"It's time to decide."
"Decide what?"
Looking at the red flowers swaying softly in the wind, Flamme asked.
"Do you want to leave your name in history?"
She clenched her fist and shifted her gaze from the flowers to him.
It was a question asked after he had completed the magic to make a flower field. There was weight in those words.
"Leave my name in history? That's sudden."
His ordinary sensibilities found the idea unfamiliar.
History was like the sky, and to leave one's name there was like engraving a star upon it.
Wasn't that the sort of thing reserved for renowned scholars and great inventors, something carved onto a gravestone?
To wish for history to remember you.
He had never once thought that way, and when he remembered how, in his human days, he had struggled merely not to disappear in an overdeveloped world, it was not an idea that could have come to him.
When one could not even know what lay ahead in the immediate future, how could one think of the distant future, of ten thousand years from now?
If one were to count episodes from a game as history, then perhaps the time they had defeated an army of fifteen hundred in Yggdrasil could be called history.
But what Flamme meant was surely not the sort of deed that would merely earn a line on a wiki.
As expected, Flamme denied that notion.
"This isn't sudden. The healing potion will absolutely remain in history. That's already decided."
It was, after all, the command of the Emperor of the unified Empire that occupied most of the continent.
If the Empire were to collapse overnight, it might all come to nothing, but such a thing was hardly likely to happen.
Now that matters had gone this far, this was probably the last chance to turn back.
"I'll ask you one more time."
That was why Flamme spoke.
"Do you want to leave your name in history?"
That was what she asked.
To Ainz, it may have been nothing more than a simple test item, or something to use for making money, but Flamme seemed to have thought otherwise.
She gave the impression that she had known, deep down, that this would happen.
Since when had that been the case?
Perhaps it had begun the moment he said he wanted to learn the magic that made a flower field.
"Was this your plan from the start?"
"Yes."
He felt vaguely as though he had been had, and that displeased him, but he was not angry.
"You can still change it now."
It was Flamme who had received the imperial command.
Ainz had never once shown himself in any official setting.
More precisely, it would be fair to say that he handled what was behind the scenes, while Flamme handled what was in front.
"Just say that I made the healing potion. If you do that, you won't stand out."
There was the no-risk choice, where he would bear no responsibility at all, and there was the path where responsibility came with honor.
She was pressing him to choose one of the two.
Since they had chosen something that purely saved lives rather than a weapon that killed people, there was no real cause for concern.
Either choice would probably be fine.
Had she chosen the healing potion for this very reason?
For Ainz, who had wanted a peaceful life, calm and undisturbed enough to sink into like the sea, fame was a burden.
"You do it."
"Really?"
It would be nice if the name Ainz spread.
The possibility was slim, but if some other guildmate besides him had fallen into this world, then under the guild's name they might gather again. That tiny hope crossed his mind.
Even so, it was already little more than a flickering candle in the wind.
Thinking about it realistically cooled his head.
"I'm in a body that can't remove its mask. And the other party is the Emperor. No fool would invite someone this suspicious into the palace."
If it were discovered that he was undead, it would all be over.
No matter how much he denied it, who would buy a healing potion made by someone whose appearance resembled that of demons?
As for magic, he could at least ask Serie, that living grimoire, about what to watch out for. But if there were some special magic item or ability that could see through what lay beyond the mask, that would be useless.
"It's medicine that can save lives. Even if it's suspicious, people will still want it. Even if the one who made it were a beggar cast out onto the roadside."
"Optimistic, aren't you? You only say that because you don't know the face under this mask."
"You're just too negative. If you're going to say that, then show me your face."
"...That's not the only issue."
To bridge the gap between their irreconcilable views, he piled on excuses.
"Didn't you say you wanted to make it so everyone in the world could use magic? If it's you and not me, you'll be able to get closer to that dream you want."
"It might be faster, yes."
She tilted her head slightly.
"But is that really what you wanted?"
In the faintly falling light, his figure was reflected clearly in her green eyes.
Damn it.
Again. Again, it was that look.
Just look at those eyes, filled with absolute certainty that what lay before them was right.
As expected of Serie's disciple, he truly could not understand that intuition of hers.
As he was now, no, even his future self would probably never have any way of understanding how they thought.
Though they possessed eternity, it was a magic forever beyond his reach, impossible to acquire.
This time, Flamme spoke.
"The flowers you made exist only here for now, but the Empire will keep researching them to obtain them."
They would analyze them, reproduce them, and eventually mass-produce them.
"It may take time, but one day they might become flowers so common people kick them aside underfoot."
When that day came, no one would acknowledge the efforts of the man who first made flowers bloom here.
Only the truth would remain, unknown to all, like a forgotten statue rusting away.
"I don't want that."
It was not a warm-hearted sentiment like consideration or concession.
"I didn't want to break off the stem that made such a beautiful flower field bloom."
Those were words she could say because she was confident she could achieve her dream even without relying on Ainz.
"That's why I'm asking."
Flamme was endlessly straightforward.
"Ainz, do you want to leave your name in history?"
*
To become famous.
It was both a blessing and a curse.
"One thing is certain. People will become very interested in you."
That was what Flamme said.
