Disclaimer: I do not own That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, High School DxD, or any other referenced properties. All characters depicted are consenting adults aged 18 or older.
Chapter 7
Rimuru POV
Morning sunlight poured through the leaves, catching in the morning mist and scattering over the clearing like drifting stars. For a moment, the village looked like a dream—rows of huts, smoke curling gently from the new forges, goblins laughing as they carried fresh timber. You wouldn't think a war was on the horizon.
But Souei's silent arrival reminded me otherwise.
He appeared as smoothly as a shadow passing over water, kneeling beside me.
"Rimuru-sama," he said in his usual calm tone, "the scouts confirm the orc army continues toward the swamps. Their numbers are steady, their discipline… unnatural."
I nodded slowly. "Then it's time. You'll go to the Lizardmen as our envoy."
He didn't look surprised. "Understood. I'll depart within the hour."
"You know what to say?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Yes. The message is simple," he said, straightening. "We seek an alliance to repel the orc threat. Cooperation, not subjugation. I'll speak directly to their chief."
"Good," I said with a smile. "No one could do it better."
He inclined his head. "I've been to the marshland before. I know the paths that won't draw attention. I'll travel alone—it will be faster, and less likely to alarm them."
That was exactly what I'd hoped he would say. "Take what you need from Kaijin before you go. And Souei…"
"Yes?"
"If they insult you, ignore it. You represent us now, not just yourself."
His lips curved faintly. "I understand. I'll return with results—or news worth knowing."
And just like that, he vanished, the only sign of him was a slight ripple in the air.
When I turned back toward the square, I almost tripped on the sudden noise of shouting and thuds. The training grounds were alive with movement. Hakurou's sharp voice carried over the field.
"Hold formation! Step, strike, pivot—again!"
Rows of hobgoblins and goblinas followed his rhythm, their wooden weapons thudding in unison. Sweat gleamed, but their eyes burned with purpose. Watching them, I couldn't help feeling proud. A few weeks ago, they'd been frightened villagers; now they looked like soldiers in the making.
Off to one side, Shion stood with her hands on her hips, shouting encouragement—well, something like encouragement.
"Come on, swing like you mean it! You think the orcs will wait while you fix your posture?!"
Her voice was so loud it made the leaves tremble.
Benimaru, watching from nearby, sighed with a mix of affection and resignation. "I told her to assist with training, not scare the recruits."
I chuckled. "At least they're motivated. Look—they're swinging harder already."
He gave a reluctant nod. "That's… one way to look at it."
Hakurou barked another command, and the front row of hobgoblins raised their shields together in a perfect block. The next row thrust forward in sync. Shion's eyes widened in surprise, then she grinned and joined in, demonstrating an over-the-top spin that sent her practice blade whistling through the air and embedding in a training dummy.
The recruits gasped. Shion struck a proud pose.
"See? Like that!"
Benimaru groaned softly. "I'll remind her about moderation. Eventually."
I smiled. "Let her have her fun. She's good for morale."
By midday, the bracelets were ready for distribution. Shuna handed each one carefully, her expression gentle but firm as she explained the rules.
"These are for training only. They will protect you in the chamber. If your body reaches fatal limits, you will be ejected and healed. But do not treat it like a game."
The goblins nodded, wide-eyed, clutching the shining bands like sacred artifacts.
Kaijin approached, wiping soot from his brow. "We finished ten sets for today's batch. They're keyed to the training room's runes—Hakurou can start when you give the word."
I looked toward the training field again. Hakurou was already organizing the first volunteers. Even from here, I could hear the quiet edge of pride in his commands.
"Understood," I said softly. "Tell him to begin after lunch. I'll observe the first session."
Shuna smiled faintly. "You really care about them, Rimuru-sama."
"Of course I do," I said. "They're our people."
As the afternoon light began to tilt westward, the village settled into a rhythm—hammer strikes, shouted drills, the hum of runes awakening deep inside the dimensional training room. I could almost feel the pulse of mana threading through every structure, binding everyone together in purpose.
Somewhere beyond the horizon, Souei was already moving—silent, invisible, carrying the weight of our hopes toward the Lizardman capital.
I floated up onto the council platform, watching the forest sway in the wind. The air was calm, but it wasn't the calm of peace anymore. It was calm before something vast began to move.
"Great Sage," I whispered in thought, "track Souei's signal while he's gone."
[Affirmative. His life signatures will remain under surveillance.]
"Good," I murmured. "Let's see if the Lizardmen are ready to listen."
The wind shifted slightly, cool and steady.
And somewhere deep beneath the forest floor, shadows followed the path of the silent envoy.
Souei POV
The marsh breathed around me.
Mist crawled along the water's surface, wrapping the roots and reeds in a white haze. Frogs croaked somewhere deep in the fog, and the smell of damp earth clung to everything.
I moved soundlessly across it all. The threads of my magic sense spread ahead like a web, feeling the life that pulsed beneath the muck — the scales of hidden patrols, the slow hum of mana in the air.
This land hadn't changed. The Lizardmen still watched the borders of their domain with vigilance and pride. At least they hadn't grown careless.
Two guards materialized from the mist, halberds crossing before me. Their reptilian eyes gleamed, sharp and alert.
"Halt," one said. "Identify yourself. This territory belongs to the Lizardmen."
I stopped a few paces away and bowed slightly.
