The silence of the infirmary was heavy, smelling of crushed medicinal herbs and the lingering metallic tang of healing potions. It was a stark contrast to the roar of the sky that had dominated the previous day. Sunlight filtered through the wooden slats of the window, casting barred shadows across the bed where a broken man lay.
Phobio, the Black Leopard, opened his eyes.
Pain was the first sensation—deep, aching bruises on his soul more than his body. Then came memory. The humiliation of the clown's whisper. The intoxicating, maddening surrender to Charybdis. The feeling of being hollowed out, used as a battery for a hunger that wasn't his own.
And finally, the fall.
He sat up, gasping, clutching his chest. He was alive. Why was he alive? He vividly remembered the beam of blue-white light that had erased the monster. He should be ash.
"Your heartbeat is erratic," a voice said from the corner of the room. "Inefficient for recovery."
Phobio froze. His head snapped toward the shadows.
Nova sat in a wooden chair, legs crossed, a book resting closed on his knee. He looked out of place in the rustic infirmary—too sharp, too clean, a sliver of the void dressed in human clothes. His mismatched eyes pinned Phobio to the mattress with the weight of physical gravity.
"You…" Phobio croaked. His throat felt like he had swallowed sand. "The one… the white demon."
"I am Nova," the entity corrected calmly. "And you are the fool who invited a shark into the sky."
Phobio flinched, shame burning hotter than the fever of recovery. He looked down at his hands. "I… I only wanted…"
"Power," Nova finished. "Validation. To prove to your King that you were not a failure after being swatted aside by a child."
He stood up, the chair making no sound against the floor. He walked to the bedside, looking down at the Beastketeer not with anger, but with a terrible, clinical indifference.
"You nearly destroyed a nation because your ego was bruised," Nova said softly. "In another story, you would have died. Your King would have mourned you for a week, then replaced you. You would be a footnote. A caution against stupidity."
Phobio trembled, tears of rage and self-loathing stinging his eyes. "Then why? Why spare me? Why pull me from the core?"
Nova leaned in, his silver hair falling forward like a curtain of starlight.
"Because Rimuru Tempest desires a happy ending," Nova whispered. "And because a dead subordinate causes a war. A living, indebted one creates an alliance."
He straightened, turning toward the door.
"Clean yourself up, Beastketeer. Your King approaches. And unlike the slime, he is not known for his mercy."
Phobio's blood ran cold. "Lord Karion… is coming?"
Nova didn't answer. He simply opened the door and stepped out into the blinding light of the morning, leaving Phobio alone with the crushing weight of his own survival.
***
**The Descent of the Beast King**
The atmosphere in Tempest had shifted. The euphoria of victory over Charybdis had settled into a busy, focused reconstruction, but now, a new tension gripped the air. It wasn't the chaotic, crushing pressure of Milim, nor the mindless hunger of the Orc Lord. This was different. It was regal. It was the pressure of a predator that owned the jungle.
Rimuru stood in the central plaza, having been alerted by the perimeter guards. He wore his commander's coat, Shizu's sword at his hip, flanked by Benimaru and the other Kijin. Even Milim was there, munching on a rice ball, looking curiously at the sky.
"He's fast," Milim commented, spraying crumbs.
"Great," Rimuru muttered. "Another one. Nova, please tell me this one isn't going to punch me."
Nova materialized on the roof of the town hall overlooking the plaza, his favorite vantage point. *Ciel. Analysis.*
<
*A test,* Nova mused. *Standard post-crisis protocol.*
A sonic boom cracked the air, but unlike Milim's arrival, the landing was controlled. Three figures touched down in the center of the plaza.
Two women—one with white hair and serpentine grace, the other with wild golden locks and the aura of a tiger. Albis the Golden Snake. Suphia the White Tiger.
And between them, a man who radiated raw, unbridled masculinity. He wore sparse armor that showed off muscles honed by centuries of combat. His hair was a lion's mane of gold, and his eyes were sharp, predatory slits.
Demon Lord Karion.
The goblins in the vicinity instinctively lowered their heads. The sheer charisma of the man demanded submission.
Karion ignored them. His gaze swept over the Kijin, pausing on Benimaru with a nod of appreciation, before locking onto Rimuru.
"So," Karion rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "You're the slime who cleaned up my subordinate's mess."
