The rain fell in cold, relentless sheets on the neon-slick streets of Taipei, turning the bustling night market into a blur of shimmering lights and hurried shadows. Among the crowd, nineteen-year-old Lin Zhi moved with a singular, desperate focus, his sneakers slapping against the wet pavement. In his hand, clutched so tightly his knuckles were white, was a limited-edition *That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime* Blu-ray box set he'd spent six months saving for. The holographic image of Rimuru Tempest, the benevolent slime-turned-Demon Lord, seemed to gleam even in the dim, rainy light.
Lin Zhi's heart hammered against his ribs, a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion. He'd just finished a double shift at the convenience store, and his body ached, but his spirit was alight. *Finally*, he could watch the OVA episodes he'd missed. His tiny apartment, plastered with Tensura posters, was a sanctuary waiting for him just two blocks away. He was a simple soul—his world consisted of long work hours, his ailing mother back in Kaohsiung, and the vibrant, hopeful universe of anime and light novels. In Rimuru's journey from a humble slime to a ruler building a nation where all races coexisted, Lin Zhi found a solace and a strength he couldn't find in his own life.
He didn't see the delivery scooter, its driver distracted by his phone, veering around the corner with a silent, electric whir. The headlights were a sudden explosion of white in his periphery.
Time didn't slow. It fractured.
There was a colossal, soundless impact—a universe of pressure collapsing into the point between his shoulder blades. The world spun, a carousel of streaking neon and screaming faces. The precious box set flew from his grasp, the plastic case shattering against the curb, discs scattering like fallen stars into the rushing gutter water.
Lin Zhi lay on the cold, wet asphalt, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. The pain was a distant, roaring fire, but it was being rapidly drowned out by a terrifying numbness creeping from his extremities toward his core. The sounds of the market—the shouts, the sirens wailing in the distance—muffled, as if he were sinking deep underwater.
*No… not yet… Mom… my shift tomorrow… Rimuru…*
His vision tunneled, darkness encroaching from the edges. Panic, cold and pure, seized him. This was it. The meaningless end of a meaningless life. A single, wasted breath in a vast, uncaring cosmos. Despair threatened to swallow his final consciousness whole.
Then, from the deepest vault of his fading mind, a single image surfaced. Not of his mother, not of his home, but of a figure with azure hair and gentle, golden eyes, standing before a throne in a magnificent hall, surrounded by loyal friends and a thriving kingdom. It was an image of boundless potential, of creation from nothing, of kindness wielded as the greatest power.
*Rimuru…* The thought was not one of prayer, but of profound, aching identification. *To have that chance… to build, to protect, to start over… just once…*
It was his final, coherent thought. Not a word to a god, but a declaration of longing to a fictional ideal.
The darkness claimed him.
***
Consciousness returned not with a jolt, but as a slow, viscous awakening. Lin Zhi felt no body, no limbs, no breath. He was a point of awareness adrift in a formless, silent void. It was neither warm nor cold, neither light nor dark. It was the *absence* of everything.
*Is… is this the afterlife? The Buddhist void?* Disorientation, thick and cloying, gripped him. Then, a pulse. A soft, rhythmic thrum that seemed to resonate from within his very core. With it came a flood of sensations—not through nerves, but through a pervasive, omnipresent awareness. He could *feel* the texture of the void around him, a faint, ambient energy he could somehow absorb.
*What am I?*
A primal instinct, ancient and new, stirred. He *pulled*. The ambient energy flowed into him. The point of awareness expanded, coalescing into a small, gelatinous sphere. He had a form. He could feel his own boundaries, a translucent, bluish membrane.
*A… slime?*
The realization should have been terrifying. Instead, an electric jolt of impossible recognition shot through his gelatinous core. Memories, both his and not his, erupted in a silent supernova.
