「Note: Sorry for the late update, guys. I've been caught up on my other fanfic, ignoring this one like the bad father I am.
Well, I've also decided to change the speech format, so yeah, deal with it.」
—————————————————————————————————
Man, life sucks…
I turned to look at the lazy manga freak sprawling lazily on the floor, busy enough with a single manga.
Actually, this is kinda better. I don't see myself capable of putting with his usual gung ho charisma.
Again, some years passed by like the weather.
Nothing particularly interesting has occurred if we ignored the rapid change in development.
The changes made in the demon lord council would be another thing to talk about.
—Leon defeating some curse lord and taking the throne—aside from that, nothin' really huge occurred.
I'm not one to pry into matters like these, so I let them be.
Besides, they're no fun at all.
Just your everyday tea party.
The attendees are probably old men with gray and white hairs sticking out of their big, oily noses.
No, I can't have that now. Can I?
Keeping this dragon entertained is already something I regret taking up, so I figured it would be better to avoid more troubles.
Zegion and Apito have been busy doing whatever.
Diablo? Well, by now, I need not tell you.
"Rimuru-sama, as majestic as you are, you need not sit on such bland floors of poor quality!
Allow me to make you the grandest of thrones filled with a fragment of your magnificence.
Of course, my abilities to do so aren't worth your single fragment."
Yeah—sounds about right.
This dude wouldn't stop that bad habit of his.
I usually scolded him for it, but he was never ever slightly remorseful about it.
With my past experience with him, it was manageable but still annoying.
Even with that, he sure still has his benefits.
I managed to spread out false information about Veldora being sealed and stuff, so it was easy to recreate the event from the last timeline.
Simple: Chronoa, the one who met Veldora himself, simply made the declaration, and that was all that was needed.
With a little false proof here and there, along with Veldora's raging presence in the cave, apparently our abode, it was enough to convince the public.
Though, with how much of a pain those assholes are, it wouldn't surprise me if one of them doubted it and decided to have first-hand information on the details.
I mean, dude, why can't they let a man live in peace?!
Well, if push comes to shove, I'll simply shoo them with the overwhelming power.
I've never been one to take shit quietly—you know what I mean?
So, what now? Do I start with the whole tempest thing now, or do I simply wait for the right time?
Easier said than done, honestly.
Well, we'll decide on that later. Let's deal with today's service.
"So like I was saying! The way the protagonist pulled off that fourth wall break in Chapter 195 was legendary! The author deserves at least three stars of divine praise!"
Yeah, this idiot's been monologuing for an hour now. Loud enough to shake the stalactites.
Loud enough, in fact, for some birdbrain in the Dwelling of Spirits to pick up on the spiritual waves and go tattling to their master.
I clicked my tongue. Not even a full month into this façade, and this overgrown comic addict was already messing it up.
"Oi, Veldora. Tone it down a little, will ya? I don't need the Eastern Empire sniffing around here for another 'confirmed True Dragon reawakening' incident."
"But Rimuru! The dramatic monologue is essential for immersion! I was just at the part where—"
I didn't even let him finish.
"Do it again, and I'll seal you in a soundproof barrier. Manga or no manga."
That shut him up. Briefly.
Honestly, this whole false-sealing charade was getting harder to maintain. And now, thanks to that dummy's "dramatic projection," spiritual sensors from the Western Church picked up lingering dragon-class magicules in the forest. Again.
Worse, some overzealous old farts in the Demon Lord Council probably noticed.
...And wouldn't you know it?
Just as I started contemplating how to forge an illusion of a rampaging Veldora, a scroll popped into existence.
Elegant red parchment. Silver wax seal.
A signature that sang of ridiculous pride and magical overkill.
"From Guy Crimson, Supreme Demon Lord of the Ice Continent."
Yup. Of course it was him, Guy.
When Guy sends a message, it's never just a message. It's a declaration wrapped in sarcasm, dipped in challenge, and seasoned with "Try me." You'd think he was born in a shounen manga with how needlessly theatrical he is.
He once sent a three-meter-wide letter just to invite me to play chess. The table broke from the aura.
Unrolling it with two fingers—because touching too much demon lord magic is like willingly licking battery acid—I read the contents.
