He was alone again.
The training yard was empty now—swept clean, silent, still. Only the echoes of drills and footsteps remained, fading into memory.
Elijah stood where the last match had ended, cloak swaying gently around his legs. Mimic pulsed once, then stilled.
And then he felt it.
Not footsteps. Not sound.
Just a presence.
"I expected you sooner," he said without turning.
Delta stepped from the shadow of a pillar, silent as always.
"I observed," she said.
"For how long?"
"Since before Cocytus arrived."
He looked over his shoulder, eyebrows slightly raised. "You watched all of it?"
"Yes."
A beat.
"...You didn't step in."
"You did not require assistance."
Elijah gave a half-smile. "Didn't know you cared."
"I do not."
He laughed once—soft, low.
Delta stepped closer, her gaze neutral, but her optics shifted—ever so slightly.
"You changed your technique," she said.
"Adapted it," he replied. "Restraint can be just as effective as violence."
"You believe these warriors can learn mercy?"
"I believe they can learn options."
Delta tilted her head. "Most find blood simpler."
"Most don't know any better."
She paused beside him, her gaze following his out toward the empty yard.
"You are not like the others," she said.
"You said that before."
"It remains true."
They stood in silence.
Not uncomfortable. Just... quiet.
Then she asked, voice unchanged: "Do you miss them?"
It took him a second.
"The players?"
Delta nodded once.
Elijah's voice came softer now. "Yeah. Some of them. Not all. But… Touch Me. Yeah."
Another pause.
"He made you who you are," she said.
"He tried."
More silence.
Then she turned to leave.
Halfway through her step, she stopped.
"I will return," she said, "when the sky dims again."
He watched her go.
---
Later, Elijah found himself climbing one of the spiral staircases leading to the scrying chamber.
He stepped inside. The room was dark, quiet—humming with latent magic.
Elijah activated the crystal orb.
At first, only mist.
Then, the image formed.
A battlefield. A narrow stone corridor deep beneath E-Rantel. The air was thick with dust and the scent of blood.
Clementine danced around her enemy like fire—fast, mocking, cruel.
But Ainz… Ainz did not move.
He let her strike. Let her rant. Let her flail.
And then—he caught her.
One armored arm around her back, another locking her arms to her side. He squeezed.
She screamed. She thrashed.
It didn't matter.
The life drained from her with every second. Her bones cracked. Her spine buckled.
And when it was done, he let her fall.
A broken thing.
Elijah stood still, watching through the crystal's haze.
He did not flinch.
He only whispered:
"I hope you remember why you started this."
His reflection in the orb wavered beside Ainz's armored figure.
"Because if you don't… I will."
He let the magic fade.
The orb dimmed.
Mimic curled against his back.
And Elijah—silent, watchful—turned and walked away.