"My name is Souei. I come bearing words from Lady Rimuru, the leader of the settlement deep within the Great Forest. I request an audience with your Chief."
The guards exchanged quick glances, suspicion flickering behind their eyes. One of them tilted his head.
"Lady… Rimuru?" he repeated. "We've heard no name like that."
"You will," I said simply.
The guards studied me for another moment before lowering their weapons slightly. "Very well. Follow. No sudden movements."
I followed them through the mist. The marsh opened into stone passages that sloped downward, carved from ancient rock and reinforced with coral and bone. Torches burned a pale blue, casting reflections on the damp walls. The air grew cooler, quieter — the sound of dripping water was constant.
The Lizardmen capital was less a city and more a living fortress, dug into the heart of the swamp. Patrols passed at regular intervals, armor crafted from shells and scales, their steps heavy but disciplined.
Finally, we entered a grand chamber hollowed out of stone. Lanterns of glowing moss hung from the ceiling, lighting a throne of driftwood and carved ivory. Upon it sat the Lizardman Chief — broad, scaled in deep green, with eyes as steady as still water.
I stopped several meters away, bowed, and spoke.
"I thank you for receiving me, Chief of the Lizardmen. I am Souei, envoy of Lady Rimuru, who leads a settlement within the Great Forest. My mistress wishes to extend a proposal of alliance concerning the approaching orc army."
The Chief's expression didn't change, but a murmur ran through the gathered advisors standing beside him. They whispered among themselves, flicking their tails uneasily.
One of them — younger, with bright crimson markings along his jaw — stepped forward, voice cutting across the chamber.
"Alliance? With a stranger we have never seen. This 'Lady Rimuru' sends a messenger but not her face? What kind of leader hides behind another's shadow?"
His tone was sharp, almost mocking. "For all we know, there is no Rimuru at all. Perhaps this is your trick, spy. Speak truth — who is your master? Why should we believe such a name even exists?"
I said nothing. The fog of the marsh clung to me even here; my shadows curled faintly at my feet.
The advisor took another step closer. "You come into our domain and demand to speak as an equal, yet your leader stays hidden. Do you think the Lizardmen so desperate that we would follow phantoms?"
The insult wasn't for me — it was for her.
And that was enough.
Without sound or gesture, a single thread slipped free from my sleeve — thinner than hair, invisible in the air. It coiled once around his neck. A heartbeat later, a faint red line bloomed beneath his scales. A single drop of blood slid down his throat.
He froze.
"If you value your tongue," I said quietly, "choose your next words carefully."
The chamber went still. You could hear the soft crackle of torchlight, the faint drip of water.
The Chief rose from his seat with deliberate calm. "Enough."
He crossed the space between us in a few strides, his authority washing over the room like a wave. With a single motion, he placed a heavy clawed hand on his advisor's shoulder.
"You forget your place," he said, low and cold. "Silence."
The younger Lizardman bowed his head, trembling, blood still beading along the fine cut at his neck. The thread dissolved soundlessly into mist.
The Chief turned to me and inclined his head. "My apologies, envoy of Rimuru. His words were not ours."
I returned the gesture. "No offense was taken — so long as it ends here."
The Chief studied me for a long moment, then gestured toward the center of the room. "Speak, then. What does this Lady Rimuru propose?"
I straightened. "My mistress seeks unity. The orc army grows stronger with every hour, consuming everything it touches. If left unchecked, it will drown the forest and all who live within it. Lady Rimuru proposes an alliance — cooperation between our people. We share information, coordinate defenses, and protect each other's lands"
The Chief's expression softened slightly, though his eyes remained guarded. "Strong words. But alliances built on promises often will crumble at the first bloodshed."
"Then consider this not a promise," I replied, "but a chance. My mistress offers it freely. Whether you accept is your choice."
He nodded slowly. "I respect your honesty, envoy. Yet before I give my word, I must know the one who seeks it. If your Lady Rimuru desires our alliance, let her stand before me herself. Only then can I decide if our peoples will stand as one."
"I will deliver your message," I said, bowing once more.
He inclined his head in return. "Go safely through our marshes, Souei of the forest. You have my word—no harm will touch you here."
"Then I thank you," I said softly.
As I turned, the Chief's voice followed me, quieter, but carrying a weight that settled in my chest.
"Tell your Lady Rimuru… that if her heart is true, she will find allies here."
The mist swallowed me again as I stepped out into the marsh. The sound of dripping water and distant frogs returned, the echo of the chamber fading behind me.
The message was delivered.
The next move belonged to Rimuru-sama.
Rimuru POV
The village had split into two kinds of noise. Outside, the practiced clatter of boots and shouted cadences; inside the Dimension chamber, the low, surgical hum of the safety protocols. Great Sage pinged me with a short, tight note: Souei's presence in the marsh had shifted from watchful to diplomatic. He was already speaking to the Lizardmen. Keep eyes open.
"Understood," I whispered. Then I turned toward the training hall where Hakurou was waiting like a living anvil.
The line Hakurou had assembled was exactly what I'd ordered: freshly evolved hobgoblins, armored goblinas, a handful of determined goblin families who'd elected to take the elite track.
Benimaru's jaw was tight as steel; the rest were all calm masks of fury. They would not be ground down in drills. They would be unleashed, whole and terrible, when the time came.
