Chapter 100
"The Thirteenth Ancestor... Zepia Eltnam Oberon."
The elegant, impeccably dressed gentleman rose from his seat, offering a theatrical, sweeping bow to the assembly. Then, without a word, he stepped back and took his place standing directly behind Altrouge.
Zepia's absolute, unwavering display of loyalty did wonders for the Black Princess's foul mood. Her puffed-up cheeks smoothed out, and she even shot Rimuru a smug, triumphant little side-eye, as if to say, See? Some of my knights actually know how to show proper respect.
"The Fourteenth Ancestor, Van-Fem!"
As Ortenrosse's booming voice directed the room's attention to the far end of the table, the plump, unassuming man sitting there didn't stand. Instead, Van-Fem raised his crystal goblet of blood-red wine. But he didn't raise it to Ortenrosse, or even Altrouge.
He raised it, with a very specific, knowing smile, directly at Rimuru.
Rimuru arched an eyebrow beneath his mask.
I know this guy.
Or rather, his human persona, Professor Rimuru Tempest, the rising corporate raider of the mundane financial world, knew him. They had recently crossed paths in a highly lucrative, entirely ruthless corporate buyout.
[Target Identification: Valery Fernand Vandelstam. Commonly known as Van-Fem. The Demon King of the Financial World. Despite holding a seat among the Twenty-Seven Ancestors, he is infinitely more obsessed with manipulating mundane human economics. He is one of the planet's premier shadow-capitalists. Rimuru... he has definitely made your human alias.]
Ah. So I've been made.
Rimuru's expression didn't change a fraction. Without missing a beat, he casually reached over, snatched Altrouge's teacup right out of her hands, and raised it in a silent, respectful toast back to the vampiric billionaire. Game recognizes game, after all.
Between the two tycoons, a silent, mutual understanding was forged.
Meanwhile, Altrouge was left staring at her empty hands, experiencing a profound existential crisis.
Am I actually the Princess here?! Did this insufferable brat just steal my tea right out of my hands?!
"Ri..." she hissed, grinding her little fangs together in absolute fury.
Before she could finish the threat, Rimuru casually shoved the teacup back into her hands, completely ignoring her murderous glare. He leaned in, whispering, "What's the deal with Van-Fem?"
"Hah?" Altrouge blinked, her rage short-circuiting as she tried to follow his rapid-fire topic change. She scowled, keeping her voice low. "The finance mogul? He's a bizarre outlier. He despises using the Embrace to expand his territory. He's a lot like you, actually, he prefers to throw money and bribes at his problems to get people to do his dirty work. Why?"
"He seemed pretty interested in me just now."
"Of course he is. You took the title of the White Knight. More accurately, you killed Fina-blood Svelten," Altrouge shrugged casually. "Centuries ago, Fina-blood led the Ghost Fleet and completely leveled Van-Fem's Fifth Castle. They despised each other."
"...Oh? So the guy basically owes me a thank-you fruit basket?" Rimuru blinked, a genuine chuckle escaping his lips.
"Don't get cocky. You need to be extremely careful around him," Altrouge warned, genuinely concerned. "He is the supreme master of Golem engineering. The gargantuan siege golems he builds casually rival the destructive output of Merem Solomon's Demon Beasts."
"Careful? Why?" Rimuru shook his head, utterly amused. "He hated Svelten, not you. And he certainly doesn't hate me."
Rimuru understood the dynamic instantly. Fundamentally, he and Van-Fem spoke the exact same language. As a titan of the financial world, Van-Fem operated like a businessman. Physical violence was a last resort, an inefficient expenditure of resources. Trading mutual benefits and cutting backroom deals? That was how real power was consolidated.
This was Altrouge's biggest flaw as a commander. She was fiercely protective of her own, which meant she blindly inherited their grudges. Because Svelten and Van-Fem hated each other, she instinctively viewed Van-Fem as an enemy. It was an endearing trait that inspired absolute, fanatical loyalty from her followers, sure. But as the CEO of a global faction? It was a terrible business model.
