「 ✦ Shizuku Yaegashi | One Month Later ✦ 」
I exhaled slowly, sword sheathed and shoulders just starting to relax after the morning drills. The sunlight scattered across the stone plaza, catching off Ryutarou's sweat-slicked biceps as he stretched like a lazy lion. Kaori flopped dramatically beside me on a bench, her long hair swaying with a sigh.
"You're way too composed for someone who just disarmed a knight captain," she teased, nudging my side.
"I'm just tired," I replied, offering her a small smile. "Also, he dropped his guard. That wasn't skill, just timing."
"Still counts," Suzu piped up, practically bouncing over with a juice bottle in hand. "And it's totally because you've been training with him."
Ah.
Here it comes.
"You mean Rimuru?" I asked, already mentally preparing my evasive maneuvers.
"Oh absolutely she means Rimuru," Eri chimed in, walking over with an amused smirk. "Shizuku's been extra graceful lately. You know, like a blade that sings?"
Kaori leaned forward with a suspicious grin. "Right? And she talks about him like he's just a 'mentor,' but no one trains with someone that pretty and doesn't catch feelings."
My ears burned instantly. "He's my teacher. That's all."
Kousuke, who'd been lurking near the back, unnoticed for the most part as always, mumbled, "Kinda wild how he agreed to train you and no one else, though…"
"Isn't he, like, super strong?" Shinji added, eyes lighting up. "Some knights said he beat a wyvern with a single move last week. He's gotten pretty famous around, they say."
"And refused to join the fight against the demons," came Kouki's voice, sharp and bitter like chipped glass. "He has all that power, but he just… wanders around. Selfishly doing whatever he wants. An asshole if you ask me."
I turned slowly to face him, catching the stiff set of his jaw, the way his hand gripped the hilt of his sword just a little too tightly.
"Kouki," I said flatly, "he never promised to join our war."
"That's not the point, Shizuku. He could help. He should. If he has the strength to make a difference, then what kind of person chooses not to?"
"Probably someone who didn't ask to be dragged into someone else's mess," I snapped, sharper than I intended. "You talk like power means obligation, but Rimuru isn't one of your pawns. He's his own person."
Ryutarou winced but didn't step in. Eri folded her arms, watching the tension grow like a lit fuse.
"Sounds like someone's a little too into her master," Daisuke muttered with a laugh, elbowing Reichi.
"Yeah," Reichi agreed. "Bet she gets special lessons at night, huh?"
Heat surged up my neck. "Say that again and I'll break your nose."
"Alright, alright, enough!" Aiko-sensei's voice cut through the air like a bell. She stormed into the plaza, robes fluttering, brows furrowed with full teacher authority (if only she looked the part). "What is going on here?"
Everyone froze. Daisuke whistled and turned away like a kid caught cheating on a test. Kouki looked frustrated but stayed silent. I stood still, breathing evenly, collecting myself.
"Shizuku," Aiko-sensei said gently, "are you alright?"
"I'm fine." I bowed respectfully, then turned toward the others, letting my voice drop like a sword's final swing.
"For the record, Rimuru's saved more lives by simply existing than some people here have by swinging swords and preaching ideals."
My gaze landed on Kouki.
"And maybe if you spent less time complaining and more time listening, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Then I turned and walked off the plaza. Kaori scrambled up and jogged after me. Behind me, silence stretched—awkward, biting, and exactly what they deserved.
Kaori caught up beside me, breath puffing with her pace. "You know… you could've just said you like him."
I rolled my eyes. "I don't."
She smirked. "Uh-huh. Whatever."
I didn't respond. But maybe I smiled a little.
··—–—⚜—–—···
「 ✦ Meld Loggins ✦ 」
The heavy iron doors buckled inward with a boom, shrapnel and dust exploding outward. I stepped through the breach first, my longsword glinting under the flickering ceiling lights. My knights fanned out behind me, swift and silent.
But we weren't met with resistance.
Only death.
"…Saint above…" one of the younger knights muttered behind me.
The stench of blood slapped me harder than any blade ever had. The ground was slick with crimson, and body parts—unidentifiable, shredded, and mangled—were scattered like grotesque jigsaw pieces. The far wall was painted in arterial arcs, handprints smeared in frantic trails where someone tried to crawl away.