Heard your pet lizard started yelling again. Just thought I'd let you know before the Holy Church goes 'exorcist' on your backyard.
Oh, and there's been some buzz about a 'Golden Hero' reappearing in the southern borderlands. Sound familiar? Maybe.
Maybe not. But if you're bored—and you probably are—I suggest poking around. Bring snacks.
There was no signature at the bottom. Just a sketch of Guy flipping me off with a wine glass in hand.
Real classy, Guy.
Still…
Golden Hero…? No way…
Old Leon territory, maybe? Or worse—Eastern meddling?
For a second, I considered ignoring it.
But only for a second.
Knowing how awesome my luck was, ignoring it meant the "Golden Hero" would show up at my front door demanding a battle or something equally as stupid as that.
And I really didn't want to put pants on that early in the morning.
◇◇◇
I stared at the last line in Guy's letter a little longer than I should've.
This hero might've mentioned your name during one of his tantrums.
Of course they did. Another drama queen with a power complex.
Why is it that every time I try to enjoy some glorified vacation, the world responds with, "No you don't."
The parchment crumbled into a neat ball in my hand and disintegrated in a quiet puff of smoke. I sat back against the rough stone wall and sighed.
"Ciel. Thoughts?"
Yes, my Lord. Shall I begin with the scan results, or your increasingly low odds of ever experiencing true leisure?
I snorted.
You're getting cheekier by the day.
I do believe I'm simply matching your tone. Shall we begin?
A soft warmth pulsed in my mind as Ciel opened a data stream—her analysis less like reading code and more like having a scholar whisper secrets directly into your soul.
Three reincarnated signatures have appeared in the past ten days. One matches the residual Hero Factor pattern previously seen in individuals like Hinata Sakaguchi. Two others remain undefined but exhibit potential for rapid development. All anomalies are located within the southern territories, near the old Empire–Holy Church border.
That narrowed things down.
Is there any chance the Church is involved again?
A high probability. I estimate a 72% chance the hero was awakened through Church interference—or manipulation.
Church interference. Why am I not surprised? Those holy terrorists never make life easy for their followers.
I stood and stretched. My joints cracked—not from age or anything, just residual stiffness from lying on stone for half a day like a glorified throw pillow.
Behind me, Veldora was now mid-rant about character betrayal arcs.
"...and the sword should've shattered, not his heart! The themes were clearly leading there! It's narrative injustice!"
I ignored him.
There were bigger problems than literary heartbreak.
If someone was throwing around Hero Factor signatures, they either had connections to the old Rudra system, the Eastern Empire's resurrection tech, or worst-case scenario… Veldanava's leftover design parameters were being tampered with (VOTW).
Which, yes, sounds ridiculous—but so does reincarnating as a slime and becoming king of the forest. Let's not pretend we're still operating in the realm of normal.
I glanced toward the sealed tunnel entrance. A long time ago, that path led to freedom. Now, it was just insulation from abstract stupidity.
Ciel, anything else I should know?
A small group of adventurers from Blumund has entered the forest. Their current objective seems to be spiritual analysis. One of them may be carrying recording equipment. I believe they are part of the ongoing surveillance operation by the Council.
"Great. Spies. Again."
I scratched my head.
"Guess I need to handle a fake Veldora rampage within the cave to sell the illusion."
I have already prepared a layered illusion using leftover magicule imprints from Veldora's tantrums. With a slight tweak to mana wavelength, we can fabricate a minor 'echo event' along the outer cave system. Shall I deploy it?
I smiled.
Ciel, remind me to worship you later.
You can start by praising my efficiency now.
I chuckled and nodded.
Fine. You win.
Just as I started forming the teleportation array to send the illusion to the outer cave, I felt it.
A faint, subtle pulse. Like a breath held too long, suddenly exhaled across the World System.
Time... stretched. My senses, refined by Ciel's augmentation, caught a brief flicker on the edge of space-time.
... Did you feel that?
I did.
For the first time in a while, Ciel's voice lost a fraction of its cheer.
Someone just forced a Fate Anchor activation. A large-scale one. It's artificial—and localized.
My brow furrowed.
"Someone's trying to rewrite causality?"
