Chapter 99
"..."
Rimuru stared at the Black Wing Lord for a beat, processing the bizarre semantic gymnastics. Then, he just shrugged. "If that's how you want to frame it, fine by me. Here's to a fruitful partnership."
Without missing a beat, he turned his back on Blackmore. He completely walked past Altrouge, who had just stepped forward to offer a rare, begrudging compliment on his victory, and raised a hand toward the shadows.
"Yo. Long time no see, Merem Solomon."
Altrouge froze mid-step. Being blatantly ignored, her delicate face flushed with immediate, profound indignation. She ground her little fangs together. This insufferable, arrogant usurper!
Merem stepped out of the gloom, his youthful face completely deadpan. "Has it been? We literally ran into each other four days ago."
"Feels longer," Rimuru chuckled lightly. "Anyway. Have you figured out what it is I want from you yet?"
"Ah." Merem gave a slow, deliberate nod.
If he had been confused back in Cornwall about what exactly the White Knight was plotting, the invitation to this summit had cleared the fog completely.
The Dead Apostle geopolitical landscape was painfully simple. Ortenrosse held the absolute majority of the territory and military power. Altrouge Brunestud possessed the royal pedigree, but lacked a cohesive, unified faction. Worse, she was constantly overshadowed by the looming threat of the true heir, Arcueid.
This Grand Resolution was billed as a negotiation between the White Wing Lord and the Black Princess. But practically speaking? It was a chessboard. And Rimuru Tempest, a wildcard whose ambition clearly rivaled Ortenrosse's, was aggressively snapping up pieces to build Altrouge a voting bloc from scratch.
He wants my loyalty, Merem realized.
That wasn't a small request, especially considering Merem was an active executive of the Burial Agency. Playing factional politics with vampires could easily get him executed by the Church.
"I wasn't entirely sure before, but the picture is crystal clear now," Merem said softly. "I cannot make a finalized, absolute commitment just yet. However... for the purposes of tonight's agenda? You can mark me down as a provisional 'yes' vote."
"A very wise decision," Rimuru smiled.
"Hey, isn't pledging your vote before the agenda is even formally announced a bit tacky?"
A sultry, aristocratic voice drifted over. Rita Rozay-en, the Fifteenth Ancestor, leaned against the stone archway, watching the exchange with deep amusement.
"What does it matter?" Merem countered flatly. "Leviathan placed an offer on the table that I simply cannot refuse. Besides... even with myself and the Black Wing Lord voting for his bloc, we've merely managed to balance the scales against Ortenrosse. We aren't exactly tipping them."
It was an open secret. Aside from the two Knights, Altrouge's only genuine starting ally was Zepia. Since they were sitting in Ortenrosse's castle, the vast majority of the Dead Apostles present, save for a few neutral observers, were loyalists to the White Wing Lord.
"Tch. Does that bother you, Trhvmn?" Rita asked, glancing up at the Lord of the castle.
Ortenrosse had been watching Rimuru with a feral, manic grin. Hearing Rita's question, he blinked, the bloodlust fading into a refined chuckle. He shook his head.
"If time permitted, I would dearly love to cross blades with Leviathan right here and now," Ortenrosse admitted, his voice a deep, resonant rumble. "Alas. The crux of tonight's gathering is politics, not bloodshed."
"The opening act was spectacular, but one performance is enough. Shall we head inside to conduct our actual business?"
With a sweep of his immaculate cape, the White Wing Lord turned and led his magistrates into the grand hall. Rita rolled her eyes at the lack of immediate violence and sauntered in after him.
"Well then. Let's head in," Rimuru suggested.
Blackmore and Merem both gave slight nods, tacitly waiting for Rimuru to lead the way. It was a subtle, satisfying acknowledgment of his authority. Rimuru took a step forward, then suddenly remembered something.
He turned around.
Standing a few paces back, glaring daggers at him, was Altrouge. Her cheeks were puffed out, and she looked thoroughly, violently pissed off.
Uh oh.
Rimuru blinked, his voice instantly dropping its commanding edge. "Um... Princess? Shall we go inside?"
"Oh! So you do remember I'm the Princess!" Altrouge snapped, her voice pitching up. She threw her hands on her hips. "With the way you've been running the show, why don't you just crown yourself the Vampire King and be done with it?!"
"..."
Rimuru let out a weary mental sigh. She was planting her feet, clearly demanding a formal apology before she took another step.
He glanced at Blackmore and Merem, who had tactfully stopped walking. Rimuru considered his options. I can't exactly pick her up by the scruff of the neck again in front of her new allies. That's a bit too treasonous.
Instead, he closed the distance, reached out, and simply grabbed her small, delicate hand to pull her along.
"Eh?!"
The moment his gloved fingers wrapped around hers, Altrouge's brain completely short-circuited.
...
Five minutes later, inside the opulent, dimly lit grand hall.
Everyone was taking their designated seats around a massive, circular obsidian table. Rimuru let out a long, exhausted sigh, quietly massaging the two fresh, bleeding puncture wounds on the back of his hand.
"Hmph. Serves you right," Altrouge muttered viciously.
She was sitting next to him, her face still violently flushed, refusing to make eye contact. Did you seriously think you could just grab a Princess's hand whenever you felt like it?!
Sitting on her lap, Fou let out a massive yawn. Sensing its master's chaotic, flustered emotional state, the white beast rolled its eyes.
Heh. Stupid humans... and vampires.
"We are missing one guest... but we still have half an hour until the appointed time. Since we are mostly gathered..."
At the head of the table, Ortenrosse spoke. His authoritative gaze swept over the cavernous hall, acting partly as a host taking inventory, and partly as an aggressive display of the roster.
"It has been several centuries since we last gathered in such formidable numbers."
"Everyone seated at this table holds a title and a seat, representing the absolute pinnacle of the Dead Apostles."
"The First Ancestor... Primate Murder. And the Ninth Ancestor... Altrouge Brunestud."
"Fou?" The white beast blinked, looking up blankly. Altrouge merely offered a cold, dismissive huff in response.
"Accompanying her are the Sixth Ancestor, the Black Knight Strout... and our newest addition, the Eighth Ancestor, the White Knight Leviathan."
Tch. Rimuru mentally clicked his tongue. He knew the Twenty-Seven Ancestors weren't ranked strictly by combat power, but hearing himself listed as number eight while a literal dog took the number one spot was incredibly grating.
Rimuru narrowed his eyes at the fluffy, dumb-looking mascot currently chewing on its own paw in Altrouge's lap. Why the hell is premium dog food outranking me?
"The Tenth Ancestor," Ortenrosse continued. "Nrvnqsr Chaos."
A man cloaked entirely in shadows gave a stiff, chilling nod from across the table. He had been standing silently in the hall the entire time, completely erasing his presence.
Rimuru locked onto him. The Great Sage instantly pulled up the relevant data files.
[Nrvnqsr Chaos. 'The Undying Magus'. Originally an alchemist from the Wandering Sea. His physical body is a chaotic composite of 666 distinct beast familiars sharing a single hive-mind existence.]
Rimuru analyzed the man's eyes. They flickered erratically, one second filled with cold, calculating intellect, the next surging with pure, mindless, feral bloodlust.
Just one glance was enough for Rimuru to slap a massive "DO NOT ENGAGE" warning label on the guy.
Nrvnqsr Chaos shared his consciousness with 666 ravenous beasts. His mental state was perpetually warped by their collective hunger.
He was incredibly powerful, yes.
But he was fundamentally, irreversibly insane. And Rimuru had a strict, personal policy against making deals with unpredictable lunatics.
….
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