The capital of the unified Empire: Iceberg.
Inside the carriage bound for the place where the Emperor resided, Ainz was steeped in turmoil.
At the sight of him covering his mask with one hand and hanging his head, the Goblin Commander whispered to Flamme, "Why is Lord Ainz like that?"
"A crown is a heavy thing," she said.
The goblins tilted their heads in confusion, and Flamme grinned to herself.
Then, as if making sure he could hear, Flamme said, "Sorcerer King."
Ainz's body twitched at once.
"Your Majesty, Sorcerer King."
"Stop that."
"As you wish, Your Majesty, Sorcerer King."
After laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach, Flamme wiped away her tears and asked, "So? How did it feel to walk around outside the imperial palace?"
"The worst."
At Flamme's urging, he had gone out of the carriage and walked around, only to be called all manner of bizarre titles.
When he recalled one of the more memorable ones, he felt as though skin he no longer possessed were turning red.
'Sorcerer King? What kind of painfully chuunibyou title is that...? This is humiliating!'
It was only fortunate that he had been wearing a mask while walking through the capital. In truth, his jaw had nearly dropped open.
He writhed with the feeling that his bare finger bones might curl up from embarrassment, but once his emotions rose past a certain threshold, they instantly subsided.
It was a side effect related to the Undead trait of immunity to mental magic.
"You'll be meeting the Emperor soon. Are you all right?"
Perhaps she was worried after all, because Flamme checked on his condition.
"My apologies. I've calmed down."
He opened his hand to reassure her.
Thinking it over calmly in his now emotionless state, Sorcerer King was practically angelic compared to Goblin Master or Jealousy Mask.
'Yes. Better to be called Sorcerer King than those, at least.'
Having completed that dramatic act of self-rationalization, he turned his gaze toward the imperial palace visible in the distance.
True to its name as the capital, the center of the Empire was marked by towering spires and imposing gates, more advanced than any city he had seen before.
"The Emperor..."
At his quiet murmur, Flamme asked, "Are you worried?"
"Yes."
After all, was he not the most authoritative man on the continent? He was not someone a mere salesman should ever have been able to meet face-to-face.
No matter that he now possessed a body beyond humanity, his soul had not changed.
A spirit born into suppression and persecution still carried a vague longing for wealthy men of power, along with jealousy and helplessness.
"It's all right, Ainz. You're not beneath him in the slightest."
She tried to lift the dispirited Ainz.
Saying that compared to all he had done so far, the Emperor was nothing much, she spoke of the man she had known until now.
"You're the first person to stand beside my master as an equal."
Serie, a mage of the mythic age, had surely seen countless Emperors die and be replaced. And yet the one who had stood at her side was not an Emperor, but Ainz.
"And besides, you're with me, the future Great Mage, aren't you?"
The one whom Serie herself had said might one day reach her realm spoke with complete confidence.
"So even if the Empire falls and another nation rises on top of it, the name that will remain in the end is yours."
Fire was one of humanity's greatest discoveries. Though languages differed, all still understood fire as fire. In the same way, the name of Ainz, who had spread healing potions and countless magic items together with them, would reach into the farthest future.
Because—
"As long as there is someone who remembers your flower, you can make a flower field bloom as many times as you like."
In her palm, a flower stretched out its stem, drew forth leaves, and opened its bud.
It was Ainz's red flower.
As she handed it to him, she asked, "Have you decided on a name for the flower?"
"A name?"
"If no one knows the flower's name, then this little life would be sad too. So as its parent, give it a name."
A name for the flower that would endure forever.
At Flamme's words, the glove on his hand brushed over the stem.
"I do not know this flower's scent, nor do I know its touch."
"But you made it bloom."
"That was only chance."
"There is no chance in magic. It was born because it was meant to happen."
He had drawn into reality a flower born from nothing more than a fragment of data.
"It's in your hand because you know this flower better than anyone."
Yes. In this world, I am probably the only one who knows how this flower was born.
"There was originally a name used for this flower."
"A name no one knows. You're the first to make it bloom."
He could have simply used its original name.
"Since it's come to this, give it a splendid name."
Looking at the red flower that had followed him even from the ruined world, he thought.
"Come to think of it, they say those who invent or discover something often name it after themselves."
Memories of Yggdrasil flowed past like a panorama.
At the thought that suddenly came to him, he let out a hollow laugh.
How ironic.
And yet, somehow delightful.
It was absurd that he had thought of such a thing, but it fit the present situation so perfectly that he could not help but choose it.
"Own Goal."
It was the story of nine suiciders who had died countless times for the sake of humanity.
"It's Nine's Own Goal."
