The dance known only to the two of them came to an end.
As time, which had stood still, began to flow again, the party too started to fade with the night.
And yet, even after the revelry had died down, there was still a man knocking at their guest room door.
"Lord Ainz, the flower you made bloom. I would like to help cultivate Ooal Gown."
When the door opened, a neatly dressed man bowed his head politely.
'Even after the party is over, they still come calling.'
Just as he had during the party, Ainz assumed this was another moth drawn to the healing potion's flame.
"My apologies, but we're already exhausted, so I don't think we're in any state for a conversa—"
"Wait."
The one who stopped him just as he was about to send the man away with a polite refusal was Flamme.
Her gaze slowly swept over him from head to toe.
"You were at the party hall. Why come now instead of then?"
"Ha ha ha, so you're one of the companions who was with him. He was so popular that I couldn't find a chance to cut in. Does that answer your question?"
"That's a lie. You're someone fairly high up, aren't you?"
Her sharp eyes fixed on the ornament pinned to the man's chest.
The brooch symbolizing the Empire was something only those holding high office were permitted to wear.
"You have a keen eye."
"You weren't trying to hide it in the first place."
At that, the man gave a small shrug.
It was as if to say that if they could not notice even this much, then it hardly mattered.
'He entered the party hall after I did, and yet he had been watching everyone there?'
Ainz, who had silently observed the entire exchange, was impressed.
If Flamme had not been here, he would have been taken for a fool without even realizing it.
In place of Ainz, who knew nothing of politics, Flamme took the lead in the conversation.
"The Emperor sent you, didn't he?"
Perhaps taking Flamme for the brains of the group, the man nodded.
He stepped into the guest room and sat at the table.
The goblins waiting inside watched him in full alert.
The man smiled with easy affability.
"There's no need to be so tense. Think of me as merely His Majesty the Emperor's messenger."
Revealing his identity for the sake of the discussion, he moved to the heart of the matter.
"We needed confirmation. Who you are. Whether you are truly someone worthy of trust."
"Thorough of you."
"What do you think reveals a person's heart most clearly?"
The messenger continued.
"It is to cloud their judgment through an unexpected situation. If you do that, their true nature emerges in the actions they cannot hide."
"And that was today's party?"
"The Empire does not dominate the continent for no reason. In truth, several of those at the party were also the Empire's eyes."
Only now did he understand.
The true intentions of those who had approached him so casually.
So the audience with the Emperor had been no more than a smokescreen. The real aim had been to slowly dismantle their secrets through the party.
Ainz could understand the Empire's position.
He was an unidentified outsider who had appeared out of nowhere.
Trusting someone about whom nothing was known would be unreasonable.
Even understanding all of that, he could not help but find their probing unpleasant.
And since it was not the Emperor himself standing before him, there was no reason to show this stand-in any courtesy.
"So."
A faint aura of anger began to seep out.
"You came because you judged that you had gained the upper hand?"
The temperature in the room dropped sharply.
The dreary, ominous atmosphere unique to the Undead began to erode the world around them.
"So you looked down on me as nothing more than a mere apothecary."
Fear and despair spilled forth, too great for even the Mask of Jealousy to conceal.
"Ainz."
The one who stopped the dam just before it burst was Flamme.
"If you keep this up, he'll faint."
At her words, the black aura flowed back to where it belonged.
As though time itself had reversed, the world returned to how it had been before. The only one who could tell what had just happened was the messenger, clutching his chest, his clothes soaked through with sweat.
The companions nearby had suffered no harm.
That was because the mana control Ainz had learned in this world had focused everything on a single point.
It had lasted only a moment, but he must have experienced an endless despair.
'Damn, did I overdo it?'
Had he stepped in for nothing?
Using force to crush a trivial matter was foolish, but remaining silent in a negotiation was little better than stupidity.
After all, struggles in a company were usually decided by the balance of power.
That was why he had meant to prove that he had not shown all his cards. But if the man fainted, it would all be for nothing.
"...Your displeasure..."
Perhaps not just anyone could serve as the Emperor's mouthpiece after all.
"...I apologize for causing offense."
Having judged the situation in an instant, the man bowed his head.
At this moment, the relationship had reversed.
This was no longer the Empire's test, backed by its overwhelming scale.
It had become a negotiation between a nation with power and a stronger being who could overturn it.
"Then speak. What benefit can the Empire offer me?"