Dozens. Maybe more. All of them—dead.
All of them—butchered.
"Fan out. Search for survivors," I ordered, voice low but sharp as tempered steel. "If there's anyone left breathing in this hellhole, I want them found. Now."
"Yessir!"
Boots splashed through viscera. Gauntlets shifted. My men moved like shadows. But every corner we turned just revealed more carnage. Some had been bisected. Others disemboweled. A few—unrecognizable as human.
Who could have done this?
"Sir!" called a knight by the eastern wall.
A cough—wet and bubbling.
I turned.
Slumped against the ruins of a shattered concrete pillar was something out of a nightmare: Queenpin. The behemoth of a man. Over eight feet tall, broad as a cathedral gate, his frame now cracked open like a roasted pig. His torso was sliced wide, organs glistening under the flickering lights, intestines pooling out like serpents.
And yet, somehow, he was still alive.
"Bring elixirs," I commanded one of my men, though we all knew no alchemy could reverse this. This was death with a delay.
I strode forward, every step sinking slightly into the blood-soaked floor. My sword hung at my side, heavy, not from weight—but from knowing I might need it again soon.
Kneeling beside Queenpin, I met his eye—the one that wasn't dangling out of its socket.
"What happened here?" I asked, steady.
Queenpin's lips peeled into a smile too wide, too wrong.
"That… cunt… was insane."
My brows knit. "Who?"
His laugh—guttural, manic—rattled the walls like a curse.
"Rimuru Tempest," he whispered.
The name hit me like a hammer to the spine.
Queenpin's pupils dilated, and his story poured out, rambling and blood-choked.
"It started simple," he said, eye fluttering in and out of focus. "One of my lackeys—he saw her. A girl. Walking near the slums with a pretty little white cat on her shoulder. So pretty she didn't even look real. Porcelain skin. Silver-blue hair. A doll come to life. I wanted her."
He laughed again, coughs hitching in his chest.
"Sent a team to bring her in. Y'know. Like always. Forceful invitation."
I clenched my jaw.
"She didn't scream," he whispered. "Didn't run. Just looked at them. Like they were nothing. Then they were dead."
He wheezed, his laugh turning hollow.
"She… no, he found us. Tracked us back here like a wraith. Walked right through our illusions, our traps, our front line. No rage. No warning. Just…"
He looked down at his guts, then up at me.
"Slaughter."
"Magic?" I asked, already dreading the answer.
"Didn't even chant," he spat, eyes wide. "Didn't need to. The horrors moved when he looked at you. And all the while…"
He shivered.
"…he was expressionless. Calm. Like it was just another stroll."
Then, as if the memory broke what little sanity he had left, he let out a wild cackle. Queenpin started laughing again, twitching.
"He brought his cat to a massacre," he giggled. "A cat! Said something like, 'I thought this place might be fun. But it smells too much like rotting meat.'"
His laughter turned high-pitched, shrill, frantic. "He can snap mountains in half. HE'S NOT HUMAN!"
I stood, gaze darkening.
"And he's pretty, too. Too pretty. That's how he gets you. You think he's harmless. But he's a blade wrapped in silk—a devil in doll's skin! He is death, captain! And he's sooooo beautiful—"
I'd heard enough.
I raised my sword—and with one clean motion, ended him.
Silence reclaimed the air, broken only by the slow drip of blood from my blade.
My men stood frozen, pale-faced, hands shaking.
I exhaled and sheathed my sword.
"…So it is him," I muttered.
Rimuru Tempest.
The one the Hero Party encountered once. The one who left a deep, unspoken mark even on them.
I had thought him an anomaly. A wandering eccentric. Maybe even an ally.
But no.
He was something else entirely.
Something worse.
"We report this to no one," I said, turning to my men. "Not a word of this escapes us. Highest-level confidentiality. I'll file it directly to the royal court and no one else. Understood?"
"Yessir."
Gods help us if he ever turns our way again.
··—–—⚜—–—···
「 ✦ Rimuru Tempest ✦ 」
The flames crackled like whispers in a cathedral. Soft and reverent and the quiet you only get after something terrible's already happened. I was sitting on a log that creaked beneath me like it knew it didn't belong in this scene. In front of me—six bodies. Torn apart like ragdolls, painted in blood and dirt, cooling in the night.