Even after saying it with confidence, he burst out laughing.
To give a flower a name that meant own goal.
No—perhaps it was not wrong after all.
Those heteromorphic beings had died and died, only to enrich the humanoid players.
Then this was their floral offering.
A self-indulgent tribute sent to the nine guildmates who might one day come searching for him.
It was a name tangled with the arrogance of believing that because they had existed, humanity had been able to live.
"It's a fine name. I may not know its meaning, but I can tell it holds many memories."
Even with a mask on, the hand that held the flower and the gaze fixed upon it did not lie.
Flamme's keen eye caught that, and she smiled.
Though only one person knew the meaning behind it, the number of people who would know the name would surely one day fill the world.
*
Contrary to all his tension, the audience with the Emperor was nothing much.
There had been a strict physical inspection, but he had stored the important items in subspace, and the face beneath his mask had been replaced with illusion magic.
When he explained that he bore a terrible wound on his face and could not show it to others, they accepted it.
And so, displaying the skills he had once used as a salesman, he concluded a contract with the Emperor.
Once he showed them the healing potions and magic items he had made together with the blooming Own Goal, they seemed convinced.
It was likely also thanks to his conversation with Flamme, which had eased the pressure on him.
After finishing the whole exchange and leaving the audience chamber, his legs were trembling, but he did not show it.
Instead, he lamented to Flamme, who was waiting in the reception room.
"I thought my heart was going to stop."
"You did well."
He had no heart, but it had felt as though the heart of his mind had shriveled up, so there was not much difference.
"There was plenty happening on this side too."
Where Flamme pointed, the goblin legion, now gaining fame as mercenaries or a local militia, was sprawled across chairs with exhausted faces.
"Why do they look so worn out?"
"Scholars came."
Scholars had arrived suddenly, carrying thick books.
They had been intensely interested in the race known as goblins, who had appeared only recently.
"They laid out arguments over whether goblins could be called part of humanity."
Flamme briefly summarized the long speech they had given.
They had discussed everything from what was written in the holy scripture of the goddess to the many theories of how humanity had come into being.
In the end, the most persuasive hypothesis was that goblins were relatives of dwarves.
Strong bones and short stature.
That was the conclusion they had reached based on genetic traits similar to dwarves.
There was also a theory that monsters had evolved by imitating dwarves, but compared to demons, who were far removed from human sensibilities, goblins were rich in emotion, and so there was no choice but to doubt whether they had truly evolved from the same stock.
"It was quite an interesting discussion."
The scholars, who had touched the goblins' bodies and taken nail clippings and hair samples to verify their theories, departed after offering thanks along with a modest payment.
"And then some high-ranking figures from the church came as well."
"Now that we've shown ourselves, they're all coming one after another."
Once Ainz's group, whose whereabouts had been unknown all this time, appeared, people rose up as though pulling hidden roots from beneath the earth.
"Did they come to complain about the healing potions?"
Healing potions were no different from taking a share of the clergy's livelihood. If they voiced dissatisfaction, he could hardly blame them.
Flamme shook her head.
"No. They came to express their gratitude."
The bishop who had entered wearing a necklace engraved with the goddess's wings and pillar had bowed his head and said this:
"Only high-ranking clergy can use healing magic, so they had long felt sorrow for those they could not save."
Contrary to Ainz's expectations, the world was not so cold.
"Come to think of it, what's that alcohol over there?"
"That bishop left it behind."
"?"
"Don't look at me like that. I don't know either."
Enchanted by the elegant bottle, the goblins opened it to forget their exhaustion and passed it around among themselves.
"And besides, priests can do more than restore health. They can also use magic that drives away curses, like exorcism. So even without healing potions, their livelihoods won't be threatened."
"Is that why you excluded status-related potions other than recovery potions?"
"The clergy need jobs too."
Ainz sat down beside Flamme.
"Then for now, this is over."
Once we get back to the city, I should get some proper rest.
His body had no need of rest, but his mind was in tatters.
Through the slightly open door, he could see maids hurrying busily about.
"It looks busy outside. Is it because we came?"
"Something's strange."
At Ainz's words, Flamme touched her chin, puzzled.
There were strangely many visitors.
The maids and attendants were unusually busy.
The one who fit those puzzle pieces together was the butler who knocked on the reception room door.
The butler, a man with a scar over one eye, bowed his head and said, "His Majesty Ainz Ooal Gown has prepared a modest party. Would you honor it with your presence?"
"A party?"
At those words, Flamme muttered, "Damn. We've been had."
When he turned to look at her, she briefly explained what was happening.
"We've been tied up politically. As the makers of healing potions to be shown off to foreign nations."
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