A green light rippled over his entire body.
The forced mental stabilization that came with his racial traits.
It repeated again and again, over and over.
Though he neither moved nor spoke, that light felt like a voiceless scream, enough to make one's skin crawl.
Gradually, the glow subsided.
Useless emotions were erased, only to be suppressed again and again.
When everything returned to stillness, what remained was an emotionless skeleton.
Though he should never have been able to feel calm, his voice was infinitely composed.
"What did you just say? Say it again."
Seriе delivered the news of death in the same flat voice as before.
"Flamme is dead."
No matter how many times he asked, the words did not change, and the surging emotion was suppressed once more.
Instead, he heard something crack.
The Jealousy Mask had split.
It spoke for the emotion that had vanished.
As emotion died, reason raised its head and whispered to him.
'This is no time for this. Anger will change nothing.'
In place of withered feeling, he calmly analyzed the situation with iron reason.
"Who was it? Who killed her?"
What had caused Flamme's death? A mage, perhaps. Or a warrior?
Or perhaps a demon.
Flamme had been an exceptional mage. There could not be many beings capable of killing her.
If someone had done this to her, he would repay it in full and more. In the name of Ainz Ooal Gown, he would inflict upon them suffering worse than death.
The desire to protect what was precious to him. For a lich who longed for magic and wished for immortality, it was the most fitting emotion of all.
As his thoughts branched outward from the possibility that Flamme had been murdered, a single word from Serie cut them off.
"No one."
"What?"
"It simply means her lifespan ran out."
Even though her own disciple had died, Serie continued in an even tone.
"It has been fifty years since I last saw her. To us, that is a fleeting span, but for humans, it is enough time for countless things to change."
A natural death.
The cause of Flamme's death had been the great wave of time that comes for all things, sooner or later.
"This is Flamme's will. Frieren gave it to me."
Whatever had happened in her reunion with Frieren, the will had been torn into dozens of pieces.
When Serie used restoration magic, it returned to perfect condition in an instant.
"I hear the Emperor has permitted a nationwide study of magic."
"...Why would that be written in a will?"
"Because Flamme was the one who led it. It seems she became a court mage there."
I see.
Only now did he understand.
That was why she had never shown herself all this time. She had been serving as a court mage in the Empire, devoted to education.
He realized far too late that, instead of going home, he should have stopped by the Empire.
No. Even if he had gone, perhaps he still would not have met her.
Now that he thought about it, it even felt as though she had avoided him on purpose.
"The reason she sent me this will is because, after her death, she wanted me to carry it on in her place. Truly unpleasant."
Serie described the will like this:
"Just as you said, this is less a will than a report."
The letter she had left behind was painfully concise, and the flame that had once burned red now felt cold.
"Ainz, the strongest unified empire on the continent is going to employ magic for military purposes. Do you understand what that means?"
After once tasting the bitter waters of politics in the capital, and after what he had learned through Serie, he understood the meaning hidden within those words.
"...The neighboring countries won't sit still."
"Exactly. If that happens, magic will be distributed on a massive scale, and it will spread across the entire continent."
And then it would come.
"An age when anyone can use magic."
That could well be called the greatest achievement a single human could accomplish.
The great wish once dreamed by that tiny little girl had come true.
"I see..."
No one should have been happier than Ainz to hear that Flamme had fulfilled her dream, and yet now was different.
"What good is it if she achieved it, if she isn't there to see it?"
She, the one who should have received that praise, was no longer in this world.
That was why he simply could not accept it.
"Serie. Are you... are you really all right with this?"
He felt as though he wanted to shout and thrash about that very instant, but that damned mental stabilization would not allow it.
Only the memory of that disgust remained intact, tormenting his mind.
So he asked.
Was she truly untouched by it?
He knew from all the time they had spent together.
Even while speaking ill of Flamme, Serie had cherished her deep down.
He had thought she would understand this pain.
What came back instead was the life of an elf who had experienced countless partings, and the advice of one who had simply lived longer.
"Ainz, humans die someday. Do not try to deny that."
Holding the will in her hand, Serie accepted death with calm indifference.
"Did I not tell you long ago to learn how to give up early?"
Those were the words he had heard when he decided to live together with Flamme.
Serie was an adult who knew parting.
'I know.'
And yet, even knowing that, losing someone was painful.
He had known the day would come eventually.
In the end, he had repeated the same mistake as before.