No… not quite. It's not rewriting. It's… reenacting. Someone is trying to artificially re-stage an event from the past by manipulating probability and soul history. This is no small feat.
So the 'Golden Hero' story Guy mentioned… might not be a rebirth. It could be a reconstruction.
Exactly.
That changed things.
If someone was trying to recreate a previous hero, they'd need massive amounts of soul data—an origin essence, Hero Factor essence, and a core emotional resonance from the past.
Which means…
Someone was playing with fire.
Or worse—trying to forge a Hero with their own version of truth.
And if history had taught me anything, it was this:
When someone tries to play god, everyone else ends up cleaning up the mess.
◇◇◇
"My Lord."
The cave lit up in black-purple mist.
Diablo stepped into view with a gentle bow, his grin irritatingly serene.
"I have returned from scouting the eastern leyline. While I loathe to disturb your rest, I must inform you—a ripple in fate has begun to stir among the Church's western outposts. I believe a new player has entered the board."
He knelt and held out a scroll.
Decorated with golden thread. Celestial engravings. An emblem I hadn't seen in a long time.
The Crest of Luminous.
So the Church was involved.
Ciel?
Already scanning the seal. I sense no curse traps. However… I do detect traces of an ancient binding technique. Very old. Possibly something derived from Veldanava's own code.
And now, we were officially neck-deep in chaos.
[Timeskip]
The stars above had begun to dim.
Not in some poetic sense—but literally. The southern sky flickered like an old lantern sputtering its last flame.
I stood atop a jagged cliff overlooking the great basin that would, centuries from now, become the borderlands of Ingracia and the Holy Empire. Right now, it was just ruined temple stone and creeping fog. An old battlefield buried in dust and bad memories.
I adjusted the hood of my travel cloak—black, enchanted, utterly boring—and looked over the ridge.
"Ciel. Status?"
A Fate Anchor was activated here. I am detecting distortions in space-time and elevated soul frequency. Someone used a Hero Factor imbued with resonance from the past. This location is the epicenter.
I crouched low, watching from behind a crumbled statue. A crowd had gathered around what looked like an ancient summoning platform, half-sunk in moss and worn glyphs.
The men below wore thick robes and carried luminous staves—clearly church materials.
So much for stealth rituals. These guys had all the subtlety of a fireworks parade.
At the center of the platform, a body floated in stasis—suspended within a cocoon of golden light.
From here, I could see the faint silhouette of armor: full-body plate, with carved angelic script etched into the breastplate. Blond hair spilled like gold dust around the figure's shoulders. Face obscured. Pulse faint, but rising.
So that's the 'Golden Hero'?
Not quite. The original soul data is fragmented. This… is a shell. It has Hero Factor embedded, but the personality structure is being rewritten using artificial echoes from church legends.
In short: this wasn't someone reborn.
It was someone being constructed—like a statue made of old stories and forced memories.
Someone was trying to build a perfect hero from scratch.
Was this a sort of ancient magic ritual? 'Cause I've never heard of anything of the sort in the previous timeline.
A ritual involving soul rewrite, essence implantation, and event recreation—that was terrifyingly detailed.
Just then, one of the robed figures raised his hand. A command spell activated. The cocoon pulsed.
And the Golden Hero moved.
○
(Third Person POV)
Cold.
That was the first sensation he felt.
Then light.
Then... pain.
He gasped—a sound both foreign yet familiar—his lungs filling for the first time in centuries. Around him, the chanting grew louder, more frenzied.
He understood not what they spoke, but the images swam into his mind.
Dragons. Fire. A smiling demon lord.
A betrayal.
A war.
The name Rimuru echoed repeatedly—their figure was shapeless, faceless, but it was there.
"Where... am I?" he whispered, his voice hollow.
He did not understand the situation before him. His memory was a huge mess, and it was as if he had lost all sense of direction.
One of the priests stepped forward, eyes wide.
"Do you remember your name, O Radiant Savior?"
He blinked.
"I… was a Hero?"
He wasn't certain, but he somewhat knew it referred to him.
One could call it an instinctual realization of what they were.
It was his first time hearing that term since this ritual, yet it sounded so sweet.
The man nodded as if this was proof of divinity.
"Indeed. You were summoned from the echoes of the First Flame, forged in memory to deliver us from evil. Your name is—"
But the Hero raised his hand.