"Hakurou," I said, stepping into the chamber. The Dimension's air tightened, the bracelet safeties glinting on a nearby rack. "Start the elite rotation. Make it count."
He nodded once. "You asked for men who will not balk at the edge," he said. "They will learn it here."
Hakurou's lessons were not mercy. He started them on basics and immediately stripped them down: movement under blinding smoke, coordinated rescues with broken comms, forced choice drills where hesitation cost simulated lives. The Dimension's fail-safe pulled trainees out of an actual fatal gap, but the memories of nearly dying were as real as any scar — exactly the point.
Gobta stood at the front of the line not as a joke but as a captain. The grin that used to be his armor had been tempered into a soldier's determination; his wooden lance was wrapped in leather from Rigurd's workshop, balanced and ready. He barked commands with surprising crispness, corralling younger riders into formation. When a goblina faltered under a smoke-drill, Gobta steadied her with a hand on the shoulder and an order that made her plant her feet and fight through. He was not perfect, but he was learning to make men follow him.
Hakurou's methods were plain and brutal: limb-by-limb fighting against shaped illusions, enforced exhaustion runs before coordination drills, "wounded comrade" scenarios that demanded split-second triage. Several trainees hit the bracelet threshold and were spat into the recovery bay, shaking, breath rattling. No one died. They woke with hollow, fierce eyes and a new steadiness when they moved.
Outside the chamber, the broader training was organized and loud. Ranga's pack ran perimeter sweeps with the new rider squadrons; their hooves churned mud into slurry and taught discipline against the swamp's betrayal. Shion paced the spear drills, voice sharp, correcting any hand that drifted lazy.
Benimaru and the others argued quietly over intercept routes and diversion tactics — their faces hard as flint. They were not idle; they were kept sharp in different ways.
I pulled aside a young hobgoblin between sessions. "You understand why you train like this?" I asked.
His reply was short, guttural with determination. "If the swamp breaks, the village dies. I'm not training to march — I'm training to stop that march."
Good. That was the answer I wanted.
A new exercise began, coordinated counter-surge. The elites had to bait a heavy flanking force, hold until a secondary unit punched a hole, then collapse the enemy's support. Hakurou dialed realism to a dangerous edge: simulated fractures, sudden sensory loss, friendly-misfire noise. When a unit folded, the bracelet yanked them out; Hakurou's debrief shredded ego and rebuilt logic.
"Your instinct is to run to a friend," he told one trembling goblina. "Your training is to bind that instinct into the plan. You bind the friend to the plan, and the plan holds."
Gobta answered like a soldier, not a clown. He took casualties in stride and fed corrections back with blunt clarity. Each time he shouted an order, men moved faster. That was leadership — taught, not granted.
A mental ping: Souei had requested a direct meeting. The marsh's Chief wanted to see Me, to know the person behind the envoy. My heartbeat quickened, but the training did not stop.
"Hakurou," I called, voice steady. "Keep the rotations tight."
He inclined his head. "I will turn them into a gear that does not jam."
Samael POV
A week can burn away like dry paper when the world is waiting for war.
From the ridge where Sirius and I kept watch, the forest looked peaceful—mist coiled around the trunks, and the marshlands beyond glimmered as if nothing ugly had ever touched them. But under that stillness, I could feel tension thrumming like a heartbeat through the ground.
Below us, banners moved in the fog—Lizardmen colors, green and gold, pressed into formation far from their capital. They weren't supposed to be here yet.
Sirius lowered his spyglass, frowning.
"Didn't you say Rimuru was still negotiating with their chief?"
"I did," I murmured. "Which means whoever's leading down there isn't following orders."
He gave me a look. "So, rebellion?"
"Or stupidity. Sometimes they're the same."
The first horn shattered the quiet. The sound rolled over the swamp like thunder in a cave, followed by the roar of ten thousand feet slogging through mud.
Sirius lifted the glass again. "They've started the charge. Orcs everywhere."
The mist splits to reveal a wave of grey flesh and rust-colored armor. The Lizardmen phalanx met them in a narrow causeway, shield lines shaking under the impact. For a few minutes it looked even—then the left flank crumpled like wet reeds.
"They're outnumbered five to one," Sirius muttered. "No coordination."
Through the fog, I spotted the culprit: a tall, brightly crested Lizardman barking orders with theatrical gestures—Gabiru. His followers cheered his name even as the line buckled.
"So that's him," Sirius said. "The loud one."
"Gabiru," I confirmed. "Son of the Lizardman Chief. He was supposed to stay home."
"Supposed to," Sirius echoed dryly.
I didn't need Great Sage's analysis to see the disaster forming. Gabiru had pushed his forces into the swamp without waiting for reinforcement. Pride marching them to slaughter.
"Rimuru will not like this," I said softly.
Rain began to fall, a thin drizzle that turned the marsh to a mirror of blood and water.
The Lizardmen fought bravely, spears flashing, tails whipping for balance, but the orcs kept coming. Organized. Purposeful. Their ranks moved like a single organism, forcing the defender's backward step by step.
Sirius tracked the chaos through the glass. "The orcs are herding them. Whoever commands that army knows how to break formations."
"An Orc Lord does that," I answered. "If the rumors are true, they finally have one."
Lightning flared; for an instant we saw Gabiru's banner swallowed by grey bodies. The sound that reached us wasn't a battle cry—it was panic.
