Chapter 88
Beneath the Oni mask, Rimuru's lips curled into a victorious smirk. It was time to reel in the net.
"Someday, you might just understand exactly what it is I want from you. When that day comes... I expect you to make the smart choice." He extended a white-gloved hand, his voice dropping to a soft, utterly confident purr. "Now. Give me the scabbard."
"..."
Merem stared at him for a long, heavy second. Then, he gave a stiff, reluctant nod.
A faint halo of mana enveloped the relic. The gilded scabbard floated from his grip, drifting slowly across the clearing toward Rimuru. Merem kept his bright blue eyes locked onto the mask the entire time, committing the White Knight's presence to memory as he took a slow step back.
Rimuru didn't bother putting up a defensive guard. He just casually reached out and snatched the scabbard from the air.
[Confirmed. Target is the Noble Phantasm, Avalon.]
The Great Sage's instantaneous appraisal was music to his ears. The knot of tension in Rimuru's chest completely unraveled. A wide, genuine smile broke out across his face beneath the wood, and his voice immediately took on a cheerful, buoyant lilt.
"Well? Don't just stand there! Clear a path for our esteemed guest!"
At his command, the encircling ring of Dead Apostles immediately parted, creating a wide, unobstructed path through the mud.
Merem froze. He stared at the perfectly parted sea of monsters, his mouth opening and closing a few times. Then, a dark, venomous realization flashed in his eyes.
The way they just let him go... the way the White Knight's tone had instantly shifted from homicidal to breezy...
He finally understood. He never intended to fight me in the first place!
Merem shot Rimuru one last, hateful glare. He spun on his heel and stormed out of the clearing, vanishing into the thick, damp fog of the night.
That absolute bastard!
...
Once Merem's magical signature had completely faded, Rimuru let out a satisfied breath. He stroked the smooth, ancient metal of the scabbard and turned around—only to nearly bump noses with the Black Princess.
Altrouge was practically standing on her toes. Her exquisite little face was tilted up, and her crimson eyes were narrowed into incredibly dangerous half-moons. She bared both of her little fangs in a smile that promised absolute violence.
"My dear, sweet White Knight," she purred, the sugary tone dripping with arsenic. "Now that our little business transaction is concluded... don't you think it's time you explained that little comment about my dear sister?"
"Uh—"
Rimuru's victorious smirk instantly shattered. Oh, crap.
...
Securing Avalon was a massive victory for Professor Tempest.
Sure, Rimuru wasn't in an immediate, desperate rush to sever his ties with Altrouge anymore. But the scabbard was more than just a cure for his rotting heart; it was the ultimate defensive trump card. Which meant the next critical step was figuring out how to actually activate the damn thing.
That required summoning the Saber-class Servant, Artoria Pendragon, via Spiritual Evocation. That project instantly shot to the top of his priority list, right alongside his ongoing, wildly lucrative corporate raiding in the mundane financial sector.
"So, Professor," a student asked, raising his hand from the front row. "The mundane education we receive actually has practical applications in Magecraft?"
"Absolutely."
Rimuru smiled, gesturing for the student to sit down. He tapped a piece of chalk against the podium. "This isn't exactly the core curriculum for General Foundations today, but a little review never hurts."
He paced across the stage of the Clock Tower lecture hall. "Many of you are required to take these foundational courses regardless of your specialty—whether that's Hydro-mancy, Spiritual Evocation, Alchemy, Witchcraft, or even Age of Gods regression."
"But if you've paid any attention to the coursework, you've noticed how heavily we rely on astronomy, geography, physics, and chemistry. Subjects that ancient magi used to scoff at are now integrated directly into our foundations."
"Magecraft, by definition, is the act of using Mystery to artificially reproduce phenomena that are technically possible in the current era, but achieving them through means that defy common sense," Rimuru explained, his tone engaging and conversational. "Traditionalists hate admitting it, but the technological and civilizational progress of mundane humanity directly influences the evolution of our craft."
He casually snapped his fingers. A beautiful, crystalline Water Lotus bloomed in the air above his palm.
A collective gasp rippled through the lecture hall. Several students instinctively shrank back in their seats—the rumors of what a scaled-up version of that spell had done to an Einzbern castle were apparently making the rounds in London.
Rimuru chuckled, dispelling the flower. "It seems most of you recognize that spell, so I'll spare you the underlying thesis. But think about it like this: manipulating elements is a magus's baseline. However, much like human history, simply picking up a rock isn't enough. To grow stronger, you have to learn how to forge better tools."
"You have to understand the inherent properties of your element. In Hydro-mancy, understanding fluid dynamics naturally leads to the foundational theory that infusing mana can increase kinetic impact. In modern terms? We're just hacking water pressure."
He leaned against the podium, folding his arms. "If anyone is curious about the deeper mechanics of this, I highly recommend checking out the Modern Magecraft department. They have less than a hundred students, but I see a lot of potential there." He gave a helpless shrug. "Though, a word of warning."
"Most of you study Magecraft at home under your family crests, while learning modern scientific theory at regular schools. While I firmly believe mundane science is an incredible asset... do not let its rigid logic shackle your minds."
"Magecraft overlaps with science, yes. But fundamentally, they conflict. The very essence of Magecraft is distortion. We bypass the logical process to forcefully yield a result. If you get too bogged down trying to calculate the exact chemical reactions of a spell while casting it..."
Rimuru let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "...Well, I'll be scraping you off the ceiling."
The lecture hall erupted into appreciative laughter.
"Alright. Next question."
Rimuru scanned the tiered lecture hall. Over three hundred students sat before him, and a forest of hands immediately shot into the air. But his eyes snagged on one particular student.
Christina.
She was a bubbly, energetic girl who practically served as his unofficial student assistant. She almost never asked questions during the actual lecture, preferring to ambush him in his private lounge afterward to chatter about theory. But today, her hand was raised.
Worse, a heavy, gloomy cloud seemed to hang over her features. All of her usual bright energy was completely gone.
Now that I think about it... she hasn't stopped by the office in a week, Rimuru realized, a slight frown touching his lips.
He paid special attention to her—not because she was some once-in-a-generation prodigy, but because her social circle was a fascinating microcosm of Clock Tower politics.
Rimuru was a rare breed of Professor. He possessed immense prestige among the aristocratic Lords, but he treated the commoner students with genuine warmth and zero discrimination. As a result, both demographics adored him. But they absolutely despised each other.
The lecture hall was a literal Cold War. The noble heirs and the commoner prodigies were evenly matched in numbers, and they naturally segregated themselves. The room was split perfectly down the middle, left side and right side, with a stark, empty aisle running right up the center. Even if a latecomer had to stand in the back, they refused to cross enemy lines and sit on the "wrong" side of the room.
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