Chapter 101
Five minutes ticked by.
The heavy silence in the grand hall was punctuated only by the impatient tapping of fingers and the brooding glares of ancient monsters. Then, the fabric of reality itself began to warp.
A halo of iridescent light blossomed in the center of the room, expanding like a doorway tearing through the dimensions. Rimuru's eyes lit up behind his Oni mask. So this is it… the True Magic that governs parallel worlds?
"Well, well! It seems I've managed to be the last one to the party once again."
The jovial, booming voice echoed before the man even stepped out of the portal. As the halo dissolved, a tall, impeccably dressed gentleman in a dark, tailored coat emerged. His face was weathered but sharply chiseled, exuding a rugged, indomitable energy.
The final guest had arrived.
The Fourth Ancestor. The Wizard Marshal. Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg.
Standing in the center of the room, Zelretch's piercing gaze swept over the gathered vampires. Like a kaleidoscope shifting into focus, he instantly digested the political tension in the air.
"Let's get one thing straight right out of the gate," Zelretch chuckled, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I accepted the invitation, yes. But my stance remains strictly neutral. I am here purely in my capacity as a Magician, acting as an impartial witness to your little negotiation…"
"Actually, Lord Zelretch," Rimuru interrupted, his voice cutting cleanly through the tension. He met the Wizard Marshal's hawkish gaze head-on. "Your perspective as a Magician is exactly what we need."
"Oh?"
Zelretch paused. He looked closely at the masked boy. In a fraction of a second, the master of the Second Magic peered into the infinite, branching timelines of the multiverse, searching for the boy's conceptual footprint.
His eyes widened in genuine surprise.
"Fascinating," Zelretch murmured, stroking his chin. "There are countless iterations of your existence scattered across the infinite parallel planes. Yet, remarkably... not a single one of them has ever reached the position you currently occupy."
He smiled, a sharp, knowing glint in his eye. "I am referring to your seat as an Ancestor, of course."
Obviously, Rimuru thought, entirely unbothered. Because those parallel versions don't possess the transmigrated soul I have now.
Rimuru didn't doubt the existence of his parallel selves. The moment he crossed into this universe, the timeline had likely fractured into millions of branching possibilities. But he also understood the theory of quantum time-locks and convergence. The stronger an entity became, the stronger the convergence. If he ever reached the apex, perhaps acquiring True Magic himself, he fully believed all those scattered timelines would collapse back into a singular, absolute existence. A world where only this Rimuru remained.
But right now, philosophical physics took a backseat to operational security. He needed to shut this eccentric old man up before he started casually doxing his true identity to a room full of bloodsuckers.
"The Kaleidoscope," Rimuru drawled, lacing his tone with dry mockery. "Living up to your reputation as an interdimensional peeping tom, I see."
"Hahahaha!"
Instead of taking offense, Zelretch threw his head back and roared with laughter. He didn't look even remotely ashamed. "Just a harmless little hobby of mine! Think nothing of it."
A collective, deadpan silence fell over the room. Even Altrouge stared at the Magician in disbelief.
Wow, she thought. This old man has absolutely zero shame.
"Alright. Now that the guest list is complete, let us formally commence."
Trhvmn Ortenrosse's booming voice redirected the room. He looked directly at the Black Princess, issuing the opening volley.
Altrouge completely ignored him. She leaned toward Rimuru, whispering anxiously, "Did he see through your disguise?"
"Probably. But it doesn't matter," Rimuru whispered back, barely moving his lips. "Given his neutral stance, he's just poking around for his own amusement."
"Your Highness, Altrouge?" Ortenrosse's voice hardened, clearly annoyed by the blatant disrespect.
"Eh?! Ah, ahem..." Altrouge jolted, blinking owlishly at the White Wing Lord. Her mind completely blanked.
Wait. I'm just here to look intimidating and provide muscle! What the hell am I supposed to say?!
"Austria," Rimuru murmured softly, taking pity on her.
Seeing her still looking like a deer caught in headlights, Rimuru sighed internally. He stepped up, raising his voice to address the room. "Since you are the one who issued the summons, Lord Ortenrosse, why don't you lay your opening terms on the table?"
Ortenrosse's crimson eyes narrowed. The rumors were true. The Black Princess had completely surrendered her tactical authority to the White Knight. To hand over the reins so completely... does she truly trust him that much?
"Very well." Ortenrosse shifted into his element. His presence filled the hall. "The core of this summit stems from your sudden occupation of Cornwall. It clearly signaled your intentions. You want cooperation."
Ortenrosse didn't waste time with flowery prose. He went straight for the jugular.
"Let me confirm your stance. Since Her Highness has publicly declared Cornwall under her absolute protection... do you intend to hold it against the impending storm?"
"Obviously," Altrouge scoffed, regaining a sliver of her aristocratic pride. "My dignity allows for nothing less."
Rimuru gave a solemn nod. "Indeed."
"In that case, your forces will be entirely stretched thin holding the British front," Ortenrosse stated, the trap finally springing shut. "I can safely assume you lack the resources to contest my push into Austria."
He leaned forward, a victorious, predatory smirk crossing his granite features.
"Since abandoning Cornwall is politically impossible for you... are you willing to cede all your interests in Austria in exchange for my military aid in Britain? Or... would you prefer to simply abandon Austria to buy my neutrality?"
Altrouge: "???"
She stared at Ortenrosse, then slowly turned her head to look at Rimuru, who hadn't said a word. The realization hit her like a freight train.
"...You're extorting me!"
Altrouge practically bristled with rage. She grabbed Rimuru's sleeve, glaring up at him with a mix of fierce indignation and absolute panic. "Don't just stand there! Say something!!"
"Hah." Rimuru couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. "Princess, if you know you're bad at this, don't answer so quickly next time. Rule number one of negotiating: don't jump into a grave just because someone politely handed you a shovel."
He patted her hand, stepping forward. The amusement vanished from his voice, replaced by the razor-sharp edge of a corporate raider.
"Lord Ortenrosse. We will defend Cornwall, yes, because it concerns Her Highness's dignity. But whether we actually hold it or not? We couldn't care less."
"There is no need to test our resolve with such cheap wordplay. Let's look at the actual board. If we lose Cornwall, we simply pivot our surviving forces and march them straight into Austria to contest you. We lose nothing."
Rimuru leaned casually against the obsidian table.
"Furthermore. After we turned Cornwall into a Dead Apostle stronghold, and after you hosted a massive vampire summit in the middle of Berlin... do you honestly believe the Church will let you keep Germany as your undisputed base of operations?"
"The Holy Church's reach in Germany is limited," Ortenrosse retorted coldly.
"True. But the Mage's Association's reach isn't," Rimuru fired back with a lethal smile. "Three of the Twelve Lords trace their lineages directly back to Germany. Countless prestigious magus families originated on this soil. You can't deny that."
It was a geopolitical truth. The reason Ortenrosse had managed to root his underworld empire so deeply in Germany was largely due to the fallout of the World Wars and the aggressive rise of mundane science, which had triggered a mass exodus of native magus families.
But the historical ties remained. If the Association declared a holy war, they would pour into Germany to reclaim their ancestral land.
Ortenrosse stared at the masked boy. The silence was deafening.
"Hmph." The White Wing Lord finally conceded the point with a slow nod. "I admit, your assessment is accurate. My opening bid is rejected."
He leaned back in his throne, his eyes burning with renewed, calculating intensity.
"Then tell me. What exactly is your counter-proposal..."
"...Leviathan?"
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