Rimuru stepped forward, meeting the Demon Lord's gaze. "I am Rimuru Tempest. Ruler of this Federation. And yes, we handled it."
Karion grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. "You handled it with the help of a maniac, from what I hear." He glanced at Milim. "Hey, Milim. Playing house?"
Milim swallowed her rice ball. "Karion! You're loud! And you owe me a favor for not ventilating your kitty-cat subordinate!"
"I know," Karion said, his grin fading into a grimace. "That's why I'm here."
He turned back to Rimuru. "Where is he? Where is the idiot?"
"He's recovering," Rimuru said firmly. "He was used by the Moderate Harlequin Alliance. The clowns gave him the seed of Charybdis."
"Doesn't matter who gave him the gun," Karion growled. "He pulled the trigger. Bring him here."
Rimuru hesitated. He looked up at the roof.
Nova met his gaze and gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. *Let the scene play out.*
Moments later, a limping Phobio was brought out by Rigurd. The moment Phobio saw Karion, his legs gave out. He fell to his knees, pressing his forehead into the cobblestones.
"Lord Karion…! I… I have no excuses! My foolishness… my pride…!"
Karion looked down at him. The air grew heavy, suffused with killing intent. "You disobeyed a direct order. You invaded neutral territory. You awakened a calamity that could have wiped out my lands as well as theirs. And you lost."
Karion raised his hand. Magicules gathered there, dense and lethal. The 'Beast Roar' began to charge.
"By the laws of Yurazania, the penalty for such failure is death."
Phobio didn't flinch. He squeezed his eyes shut, accepting his fate. "I am ready."
"Wait!"
Rimuru moved. He didn't draw his sword, but he stepped between the King and his subject.
Karion's eyes narrowed. The energy in his hand didn't dissipate. "Move, slime. This is internal discipline. It has nothing to do with you."
"It happened in my town," Rimuru countered, his voice steady despite the sweat trickling down his back. "He's my prisoner. And in my town, we don't kill people who have already been defeated."
"You'd protect the man who tried to destroy you?" Karion scoffed. "Is that mercy? Or is it weakness?"
The pressure intensified. The Kijin reached for their weapons. Suphia and Albis tensed, ready to intercept. The spark was about to ignite.
Then, the world tilted.
It wasn't a physical tilt. It was a shift in the hierarchy of presence.
From the roof, nature's breath stopped. The wind died. The birds froze mid-flight. The very sunlight seemed to dim, filtering through a grey lens.
Nova hadn't moved. He hadn't shouted. He simply *looked* at Karion.
For the first time since landing, Karion looked up. His lion-like eyes widened. He saw the figure in the black coat, tails invisible but spiritually palpable, looming like a judgment day that had gotten bored of waiting.
*Ciel. Project intent.*
<
Karion felt it. His instincts, sharpened by five hundred years of ruling the savage lands, screamed one word: *Monster.*
This wasn't Milim's infinite power. This was something else. A void. A deep, cold ocean where light went to die.
Karion slowly lowered his hand. The magicules dissipated.
He looked back at Rimuru, then up at Nova, then let out a booming laugh that broke the tension like a hammer through glass.
"Hah! HAHAHA! Interesting! Very interesting!"
He slapped Rimuru on the shoulder, nearly burying the slime into the pavement.
"You've got guts, slime! And you've got… quite the watchdog up there."
Rimuru managed a weak smile. "He prefers 'partner'."
"Partner, eh?" Karion eyed Nova again, who had resumed looking at his fingernails. "Right. Well, since the host insists, I'll spare the idiot's life."
Phobio let out a sob of relief, collapsing fully.
Karion kicked him lightly. "Don't get comfortable. You're stripped of your rank. You're carrying the luggage on the way home."
He turned to Rimuru, his expression shifting to one of business. "Now. About the mess my idiot caused. I owe you. Yurazania pays its debts."
***
**The Banquet of Beasts**
If war was the way of the beastmen, feasting was their religion.
By nightfall, the central plaza had been transformed. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, mountains of fruit, and barrels of Dwarven ale that Kaijin had brewed. The Tempest goblins and the Yurazania beastmen mingled, trading war stories and arm-wrestling challenges.
At the head table, the leaders gathered. Rimuru sat between Karion and Milim, playing the frantic mediator.
"This meat is excellent!" Karion roared, tearing into a boar leg. "Better than what we have back home. You have good cooks!"