Sirius swore under his breath. "They're finished."
I watched silently. My hands were still. My shadows trembled on the ground, eagerly, but I held them.
This wasn't my fight. Not yet.
The rain thickened until the world became noise and color. Then, through that storm, a new vibration pulsed through the earth—steady, rhythmic, controlled.
Sirius stiffened. "You feel that?"
"Yes."
It was the beat of disciplined movement. Not orcs. Not Lizardmen.
Something else.
Through the haze came wolf howls, clear and commanding. Moments later, grey streaks burst from the forest edge—Ranga's pack and a wedge of rider squads flying Tempest's emblem.
At their head rode Gobta, cloaked and serious, nothing like the bumbling soldier he once was. The wolves leapt the flooded causeway, plunging straight into the orc flank with a crash that turned the entire line. Spears flashed, fangs tore, mud exploded upward.
The Lizardmen closest to them hesitated, disbelief frozen in their eyes as the newcomers carved a path through enemies twice their size. Then discipline took over—they fell in behind the riders, forming a new line anchored by howling wolves.
Sirius grinned. "Your sleepy goblin again."
"He has a habit of showing up exactly where chaos needs order," I said.
"Convenient miracle."
"Rimuru's miracle," I corrected.
The air changed before she appeared.
A sudden stillness, a pause between heartbeats. Even the rain seemed to hang motionless. Then light rippled across the swamp—soft blue, rising from the horizon like dawn itself.
I didn't need sight to know it was her.
Out of the mist came Rimuru's army—a tide of hobgoblins, some Kijin moving in impossible synchronization. At their center, floating just above the mud in her human form, Rimuru shone faintly, her aura spreading a calm that bent the storm around her.
The impact was immediate. Orc lines faltered, instincts screaming before thought could catch up.
From our ridge the view was breathtaking: Rimuru's forces swept forward, blue light against grey sludge, neat formations punching holes through the enemy like blades through silk.
Sirius whispered, "That's not an army—that's inevitability."
"She came prepared," I said quietly. "She always does."
Rimuru's first command rippled through the ranks—silent, carried by Great Sage's link.
The riders broke off to relieve the trapped Lizardmen completely, guiding them to safe ground. Behind them, Benimaru's division surged into the exposed gap, flames cutting a crescent through the heart of the orc mass. The swamp itself hissed under the heat.
To the right flank, Shion waded in like a storm given shape, her blade sending waves of compressed air that split ranks in two. Beside her, Hakurou danced through the wreckage—no wasted motion, no mercy. Every strike a lesson made final.
Sirius adjusted the glass again. "Look at that coordination… they're covering each other's blind spots without words."
"Training room paid off," I murmured.
One by one, the orc lines broke. The marsh became a chaos of retreating shadows, and through it all, Rimuru's aura burned steady, neither exultant nor cruel, simply certain.
Sirius lowered the spyglass, wiping rain from his face. "So, the Lizardmen owe their lives to her again. Think they'll appreciate it?"
"Depends which ones survive," I said. "Their chief might. Gabiru won't."
He chuckled darkly. "He's not dead?"
"Not yet. But after this, his people might wish he were."
We watched the survivors rally behind Tempest banners, their confusion visible even from our distance. They didn't know whether to kneel or thank their saviors.
That was fine. Time—and Rimuru's patience—would decide the rest.
Sirius finally turned to me. "You still won't go down there?"
"No."
"Even now? You could clean up the stragglers in minutes."
I looked down at the battlefield.
The rain had turned red channels into silver rivers, carrying away the smoke. Rimuru floated above it all, issuing calm commands as her troops reorganized. She didn't need me.
"This is her proving ground," I said. "Her choices, her mistakes, her victories. If I interfere, I take that from her."
Sirius nodded slowly. "So, you watch."
"I guard," I corrected. "From a distance."
He smiled faintly. "Same thing, when you care enough."
Rimuru POV
The air above the marsh stank of iron and ash. Rain hissed against dying embers.
I moved through the battlefield slowly, boots sinking into the wet earth, the sound of my steps almost lost beneath the groans of wounded orcs and the low moans of dying beasts. The war that Gabiru had started without permission was ending here—badly.
When I found him, he was on his knees. His bright crest was slick with mud, eyes wide in disbelief as a tall figure loomed over him—a gaunt man in tattered finery, a mask of bone and madness twisting his face. Gelmud.
"So," Gelmud said, voice sharp with glee, "this is the proud prince who thought to rule? You failed me, Gabiru. You ruined my plans. And now, you're nothing."
His fingers rose, dark mana gathering at the tips like venom. Gabiru tried to crawl back, but his legs wouldn't move. Fear had rooted him to the ground.
I didn't think.
My body moved before I thought.
A black blade of flame flashed through the mist—silent, clean—and struck the air between them.
Gelmud staggered back, the spell he'd been weaving scattering like ash.
"Enough." My voice carried through the rain. "I don't remember giving you permission to kill anyone here."
He blinked at me, confusion turning to fury. "Who—who are you?"
"Rimuru," I said. "The one you should have stayed away from."
His laugh was high and broken. "Another monster pretending to be human. You think you can stop me?"
He lunged.
I raised my hand. The black flame coiled around my arm like liquid shadow and cut through his magic mid-chant. The explosion bloomed uselessly behind me. Before he could scream another curse, I closed the distance and drove the fire through his chest.