"No. Don't give me a name."
He looked toward the sky—toward the flickering stars.
"There's one I need to remember myself."
The figure of that transcendental being that delivered his people from total damnation—the name of that anomalous figure was the only thing he needed to remember.
○
(Rimuru's POV)
I watched the whole thing unfold.
A man built from fairy tales, rising from a stone platform, barely knowing his own name.
A faint pulse from the World System shivered again—this time wrapping him in pseudo-Divine Protection. The same sort Chloe once held.
"Ciel… Can this become a real threat?"
Yes. Should the Church successfully embed false ego into him and give him a reason to fight… he could become a weaponized Hero-class entity. More importantly… he already resonates with your name. That connection could stabilize him.
So they were planning to tie his sense of justice around me?
Nope.
That's not happening.
"I'll get close. Mask the magicule signature. Let's see what kind of puppet they've made."
Agreed. I'll prepare a layered cloaking array and linguistic mimetic field. Shall I add false holy magic traits?
"Definitely. If I'm gonna walk into a holy boy revival party, I might as well show up as one of their own."
Then good luck, my Lord.
"Luck's overrated," I muttered, already vanishing into shadow.
◇◇◇
The disguise was easy.
A dull brown robe, aged fabric enchanted to hum with artificial divine energy. A polished staff engraved with holy runes—fakes, of course. Just visual mana projections shaped with Ciel's help.
Infiltration complete, Ciel whispered softly in my mind. I've synchronized your aura with their internal hierarchy codes. You're now recognized as "Pilgrim-Grade Seeker Alweiss" of the 4th Canticle.
"Really rolls off the tongue," I muttered, walking through the mists toward the circle of priests.
They barely glanced at me as I stepped in—just another wandering servant of the Light. My illusion had done its job.
The Golden Hero sat now at the edge of the ritual platform. A few priests huddled around him, pressing him with endless questions in reverent tones.
"Do you remember your sword's name?"
"Did the angels speak to you in your sleep?"
"Was it true that you once struck down a demon lord with your bare hand?"
Every question sounded more like indoctrination than inquiry.
The Hero said nothing.
He just looked down at his hands. Pale, calloused. Already strong—but unfamiliar. As if he were wearing someone else's body.
I stopped near a priest dressed in deeper blue robes—a high-ranking one, judging by the subtle flare of his magic signature.
"I've arrived late," I said gently. My voice, masked by Ciel, came out smoother, more formal. "The records of the Second Pillar mentioned a chosen soul would rise again. Has the prophecy been confirmed?"
The blue-robed priest turned to me with a proud, almost trembling smile.
"Yes, brother," he said, clutching his staff. "The flames responded. A true soul was drawn back to us. He may not remember fully… but the echoes are guiding him. Even now, he recognizes the scent of righteousness."
I nodded solemnly, barely resisting the urge to scoff.
Scent of righteousness, huh?
More like the reek of narrative control.
I stepped toward the hero.
Up close, I could see the tiny soul fracture lines along his neck and chest—evidence of a forcibly applied Hero Factor core. It hadn't fully merged with him. That meant… he could still be salvaged.
"Do you feel pain?" I asked gently.
He glanced up, surprised. His eyes were a strange blend of gold and steel—bright, but unfocused.
"Yes…But not physical. Just…" He hesitated. "Like I'm not supposed to be here. Like I'm standing in someone else's shadow."
Interesting.
Another priest stepped in quickly, placing a hand on the Hero's shoulder.
"He merely needs rest. In time, the Spirit of Law will guide him to clarity."
Yeah. Sure it will.
I crouched down, ignoring the others.
"What name do you hear when you close your eyes?" I asked, voice low.
He blinked.
Then, slowly—almost unconsciously—he whispered:
"Rimuru."
I didn't flinch. But every priest around me did.
One of them gasped. Another stepped back.
The blue-robed one looked horrified.
"How…how could that name…"
I stood, letting a hint of divine pressure seep out—just enough to cause discomfort.
"Is the boy impure?" I asked calmly.
The priests looked at one another, suddenly unsure.
"He cannot be," one whispered. "We purified the summoning field… We used sacred materials…"
"But he spoke that name—" another hissed.