If she ever actually matures into a proper, ruthless Queen, her first executive order will probably be to execute her treasonous, power-grabbing Prime Minister, meaning me, Rimuru mused dryly. But honestly? I'm kind of looking forward to seeing her grow up.
While Rimuru was busy analyzing corporate synergy with a vampire, Ortenrosse was speeding through the roll call. Rimuru let the Great Sage feed him the footnotes.
[Seat Fifteen, Rita Rozay-en. A quintessential, traditional aristocratic vampire. Completely submerged in hedonism and decadence, and notorious for possessing the twisted, sadistic hobbies common to the old nobility.]
Rimuru glanced at the sultry blonde elegantly sipping her blood-wine. Twisted hobbies? So, torture chambers and flesh-sculpting. Pass.
[Seat Sixteen, Gransurg Blackmore. Seat Seventeen, Trhvmn Ortenrosse.]
Well then. Thirteen through Seventeen are all in attendance. A perfect straight flush.
Rimuru gave a subtle nod. He knew Seat Eighteen wouldn't be here. That seat belonged to Enhance, the Vengeful Knight. Enhance only became an Ancestor by butchering his predecessor, and his sole mission in life was to systematically eradicate the rest of the Twenty-Seven. The other Ancestors basically pretended Seat Eighteen was vacant.
Having finished the middle block, Ortenrosse's booming voice and heavy gaze shifted to the final two guests.
"The Twentieth Ancestor, Merem Solomon, and the Twenty-First..."
[Sumire, the Water Demon. She possesses zero political ambition. However, she is exceptionally close with Rita Rozay-en. Given that she is perpetually in a state of deep intoxication, her votes and actions generally mirror Rita's entirely.]
"With that," Ortenrosse announced, clasping his hands together on the obsidian table. "Aside from one famously unpunctual anomaly, the surviving Ancestors who answered the call are gathered. It appears Her Highness's name still carries considerable weight."
"I am merely here for the entertainment."
Nrvnqsr Chaos's voice sliced through the room, cold and utterly devoid of humanity. "If memory serves, the last time we gathered in such numbers was centuries ago, when you publicly broke ties with the Black Princess to propose hunting the True Ancestors."
Chaos leaned forward, the shadows around his coat seeming to writhe. "Tell me, Ortenrosse. Are we to assume peace is suddenly on the agenda?"
"Just for the entertainment? Really, Nrvnqsr?" Merem Solomon scoffed from across the table, his youthful face twisting into a bitter sneer. "Hah. And here I thought everyone else was dragged here by the same heavy-handed ultimatums and threats that I was."
"I have to agree with the brat." Rita Rozay-en chimed in, swirling her glass with a sultry, cynical laugh. "Let's dispense with the pleasantries, shall we? The 'invitation' Ortenrosse sent me practically had a gun to my head."
"Is that so? How pathetic."
Without missing a single beat, Merem violently pivoted, aiming his vitriol directly at the woman who had just agreed with him. "To think a so-called Ancestor would bend the knee just because someone threatened her. The weak truly are meant to be pushed around."
Rita choked on her wine, her eyes going wide with sheer indignation. "You little…!"
Merem ignored her entirely. He didn't care about factional lines; he hated all of them. To him, they were all traitors who had betrayed Crimson Moon. He sneered, turning his bright blue eyes toward Rimuru and Ortenrosse.
"But putting that aside... why haven't we started?" Merem's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't tell me... you're actually waiting for him?"
"It is a formal negotiation. The presence of an absolute, neutral witness is standard protocol," Rimuru chuckled lightly, leaning back in his chair. "Though, given his particular Mastery over time and space, the man does have a flair for arriving at the exact last possible second."
Merem's face went completely white, then flushed with volcanic rage.
He slammed his fist onto the obsidian table with a resounding CRACK, his teeth grinding together so hard they threatened to shatter.
That damn Magician!
"Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg!"
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