**<<< Confirmed. Unique Skill 'Great Sage' has evolved into Ultimate Skill 'Raphael, Lord of Wisdom'.>> >**
**<<< Confirmed. Unique Skill 'Predator' has evolved into Ultimate Skill 'Beelzebuth, Lord of Gluttony'.>> >**
**<<< Confirmed. Unique Skill 'Storm Dragon Veldora's Blessing' is active.>> >**
**<<< Confirmed. Unique Skill 'Spatial Domination' is active.>> >**
**<<< Analysis complete. Reincarnation protocol successful. Template: 'Demon Lord Rimuru Tempest' has been integrated. Soul signature: 'Lin Zhi' has been preserved as core consciousness.>> >**
The voice was calm, feminine, and echoed directly within his being. It was the voice of Raphael. *His* Raphael. Information, vast and intricate, settled into his understanding. He knew what he was. He knew what he possessed. The complete arsenal of abilities, skills, and magical knowledge of Rimuru Tempest at the peak of his power—the template of a True Demon Lord—was now his fundamental blueprint.
Lin Zhi, the Taiwanese convenience store worker, was gone. In this form, he was… what? Lin? Rimuru? The consciousness was a fusion, a perfect alloy where Lin Zhi's memories, personality, and longing were the driving will, and Rimuru's transcendent power was the instrument.
**<<< Warning. Ambient mana concentration is 8.2 times higher than standard Tempest levels. World laws exhibit significant divergence. Preliminary designation: High-Fantasy Cultivation World. Threat level of environment: Extreme.>> >**
Cultivation world? The term triggered a cascade of memories from Lin Zhi's past life—xianxia novels, tales of immortals battling heavens, ruthless sects, and endless strife for resources and power. A world of profound inequality and constant danger. A far cry from Rimuru's dream of a monster utopia.
He focused, drawing more energy. His slime body grew, becoming more defined, more potent. He practiced shifting his form, creating simple tendrils, then a rough, humanoid shape. The process was instinctive, guided by Raphael's flawless direction.
**<<< Proposal. To navigate human-centric cultivation society, a stable human form is advised. Drawing upon template data and core consciousness preference.>> >**
Yes. He needed a face, a form. Not Rimuru's exact visage—that felt like wearing another's skin. He thought of his old self—his own dark eyes, his unremarkable features. But that was a form of weakness, of a life ended too soon. He thought of Rimuru's gentle power. The two images merged in his mind's eye, filtered through the vast power at his disposal.
Mana surged from his core. His gelatinous form shimmered, condensed, and reconfigured. Bones formed from solidified magic, muscle and sinew woven from dense energy, skin paling to a healthy hue. He stood on two legs, looking down at hands with five fingers. He was clad in simple, dark robes that materialized alongside his body, reminiscent of cultivation attire but of an unknown, sleek design.
He walked to a still pool of water formed by a recent rain. The reflection that stared back was young, perhaps late teens. The hair was a deep, oceanic blue-black, falling softly to his shoulders. The eyes were the most striking feature—a calm, swirling gold that held depths of ancient wisdom and carried a faint, azure luminescence at the irises. It was a face that held echoes of his past life's humility in its structure, but was transformed by an otherworldly handsomeness and a serene, unshakable authority in the gaze. It was uniquely his.
"I am Lin," he said aloud, his voice a pleasant baritone that held a strange, harmonic resonance. "Lin Zhi is gone. Rimuru Tempest is a template, a legacy. I am… something new." He was a reincarnated soul wielding the power of a Demon Lord in a world of immortal cultivators.
**<<< Designation registered. Primary form stabilized.>> >**
He flexed his hand, feeling the terrifying power sleeping within him. Beelzebuth could devour mountains. Raphael could unravel the secrets of the universe. Uriel could create absolute defenses. And more, so much more. But raw power, as Rimuru's memories taught him, was not everything. Wisdom, alliances, and purpose were key.
His purpose? Survival, first. Understanding this world, second. And then… perhaps, a flicker of his old dream, born from both Lin's longing and Rimuru's ideology, ignited. In a world of ruthless competition and isolationist sects, could he build something different? A place of sanctuary? It was a preposterous thought for a newborn slime in a deadly world, yet it took root.
A rustle in the dense, spiritually rich forest behind him broke his reverie. The foliage parted, and three figures emerged. They wore matching grey robes with a crest of a soaring crane—a sect insignia. Two young men, arrogant eyes scanning the clearing, and an older man with a sharp gaze that immediately locked onto Lin.