All that death, and I showed up late.
The monster's corpse was off somewhere behind me, already dissolving into ash and memory. A giant centipede that shouldn't have existed. Too fast. Too strong. Too many legs. Annoying.
To my left, Kurt breathed like his lungs had forgotten how. Wet, ragged gasps. His back leaned against the log, blood pooling beneath him like a slow-dripping clock. He wasn't screaming. That part was done. This was the quiet phase. The curtain call.
"You look better in person," he rasped. Voice like gravel soaked in rain.
I blinked. "Yeah? Most people say I look better in the posters."
He chuckled—or maybe that was a cough. "Even your jokes are cool."
"You must be dying."
That got a real laugh out of him. Or something close. "Guess I am."
We sat like that. Firelight dancing on his face, shadows pretending they weren't creeping in. The stench of iron in the air. I hated how used to it I was.
"You're Rimuru Tempest," he said, as if I didn't already know. "Climbed to Gold in a week. One-man monster… one-man army hunt record. They say you're a wolf who doesn't howl. That true?"
"…That's a bit much."
"Yeah. Thought so."
A pause. The wind made the flames dance. He shivered, even though he couldn't feel much anymore.
"I wanted to be like you. Strong. Respected. Beautiful."
"You're dying, not flirting."
"You're annoying," he smiled.
I sighed. "You're not the first person to say that."
"You make the rest of us look bad. But you also make us dream. Figure if someone like you exists, maybe there's still hope."
"Hope's overrated," I muttered.
"Nah. It's just... expensive."
He coughed again, weaker this time. Blood at the corner of his mouth. "We risk everything every time we go out there. But you... you walk through death like it's a gentle breeze. Makes people like me feel alive. Or, well... made."
Another pause. Another heartbeat. Another memory burned into the night.
"I didn't ask for the attention."
"Doesn't matter. You cast a long shadow, Rimuru. Even now… I'm laying in it." He shifted, barely. "Y'know, it's funny. We all joke about dying every time we take a quest. 'Adventurer's perfume is blood,' that kind of thing. But when it actually happens... it's not so funny."
"You scared of death?" I asked him.
He thought about it. Really thought. "Nah. I'm scared I won't matter. That when I go, no one'll remember I was here."
"You matter right now," I said. "You're here, and I'm listening."
His eyes fluttered. "Then I'm good."
He didn't say anything else.
I sat there for a long time, watching his chest rise slower, then not at all. I reached out and gently closed his eyes. He looked peaceful. He was a good man. Or maybe just finished.
"Rest well, Kurt."
But deep down, I felt... nothing.
Maybe I should have. Maybe I wanted to. But there was just that hollow buzz inside. No grief. No weight. No sadness. Just... calculation.
I told myself it was because we hardly knew each other. That it wasn't my fault. But I could hear Satoru Mikami's voice in the back of my head—quiet, disappointed.
You've become a monster.
He was right.
Not just in body. Not just in name.
But in heart.
··—–—⚜—–—···
I woke from my artificial nap with that slow, luxurious haze that only comes from sleeping somewhere with no alarms, no expectations, and no responsibilities… at least for a few hours. The fire had died down into amber veins across a bed of ash, faint warmth clinging still.
I rose to my feet, brushing off the loose bits of pine needles from my coat. With a wave of my hand, I snuffed the last embers into smoke. Fire out, no trace left behind. Just the way I liked it.
I made my way to my ride.
My beautiful white horse, a creature so majestic it looked like someone carved moonlight into muscle and fur, waited patiently beneath the snowy canopy. His mane glittered in the dawn frost like frosted sugar, his eyes intelligent, patient, and a bit judgy—like he knew he was too pretty for this world and was stuck babysitting a slime like me.
"Morning, Nimbus," I murmured, running a gloved hand down his neck. He neighed softly in reply, probably wondering why I keep dragging us both into the literal middle of nowhere.
As I swung myself onto his back, I let my thoughts drift to someone I didn't drag out here.
"…Wonder if Daisy's eaten yet."
Daisy. My little white-furred menace. Left her back at the capital's hotel with enough enchanted treats and auto-feeders to keep her busy for weeks, but I still felt the guilt. That soft purr, her judgmental blue eyes always narrowed at me like she was a queen and I her most bumbling subject.
