Chapter 94
Rimuru knew the cold, hard truth.
Berlin might be currently swarming with vampires, but the perimeter of the city, and the entire German countryside beyond it, was quietly filling up with thousands of Executors and Association enforcers. Just like Cornwall.
The moment this Grand Resolution concluded and the human superpowers shook hands on a joint strike force, the floodgates would open.
A holy crusade would wash over the capital like a tidal wave.
Even if the Dead Apostles managed to establish a sovereign nation, there was absolutely zero chance it would be in Germany.
Sure, Germany was the White Wing Lord's domain, but it was an underground empire. On the surface, the Church and the Association were deeply, inextricably rooted.
The human world would never, ever allow vampires to openly conquer the capital of a global superpower and just look the other way. Germany, Britain, and France were the absolute face of human Europe.
Oh, and maybe Italy too.
But honestly? Rimuru didn't care. It wasn't his real estate burning down.
Pulling himself out of his tactical musings, Rimuru glanced down at the perpetually brooding Altrouge. He let out an amused chuckle.
"Why the miserable pout, Princess? Doesn't walking through this city fill you with at least a tiny bit of pride?" he teased, gesturing to the sprawling gothic architecture.
"Look around. Black flags are flying in the streets. The entire capital is being painted in your colors as we speak."
"It is a fleeting illusion," Altrouge replied flatly, utterly unmoved. "A reflection on the water. It means nothing."
"Tch. Killjoy."
…
Trhvmn Ortenrosse's stronghold was a masterpiece of gothic extravagance, though, much like the Einzbern estate, it was cowardly tucked away inside a massive Bounded Field for private viewing only.
Surprisingly, Ortenrosse didn't wait for them in his throne room.
Whether out of a token sliver of respect for Altrouge, genuine wariness of Rimuru, or just pure political theater, the White Wing Lord personally marched out of his castle gates to receive them.
The visual contrast between the two factions was almost comical.
Altrouge's entourage consisted of exactly four people: herself, the Black Knight, a masked boy, and a fluffy dog.
Ortenrosse, on the other hand, was flanked by a sprawling, highly disciplined retinue of vampiric magistrates, elite guards, and aristocrats.
Trhvmn Ortenrosse. Flowing white hair, a face carved from weathered granite, and a pair of piercing, authoritative crimson eyes.
He stood tall, leaning casually on a massive, ornate silver greatsword that radiated absolute sovereign authority.
This was the undisputed king of seventy percent of the Dead Apostle world. He was the one who united the bloodsuckers and led the rebellion against the True Ancestors, earning a reputation and title that rivaled Altrouge's own.
While most of the Twenty-Seven Ancestors were reclusive, apathetic immortals rotting in their own boredom, Ortenrosse actually cared about the species.
He believed vampires were biologically superior beings who deserved to rule, and he possessed the terrifying imperial ambition to try and make it a reality.
Rimuru frowned slightly behind his Oni mask. Ortenrosse coming out to greet them was technically polite, but the sheer pomp and circumstance was a blatant, overwhelming display of dominance.
"Quite the parade you've brought," Rimuru drawled, tilting his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd think Crimson Moon himself had resurrected just to welcome us."
Out of the corner of his eye, Rimuru noticed other monstrous presences lingering in the shadows of the castle arches.
Other Ancestors who had answered the summons, watching the exchange with a mix of hostility, wariness, and cruel amusement.
Ortenrosse slowly lowered his gaze, ignoring the jab. His voice was a deep, resonant baritone. "If Lord Brunestud were here, he would likely be traveling alone. Much like Her Highness prefers to do."
"Is that so? Then I suppose my Princess's temperament is perfectly in line with her namesake," Rimuru shot back smoothly.
"…Her Highness indeed inherited the name of Brunestud. I have never denied her title as Queen," Ortenrosse replied, letting the silence stretch for a heavy second. "But ultimately, the raw power of Crimson Moon belongs to Arcueid. Not Altrouge."
"Ah, but Arcueid is a pure True Ancestor," Rimuru countered without missing a beat. "And didn't you build your entire empire on the premise of hunting True Ancestors?"
"Which is exactly why I support neither sister. My disagreements with the Black Princess are fundamentally ideological," Ortenrosse stated, cutting the debate short. "But the courtyard is no place for this discussion. We will speak inside."
The White Wing Lord's glowing red eyes shifted, locking onto the golden slits of Rimuru's mask.
"As the newest entity to inherit the title of Ancestor, our mutual understanding is severely lacking. But as the initiator of this little summit, it is only proper that I acquaint myself with the guests you have invited."
Ortenrosse then looked down at the petite, glaring Princess. His voice dripped with centuries of refined, aristocratic condescension.
"I must say, Your Highness… I am genuinely relieved. After several centuries, your little faction has finally experienced a microscopic margin of growth."
He offered a mocking half-smile. "At the very least, you finally figured out how to select a competent subordinate."
Target acquired. Taunt successful.
Ortenrosse turned his back, entirely satisfied with himself, and began walking toward the grand doors. "Come. I will lead you inside. I assume the rest of the attendees know the way…"
"…"
Altrouge's face went completely black.
A terrifying, murderous aura exploded from her tiny frame. Baring her fangs, she let out a feral hiss and actually tried to lunge at Ortenrosse's back to tear his throat out.
Rimuru and Strout exchanged a helpless, exhausted look. They both grabbed her by the shoulders, desperately hauling the thrashing, screeching Princess back before she could start World War III in the driveway.
But right at that moment, the sky vanished.
A suffocating, pitch-black shadow blotted out the sun entirely. Ortenrosse's stoic expression cracked into a deep, furious scowl as he stared at the heavens. Altrouge immediately stopped thrashing, her attention snapping upward.
An overwhelming, suffocating stench of pure Death flooded the atmosphere. Every single Dead Apostle in the courtyard instantly recognized the signature.
Where the Bird of Death flies, an elegant demise follows.
"Damn it all. I didn't send an invitation to thatfanatic," Ortenrosse cursed under his breath. He glared up at the encroaching darkness, his voice booming with fury.
"Keep your filthy feathers off my castle, Blackmore!!"
Rimuru looked up.
Descending from the clouds was a colossal, terrifyingly massive black bird, a crow so gargantuan its wingspan literally spanned dozens of kilometers, casting the entirety of Berlin into an eclipse.
As the monster plummeted toward the castle, its massive form rapidly compressed, violently shrinking until it hit the courtyard stones with a deafening crash.
When the dust cleared, standing there was a grotesque, humanoid entity with the head of a raven.
Gransurg Blackmore.
The Black Wing Lord. An entity who rivaled Ortenrosse in sheer power, but possessed the exact opposite reputation, a terrifying, fanatical monster universally mocked and feared by his own kind.
….
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