Gelmud's scream curdled into a shriek, then silence.
He collapsed in a heap, steam rising where the flame had eaten through him.
Gabiru stared up at me, trembling. "You… saved me?"
I looked at him briefly. "Don't thank me. Just learn when to stop running toward pride and start running toward sense."
His mouth opened, but before a sound left it, the ground trembled.
A shadow loomed behind Gelmud's fallen body.
The Orc Lord moved forward—huge, breath steaming, eyes empty but burning. The moment stretched. Then he stooped and lifted Gelmud's corpse like meat.
"Wait—" I started, but it was too late.
He bit down once. The sound was wet and final.
Mana rippled outward, thick and nauseating. His body swelled, skin darkening to steel-grey, veins of light bursting across his arms. The aura that spilled from him wasn't hunger anymore—it was despair made flesh.
"The evolution…" Great Sage whispered inside my head. [Warning: individual has ascended into Orc Disaster class. Caution advised.]
I felt the pressure immediately. His mana alone crushed the air.
So, this was the real enemy.
I tightened my grip on the blade of flame. "Everyone, fall back."
Wind split behind me. Shadows rippled—and Souei appeared at my flank, wires already humming with mana.
"Orders?" he asked.
Before I could answer, two more presences surged through the mist. Shion landed in front of me, sword resting on her shoulder, and Benimaru's crimson aura burned like a second sun behind her. Hakurou came last, calm as always, eyes locked on the enemy.
"Let us take the first strike, Rimuru-sama," Benimaru said, voice steady but fierce.
I met his gaze, read the certainty there, and nodded. "Go."
Souei moved first. Threads of blue light spread from his hands, weaving a shimmering cocoon around the Orc Disaster's massive frame. The creature roared, struggling, the air distorting around its muscles.
Shion dashed forward, twin-handed slash carving through the wires' gaps, targeting tendons and joints. Her strikes were fast—too fast for normal eyes—but the Orc's skin was like iron. Each hit drew shallow lines of blood that sealed almost instantly.
Hakurou joined the dance, silent, blade flashing in precise arcs meant for crippling. Together, the two carved at the same spot again and again, breaking skin, then bone.
Benimaru's flames erupted next—a spiral of crimson that devoured the cocoon whole. For a heartbeat, the swamp turned into a furnace. The light swallowed everything.
When it faded, the creature was still standing.
Bruised. Charred. Still alive.
Steam rose from the Orc's body, and I watched with quiet horror as the blackened flesh sloughed off and new skin grew beneath it—faster than before.
He reached out, seized a wounded orc at his feet, and swallowed him whole. Flesh vanished; energy flooded back into his frame.
I stepped forward.
"Stand down," I said. "He's mine now."
Benimaru hesitated, then bowed his head slightly. "Understood."
The others fell back. The air was heavy enough to hum. The Orc Disaster looked at me, a soundless growl rattling in his chest. He raised his weapon—a jagged cleaver the size of a tree—and charged.
I met him halfway.
Our first clash shook the ground. His strike slammed into my guard, forcing me back a step. The impact cracked the mud around us. He swung again, and this time I dodged, sliding past the blade and driving my sword into his arm. The cut went deep—but it healed before I could withdraw.
So that was his trick.
I raised my hand and summoned a second flame—darker than the first, a black fire so dense it swallowed light. I pressed it against the wound. It hissed, then clung to the flesh like tar.
The Orc howled.
The arm didn't heal.
"That's better," I murmured.
He struck wildly, rage replacing reason. Each swing sent wind slicing through the swamp, but I was already moving faster—ducking under, slicing tendon, then another limb. Every wound I left behind caught the black fire and refused to close.
He tried to tear the flames off, but they stayed. Burning. Eating. Slowing him down.
Great Sage's voice echoed in calm monotone.
[Regeneration impaired by unique fire properties. Recommend full containment.]
"Working on it."
He lunged again, and I answered in kind—this time with both hands on the blade, black flame trailing like a comet. I severed one arm cleanly, then the other, and kicked him back into the crater Benimaru's earlier fire had left.
He fell to his knees, roars fading into hoarse gasps.
"It's over," I said, raising my hand.
Mana flooded my core.
The air bent.
Space itself seemed to fold inward.
"Predator," I whispered.
The space above the Orc Disaster warped—edges smearing like wet ink—then collapsed inward. The pull wasn't wind; it was hunger given shape, a pressure that tugged at bone and thought. He roared and threw his weight forward, trying to break free.
I let my human form dissolve.
Skin fell away to light; light collapsed to gel. I hit the mud as a sapphire ripple and surged up his legs like a tide, black flame woven through my mass in slow-burning threads.
He hacked downward with that cleaver, carving a trench through the slime that was me—but it closed, and the blade stuck. My flame took the hilt, too, and held it there, eating the iron a grain at a time.
He dragged in breath, voice raw. "I… must… feed them."
The words rasped out of a throat built for bellowing, not speaking. But he forced them anyway.
I climbed higher.
Where my mass touched his wounds, I left burning seams that would not close. His regeneration pushed against mine, frantic, like two tides crashing together under the skin. Every heartbeat he tried to knit himself back together; every heartbeat my flame unthreaded the stitching.