I missed her. Even if she'd scratch me for saying it out loud.
We headed north. Further than we'd ever gone. Past the fractured remains of a once-lively village called Silverbrook now buried beneath layers of frost and regret, past the eerie silence of a world that forgot how to speak. And somewhere along the road, the gentle flurry of snow turned aggressive. Like Mother Nature suddenly had beef with me and wanted to throw hands.
Eventually, the snow was too thick even for Nimbus. I gave him a pat on the neck and a conjured portal to bring him back. He vanished, swallowed by the spatial vortex, back to the capital where Daisy was probably sleeping in my bed, smug as ever.
Me? I kept walking.
The cold was supposed to bite, supposed to rip at the skin and sink claws into bone. But I barely felt it. My formal black coat swirled around me, catching the wind like a cape in some arthouse flick. Velvet darkness trimmed with stardust.
Halfway up the towering mountain that loomed like a dead god's tombstone, the storm began to scream. Wind howled in tongues lost to time. Ice bit into rock like gnashing teeth. And I kept climbing. Then—randomly, stupidly, gloriously—someone spoke.
"Oi! What's a pretty lil' thing like you doin' out here in this deathtrap, huh? You tryna die, lass?!"
I turned my head, blinking snowflakes out of my lashes. A crooked hut hunched against the cliff like it was ashamed to be alive. An old man stuck his head out, face lined like tree bark, his breath fogging up the air.
For a moment, I just stared.
Then I smirked.
"If I were trying to die, I'd at least have the decency to wear heels," I called back. "Gotta meet Death in style, right?"
The man sputtered. "Wha—!?"
"And by the way," I added, beginning to walk again, "I'm a dude."
That shut him right up.
Silence reclaimed the mountain. The wind whistled like it was laughing with me. Further on, the path narrowed. Frosted stones jutted out like broken teeth. Then I sensed them—desperation and malice wearing human skin.
Bandits.
They came lunging out of the white like rabid dogs. Gaunt, shaking, wild-eyed. Their blades were rusted. Their boots mismatched.
"Oi! That coat! Hand it over!"
"And the boots!"
"And that bag too!"
I raised my hands slowly, letting my coat swirl open just enough to show I had nothing to hide—and everything to show.
"Look, I get it. You're hungry, freezing, probably half-mad with fear. But trust me when I say: this is a really, really bad idea."
They didn't listen.
They never listen.
The moment one stepped forward, blade raised—my smile dropped.
[FWIP. FWIP. FWIP. FWIP.]
Four wind blades carved through the storm, faster than thought, cleaner than surgical steel. They didn't even scream. Just collapsed, snow swallowing their bodies like the mountain was erasing its own mistakes.
I sighed.
"I hate wasting breath (ironically)," I muttered, and kept walking.
At last, the peak. A place where the sky kissed the earth, and the storm was so thick you could barely tell up from down. Yet even here, amidst this divine chaos, something stood.
A statue.
It loomed like it had always been here, ancient and unmoved, untouched by the snow swirling like ghosts around it. The false god Ehit—rendered in cold stone, expression serene, hands outstretched as if offering salvation. Or deception.
I stared at it.
Then chuckled.
"You know, for a fraud, you really know how to pose."
My breath curled around me, white fog in the blue-gray blizzard.
Then, I reached out with one hand.
The statue shattered with a sound like thunder. Dust and divine pretense exploded into the wind. What was left was the base foundation—a platform of rock and magic runes, now exposed. I gripped its edge, lifted it like it weighed nothing—and yeah, it kinda did, to me.
Beneath it sat a chest.
I popped it open.
Inside, a book. Wrapped in dark leather, its surface lined with glowing silver thread that pulsed with age-old mana. I picked it up, flipping open the cover. Symbols danced across the page, most encrypted—but not to me. I'd already glimpsed these in Oscar Orcus's sanctuary. Back when everything still felt like a maybe.
But now?
Now it was real.
This book contained many great information about the Seven Great Labyrinths. Where they were. How to find them. What secrets they held. And their natures.
I closed the book with a soft thud.
"Next stop," I murmured, tucking the relic into my Stomach void space, "labyrinth diving soon it is." And with that, I turned my back on the broken statue of a broken god and began my descent.