"You there," the older man barked, his voice laced with command. "This is Verdant Cloud Sect territory. What are you doing here? Identify your sect."
Lin turned to face them, his movements unnaturally smooth and silent. He offered a slight, neutral bow, a gesture pulled from both Rimuru's politeness and Lin's own cultural memory. "This one is a traveler, newly arrived. I have no sect."
The two disciples sneered. "A rogue cultivator? In our woods? You look like you've just formed your foundation, boy," one said, misreading Lin' perfectly contained aura as weakness. "Maybe he found a spirit herb, Elder Song."
Elder Song's eyes narrowed. He couldn't pierce the young man's aura at all; it was like looking into a still, deep pond. It was unsettling. "Empty your pockets. Any resources found on our land are forfeit to the Verdant Cloud Sect."
A test. Lin felt no fear. He felt a profound, analytical calm. Raphael was already analyzing their energy levels, their techniques.
**<<< Targets assessed. Two at 'Foundation Establishment' stage. One at 'Core Formation' initial stage. Threat level: Negligible.>> >**
"I have nothing of yours," Lin said, his tone even.
"Insolent!" The more aggressive disciple lunged, his hand glowing with green wood-element energy, aiming to seize Lin's collar.
Lin didn't move his feet. He simply raised his hand, palm out. An invisible, absolute barrier flickered into existence a millimeter from his skin—**Multilayer Barrier**, a derivative of Uriel.
*Thud.* The disciple hit the barrier as if striking a mountain of adamantine. There was a sickening crack of bones in his wrist. He screamed, stumbling back.
Elder Song's face went pale. "Spatial defense?! At your age?!" This was no foundation-establishment rookie. This was a monster wearing a youth's skin. "Formation!" he yelled.
The two disciples, now terrified, tried to flank Lin. Elder Song drew a gleaming sword, its energy rippling the air.
Lin sighed internally. *So it begins.* He didn't want to fight, but he would not be prey. He remembered Rimuru's principle: neutralize threats efficiently.
As the elder's sword-energy slash, capable of cleaving stone, screamed toward him, Lin finally moved. He didn't dodge. He whispered a command only he could hear.
"**Beelzebuth.**"
A perfect, silent darkness manifested before him. The brilliant sword-energy, the surrounding light, even the sound of the attack, vanished into that tiny, voracious void without a trace. It was as if it had never existed.
The three cultivators froze, their blood running cold. This defied all their understanding of martial arts or magic. This was… devouring reality itself.
Lin took a single, soft step forward. His golden eyes glowed faintly. "I said," he repeated, his voice now carrying the weight of a bottomless abyss, "I have nothing of yours. And you have nothing I want. Leave."
The authority in his voice was not a shout, but a law. It pressed down on their souls. Elder Song, sweating profusely, knew with absolute certainty that this being could erase them with a thought. He grabbed his injured disciple, shot Lin a look of pure, unadulterated dread, and fled with his companion into the forest, their arrogance utterly shattered.
Silence returned to the clearing. Lin let the human form dissolve, returning to his simple slime form for a moment, conserving energy. The encounter was a warning. This world was as beautiful and spiritually rich as it was perilous and hierarchical. His power was immense, but he was an unknown variable here. Sects, clans, hidden experts—the ecosystem was complex.
**<<< Incident logged. Analysis suggests conflict with 'Verdant Cloud Sect' is 87% probable. Recommendation: Gather intelligence, map territory, establish secure base.>> >**
A secure base. A place to belong. The thought resonated deeply. Lin shifted back to his human form, looking up through the canopy at the twin moons now rising in the violet-tinged sky—a sight never seen on Earth.
He was alone, unimaginably powerful, and utterly new. The story of Rimuru Tempest was a guide, not a script. His own story, the story of Lin, the slime Demon Lord in a cultivation world, had just written its first, decisive line. He moved into the deeper woods, a blue-black shadow against the ancient trees, ready to devour the secrets of this new world and carve a place within it—or perhaps, in time, carve a place *for* it. The journey of a god-like slime in a land of aspiring immortals had begun.