"We will provide land and funds."
His hands still trembling, perhaps from the aftereffects, he took out a parchment and placed it on the table.
So this was the real contract.
"Flamme."
"Right. I'll read it."
"Nothing in it has been tampered with. The Empire wishes only to establish friendly relations."
After reading through it, she handed it over.
"He's telling the truth. There's no trick in it. If anything, it's more generous than I expected."
Ainz took it and read it again for himself. The contents of the contract were not bad at all. Just as Flamme had said, it seemed acceptable.
"To offer this much gold... I suppose the Empire thinks well of me."
"It is a national project, after all. And our interest extends beyond your healing potion alone."
Touching the jawline of his mask, Ainz fell into thought.
'A loan of land and funds, hm. Certainly... it doesn't end with simply making flowers bloom.'
If Nine's Ooal Gown was truly to take root in this world, then he would have to look beyond that first step.
Flower reproduction, soil compatibility, and the like. There were many things the game had glossed over simply because it was a game.
Thinking of what lay ahead, it was obvious that casting magic one spell at a time would not be enough.
And with the Empire and other nations alike rejecting magic, it was only natural that he could not use magic to create flower fields openly.
"I give you my word. The Empire will become a steadfast patron."
As he listened to what the Empire could offer, Ainz found himself reconsidering matters.
There, laid bare, were the political circumstances between nations and the problems entangled with them.
'I thought I could simply create undead and use them as labor to produce healing potions, but once I dig deeper, all sorts of interests I never even considered come spilling out one after another.'
Even if they had investigated him behind his back, he could tell they were sincere about the healing potion.
This was high-level information known only to those burdened with the affairs of state.
If they had tried to deceive him using this, it could have been dangerous.
It was like an invisible thread that even Ainz, with all his overwhelming might, could not perceive. Without Flamme, things might have gone very badly.
No matter how strong one was, alone one could do nothing.
If one lacked information, one was in danger.
He felt that reality keenly, down to the bone.
In case he had missed anything, he checked the contract once more.
"Hm?"
Then one clause near the very bottom caught his eye.
It had been written in such small script that it had escaped notice until now, but the words were more than enough to startle the heart of an ordinary man.
"...What is this?"
"Ah, that clause? It's for the making of a statue."
"That is not what I'm asking. I'm asking why a statue of me is to be made."
"Because there is nothing more fitting than a stone statue to commemorate a great achievement."
Ainz turned his head and looked at Flamme.
"Why didn't you tell me this was strange?"
"I don't really see what's strange about it."
"No, making a statue of me is strange, isn't it?"
Flamme wore an expression that said she truly could not understand.
Ah. So this was one of those moments.
"Do it."
"What?"
"Isn't this a good chance to spread your name?"
This brat was grinning.
Flamme could be serious and dignified often enough, but at times like this, her mischievous side came out.
He took back every thought he'd had about how fortunate he was to have someone so dependable.
This had to be refused.
The idea of his likeness remaining behind as a statue... it was certain to become a dark chapter in his history.
"Ohhh, a statue of Lord Ainz will be erected in the capital?!"
Even the goblins who had been standing guard were impressed once they heard the talk of a statue.
"If we work hard too, do you think a day will come when statues of us are raised?"
"I'm going to have mine made in this pose."
The goblins began showing off their muscles to one another and discussing what poses their statues should take. In their eyes was longing and admiration for such monuments.
"Judging by the situation, it feels like they'll put one up whether you say yes or not. Since it's come to this, wouldn't it be better to make sure it's done properly?"
Ainz recalled the citizens who had called him the Sorcerer King.
Even without skin, he felt as though sweat were breaking out on his bones.
*
And so, after everything had been settled, the final day of their stay in the capital arrived.
"Thank you, Ainz, for going along with my selfishness."
"It's fine."
He recalled the time he had spent shut up in a room, serving as the model for the statue.
"So today is our last day in the capital."
After making preparations to leave, they stepped outside for a breath of air.
Perhaps because it was late at night, the plaza was empty. In place of the extinguished lights, starlight shone from far away.
Standing on the terrace at the edge of the plaza, they spoke while looking up at the stars.
"Ainz, I have no intention of remaining as just the person who made healing potions with you."
"I wouldn't mind if your name were listed alongside mine. The idea of making flower fields came from you, after all."
"That is yours, and yours alone. And did you really think I was the sort of person who'd be satisfied with only that much?"
