"We bowed to Crimson Moon because his power was absolute. He was a King in every sense of the word," Ortenrosse declared, his voice a low, rumbling earthquake.
"But make no mistake, Leviathan. The seats of the Twenty-Seven Ancestors are not inherited by blood. They are carved out by strength. There is no monarchy here. Crimson Moon fell, and the strong rose to fill the vacuum. And even if we did adhere to some archaic bloodline succession… Altrouge is not his true heir."
"The true heir is asleep," Rimuru cut in smoothly. "And quite frankly, she made some catastrophic mistakes in the past."
"Leviathan!" Merem Solomon snapped, his bright blue eyes flashing dangerously from across the room. "Do not forget our arrangement."
"I haven't agreed to anything yet, Merem. My help requires your absolute fealty," Rimuru fired back without turning his head, shutting the Divine Child down.
He locked his golden eyes back onto the White Wing Lord.
"I have no interest in debating Arcueid right now, Ortenrosse."
"What I want to dismantle is your absurd claim that Her Highness lacks willpower. I reject that premise entirely."
Ortenrosse scoffed, leaning against his silver greatsword. "Centuries of stagnation, and she hasn't grown an inch. Does that not speak for itself?"
"People express their will differently, Ortenrosse." Rimuru's tone shifted, dropping the aggressive edge for something dangerously earnest.
"You look at me and see a reflection of yourself. We are cut from the same ruthless cloth. So ask yourself this: if we are so similar, why the hell did I willingly bend the knee to Altrouge Brunestud?"
Rimuru cast a brief, sidelong glance at the Black Princess. She looked slightly crestfallen, shrinking under the heavy scrutiny of the room.
"Because you're right about one thing. She doesn't have your ambition. She doesn't even comprehend the concept of conquest. But her will? Her will is entirely dedicated to sheltering those she claims as her own."
"You two aren't as different as you think. You started with ambition. You wanted the throne, and as you gained power, that ambition morphed into a responsibility to protect your subjects. You want to carve out a sky for the Dead Apostles."
"Altrouge is the inverse. She started by just wanting to protect a few strays who believed in her. But as those numbers grew, she was forced into the seat of a Queen. She's gritting her teeth and bearing the weight of that crown solely to keep them safe."
"Rimuru…" Altrouge whispered. She stared up at the masked boy, utterly stunned that he was standing down the most powerful vampire on earth just to validate her.
"I haven't known her long, but I see her resolve clearly," Rimuru continued, projecting his voice to fill the cavernous hall. "I considered defecting the moment she forced me into her ranks. But in the end? I chose to become the blade that executes her will. She lacks ambition. She lacks political cunning. She lacks the cold, calculated cruelty required to rule an empire. She lacks everything you believe a King should possess."
"But I have them."
Rimuru's voice turned to ice. "I have the ambition. I have the cunning. I possess the utter, sociopathic cruelty required to win."
"As a Queen, she doesn't need to be a monster. Because she has me to be the monster for her. Isn't that enough?"
Dead silence smothered the grand hall. For a long, suffocating minute, no one breathed.
Ortenrosse finally tore his gaze away from Rimuru, looking back at Altrouge. "Tch. Your confidence is staggering. And utterly shameless."
"I'm just doing the job you abandoned centuries ago, Ortenrosse."
"Laughable. Are you trying to guilt-trip me with some warped sense of morality?" Ortenrosse's voice cracked like a whip.
"I have never regretted my decision to part ways with her. Even if she desperately wants to protect her subordinates, what does that actually change?"
"It changes everything," Rimuru fired back instantly. "It earns her absolute, fanatical support."
Ortenrosse froze.
"Without you two at each other's throats, the Dead Apostles wouldn't be fractured. The factions would unify. You would have the legitimate authority to command every Ancestor in this room. That is what changes."
"Altrouge lacks everything you possess. She knows this. That is exactly why she scours the earth looking for capable magi to forge contracts with. She's been desperately searching for someone exactly like you."
"White Knight..." Altrouge stared at him, her crimson eyes swirling with an impossibly complex knot of emotions.
"She never said it out loud, but it's obvious." Rimuru turned and gently patted her head, a soft, comforting gesture before looking back at Ortenrosse.
"She hates your guts, but she still came here with me. I've known her for barely a month, yet she took the heat from the Association and the Church just to back my play in Cornwall."
"She literally grabbed onto me because of a dying wish from her previous Knight. She decided to trust me. You claim she has no ambition? You're blind. She has one, singular ambition: to shelter her people. And she has been bleeding herself dry on the path of a Queen ever since you left."
Rimuru shook his head slowly. "You might not regret your choice, Ortenrosse, but you were fundamentally wrong. Because if you hadn't betrayed her back then? If you had stayed by her side as her subordinate? She would have supported your campaign unconditionally. Even if you wanted to usurp the heavens, she would have backed you."
…
"Tch." Merem Solomon let out a sound of feigned disgust, but he couldn't maintain eye contact. His gaze drifted, heavily conflicted.
Rita Rozay-en went totally silent. Sumire, the Water Demon, actually sobered up, staring sharply at Altrouge. Zelretch merely stroked his beard, an incredibly amused smile plastered on his face.
And at the far end of the table, Van-Fem sat twisting a pinky ring, his eyes gleaming with dark, absolute recognition.
This was supposed to be a geopolitical negotiation, the financial demon king thought. Yet, somehow, it's devolved into a philosophical debate. A campaign speech.
Rimuru had completely derailed the core argument. The question started as: 'Why should I, the White Wing Lord, serve her?'
Rimuru forcefully twisted it into: 'Is she worthy of your loyalty?'
By proving she was worthy, by shifting the criteria of worthiness from "ambition" to "absolute support of her subordinates", Rimuru subconsciously planted the idea that serving her was the logically correct choice.
A textbook bait-and-switch.
Van-Fem chuckled silently. This was exactly how high-level corporate negotiations worked. Misdirect the premise.
Frame the argument so the opponent agrees with your foundation. A true capitalist never wastes time on morality debates; they focus purely on the ROI.
What's in it for me?
Ortenrosse genuinely thought Rimuru was a conqueror like him.
Hah. You're completely wrong, Trhvmn, Van-Fem laughed internally. This boy isn't a warlord...
He's exactly like me.
A corporate raider. A swindler of hearts. That's what he truly excels at.
….
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