Overlord: Crimson Sovereign

Arwintar — Imperial Ministry Hall, Morning

The Ministry of External Affairs was a grand building of polished marble and smug expressions. Gold-accented pillars lined the central chamber, and junior scribes buzzed like flies around senior bureaucrats who looked allergic to efficiency.

That buzzing stopped the moment Rein entered.

Crimson-trimmed robes. Impossibly calm. The Veilcaster.

And beside him, as always, was Narberal Gamma.

She walked a step behind and slightly to the left—formal escort position—but her presence filled the entire chamber like a thundercloud with very sharp opinions.

Ainz kept his hands behind his back, face neutral.

Okay… deep breaths. I've faced god-tier bosses, absolute raids, and elder dragons… but somehow, watching Nabe handle bureaucracy still terrifies me.

Narberal stepped forward toward the reception desk.

"We are here to submit recompense claims regarding the investigation at Arwintar Faultline. The contract states full compensation for time, effort, and arcane expenditure."

The clerk, a lean man with high cheekbones and low awareness, blinked rapidly. "Ah… recompense?"

Narberal smiled. Which, for her, looked exactly like a predator baring its teeth.

"Indeed. For services rendered by Lord Rein. Including spell deployment, environmental purging, elemental stabilization, and diplomatic endurance."

"Diplomatic… endurance?"

Ainz sighed internally.

That's Nabe-speak for 'We didn't vaporize any of your staff. You're welcome.'

She placed a black scroll on the desk. Imperial gold trim. A Guild seal. Then, on top of that, a second parchment—longer, itemized, and written in terrifyingly perfect script.

The clerk leaned in to read.

Then blinked.

Then paled.

"Um…"

He swallowed.

"Six hundred gold… for 'Arcane Disruption Neutralization – Flat Rate (Tier 5+)?'"

Narberal nodded. "A generous discount. We rounded down."

Ainz cleared his throat, offering a modest smile that probably looked more like a death threat.

"Consider it the friends-and-emperor rate," he said dryly.

The clerk turned to the next line.

"'Hazard Fee: Unspecified Imperial Surveillance?'"

"Emotional burden," Narberal said calmly. "We noticed your mages watching us through seven separate scrying platforms. It was… unflattering."

I told her not to list that one, Ainz thought, but I suppose she's still mad someone called her "the quiet one."

The final entry made the man's voice crack.

"'Noble Breath Offense – Penalty (Single Incident): Ten Gold?'"

Ainz winced.

"Nabe…"

"Standards, my lord."

The man scrambled from the desk, nearly tripping over his robes, muttering something about summoning the Minister of Finances.

Once he was gone, Ainz leaned slightly toward her.

"Did you really have to include the breath line?"

Narberal didn't look at him. "He breathed in your direction."

One day, Ainz thought, someone will write a tragedy titled "The Sorcerer Who Couldn't Stop His Butler From Billing Royalty."

Imperial Treasury — Later That Day

The payment was made in full.

With extra silence.

No one dared question the invoice.

Jircniv, upon receiving the record, simply stared at it. Then handed it to Fluder without a word.

Fluder looked over the parchment.

And smiled.

****************

E-Rantel – Adventurer's Guild Hall

The main hall of the Guild was unusually quiet. Veterans sipped drinks with forced casualness, rookies peeked over mission boards but didn't pick anything, and even the staff walked softer than usual.

Ainzach stood behind the counter, arms folded, watching the guild door.

He'd heard.

Everyone had.

The Veilcaster and his mysterious companion had returned.

More importantly: the Empire had paid.

Not negotiated. Not delayed. Not filed protest.

Paid. In full.

Six hundred and eighty gold. One coin short of a minor noble's estate tax.

The moment the door opened, all eyes turned.

Rein stepped inside with Narberal close behind.

He looked, as always, like a traveling noble who'd walked through a battlefield and hadn't noticed. She looked like someone who'd set fire to that battlefield, then cleaned her gloves afterward.

The silence held for a breath longer—then movement resumed, conversations started again, too loud and too forced.

Ainzach approached them with a faint smile.

"Welcome back, Rein. I take it the... situation in Arwintar was resolved?"

Rein nodded. "Briefly."

Narberal handed over a sealed envelope. "Proof of payment."

Ainzach accepted it and opened it with care. Inside, imperial scrip and a handwritten note—marked with both the Emperor's and the Finance Minister's personal seals. There was also a single line in Fluder's handwriting:

"Next time, please consider charging more. It would at least seem fair."

Ainzach chuckled softly.

"Well… I must say, even for you, this is a first."

Rein gave a small shrug.

"They asked. I cleaned."

Narberal added, "And they watched."

Ainzach studied them both, then turned toward his office.

