Lord Inquisitor Varrus stared at Rimuru, his ancient mind processing the sheer, suicidal audacity of the proposal. "You cannot be serious," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "To meet them is to place your head in the lion's mouth."
"A lion I have no intention of fighting," Rimuru replied calmly. "You told me yourself, Lord Inquisitor. Running will only confirm their suspicions that I am a heretic the Inquisition is trying to hide. It will turn their pilgrimage into a crusade. But if I meet them, if I speak with them directly, I can control the narrative. It is the most logical path."
Kael stepped forward, his face pale. "Logic does not apply here, King Rimuru. You are dealing with the Ecclesiarchy. Their truth is not based on evidence, but on faith. They are an ocean of belief. A single drop of reason will be swallowed without a trace."
"Then we will have to be a very big drop," Rimuru said, his smile unwavering.
Varrus was silent for a long, tense moment. He weighed the catastrophic risks of a direct conflict between his Ordo and the Ministorum against the unknown but potentially reality-altering risk of Rimuru's plan. He had gambled on this being once before, at the gates of Helios. He decided to gamble again.
"Very well," the Lord Inquisitor conceded, a look of profound weariness on his face. "We will do this your way." He turned to his communications officer. "Open a channel to the lead vessel of the Pilgrimage Fleet. Priority Alpha. Use my personal Inquisitorial codes. Inform the Canoness that the Inquisition has secured an entity of divine significance, and that the entity has… requested an audience with a true servant of the Emperor."
The message, a masterpiece of political maneuvering, was sent. The reply was swift. Canoness Celestine agreed to a parley. The location: a vast, deconsecrated grand chapel aboard Watch Station Hesperus. Neutral ground, to be secured by both factions.
The air in the chapel was cold and thick with tension. On one side of the vast nave stood the powers of the Inquisition: Varrus, a shadow of ancient authority; Kael, a scholar of secrets; and Captain Arken, a monolith of black ceramite, representing the Emperor's hidden, ruthless will.
From the opposite side, the great doors hissed open. A wave of warmth, the scent of holy incense, and the faint sound of hymns washed into the chamber. Canoness Celestine entered, and she was every bit the icon Kael had described. Her silver power armor was a work of art, inscribed with litanies of faith. A halo of iron shone above her head, and her eyes burned with a fire that had witnessed a thousand battles and a thousand miracles. She was flanked by a retinue of her Celestian Guard, their white and black armor immaculate, their expressions masks of serene, deadly piety.
The Canoness's fiery gaze swept past the Inquisitors, dismissing them as temporal necessities, and fell upon the calm, silver-haired figure standing beside them. She saw not a xenos, not a monster, but the impossible purity her mystics had described. Her iron-clad certainty wavered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a wave of profound, soul-shaking awe.
She strode forward, her armored boots ringing on the marble floor, and stopped ten paces from Rimuru.
"You are the light," she said, her voice a clear, powerful bell of absolute conviction. "The miracle that cleansed Helios. The Emperor has heard our prayers and sent you to us in this age of darkness. Speak your name, so that we may add it to the rolls of the Saints and praise it for all eternity."
Rimuru gave a slight, respectful bow. "My name is Rimuru Tempest, Canoness Celestine. It is an honor to meet one of such… conviction. But I am afraid there has been a profound misunderstanding."
The air in the room froze. The Sisters of Battle gripped their bolters, their expressions hardening.
"I am not a saint," Rimuru continued, his voice gentle but firm. "I was not sent by your Emperor. I am the ruler of a nation from a reality far from this one. I am, for all intents and purposes, a lost traveler."
A Sister Celestian stepped forward, her hand on her power sword. "Heresy! The Inquisitors have twisted your tongue with their lies!"
The Canoness raised a single, gauntleted hand, silencing her subordinate. Her gaze on Rimuru was one of intense, conflicted scrutiny. She saw no deception in his golden eyes, only a quiet, honest sincerity. It was a sincerity that contradicted the very miracle she knew he had performed.
"The light of the Emperor can shine through even the humblest of vessels," Celestine stated, her faith searching for an explanation. "You may not understand the divine instrument you have become." She made a decision. A test. "One of my sisters was gravely wounded during a recent purgation. Her body is failing, her spirit commended to the Emperor's side. The apothecaries can do nothing."
She looked at him, her eyes a challenge of pure faith. "If the Emperor's light truly flows through you, then prove it. Heal her. Perform a miracle for His devoted daughters to witness."
It was the ultimate trap. To refuse would prove him a fraud. To succeed would prove him a saint.
Varrus tensed, ready to intervene, but Rimuru simply nodded. "I do not perform miracles," he stated calmly. "And I do not channel the will of your god. But I will not stand by and allow someone to suffer if I have the power to prevent it."
The wounded Sister was brought forward on a repulsor-gurney. She was pale, her breath shallow, a grievous wound in her side seeping blood through thick bandages.
Rimuru walked to her side. He did not chant or pray. He simply reached into a pocket and produced a small, unassuming vial filled with a glowing green liquid. A Full Potion.
"Please, have her drink this," he said, handing the vial to a suspicious Sister Hospitaller.
With a nod from the Canoness, the Hospitaller administered the potion.
The effect was instantaneous and breathtaking. A warm, golden light enveloped the wounded Sister. The color returned to her cheeks. The grievous wound on her side stitched itself together at a visible rate, flesh, muscle, and skin weaving together perfectly, leaving behind not even a scar. In a matter of seconds, the dying woman sat up, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and divine wonder, her body completely and utterly healed.
The Sisters of Battle in the room fell to their knees, tears streaming down their faces as they witnessed the impossible. They began to chant praises, their voices a rising chorus of vindicated faith.
"A miracle!"
"The Saint has blessed us!"
"The Emperor's light is made manifest!"
But Canoness Celestine remained standing. She stared, her mind, a fortress of absolute, black-and-white certainty, now besieged by a paradox. She had just witnessed a divine, holy act of healing, an undeniable miracle performed with a simple potion by a being who had just calmly and sincerely denied the existence of his own divinity.
Her faith and her reality were at war. She looked at Rimuru, who stood there with a simple, kind expression, as if he had just offered a thirsty person a cup of water.
The Canoness's voice, when she finally spoke, was not the booming proclamation of a living saint's herald. It was a low, dangerous, and utterly bewildered whisper.
"What… are you?"