She pointed toward the center of the plaza in the distance.
"If your statue is raised there, then I'll make sure mine stands right beside it."
She spoke of the statue that would one day be erected, and of how the one standing at its side would be Flamme—herself.
She liked talking about her dreams.
Like a child, they were fantasies pure and utterly untainted.
"Just as people's view of magic tools changed through you, one day magic itself will change as well."
Magic tools were not favored because they possessed a power similar to magic, yet in the end they were still things made by human hands.
Magic, by contrast, was the exclusive domain of demons, and there was a gulf there that could not be bridged.
Ainz did not bother to say so aloud.
She surely knew that herself. Even so, she would not give up.
Because Flamme was strong.
"I hope it comes to pass."
"I'll make it happen before I die. I'm thinking all the way a thousand years into the future."
"That is impressive."
He had spoken without much thought.
It was simply that if it was Flamme, then she could do it. That was all he had meant.
"Ainz, shall I make a prophecy?"
Her green eyes, brimming with starlight, were full of intelligence.
"Someday, the Demon King will fall, and an age of peace will come."
She spoke of a future that had not yet come to pass.
"The Demon King, hm."
A mysterious being he had never seen and never taken any interest in.
The king of the demons.
"You will surely be there, Ainz."
"What if I have no intention of defeating the Demon King?"
"No. You are certain to meet him."
She said that he would be there, in that distant future still beyond knowing.
"Because you will keep living until that moment arrives."
"Flamme, you..."
The night sky was dark.
A cold wind swept through.
The mage, who would one day be worn down by time, spoke.
"At the end of my long, long revenge, the one standing beside you will not be me. It will be one among the many mages who inherit my will."
The great mage, who would be defeated and yet spoken of for eternity to come, spoke of the future.
That intuition was different from the eyes of Serie, who looked upon the present because she would one day reach the future.
It was the foresight of one with a short life, reading the future of mankind.
And it signified the funeral song that would one day be sung for demonkind.
*
Time passed.
The demons' offensive grew fiercer still.
Perhaps word of the healing potion had reached their ears, for unlike before, they began acting far more aggressively.
No doubt they feared the widespread distribution of healing potions.
Judging that they had to strike before preparations were complete, the demons led their legions in repeated assaults, destroying everything in sight in search of the healing potion production sites the Empire had concealed in secret.
But humanity did not simply submit. Goblins served as mercenaries on the front lines, and thanks to magic tools born of Yggdrasil, human losses were kept to a minimum.
It was the result of changing perceptions toward magic tools.
Even so, there was still one village that had yet to accept that change.
"What a dreadful sight. An elf village?"
The ruined buildings and heaps of elf corpses testified to the terrible event that had taken place here.
Passing through that place, Flamme came to a stop.
And in the distance, she saw the fallen demon and knew at once that it was the culprit behind this slaughter.
"Bazart of the Throne, one of the generals of the Demon King's army."
His whole body was clad in thick armor, and his sword lay rolling on the ground.
"So he came leading an army to trample the village."
Bazart of the Throne was an unusual sort, one who had honed technique rather than magic.
He must have been poison to any mage who faced him.
At the center sat an elf, staring blankly ahead.
"Was it you who killed him? You there, dying elf."
She could tell just by looking.
The extraordinary quality of the mana flowing from her.
That girl was the one who had defeated Bazart.
"Remarkable mana. You're strong, aren't you?"
Before her stood a girl with overwhelming mana, and Flamme, whose own mana seemed insignificant by comparison.
An absolute difference in mana.
That alone should have been enough to prove which of them was stronger.
"Did you fight him head-on? What an absurd fool."
Despite possessing far greater mana than herself, the girl had protected nothing.
Flamme thought of a certain mage who possessed immense power and yet never stepped forward.
"Why insist on fighting from the front? You could run, hide, strike by surprise. There are any number of choices."
And then she thought of her master, whose disposition was the exact opposite.
"I really can never understand the hearts of powerful mages."
"You do understand."
"What?"
"You understand my heart. Because you're a mage far stronger than I am."
She was suppressing her mana.
And yet the girl's eyes had seen through that distortion.
"Why do you think that?"
"...I don't know. Somehow."
Flamme slowly approached, then crouched down to meet her gaze.
"You. What's your name?"
Green eyes tinged with blue looked back at her.
"Frieren."
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