"Come. Let's debrief."

Private Office – Ainzach's Chambers

The door shut behind them.

"I won't ask for classified details," Ainzach said, hands behind his back. "But... there's a rumor floating around the noble circles."

Rein raised an eyebrow.

Ainzach continued, "That the Emperor himself tried to 'test' you."

"Ah," Rein said.

Ainzach tilted his head. "Ah?"

"I noticed the moment I arrived. The formation of the battlemage observers was too perfect. The anomaly's layout was a joke. They wanted to measure something, not solve it."

A beat.

"Did you feel insulted?"

"No," Rein said. "I was bored."

Narberal chimed in, "We charged them for it. That's enough insult."

Ainzach laughed aloud this time.

Even nobles would hesitate to provoke the Empire with an invoice like that. But Rein and Nabe... They don't even blink.

Elsewhere — Re-Estize Noble District

Word traveled.

Fast.

A representative from the royal court of Re-Estize knocked over his wine glass upon hearing that the Baharuth Empire had paid Rein's invoice in full.

In a smoky tavern, a noble mage spat his drink. "Six hundred gold? For one spell?"

Another muttered, "If that's the cost of offending him, what does fighting him look like?"

They didn't know Rein personally.

But now, none of them wanted to.

Later – Outside Rein's Residence

As dusk settled over the rooftops, Rein and Narberal stood under the archway of their temporary home.

"Should I prepare a message for Ainzach?" she asked.

"No need," Rein replied. "He already knows I'll accept the next request—if it's interesting."

Narberal glanced toward the darkening skyline.

"They will learn to respect you more now."

Rein's voice was quiet. "Let them."

Then he paused.

"And Nabe?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Next time… let's charge seven hundred."

She smiled faintly.

"Yes, my lord."

Rein thought, well more money is never wrong. 

************

Re-Estize Kingdom — Noble Council Hall, Late Morning

It was supposed to be a quiet day.

Then word arrived: The Empire paid Rein's invoice. In full. Without complaint.

Now? The Noble Council was in a state of emergency.

Chairs scraped. Papers flew. Dignity evaporated.

Count Granolt slammed a trembling hand on the long oak table. "Do you understand what this means?! If Jircniv starts courting him, we're finished!"

Marquis Breval adjusted his monocle, which immediately fell off. "Rein is one man! How bad can it be?"

"One man who charged the Empire for breathing in his direction and they paid him!" a duke shouted. "The man invoiced an Empire and walked away richer than a baron!"

Viscount Elron, who had once tried to tax adventurers by volume of spell used, whispered, "If he bills us for existing, I'm going to fake my death."

Earl Westwald raised a hand nervously. "Perhaps we could… invite him to a banquet? Show him some respect?"

"You mean the last time we tried that?" Baron Cedric barked. "Half the Council tried to humiliate him, and then vanished. Disappeared. Poof. Not even a rumor left."

There was a brief, respectful silence.

Then the youngest among them, Lord Darnell, spoke.

"Could we perhaps… pay him not to go to the Empire?"

Everyone paused.

"That's…" the Chancellor murmured, "...not the worst idea I've heard today."

"Make him an official Kingdom Affiliated Independent Consultant," someone suggested.

"With a cloak," another added.

"And a monthly stipend!"

"And a title!"

"Lord Rein of Arcane Preservation!"

"Minister of Magical... Smashing!"

"I'll marry off my daughter!" shouted someone in the back.

There was a beat.

Everyone turned to stare.

The duke blinked. "I don't even have a daughter. I panicked."

The Chancellor sighed deeply.

"All right. Here's what we'll do. We draft a formal commendation, issue a Kingdom-wide edict of gratitude, rename a district after him—quietly—and make absolutely sure that every future mission offer includes words like 'optional,' 'prestigious,' and 'free tea.'"

"What if he still chooses the Empire?"

"…Then we rename the capital to Veilcaster's Rest and pray he doesn't charge us for the font."

The laughter had long since faded.

Now only candlelight and the scratch of quills filled the room, as nobles with trembling pride signed the decree.

"A lake estate," murmured Count Ravendal. "Mana-rich land. Far from major cities. Private."

"And isolated," added the Chancellor, carefully dotting the final signature. "No threats, no neighbors, no excuses to refuse."

"It's not a gift," said Duke Farlan, his voice low, almost reverent. "It's a promise. We're saying: 'This kingdom will not waste your time.'"

The Chancellor rolled the scroll gently and tied the ribbon with shaking fingers.

"If he accepts," he said, "we gain a symbol. A shield. A legend who walks under our banner, even loosely."

"And if he refuses?" someone asked.

The Chancellor exhaled.

"Then at least he knows we tried. With respect."