The life of one who does not die is, in the end, a funeral song sung by the one left behind.
Because he still could not accept that truth, he chose to run.
"I need some time to think."
Ainz used [High-Tier Teleportation] and vanished in an instant.
Light faded, leaving behind an empty stone chamber.
Left alone, Serie muttered softly to the disciple who was no longer there.
"Flamme, was this enough...? For a final request, this was unpleasant beyond measure."
This time, she burned the once-shredded will as it was.
*
The place he arrived by teleportation magic was the plaza of the capital, where he had once come to seek an audience with the former Emperor.
It was evening, with the sun sinking low.
People were gradually disappearing from the streets, and those who remained were only drifters and those in search of drink.
Because he had been too embarrassed by the statue erected in the capital to ever visit, the city had changed greatly since he last came. And yet one thing still remained as it had before.
Far away, at the center of the fountain, stood the statue of Ainz.
It was himself, praised for contributing to the progress of mankind by bringing healing potions.
Though worn by the passage of time, it had kept its form thanks to the care of many people over the years.
But unlike before, one thing had changed. Beside it now stood a statue of Flamme.
'If they ever put up your statue there, I'll make sure mine stands right beside it.'
Ah, memories came crashing over him like waves.
Why had he come here by teleportation?
Perhaps it had been to see this.
Remembering Flamme speaking beneath the stars that day pained him.
It was the only poison for an undead with no blood or flesh, the thing called longing that sickens the deathless.
Yggdrasil had already been a world nearing its dusk.
He remembered those days there, when everyone had left and he alone had upheld the guild.
The feelings he had once held toward his former guildmates had faded, but what filled that place were new bonds, and before he knew it, the time he had spent with Flamme had settled there.
'In the end, only the object changed. I haven't grown at all.'
To die meant never being seen again.
He had learned that truth long ago from his parents, and now it sank into the hollow of his chest.
As he stood there lost in thought, the evening glow faded and the night sky rose overhead.
In the place where he had once spoken with Flamme about dreams, he looked up at the heavens alone.
Unlike his previous world, the sky was utterly clear, and shooting stars fell across it.
"Come to think of it, she said there was a meteor shower every fifty years."
He had not known it then, but Flamme must have.
That what they had seen from this very place had been the Era Meteor Shower.
Yes. If so, then let him make a wish.
He had never tested it, but in Yggdrasil, there had existed magic that could revive the dead.
It had been a world where countless deaths endlessly cycled.
He thought of the innumerable items lying dormant.
If it was possible to seize the stars in the sky, then all he had to do was make it real.
*
Once he made up his mind, he moved quickly.
Search-type spells that located a specific target or place were common in Yggdrasil, so finding Flamme's grave was not difficult.
However, all they revealed was the location.
He could not cross the wall that divided him from it.
A lonely hill.
He spread his bony hand and touched a transparent barrier.
"A barrier?"
He knew it at a glance.
'This is Flamme's protective magic.'
The spell formula bore the traces of her familiar habits.
It seemed to forbid all interference.
If he dispelled it, Flamme's gravestone would surely be inside.
'She's improved since the old days, but after wasting her time as a court mage, she never managed to go beyond this.'
It would hold out better than before, but if he put force into it, it was little more than a paper wall that would soon break.
The knowledge he had gained while studying magic with Serie surpassed this.
So he reached out to interfere with the barrier. The joints of his bones touched it and began to wear away.
At that instant, he felt a vast surge of mana.
A sensation that felt strangely familiar.
The skeleton who had devoted his life to magic cried out.
With a blue flash bright enough to steal his sight, an overwhelming pressure descended upon his whole body.
A mass of light descended from the heavens to the earth.
'Ghk. This magic is—?'
As a pillar of light pierced his body and burned him, he rattled his bare jaw at the pain, something he had not felt in a long time.
The Overlord who had mastered Yggdrasil magic whispered to himself.
I know this magic.
Its power and range were far below the original, but he knew the one who used this spell, a spell that dealt immense damage to heteromorphic beings.
"Frieren!"
At the voice of an undead who hated the living, a fairy of snow descended from the sky.
It was the funeral song she had learned to kill demons, and the prayer of the sky named Himmel, who would one day love her.
Fifty years.
That was how long it had taken Frieren to master the falling heavens.
"Did I surprise you?"
Wearing a wing-shaped brooch, Frieren stood before the barrier.
"It's my master's last wish. I won't let you pass beyond this point."
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