"Hungry," he said. Not a complaint, just a fact. His eyes weren't cruel. They were tired. "They starve. The marsh… nothing left. If I am strong, they live."
More of me wrapped his torso; more of him shuddered. I held his arms pinned and let the black fire keep eating.
"I know," I said—my voice inside his head as much as in the rain. "I know why you moved. I know who pushed you. And I know what happened to your people."
He braced, tried to wrench free, and failed. "Then end me. But… do not abandon them."
The battlefield had gone quiet around us. In the distance, wolves huffed and settled; goblin riders shifted, waiting. Benimaru's aura had cooled, steady heat behind my back. Shion gripped her blade in white knuckles and said nothing. Hakurou's eyes were closed, listening to the rain.
Souei's shadow drifted near my edge and stopped there, not touching. He understood what this was.
The Orc Disaster's breath hitched. He wasn't begging. He was accounting.
"I will take them," I said. "Every last one who surrenders. They will eat. They will live under law. No more forced hunger. No more lies."
His head dipped a fraction—some final muscle finding a last obedient movement.
"Good," he said.
Then he fought me again, on principle—one last surge of strength that would have pulped stone. I accepted it. I let him throw everything at me so there would be nothing left to regret.
The black fire bloomed brighter inside my gel, and the Predator center opened—pressure doubling, then tripling, a silent implosion only he and I could feel. The world narrowed to two forces: his will, my will.
He pushed; I pulled.
He broke first.
The cocoon sealed. My body folded over him like night over a guttering torch, and the torch went out. His mass dissolved into mana; the shape of a skill wrapped in grief. The last sound he made wasn't a scream. It was a sigh of a leader whose ledger finally balances.
The pressure fell away.
The rain came back.
I reformed on the churned ground—human again, breath steady. The black flame guttered and vanished from the mud in thin curls of smoke.
[Analysis complete,] Great Sage murmured. [Core abilities obtained: extreme predation, mass absorption, hunger-conversion schema. Auxiliary record: leadership imprint shows protective compulsion toward subordinates.]
"Keep the imprint," I said aloud, softer than the rain. "We'll need that."
No one spoke. The marsh held its breath.
I turned to my people and the Lizardmen who were still standing.
"Listen," I said, and the sound carried to the edges of the wrecked causeways. "Your enemy is gone. The war end here."
My gaze found the shattered banner where Gabiru's followers huddled, eyes wide, crest feathers wilted. Gabiru himself stood unsteadily, mud to his waist, pride cracked but not broken. He met my eyes, then looked away first.
"Gather the wounded," I continued. "Ours, theirs, everyone's. If an orc throws down his weapon, he is a prisoner, not prey. If he can't stand, carry him. No one dies for being hungry."
Shion exhaled and shouldered her blade. "You heard her! Move!"
Benimaru bowed his head once, then began barking orders in that precise, even cadence that made men obey without question. Souei vanished between one blink and the next and reappeared farther off, binding an orc's gushing leg with invisible threads and setting him down beside a goblin healer who looked terrified and proud at the same time. Hakurou drifted among the shell-shocked Lizardmen, touching shoulders, correcting grips, quietly rebuilding a broken spine where he found it.
I walked toward Gabiru. He flinched—then forced himself still. Good. At least he had that much courage left.
"You lived," I said.
He swallowed hard. "Because of you."
"Because too many people followed you," I corrected. "You'll answer for that—later. For now, help your people. Carry what you broke."
He nodded, shame and anger wrestling in his throat. "Yes."
I looked past him, out over the marsh where orcs were laying down rusted weapons and staring at the sky like it might finally stop pressing down on them.
"Benimaru," I called, without turning. "Signal the retreat from the forward line. I don't want our people chasing stragglers into the dark. We hold here, stabilize, feed."
"Understood," he answered.
Shuna and the support corps were already moving—hot cauldrons unfolding from storage rings, field tents popping into place, clean water spells purling over basins. We'd prepared for this—refugees, not trophies.
I closed my eyes for a moment and spoke quietly so only she could hear.
"Great Sage… tally the living."
[Tallying. Orc survivors capable of immediate surrender: high. Lizardmen casualties: significant but non-terminal. Tempest casualties: minimal, mostly training injuries and non-fatal trauma due to chamber conditioning.]
"Good," I breathed. "Good."
A shuffle of steps behind me. Gabiru again. His voice was smaller now.
"What… happens to us?"
"You'll return to your father," I said. He flinched harder at that than he had at death. "You'll face him, and your people, and the truth. If you're lucky, they forgive you. If not, you rebuild anyway."
He bowed so quickly he almost fell over. "I… will."
Samael POV — after the devour
The rain settled into that steady, workman's drizzle—the kind that doesn't dramatize anything, just soaks it until it's real. Below our ridge, blue banners steadied, cooking fires flared, and the wolves lay down in the mud like sentries finally allowed to breathe. Orcs dropped weapons in small, confused piles. Lizardmen leaned on spears that shook, but didn't fall.
My shadows crept to the lip of the rock like cats. They wanted to go. I didn't let them.
Sirius didn't say a word at first. He just set a hand on my shoulder and left it there, the way you palm a drawn bow so it won't overbend. The pressure was light. The reminder wasn't.
"Breathe," he said finally, barely louder than the drizzle.
"I am."
"Then keep doing it."