"Just… stay away from the purple dish," Rimuru whispered. "That's Shion's. It's… experimental."
Nova sat at the end of the table, turning a glass of wine in his hand. He hadn't touched the food.
"You don't eat?" Albis asked, sliding into the seat beside him. The Golden Snake was beautiful, her movements hypnotic, her eyes tracing Nova's features with open curiosity. "Or are you sustained by brooding?"
Nova glanced at her. "I find consumption tedious unless the quality necessitates it."
"My, how arrogant," Albis smiled, pouring sake into her own cup. "Lord Karion is curious about you. So am I. You halted the Beast Roar with a look. That is not a common skill."
"It wasn't a skill," Nova said. "It was a suggestion."
Albis laughed, a low, throaty sound. "A suggestion. I like that. You are dangerous, Nova Tempest. But you hide it well. Mostly."
"I hide nothing," Nova replied. "I simply do not advertise."
Farther down the table, Suphia the White Tiger was currently losing an arm-wrestling match to Shion, yelling profanities while Shion smiled pleasantly and crushed the table ruins into sawdust.
"You lot are crazy!" Suphia yelled, nursing her hand. "A slime lord, a cooking oni determined to poison us, and a destroyer in a frilly dress. What kind of country is this?!"
"A fun one!" Milim announced, shoving a spoon of honey into Karion's mouth mid-sentence.
Karion choked, then chewed thoughtfully. "...Not bad."
Nova watched the scene. It was chaotic. Loud. Inefficient.
And yet, the magicule density in the city was rising. The bonds forming tonight—trade agreements, mutual respect, shared spirits—were stronger than any wall.
*Ciel. Probability of lasting alliance?*
<
*Symbiosis,* Nova thought. *Biological interdependency. Good.*
He stood up, the noise of the party suddenly grating. He needed the quiet.
As he walked away, Karion called out.
"Hey! Shadow-man!"
Nova paused, half-turning.
Karion raised his massive goblet. "I don't know what you are. And frankly, your aura creeps me out. But you saved my subordinate from being a stain on history. So… thanks."
Nova stared at the Demon Lord. For a moment, the mask slipped, revealing the weary traveler beneath.
"Do not thank me," Nova said quietly. "Thank the author who decided redemption was a better plot device than tragedy."
Karion blinked. "The what?"
"Drink your ale, Demon Lord."
Nova walked into the darkness.
***
**The Editor's Farewell**
Later that night, the moon hung full and heavy. Karion and his entourage had departed, leaving a stunned but grateful Phobio and a promise of future trade caravans.
But one guest remained.
Milim sat on the stone railing of the bridge overlooking the river. Her legs dangled over the water. She wasn't eating. She wasn't laughing. She was just… waiting.
Nova walked onto the bridge. He leaned against the railing next to her.
"The party is over," Nova said.
"I know," Milim murmured. She looked down at her reflection. "Karion left. The shark is gone. The honey is… well, there's still honey, but…"
"But the narrative requires movement," Nova finished.
Milim looked up at him. Her eyes were impossibly old in her young face. "You talk funny. 'Narrative.' 'Script.' Like we're all just… dolls."
"Aren't we?"
Milim kicked her heels against the stone. "Maybe. But I like this dollhouse. It's warm."
"If you stay," Nova said, his voice stripping away the comfort, "you endanger it. The other Demon Lords—Clayman, Frey—they are watching. If the Destroyer takes up permanent residence, they will unite against Tempest out of fear. And Rimuru is not ready for a war on three fronts."
Milim gripped the railing. The stone cracked under her fingers. "I could crush them. All of them."
"And leave this city a pile of rubble in the crossfire?"
Milim slumped. She knew he was right. That was the curse of her power. She waded in destruction; she could not build, only defend or erase.
"So I have to go," she whispered.
"Yes," Nova said. "But not aimlessly."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. He handed it to her.
"What's this?" Milim asked, taking it.
"A script," Nova said. "Or rather, a mission."
Milim opened it. It was a list of locations. Jistav. The Puppet Nation. The Harpy Kingdom.
"Clayman thinks he is clever," Nova said, his eyes glinting with coldblooded malice. "He thinks he is manipulating you. He thinks you are a foolish child he can point at his enemies."
Milim grinned, a sharp, dangerous expression returning to her face. "He thinks I'm stupid."
