Metal Manipulation was already busted. Like, not just "strong," but full-on fraudulent. The moment someone relied even a little too much on their armor or weapon, they'd basically handed me a self-destruct button.
And now?
With just a bit of mental effort, I was juggling five metallic discs midair, each spinning in different directions, moving like my own personal orbiting executioners.
I was aiming for Wolverine claws, not Homing Death Frisbees, but hey—I'm not complaining.
Great Sage had once again shattered my expectations. Based on the light novel, I thought it was just some glorified hint system. Speed up skill processing, simplify stuff, maybe narrate things like a helpful dungeon master.
But no.
Turns out if I had enough knowledge—scientific, fictional, or even meme-tier—the skill didn't just help refine things. It could evolve them. Create entire new skills just from interpretation and imagination.
"So Rimuru wasn't weak—he was just old and never unlocked the grindset."
I let out a long, amused sigh as sunlight finally broke through the canopy above me. The cave I'd emerged from was nestled deep within a lush forest, golden rays dancing off the mist like glitter on a fantasy budget.
Still, I had to admit—I took longer than Rimuru. Hopefully not long enough to derail the timeline. I didn't exactly want to butterfly-effect myself into fighting Milim early.
"Note to self. Check the sky for angry pink loli nukes."
I wiped blood off the shimmering, silvery clothes I'd made—crafted entirely from Hell Spider Silk. Incredibly durable, elastic, and luxurious. Shuna would've been giddy.
"Silk so smooth, it's practically flirting with my skin…"
Yep. I was Spider-Man now. All I needed was a tragic backstory and an uncle. Wait.
Moving on.
As I reviewed my collection of acquired skills, I couldn't help but be pleased. The cave hadn't just been a starting area—it was a skill buffet, and I'd dined like royalty.
Current Loadout:
[Metal Manipulation] – Control over all processed ores and refined metal. Precision control. Can reshape, launch, orbit, and compress.
[Webcraft] – From the Hell Spider. I can produce and manipulate my own spider silk. Sticky, tensile, and flammable if infused with fire.
[Organic Armor] – Taken from the armored lizard. Scales harden upon impact. Auto-activates at high velocity strikes.
[Blood Drain] – From the cave bats. Passive health regen through contact, including via web threads.
[Poison Breath] – From the snake. A cloud of acidic vapor capable of melting trees at point-blank range. Potential for torture or battlefield denial.
[Wind Cutter] – Custom-made. Three blades of high-velocity air pressure. Can be manipulated into a cyclone when combined with Webcraft.
"Useful," I muttered, vaporizing a tree with [Poison Breath] and watching the rot spread like some kind of fungal horror.
I didn't shudder. That's beneath me. But I did cringe internally. Just a little.
"Alright. Time to go play messiah."
The past few days had been unusually peaceful—minus the time I nearly gave a poor bunny a heart attack just by talking to it. Guess monstrous charisma wasn't an automatic skill.
But my timing? Impeccable.
The goblins were exactly where I expected them.
"Guga… Strong one. Do you have business with us?" one of them asked, spear trembling in hand.
I gave a theatrical smile and replied, "My name is Akuma Tempest."
The goblins lost their collective minds. Like fanboys at a concert. It was adorable.
"S-So you're the strong presence we sensed?"
"That's right," I said, voice smooth. I could've been lying. They'd believe anything at this point.
The conversation immediately spiraled away from the original version. Rimuru had been a cute, non-threatening blob. I, on the other hand, looked like a demon prince who probably drank the blood of lesser monsters for skincare.
Still, I accepted their invitation to the village with a smile.
On the way, I picked up intel: their guardian beast had disappeared. Monster attacks had skyrocketed. Food was scarce. Morale was worse.
I arrived late. And because of that... they suffered.
The guilt prickled—barely. It wasn't useless. Guilt reminded me not to repeat mistakes. I simply filed it away.
I had work to do.
In the center hut of the goblin camp, Rigurd—still an old, bent man and not the chad of legend yet—explained everything. The fall of their guardian. Their desperation.
Their faith in me.
Poor bastards.
"Kufufufu… Praiseworthy. You goblins have done well to stand firm in the face of despair and still seek strength."
Honestly, that they weren't running at the sight of me was impressive. My horns alone screamed evil .
"We were being tested, it is a relief to see that we had passed," Rigurd said with bowed head.
"Correct," I said, playing the part. "Let's not waste time. How many fighters do you have?"
"Sixty. With the women and elderly, about a hundred in total."
That's… horrifyingly low.
Rimuru set up traps. Used webs. Created terrain advantage. I didn't have time for that—not if the wolves moved early. The best I could do was lead from the front.
"Tell me the enemy," I said.
"One hundred Direwolves. At the front, a Fang Wolf. C-ranked."
So the boss himself, huh?
I exhaled slowly, already planning the math of murder in my head.
"And if I save you," I said, voice dropping an octave, "what do I gain?"
"We will offer our loyalty! Akuma-sama, if you protect us, we shall serve you!"
I couldn't help the grin that split my face.
The original Rimuru stumbled into leadership. I aimed for it. This wasn't mercy—it was consolidation. Influence. A step on the path to dominion.
Freedom isn't inherited.
It's granted—by those in power.
And I would become the one to give it to this world.
"Very well," I declared, turning as my cloak of spider silk fluttered behind me. "You have my protection. From now on, your enemies are mine to destroy."
The dice had been cast.
The wolves were coming.
And Akuma—Me—had just claimed his first nation.