We watched Rimuru finish giving orders—no triumph, just instructions—and the field moved the way a field should move when the right person is at the center of it. Feed them. Bind that leg. Don't chase. Hold.
"I almost went when Gelmud raised his hand," I admitted.
"I know," Sirius said. The corner of his mouth ticked. "Your shadow stood up before you did."
"It was a reflex."
"Yeah. A loud one."
Down there, Benimaru's line split cleanly to open lanes for the wounded. Shion raised a tent pole by herself and pretended it was no big deal. Hakurou corrected a grip and a posture and—somehow—an entire outlook with one sentence. Souei threaded the swamp quietly, and people got safer everywhere he passed.
And Rimuru—Rimuru stood steady and made it simple to be brave.
Sirius squeezed my shoulder once, harder. "You did good," he said. "You stayed."
"I had to." I kept my eyes on her. "If I keep solving things for her, I turn her into a passenger. She's not a passenger."
"No," he said. "She's the driver who just parked a disaster without scratching the paint."
I snorted. "You're terrible at metaphors."
"Thank you."
For a while, we just listened—to clatter, to low voices, to the soft, relieved noises men make when they're being issued bowls instead of orders. The mud down there looked like a ledger being rewritten debt erased; new columns started.
"You knew all week this was coming," Sirius said after a bit. Not accusation, just taking stock.
"I knew enough," I answered. "She told me less than she usually does. I pretended to miss what I didn't want to steal from her."
He nodded. "Restraint looks good on you. Uncomfortable, but good."
"My compliments are sharper," I said.
"I'm fragile," he deadpanned.
A wolf howled once, short, contained. In the glow of the field kitchens, steam rose and turned the rain into a veil. Orcs with empty eyes stared at the pots like pilgrims at a shrine. A goblin healer wrapped a huge wrist with careful hands and then patted it, like that was part of the magic.
"Do you think they'll understand what she just did?" Sirius asked.
"Some today. More tomorrow. Enough, eventually."
"And Gabiru?"
"He'll have to learn the hard way." I watched him stumble into motion, shame doing the work pride ran from. "Maybe he will."
Sirius rolled the signal token I'd given him along his knuckles. "If this had gone wrong—"
"I would've moved," I said. "And she'd have forgiven me. Eventually. But I'm glad I don't have to spend that forgiveness."
He hummed agreement. "So, what now? We drop in dramatic and steal her thunder with congratulations?"
"We go home," I said. "She'll come back to the dimension dead on her feet and pretending not to be. I'll say, 'well done,' and she'll pretend it's nothing, and then sleep like she earned it. Because she did."
Sirius's smile went small and honest. "And in the morning, you'll make too much tea and act like that was always the plan."
"It was always the plan."
"Uh-huh."
Below, a pair of riders peeled off to escort a line of surrendered orcs toward the newly raised tents. Someone laughed—actual laughter, the thin kind that comes first after a fight. It sounded good in the rain.
Sirius finally let go of my shoulder, then set his hand back, just to be sure. "One more minute," he said. "For you."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah. One more minute anyway."
We stood the minute. The shadows at my boots flattened and went quiet. The ache in my hands—the one you get from not fighting—faded to something I could file away as practice.
"Alright," he said, satisfied. "Let's move. We circle wide, skip the mess, and get back before Veldora decides to 'improve' the living room again."
"Last time was an experiment," I said.
"He turned the carpet into a lava map."
"An informative one."
"Mm," Sirius said. "You can tell him that."
We turned from the ridge together. The rain softened to mist, then to a fine nothing that only made the leaves shine. Behind us, Rimuru's voice—calm, certain—carried just far enough to be felt, then folded back into the work being done.
Sirius bumped his shoulder into mine as we started down the trail. "I'll keep an eye on you tonight too," he said lightly. "In case your restraint slips and you try to congratulate her with a siege of gifts."
"I was thinking one gift," I said.
"Define 'one.'"
"Large."
He laughed. "Of course."
I looked back once more—just once. She was still there, a steady point in a field that had finally stopped bleeding.
"Good job," I said, to no one but the rain.
Then I let the forest close behind us, and we walked.
Time skip
The door to the dimension sighed open like a tired lung.
She stepped through in her human form, cloak damp at the hem, hair pulled back in a rough tie. No aura. No command. Just Rimuru—quiet, used-up, whole.
I was already standing. The shadows under the lamps stretched toward her on their own; I kept them leashed.
"Welcome home," I said.
The word landed. Something in her shoulders let go. She didn't rush me; she crossed the room the way you walk out of deep water—each step smaller, lighter—until her forehead rested against my chest.
I wrapped my arms around her and said the only thing that mattered first.
"Perfectly done."
Her breath hitched once—half-laugh, half-sob she'd never let into daylight. She didn't answer. Not with words. She just pressed closer, as if the comment had weight and she needed to feel where it settled.
Behind us, the living room murmured with distant life—the clink of a cup on saucer, Veldora's stage-whisper complaining about mortal tea portions, Sirius's calm shushing, Shizu's soft "please behave," and Ifrit's simmering silence like a hearth too proud to admit it's warm. They knew better than to intrude.
I tilted my head toward her hair and spoke low.
"You led. You held the line. You chose mercy without mistaking it for weakness. And you ended it when it needed ending." I paused. "I'm proud of you."
