Chapter 1

Dawn broke over E-Rantel, greeted by the songbirds flitting about the gardens of the central district. The sounds of life filtered in through the partially opened bedroom windows, along with the cool breeze that brushed over the rich curtains laid over them. Lingering traces of morning dew, freshly baked bread and breakfast from the noble manors nearby tickled his nonexistent nostrils.

Ainz Ooal Gown, the Supreme Overlord of the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, leader of the 41 Supreme Beings and the absolute ruler of the Sorcerous Kingdom and its protectorates, looked up from where he was curled up on his bed. He stirred slightly under his sheets, holding back the urge to wince at a movement that responded to his own in the corner of the room.

This…is getting worse, isn’t it? The more they do it, the more intense it gets.

Or he could be imagining it. This was almost certainly the case, as the Undead were immune to mind-affecting abilities, and the Homunculus Maids had none to speak of in the first place. Still, he felt it so keenly that he was driven to suspect that it was indeed a very real thing.

As usual, he was being attended to by the maid on duty: one of the 41 Homunculus Maids who served in a large rotation where each had a shift with him for a day. They followed him everywhere while he was out and about. When he settled down for the night, so too would one of the maids settle down to watch him. It didn’t matter which maid was occupying the chair; they all emitted that same indescribable pressure as they stared at him all night. It wasn’t relaxing at all, but, at the same time, he could not bear their reactions should he choose to dismiss them from the room.

Back in his old world, he would sometimes watch old movies or be shown clips where something called ‘killing intent’ was employed by expert warriors or foul miscreants. After arriving in this strange New World, he discovered that it was very much a real thing that warriors and the like employed. He felt that what these maids did was very similar, but they weren’t trying to intimidate or kill him, they were expressing their intense desire to serve him. The spirit of their awe-inspiring loyalty. Serving intent.

If he were to choose between whether he would rather be exposed to killing intent or serving intent, it would be the former, as he could only be slowly roasted in the blaze of the latter. At first, he thought they would get bored of it, or settle into a more relaxed routine. It didn’t happen. After giving up on that hope, he thought he might get used to it, but it was not something the meagre salaryman named Suzuki Satoru could ever become accustomed to.

He placed the book he was reading on the ornate ebony nightstand beside the bed, upon which were several other books. Five of them were from his old world. Three covered complex management topics, while the two others addressed subjects that were economic and political in nature. There was one book that was from this world – the dissertation of a recent valedictorian of the Imperial Magic Academy which was reportedly making its rounds amongst the circles of the Empire’s elite.

Upon hearing of it, he thought it might be a good opportunity to see how things might be run in the Sorcerous Kingdom. Concepts from Earth might not exactly translate too well to this New World, after all. It was also an opportunity to appear as the enlightened intellectual that an alarming number of his new subjects were making him out to be. As it was a ‘thesis’, he thought it might be something like a long essay – an evening’s read, at worst. Maybe there would be some simple ideas that he could put to use. This world only amounted to what would be a pre-industrial society on Earth, at best.

With this in mind, he had ordered a copy delivered to him…and then it arrived and mercilessly crushed his fragile aspirations. His nonexistent stomach started to ache when he saw the crate that was delivered to his desk. The ‘thesis’ would be more aptly described as a ‘weapon’ – one designed to inflict incalculable mental damage against unassuming salarymen like Suzuki Satoru. It was, in reality, a treatise that spanned five volumes: each thicker than the five other texts on the nightstand combined. He immediately surrendered after scanning the first page of the first volume’s index. Was this really something that could be written by what amounted to a high school student in this world?

He didn’t dare ask for opinions on it from Albedo or Demiurge, lest they ask him in return how he felt about one unfathomable part or the other. It did end up being put to good use, however: one volume rested on the nightstand, while the other texts served as ‘comparative references’. Instead of making it look like was reading book after book every night, he could make it look like he was making a study of the thesis and measuring it against other complex titles. If he did manage to scrounge up the will to try and read it, he would be doing just that. There was nothing at all to feel guilty about.

Ainz rose from the edge of his bed, glancing over at the maid in the corner.

“Good Morning, Lumière.”

The spectacled maid’s refined expression blossomed into a brilliant smile.

“Good morning, Ainz-sama!”

It was a greeting that would have seized the hearts of many a man. Ainz, however, went over to the nearest window without a word in an attempt to appear above its effects. Something itched at him to start some sort of dialogue with the Homunculus Maid, but he willfully suppressed that, as well. Rather than any of the awkward attempts at being personable that he might have attempted in the past, he was now somewhat versed in how many different aristocrats in various places acted around their households. This was mostly through observing them remotely rather than any formal study, but he felt that he had the gist of it.

Lumière went about her work around the room, and Ainz looked out onto the street, hands clasped behind his back. The former Mayor’s manor was in a more quiet and secluded part of the district, but he could still occasionally see people passing by in the street down the lane. The singing birds had taken wing the moment he had appeared in the window, leaving only the sound of the wind.