"I will take him for evaluation," I said, asserting authority I didn't actually have. "If there is a foreign spirit clinging to his soul, we must extract it before corruption sets in."
For a second, they hesitated.
Then, the blue-robed priest bowed.
"You are correct, brother. May the Light judge rightly."
The Hero said nothing as I helped him to his feet. His legs were steady, but his eyes remained locked to the ground.
I leaned close.
"You're not a weapon," I whispered.
He looked at me sharply—but said nothing.
◇◇◇
We sat by a dying campfire under a moonless sky.
I had left the illusion of holy protection on him—mostly so Church tracking spells wouldn't ping his location—but I'd layered another veil on top. One only I could control.
The Hero stared into the flames.
"You're not really one of them, are you?" he asked.
I smiled. "What gave it away?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at his hands again.
"I keep seeing things when I close my eyes. Fire. Light. Blue and black. A castle. I… I think I died. Or maybe I was sealed."
That confirmed it. This guy wasn't just a clone or a puppet—he was an echo of a real person. Someone who'd existed long before, and was now being shoved into a narrative that wasn't his.
Ciel's voice came through softly.
My Lord. I have begun reconstructing his soul (astral body). It's fragmented—but his core identity can be restored, given time.
"Good," I whispered.
The process they used for this ritual was not recorded. It might be an ancient magic that went extinct after the passage of many years.
If that was the case, then it meant I had to watch over those old geezers.
I don't want them running around and about with information on an ancient magic of this caliber.
As I was in my own world of thoughts, the dude looked up at me.
"You know the name I said earlier. Rimuru. Is that you?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"What do you think?"
He stared a little longer.
Then… he smiled. Just faintly.
"I think if it was you, you'd be a lot more annoying."
I burst out laughing.
"Well played, kid."
The fire crackled softly.
I didn't speak. Neither did he.
There was a strange peace in the silence between us—tense, like stretched string, but quiet all the same.
Eventually, he spoke again.
"When I was floating in that golden light… I heard a voice."
He didn't look at me.
"It was screaming. I couldn't tell what it was saying, but it sounded… betrayed. Like someone was killed by their own people."
I kept my expression still. But inside, Ciel confirmed it.
A recorded trauma signature has embedded itself into his Hero Factor core. I believe this is not an artificial echo—but a true emotional memory. This man was likely slain in a past life… by the Church itself.
Classic.
"Do you remember who you were?" I asked.
He frowned.
"I think… my name had a K. Or maybe an R? But the last thing I remember clearly is a blade. Through my back. I trusted the person holding it."
He clenched his fists.
"That trust is still there. Like it's waiting for me to remember who they were."
So he wasn't just an experiment. He was a victim. And worse—his soul still carried the weight of betrayal.
Which meant if the Church pushed too hard… they'd either weaponize him or break him.
Either way, I wasn't about to let that happen.
It was either he became a tool or a free individual.
"Alright," I said, dusting off my cloak. "Let's fix that."
He looked up, confused. "Fix what?"
"Your identity. We're going to build you a new one."
"Why?"
"Because," I smiled, "you're not their Hero. And if they keep trying to make you into one, your soul's gonna crack like glass. So until your real self wakes up, you need a shield. A lie to fight their lie."
Ciel's voice chimed in, warm and thoughtful.
Shall I begin stabilizing his memory layers with a substitute personal core? I can design a name that resonates with his soul pattern.
"Do it," I said aloud.
The Hero blinked.
"Who… are you really?"
I gave him a look.
"You already know."
He didn't push it.
Ciel's reply came like a whisper through the trees.
Suggested cover identity: "Kael Varda." Meaning "one who returns from light." Shall I implant the structure now?
Yes. Make it natural. Let him believe it—until he's strong enough to handle the truth.
Understood.
Light shimmered faintly around the Hero's form. He flinched, but then relaxed. His breathing calmed.
"I… I think my name is Kael," he murmured.
"Nice to meet you," I replied. "Let's keep it that way. For now."
I didn't think I'll have a whole new adventure to explore, but hey, I'm not complaining.
Especially when I finally made away with those weirdos.
