in the center of the graveyard. The elven guards snap to attention, hands moving toward weapons before recognition dawns. The civilians gasp, several dropping to their knees.

"Lord Blank," one guard begins. "We weren't informed you would be, "

You ignore him completely, raising both hands as you channel your magic. Move Earth responds to your will, soil liquefying and flowing aside as every coffin throughout the graveyard rises simultaneously into the air. The wooden boxes arrange themselves in perfect floating rows above the disturbed earth.

Telekinesis maintains the formation while you focus on the resurrection spell. Golden light erupts from every coffin at once. The wood splinters and falls away as bodies reform within the radiance, flesh and bone reconstructing from dust and memory.

Three hundred ninety-three elves materialize in midair, gasping their first breaths in centuries. You lower them gently to the grass, their restored bodies settling onto the ground as the resurrection magic completes its work.

The watching civilians erupt into screaming chaos, some rushing forward toward specific restored individuals while others simply collapse in shock. The guards abandon any pretense of maintaining order, staring at the mass resurrection with expressions of pure disbelief.

Jibril stands beside you, her expression professionally satisfied as she begins cataloging the restored individuals. "Marking completion of Eastern Memorial Grove."