The morning after the battle didn't bring the celebratory feast I had expected. Instead, it brought the cold, hard reality of logistics.
Victory is a fleeting high; hunger is a constant weight. As the sun crested over the jagged canopy of the Forest of Jura, I surveyed my "kingdom." It was a collection of thirty shivering Goblins, twenty-two defeated Direwolves, and one very proud Silver-Moon Wolf.
They were all looking at me.
"Archivist," I thought, my silver form resting on a stump that served as a makeshift throne. "What's the status of our food supply?"
< Answer: Current caloric reserves for the village: 48 hours. Water source: Contaminated by recent combat. Morale: High, but fading due to physical exhaustion. >
I didn't have a stomach, but if I did, it would have turned. In my old life, my biggest logistical challenge was deciding which convenience store had the freshest bento. Now, if I didn't find a way to feed fifty sentient beings, my "Legend" would end in a mass grave.
"Chief," I boomed, my voice vibrating through the morning mist. "Gather the able-bodied. We aren't just surviving today. We are building."
The first thing I had to address was the water. The stream near the village was sluggish and filled with silt. Drawing from my knowledge of environmental engineering, I spent the morning as a literal filtration system.
I didn't use a spell. I used my body. I stretched my membrane across the narrowest part of the stream, becoming a living sieve. By adjusting the molecular density of my "skin," I allowed the water molecules through while trapping the bacteria and sediment within my viscous interior.
"Archivist, initiate [Toxin Neutralization]."
< Process Started. Impurities absorbed. Mana-Laced Water Output: 100% Purity. >
The Goblins watched in awe as the murky stream turned crystal clear on the other side of my body. They began to drink, their eyes wide with the realization that they weren't just drinking water—they were drinking mana-enriched liquid. I felt their strength returning through our budding soul-link.
But water wasn't enough. We needed shelter.
In Mushoku Tensei, magic was used for construction as often as for combat. I decided to follow suit. I summoned the Direwolves—the "Fang-Pack"—who were now cowed into submission by Fenris.
"You have strong claws," I told them. "Instead of using them to rip throats, you will use them to furrow the earth."
I guided the wolves in digging deep, precise foundation trenches. Meanwhile, I worked with the Goblins to teach them the "Scientific Method" of masonry. We didn't have cement, so I created a "Slime-Binder." By secreting a highly adhesive, quick-drying resin from my own body, I allowed the Goblins to fuse stones together with the strength of modern steel.
Within hours, the first permanent structure began to rise: a storehouse built of reinforced river stone.
"Master," Fenris rumbled, his ears pricked toward the forest's edge. "The wind has changed. It carries the scent of iron and... sweat."
I paused my resin secretion. "Humans?"
"Four of them," Fenris replied, his tail lashing. "Approaching with weapons drawn. They have the smell of those who kill for coin."
The adventurers emerged from the brush ten minutes later.
They were a standard quartet: a knight in battered plate armor, a thief with a nervous twitch, a priestess clutching a wooden staff, and a mage with a tall, ridiculous hat. They stopped dead when they saw the village.
They didn't see a "village." They saw a Silver-Moon Wolf (an A-Rank threat) standing next to a High-Spirit Slime (a Rare-Rank anomaly) surrounded by a legion of Goblins and Direwolves.
"By the Gods," the thief whispered, his hand shaking on his dagger. "It's a monster outbreak. A goddamn hive."
The knight stepped forward, his sword gleaming. "Steady. Look at the structures. Those aren't Goblin huts. They're... masonry? Something is wrong here."
I slid forward, leaving the safety of the stone wall. I didn't want a fight. Adventurers were the "eyes" of the human kingdoms. If I killed them, I'd have an army at my door by next month.
"Greetings, travelers," I said, my voice resonating through the air.
The priestess shrieked, nearly dropping her staff. "The slime! It's speaking in the tongue of the Holy Kingdom!"
"I am Aris," I continued, trying to sound as non-threatening as a glowing silver blob could. "You are standing on the territory of the Silver Loop. We are not a threat to your borders, provided you respect ours."
The mage narrowed his eyes. "A sentient slime? Impossible. You must be a Demon Lord's familiar. Where is your master hiding?"
"I have no master," I said, my core glowing a deeper blue—a subtle warning. "I am the Sovereign here. You look tired and hungry. In the spirit of diplomacy, I offer you rest and clean water. In exchange, I want news of the world beyond the trees."
The knight, whose name I later learned was Kael, looked at his exhausted party. The priestess was pale, likely from mana-depletion. He looked at the clear water flowing from my filtration point and then back at me.
"You offer hospitality... to humans?" Kael asked, his voice skeptical but curious.
"I offer it to those who don't draw their steel first," I replied.
Against their better judgment, they stayed.
That evening, by a fire that I fueled with precision-engineered oxygen levels to keep it smokeless, we talked.
I learned that the world was in a state of "Unstable Peace." The Holy Kingdom of Millis was currently obsessed with a prophecy concerning a "Monster King" who would rise from the Forest of Jura.
Great, I thought. I'm already a target and I haven't even finished the plumbing.
But the most important thing I learned came from the priestess, Laina. As she drank the purified water, she looked at me with a strange, lingering gaze.
"You have the 'Aura of the Anchored'," she whispered, so low the others couldn't hear.
I froze. "What does that mean?"
"In our texts," she said, her voice trembling, "there are stories of those who cannot die. Those whose souls are tied to the 'Silver Loop' of time. They are the heralds of ruin. Every time they fall, the world resets, and the suffering begins anew."
The Archivist pulsed in my mind.
< Alert: Recognition of [Temporal Anchor] detected. > < Hazard Level: Elevated. >
"And what happens to these heralds?" I asked.
Laina looked into the fire. "They are hunted. Not because they are evil, but because the world cannot handle the weight of their shadows. To live a thousand lives is to carry a thousand ghosts."
I looked at Fenris, sleeping by the fire. I looked at the Goblins, who were finally sleeping with full bellies. I realized then that my "Reset" wasn't just a safety net. It was a beacon.
The humans left the next morning, promised to tell their Guild that we were "tame." But I knew better. I saw the look in the mage's eyes—the look of a man who had found a rare specimen to dissect.
"Fenris," I thought as they vanished into the green.
"Yes, Master?"
"We need to build faster. And we need to learn how to hide."
[Volume 1: Chapter 3 End]