I made contact with Zegion through Thought Communication, ordering him to keep Veldora busy for me. There was no telling what that dragon would do next.
I dunno—it won't be such a shocker if he decided to leave the cave and come to me, with the goal of acquiring more copies of those "sacred texts."
I'd be mad, yeah, but honestly, I won't have the right to blame 'em.
Being stuck in that cave wasn't particularly the best gaming experience, and with his reading pace, it was only natural for him to complete a whole volume of manga or novel in a few hours.
That was just how absurd of a creature the storm dragon was. A once fiercesome being now reduced to a glorified weeb—it was an overwhelming sight to behold.
The peace didn't last.
Not five minutes after we sealed the new identity, Ciel gave the warning.
Incoming presence detected. Eleven signatures. One at the Saint level. Estimated time to contact: two minutes.
Of course. The Church never waits long before reclaiming their choir members.
I stood up, dusting off the dirt from my sleeves.
"Kael," I said, "you're about to see why pretending to be normal isn't exactly my strong suit."
The wind shifted.
In the distance, golden light flared across the trees. Then came the sound—cloaked footsteps, the chime of consecrated weapons, the hum of holy shields.
A tall woman in silver armor stepped out of the shadows. Her eyes burned gold beneath a white-hooded mantle.
"Pilgrim Seeker," she said, eyes fixed on me. "By divine mandate, you are ordered to return the vessel."
I offered my most diplomatic smile.
"Vessel? You mean this polite young man with a half-broken soul and a fake name? Right, I don't think so."
Her gaze hardened. "He is the property of the Church. An instrument of salvation."
"Yeah," I said, "funny thing about instruments—they stop working when you shatter their strings."
She raised her sword. The other ten robed guards formed a semi-circle, ready to strike.
"Stand down. Or we purify you."
This must be one of the funniest lines I've ever heard.
I tilted my head, then pointed a thumb toward Kael.
"Cover your ears."
Kael blinked. "Why—"
The next second, I flared my aura—just a touch.
Enough to rupture the air with heat.
The grass beneath me withered instantly. The nearest tree exploded. Holy barriers across the Church agents' armor shattered like glass.
One of them gasped.
"He… He isn't part of the Church…"
"No," I said, stepping forward. "I'm what happens when you play God without a backup plan."
The Saint-tier woman charged at me.
These idiots. Did they even know I was a demon lord? An ancient one at that. If I wasn't being recognized, then what was the point of going back in time?
Do I have to remind them?—remind them of the true terror demon lords posed.
I wasn't as soft as I used to be, and if I wanted to make this known to all, I had to do something about it.
Besides, if she was so important, I would've known about her in the other timeline.
I didn't know who she was or the importance she held, but one thing was clear: She was an NPC.
If that's the case, then bless her heart. She meant well.
"『Azathoth』."
That one act sealed the deal. She was erased from existence.
Everyone was stunned. Of course, killing someone on the spot was hella freaky, not gonna lie.
I walked over to the others, my aura intensifying with each step I took.
They all collapsed to the ground, the scent of burnt grass lingering in the atmosphere.
"What… are you?" One of the remaining ten managed to speak up.
I leaned close, letting my shadow fall over them.
"Not someone you should've messed with. [Water Blade]."
With a swift motion, I decapitated nine of them, their heads finally being freed from their bodies, no longer under limitations.
One remained. It wasn't a mistake or a miscalculation; I wanted him alive.
He is subdued. Shall I erase his memories?
No. Let him crawl back with the truth. Let him retell the events to the rest of the geezers.
Maybe that way, they'll understand why demon lords weren't b
I turned to Kael.
"Come on," I said, "you've got yourself a new life to build."
From a demon lord with nothing to do to a hero kidnapper, this life was really an unpredictable mess.
—————————————————————————————————
I don't even know if anyone would still read this scrap, but yeah, for those who truly want a piece of garbage, here you go.
Sorry for the inconsistency, but after this, I don't know whether I should continue doing this.
I don't see this fanfic going places, so I dunno, maybe I'll just drop the whole thing altogether.
I will try to see what I can do about it, but if there's no proper direction for this particular story, I'll simply drop it.
Well, thanks for reading this, uhh, piece of unadulterated junk, and goodbye.
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Word Count: 「4905」.