The plains to the east of the Forest of Jura were overrun by Direwolves—fanged monsters fast enough to outpace horses and strong enough to rip through armored men like wet parchment. Enough of a menace to grind trade between the Eastern Empire and neighboring kingdoms to a crawl.
By standard power scaling? Each one clocks in around C-rank. Give or take.
Individually? Manageable.
But wolves don't fight alone. They move as one. And the real danger is the Alpha—a Fang Wolf that'd evolved into something just shy of a disaster.
And it didn't help that these things didn't eat to survive—they ate to evolve.
That's the unspoken rule of this world. Survival of the fittest isn't a metaphor—it's the ecosystem's religion. Strength is currency, and slaughter is just the price of entry into the next tier of existence.
With Veldora gone, the deterrent that kept weaker species safe evaporated. Like a landlord abandoning a tenant building in a warzone, his absence turned Jura into a smorgasbord for predators.
... that's buffet for those who don't know, anyway.
I offered a silent prayer—for the hundreds, maybe thousands of lesser creatures who'd died in the aftermath of my arrival.
No turning back now.
The goblins had gathered around me. There were only about sixty capable of fighting, give or take, but all of them were staring at me like I was some messianic flame in a world soaked in kerosene.
...I understand you now, Rimuru. It's annoying having people look at you like you're divine.
But unlike you, I'll leverage it better.
"Seeing as all of you are here," I said, scanning their nervous faces, "that means you understand what's coming."
"Yes, sir!" their chief responded. "A battle that will decide whether we live or die!"
Their voices rang with conviction, but I could see the tremors in their limbs, the flickers of doubt in their eyes.
Good. Fear is a tool, and I knew how to wield it.
"Relax," I said smoothly. "Follow my orders exactly. If we do this right, the only corpses that'll touch this soil will be our enemies."
That got them. The tension didn't vanish, but it shifted—solidified into resolve. They still feared death... but now, they feared disobeying me more.
Not ideal. But acceptable.
There was just one issue.
I am not Rimuru. Not a harmless blue blob the enemy underestimates.
I'm Akuma. A tiefling—demonic in appearance and reputation, with a face that looks like it belongs in the underworld and a presence that makes children cry and monsters hesitate.
The Alpha wouldn't lower its guard around me. It might even retreat.
And that's a problem.
Because I need those wolves.
Ranga and his pack are a tactical asset—combat-ready cavalry, scouts, enforcers. Without them, I'd be wasting time training goblins for months.
So... how do I make sure they don't run?
< Notice: Tieflings are known for stealth and trickery, racial traits born from persecution by both demons and mortals. Would you like to activate [Shadow Sneak]?>
YES
NO
Wait. That sounds familiar. Is a lawsuit incoming?
I clicked yes.
In an instant, my body dissolved into smoke, sinking into the shadows like I belonged there. The world dimmed—colors desaturated, noise dampened, everything felt... muffled. Distant.
< [Shadow Sneak] enables users to merge into nearby shadows and suppress their aura completely.>
Hah. Now that's a get-out-of-jail skill. Souei would love this.
Perfect. That solves the escape issue. They won't run if they can't sense me.
I canceled the skill and emerged from the shade like a phantom. The goblins recoiled—one even dropped their spear.
Ignore it. Focus.
This just became a game of controlled brutality.
If I was going to subdue the Alpha instead of killing it, I'd have to outplay it in front of its entire pack. Wolves don't follow strength alone—they follow the one who makes them submit.
"Goblin Chief," I called. "Gather all the wood you can in the next two hours. I want crude spears, shields, and planks. You've got three days. No more."
Originally, Rimuru used his silk to set up traps. Tripwires. Sticky threads. I didn't have that luxury.
I could manipulate metal, sure, but most of my techniques are lethal. Using them on Direwolves would be overkill. I needed them alive. Bruised, broken, but alive.
Maybe I could craft nonlethal restraints? Metal cuffs launched mid-combat? Controlled stakes that only wound?
No... no, too complex for now. The wolves wouldn't fall for traps anyway. They're instinctual, fast. If I wanted to beat them, I'd have to do it personally.
Head-on.
Fine. So be it.
I leaned back, flicked my wrist, and sent a shard of iron flying through a tree trunk like it was butter. Just for fun.
But something clicked as I watched the metal spin.
"...Wait a minute."
I could still do what Rimuru did. Just not the same way.
Instead of traps... I'd break their morale in the most spectacular fashion possible.
Take down the Alpha in full view of the pack—with such overwhelming precision and control that the rest of them would kneel before I even said a word.
A show of force so calculated it would look like divine punishment.
Power... without death.
The perfect message.
"Prepare yourselves," I muttered to the goblins, watching the sun sink toward the horizon. "In three days, the wolves will come."
And when they do, I won't defend the goblins with barricades or cheap tricks.
I'll do it with fear.