"Exactly. So play the part. Go to him. Pretend to be bored. Pretend to be easily manipulated. Eat his food. Break his furniture. And while you are there…"
Nova tapped the notebook.
"...watch him. See who he talks to. See where the strings lead."
Milim closed the book with a snap. Her energy flared, the Destroyer waking up.
"A spy mission! Undercover! Agent Milim!" She jumped up, striking a pose. "I love it! It's like a game!"
"The deadliest game," Nova agreed. "Can you play the fool long enough to trap the puppeteer?"
"Easy!" Milim declared. "I'm the best actor! I'll make him think he owns me, and then…" She mimed an explosion with her hands. "Kaboom!"
"Precisely."
She hovered in the air, ready to launch. Then she paused. She drifted back down to Nova.
Without warning, she hugged him. It was a quick, fierce squeeze that would have shattered the ribs of a lesser being.
"You're weird, Nova," she whispered into his coat. "But you're my best friend. Besides Rimuru."
She pulled back, beaming. "Don't die before I get back, okay? I want that spar."
"I plan on living forever," Nova deadpanned. "It is my burden."
"Wahahaha! Good!"
She shot into the sky, a streak of pink light cutting through the stars. No sonic boom this time. Just a silent, swift departure.
Nova watched her go until she was just a memory in the night sky.
*Ciel. Did she take the bait?*
<
Nova smirked. *Good luck, Clayman. You wanted a Demon Lord? You got the one with a sugar addiction and a license to act stupid.*
***
**Interlude: The Void**
"He's weaponizing the comic relief character," JACW said, sounding impressed. "That's… actually brilliant."
The One Above All nodded, shuffling a deck of cards that contained the fates of universes. "Sending Milim to Clayman now… it accelerates the Walpurgis arc. But it also changes the dynamic. In canon, Milim was 'controlled'—or pretended to be. Now, she's going in as an active saboteur commissioned by Nova."
"It changes the stakes," The Presence noted. "Rimuru won't be fighting to 'save' Milim from mind control. He'll be fighting to coordinate with her. It makes Rimuru less of a savior and more of a conspirator."
"Is that better?" JACW asked.
"It's different," TOAA said. "It removes the damsel element from Milim entirely. I like it. It respects her agency."
"Agency?" JACW scoffed. "Nova handed her a notebook and told her to go wreck a guy's house. That's not agency, that's weaponized vandalism."
"And isn't that what we all want to see?"
***
**The Road Ahead**
The next morning, the city felt quieter. The storm had passed. The King had left. The Destroyer had departed.
Rimuru found Nova in the forge, watching Kaijin inspect a new shipment of magisteel ore.
"She's gone?" Rimuru asked.
"She has a job to do," Nova replied.
Rimuru sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "It's going to be quiet without her."
"Quiet is good. Quiet allows for construction." Nova turned to the slime. "We have the fruit trade with Yurazania secured. We have the Dwarven treaty. The city is growing."
"But?" Rimuru asked, sensing the 'but'.
"But we are now a target," Nova said. "Clayman failed with the Orc Lord. He failed with Charybdis. He will not stop. And the Kingdom of Falmuth to the west… they are noticing the trade routes shifting. Greed is a faster mobilizer than hate."
Rimuru stiffened. "Falmuth… humans."
"Yes. Humans." Nova's eyes darkened, a shadow of his past life flitting behind them. "Greedy, fearful, irrational humans. They are coming, Rimuru. Not today, not tomorrow. But soon."
"We'll be ready," Rimuru said, though his voice lacked the certainty it had yesterday.
"No," Nova said, walking past him toward the sunlight. "*You* will be ready. I will ensure the board is set so that when they arrive… they realize they stepped into a trap."
He stopped and looked back.
"Get your diplomatic attire ready, Chancellor. We are going back to Dwargon. You need to learn how to play politics with kings before you have to play war with them."
Rimuru groaned. "More speeches?"
"Better speeches than eulogies," Nova said.
He walked out, the tails of his coat snapping in the wind. The calm was over. The growing pains of a nation were just beginning. And in the shadows of the future, Nova could seeing the burning skyline of Tempest, a necessary tragedy he was still calculating how to edit.
*Ciel. Initiate Protocol: Megiddo Preparation.*
<
Nova looked at the sun.
*Let them come.*