Rumors spread quickly, she said, and in doing so they exposed the full extent of one's strength.
Location, appearance, abilities, and so on. If you left room for others to understand you, you gave unseen enemies time to think.
"And demons will notice that interest soon enough. They're arrogant and narrow-minded, but they aren't fools. They study humans."
They were beings who had learned the sound of human crying and reached a kind of convergent evolution. So, just like people, if they saw someone as an enemy, they moved to eliminate them, and they betrayed one another as well.
"That's why I've lived while trying not to stand out as much as possible."
Flamme walked on with her cloak wrapped around her.
"If it becomes known that I'm a strong mage, the enemy will be on guard too."
Flamme used tactics that drew opponents in by suppressing her mana, then struck by surprise when they let their guard down, using the gap in power as her weapon. It was still too early for her face to become widely known.
She had even made the villagers she saved keep quiet, just in case rumors about Flamme reached the ears of demons.
"It feels strange saying this now, but are you really sure about this?"
"That really is a bit late to ask. Do you think I'll be killed by demons?"
"No, not that. I don't think that. It'll just become troublesome."
In the end, he chose to let his name ring out through the world.
Others might not understand why he would cast aside caution and do such a thing.
That was fine. There were things that did not function on understanding and reason alone.
There were things a person could not yield.
The red flowers.
They were mine.
My achievement.
Something born of Yggdrasil, the world I had loved so deeply and poured my life into.
If someone other than me, someone who had not lived there, became the one who made them bloom, if that truth were denied, it felt as though the very foundation that made me who I was would collapse.
That ruined world, the world whose end I had shared, had also been my spiritual homeland and refuge, the place that let me escape the colorless reality. That was why it had to be me who proved it.
Perhaps it was stubbornness.
Even so, I was not such a coward that I would do nothing out of fear of enemies.
I was simply cautious enough to test even a stone bridge over and over before crossing.
As for identity, that could be changed as many times as needed.
I had avoided using it because of the danger of being seen through, but disguising my appearance with the power of Yggdrasil was simple enough.
As they walked through the imperial capital, one of the commanders among the goblin troop following behind looked around and said,
"By the way, Lady Flamme. Doesn't it feel like people are staring at us?"
"Hm?"
"Well, our appearance is unusual, so of course we stand out."
At present, Ainz's group was strolling through the imperial capital with a small number of goblins, excluding those left behind to guard the house.
They stood out enormously.
And naturally so. Were they not the most talked-about figures of the moment?
A mysterious woman with her face hidden beneath a hood.
Goblins.
And among them, the suspicious man wearing a mask stood out most of all.
If one included the various incidents that had happened on the way here, one could probably fill an entire book.
Along the way, they had defeated monsters threatening villages and healed the wounded.
This time, Flamme had not tried to stop the spread of rumors, so stories about Ainz casually producing healing potions must have spread in an instant.
There were no telephones in this world, but perhaps because this was near the capital, there was no one here who did not know what they looked like.
On the road, there was a slight sense of distance between them and the people around them.
Even knowing that the masked man passing through the center was the one who made the healing potion, people could not easily approach him.
Perhaps it was because Ainz, tense as he was, was giving off a grim aura.
Then there was one brave soul.
He was a soldier who had nearly lost his life on the battlefield against demons.
Clutching the healing potion in his hand, he muttered in a voice that carried clearly to the ear,
"Th-the Red Drop."
It was small, but enough for everyone to hear.
The Red Drop. It was one of the names people used for the healing potion that had saved lives on the battlefield.
It was one of the epithets born from not knowing the name of the one who made the medicine.
For a moment, silence fell.
The merchants at their stalls, the passersby on the street, even the beggar sitting and asking for alms. None of them mistook the owner of that epithet.
Fame was a curse, but it was also a blessing.
Once one person spoke, several others followed and filled in the rest.
"Seeker."
It was a word of gratitude for the magic item that had filled the bellies of the hungry, or quenched the thirst of the parched.
"Goblin Master."
It was a title given because he commanded those beings called goblins like his own hands and feet, though they were still unfamiliar, mysterious creatures.
"Skybreaker."
Because he had pioneered the sky, still the exclusive domain of demons beyond the reach of mankind, albeit through a magic item, he was given an epithet akin to that of some king of bombardment.
"Jealousy Mask."
There was even someone who sharply guessed the name of the mask forged from winter's hatred.
"Weird Clothes!"
Someone else simply pointed out his striking black attire amid all the white garments everyone else wore.
And then—
"Sorcerer King."
The moment those words were spoken, everyone around turned to look at the man who had coined them.
With all eyes on him, the man himself seemed startled by the words he had blurted out in the heat of the moment. He covered his mouth and slipped straight into the forest of the crowd.
The man was no longer visible, and after that, no new nickname followed.
King of sorcery, king of magic.
The king who ruled over such things.
Though the Emperor openly reigned over the land, using the title of king was a dangerous thing to say, yet no one could refute it.
Because no new word came to mind that could surpass that epithet.
Sorcerer King Ainz Ooal Gown.
The one who spread magic items beyond comprehension throughout this world.
That was the name by which later generations would remember him.
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