Under the blistering sun, where the sandy dunes kissed the horizon, stood Neia Baraja, known far and wide as the Overlord’s shining sword. Her presence commanded respect, clad in impenetrable armor that once belonged to a king, a piece that whispered stories of battles fought and victories won. The air crackled around her, today she was a force to reckon with. Even the winds respected her, blowing softly around her like an unseen guardian. Neia held her Greatsword firmly, a massive weapon forged in the flames of rage and justice, its blade gleaming like a desert mirage. With a swift swing, she summoned the wrath of the desert itself; the scorching winds howled in agreement while the ground trembled at her feet. The sands were her allies, and with her Ranger's Visor fitted snugly over her eyes, she could spot any threat from miles away. “Today, I fight for Lord Ainz,” she declared, her voice like a thunderclap amidst the quiet dunes. “Not just for power, but for justice! I’ll protect those who cannot protect themselves!” But what would justice look like when a city on the sea built upon a volcano erupted with fury? For Opponent—the city was a crowded paradise now turned hellscape. Visions of lush luxury quickly morphed into ashen nightmares. The goblin royal coastal capital was drenched in wealth, but trust me, when that volcano blew, all that gold turned to dust. The ground shook violently, a sinister growl echoed through the marketplace. People ran, their screams pierced through the sky, but the looming shadow of chaos loomed larger and larger. “Run! Save yourselves!” a goblin merchant yelled, clutching his wares in desperation. And there it was—a rival to Neia’s valiant spirit; a chance to put her courage to the test. “They need help!” she roared, charging towards the chaos. The skies darkened ominously as hot rocks began to rain down from the heavens, like the wrath of the gods. Neia’s heart raced, the air thick with the smell of sulfur and fear. She dashed toward the inn, the goal in sight but the path perilous. The lava bubbles and burning embers chased her like ravenous beasts hungry for flesh. “No time to waste!” she called out to fleeing citizens. “Grab onto me; I’ll save you!” With a perfect combination of her speed and skill, Neia became the whirlwind of hope amidst the flames. She caught a small goblin child, the look of terror etched into its tiny face. “I got you! Hold on tight!” she urged, swinging her sword to clear a path. Each swing felt like a strike of fate. Then her gaze caught a mother and her youngling, trapped beneath the scattered debris of collapsed merchant tents. The ground trembled beneath them, sending plumes of ash into the air. “I’m coming!” Neia yelled, channeling every ounce of strength—her magic guard a wall against the chaos around her. The way she moved, it was poetry; every dance with danger fueled by a burning desire to protect. One by one, she saved goblins, dragging them past the molten rivers of lava that threatened to consume them whole. “You’ll make it out alive! Just keep running!” Each rescued soul added to her resolve like fuel to a fire. “One for D, two for C, five for AA,” she muttered with a fierce smile amidst the destruction, not for herself, but for her beloved lord, Ainz. “I’ll show them all!” Finally, Neia reached the inn, her heart pounding like a war drum. She tossed the last survivor inside before taking one deep breath. The volcano was a furious beast behind her, Veins of molten rock coursing through its body. “Let it roar!” she bellowed, brandishing her Greatsword high. “This city belongs to those who fight to protect!” And still, the volcano raged, the inhabitants of the city now reminded of their vulnerability beneath the grandeur. With every life saved, her power grew. As the dust settled and the fear began to turn into awe, Neia uttered a prayer, her sword still glistening in the smoldering light. “May Lord Ainz bless us, for I am but an instrument of his will! One day, I will be powerful enough to serve him justice!” As the smoke billowed like storm clouds against the sun, Neia Baraja knew one thing as she stared back at the chaos—a warrior’s heart never falters. Not in the sands. Not in the flames. That day, she didn’t just save lives; she forged a legend.