How lonely is that…or maybe it’s to be expected.

He was Undead now, after all. Like the settings of many a game and story, this world was one where the Undead were viewed as the enemy of all who lived. Ainz felt that it was fortunate enough that he wasn’t compelled to act the part, and that, unlike those games and stories, the opinions of the people in this world could be gradually turned.

“By your leave, Ainz-sama,” Lumière’s voice came from across the room, “this one will now notify the next maid on duty.”

“Umu.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and Ainz turned around. Lumière had left the room absolutely spotless, and he could only wonder how one could accomplish this in a mere span of minutes. The door opened again.

“Good morning, Ainz-sama.”

“Good morning, Decrement,” he nodded solemnly. “Is there anything that requires my attention?”

“Yes, Ainz-sama,” Decrement replied. “You left instructions for us to notify you if anyone had made a submission.”

“A submission…ah, you mean a submission to the suggestion box.”

After achieving a small degree of success with the suggestion box in Nazarick, Ainz decided to see what would happen if he left one in E-Rantel. He had it set up at the end of the lane to the Mayor’s manor in place of the letterbox that never seemed to see any use, then told the nearby Hanzos standing watch over the district to prevent anyone else from trying to tamper with it. Despite the anonymous nature and lack of visible guards nearby, the box had remained empty week after week. The appearance of a submission felt like a sign that the people were beginning to develop some trust in him.

“Yes, Ainz-sama,” Decrement lowered her head. “Please forgive this one for not returning with the submission.”

“Hm? There’s no need for an apology,” Ainz said, “my orders to the Hanzos regarding the content were intentional. Did anyone see who submitted the suggestion?”

“It happened sometime last night, Ainz-sama, and the sentries were instructed to remain silent on the matter.”

Did I say that, too? No, it was a good thing I said that. Good job, me!

He was still feeling a bit singed after Albedo cast her damning judgement on his anonymous suggestion for gym uniforms a few months ago. What she would do to one of the citizens if she knew that they had submitted something of a similar calibre was something that had to be avoided at all costs.

Nodding to himself, he made his way out of the bedroom.

“A-Ainz-sama?”

“Hm?”

He stopped to look over his shoulder. Decrement’s usual, energetic look was absent, replaced with a tentative expression.

“C-could it be that Ainz-sama is going out to the suggestion box?”

“Of course,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Please send your humble servant with orders to retrieve the submission!”

Be they a maid or a Guardian, the denizens of Nazarick invariably baulked whenever Ainz suggested that he personally perform some act below his station. The aristocrats of the region certainly subscribed to this mode of thinking, but he felt he was already far too distant from his subjects and it would do more harm than good.

“I understand what you are trying to say,” Ainz said, “but there is a specific reason for going myself.”

Decrement raised her head to look up at him with an uncomprehending expression. Ainz turned back around, continuing on his way to the manor entrance, and the Homunculus maid fell in step behind him.

“If you placed a suggestion in the box,” he asked her, “then found out that I personally went out to read it, how would you feel?”

“I…I would be most gratified, Ainz-sama.”

“Just so,” Ainz smiled. “Do you not believe the people would feel the same way?”

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to read everything if he received a box full of suggestions every day. The citizens that frequented the central district were relatively few, however: mostly consisting of the nobles that made up the local leadership. Any suggestions that they had would most likely affect the lives of many, and he might be able to slowly learn various things about the lands that had come under his rule by reading what they had to say. Eventually, he might even be seen as an attentive leader that was active in the affairs of his own nation, and the rather dismal popularity of the Sorcerer King would rise.

They made their way out onto the lane, where the guards stationed at the manor door offered a crisp salute as he passed. The sun was just starting to peek out over the eastern wall, its light reflecting off of the puddles left by the night’s rain. He slowed his steps as he approached the street, looking to either side. A pair of household maids from one of the manors in the district abruptly stopped a block away, then scurried down a side street.

Ainz sighed. After all this time, the people of the city still feared him. When he walked together with ‘Momon’ and Nabe through the common areas of the city, the result was much the same. The citizens had completely adapted to the presence of the other Undead in the city, so, at this point, he felt like he was being purposely shunned. His gaze lingered over the corner where the maids had disappeared, wondering how long it would take before he could walk the streets without his subjects scattering away in fear.

He opened the suggestion box and retrieved a single folded paper from the bottom. The quality suggested wealth that was only possessed by nobles and merchants, so his notion over who would make submissions appeared to be right on the mark. Looking up and down the street again, he took a deep breath before reading the suggestion scribed onto the card-sized sheet of parchment.

Huh?

Ainz looked up from reading the content, turning his head to look around the street before looking back down at the paper. The crimson points of his eyes went from left to right as he read the single line several times. He flipped the suggestion over in his fingers, but there was nothing on the other side. Flipping it back to the front, he read what was written there again.

Albedo stole my eggs!

– Anonymous