"…Say it again," she mumbled into my shirt, so quietly I almost thought she didn't mean me to hear.
"I'm proud of you," I repeated, and her hands bunched in the fabric like a person anchoring a flag in new ground.
Great Sage's presence stirred at the edge of my awareness—patient, approving. For once, she said nothing.
I eased us down onto the couch. She came willingly, knees touching mine, palms still fisted in the hem of my coat like she hadn't decided if she could let go yet. I cupped her cheek with one hand. Warm. Alive. Very tired.
"How many?" I asked softly.
Her eyes lifted to mine, steady now. "Enough," she said. "Enough to feed. Enough to teach. Enough to start over."
"And the ones who followed you home," I said, meaning fear, doubt, the crowd that always trails a leader after a first war.
"They're outside," she sighed. "I'll meet them in the morning. Tonight… I wanted to be here."
"Good," I said. "Stay."
We sat in the quiet for a beat that stretched, then settled. The dimension's light made a clean halo on the table, a lazy map of gold on her knuckles.
"I knew you were watching," she said at last.
"Of course."
"You didn't intervene."
"No."
She searched my face. "Because you trusted me to handle it. Not because you didn't care?"
I huffed a small, surprised laugh. "Rimuru."
"What?"
"I nearly moved when Gelmud raised his hand. Sirius kept a palm on my shoulder like I was a sword that hadn't decided what to do yet." I let her see it honestly. "Caring was never the question."
Something unknotted behind her eyes. "Thank you," she said.
"For not moving?"
"For choosing me," she said simply. "For choosing to let me be the one to do it."
"Always," I answered.
We fell back into the gentle silence of people who don't need to impress each other. From
the other room came the rustle of a page turning; Sirius pretending he was reading. Veldora muttered "absolutely microscopic cups" and Shizu's smile showed in the shape of her reply. Ifrit's ember-purr never changed.
Rimuru leaned into me, and I let her shift. A little of the battlefield still clung to her posture; I smoothed it away with my thumb against the tendon of her wrist. The pulse there slowed.
"Tell me what you need," I said.
She considered. "Three things. First… say 'well done' again."
"Well done."
Her mouth curved, proof of life. "Second, help Shuna and Kaijin scale the kitchens and workshops. We'll be feeding thousands. And repairing everything."
"Done."
"Third…" She hesitated, then met my gaze with that glint that meant, the request matters. "Don't argue when I say I want to address everyone myself—Lizardmen, orc survivors, our people. I want them to hear it from me."
"You'll have the floor," I said. "And the crowd. And the sound." I tapped my chest once. "I'll stand where you can't see me."
"I'll know you're there," she said, and that was enough for both of us.
I brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "What about Gabiru?"
"Tomorrow," she said. "He'll answer to his father and his people.
I nodded.
She leaned back, stretched her legs along the couch, then—without ceremony—tugged my arm until it was a pillow and set her head there. The motion was so unguarded it felt more intimate than any vow.
"You know," she murmured, staring at the ceiling, "when I took him… he wasn't raging at the end. He was… relieved."
"I saw," I said. "I heard enough."
"I promised him I'd take care of them." Her voice didn't wobble. It didn't need to. "I meant it."
"I know you did. The promise is safe."
She closed her eyes and let out the kind of breath you only release when you're not in charge for a minute. The room seemed to adjust around it. The dimension likes her. It always has.
We let the world be small: couch, lamplight, rain-sound memory left over from the marsh. Somewhere beyond the doorway Veldora attempted a whisper again—"is she asleep yet?"—and Sirius replied with the legendary patience of one who has stood on too many ridges with me: "Almost. Don't ruin it."
Rimuru smiled without opening her eyes. "He's terrible at whispering."
"Truly renowned," I said.
A quiet minute. Then another.
She spoke without moving. "Samael… did I do it right?"
I didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Yes," I said. "You did it right."
"All of it?" She opened one eye, mischief and vulnerability sharing a chair for once. "Even the parts where I looked like I knew exactly what I was doing and absolutely did not?"
"Especially those," I said. "That's leadership."
She considered that, then let it settle. "Okay."
"Okay," I echoed, and pressed my palm gently to her crown in something older than praise.
I felt Great Sage's attention sharpen—curious, affectionate in the clinical way only she can be. Thank you, I sent, without moving my mouth, to the presence that makes Rimuru's impossible logistics possible.
A cool, amused ripple came back. You were adequately restrained.
Rimuru's lashes fluttered. "Is she judging you?"
"She's marking me down as satisfactory," I said.
"High praise," Rimuru murmured, and I felt the tiny laugh where her cheek touched my sleeve.
We stayed there until her breathing evened and the last of the battle's stiffness bled out of her hands. When she was almost asleep, she said the thing that made the day's weight click into its final place.
"I didn't need you to save me," she whispered, "but I needed you here."
"I am here," I said. "That part is permanent."
Her fingers twitched around my sleeve. "Good."
I looked toward the doorway. Sirius caught my eye over the rim of an actual, insultingly small teacup and raised his brows in a question. I tilted my head—later—and he nodded, herding Veldora back with a look, Shizu with a smile, and Ifrit with the kind of respect you give a housed fire.
The room dimmed itself a fraction. The dimension is thoughtful when you let it be.
I let my head rest against the back of the couch and watched her sleep.
"Perfectly," I said again to the hush.