「 ✦ Veldora's Observation Journal: Entry #72 – "My Remarkable, Glorious, Incomprehensibly Cool Brother" ✦ 」
It is I—Veldora Tempest! The awe-inspiring, ultra-magnificent, fearsome Storm Dragon!
Today, I resume my most noble pastime with the Veldora Observation Journal™—a literary marvel that surely future generations will preserve as sacred scripture.
Ah... where do I begin?
The wind howls outside my ultra-dimensional leisure chamber, which I have now personally converted into a luxurious hideaway slash literary temple slash observation room.
It is here, surrounded by my personal archives (manga), ancient philosophical records (manga), and forbidden tomes of wisdom (also manga), that I begin this noble entry. Another chapter in my long-running private analysis of the greatest existence to ever slime his way into legend.
Who, you may ask?
Why, none other than my sworn brother, best friend, and most cherished confidant...
Rimuru. Freaking. Tempest.
"Ahem...!" I cleared my throat unnecessarily, as I always do before beginning my musings.
You see, my brother has recently gone through a rather extreme transformation. And through it all, he's remained as handsome and brilliant as ever. Of course, I saw this coming. Naturally.
But even I must admit... watching him now? It fills me with such immeasurable pride that even I, the Great Veldora, find myself tearing up from time to time!
(Manly tears, mind you. Full of grace. They sparkle.)
I sat atop a pile of borrowed manga volumes (which I fully intend to return one day, maybe), gazing into the flow of magical information surrounding my dear sworn brother. I had grown quite fond of using this divine sensory perception granted by our shared soul corridor.
It was almost like tuning into a fantasy soap opera.
"Kuahahahaha! Behold, my brother! How majestic he has become! How awe-inspiring! The heavens tremble! The gods flee! The heroines blush!"
"Are you... monologuing again?" a dry voice called out from somewhere within the resonance of the vast Complex Space.
Ah, that voice. That eternally exasperated, flame-licked echo of grudging respect.
Ifrit.
I grinned and crossed my arms. "Of course I am! What else could I do in the presence of Rimuru's recent achievements?"
"You're not in his presence. You're in an outer dimension filled with books."
"They are sacred texts, Ifrit."
He sighed, clearly uninterested in arguing. Again.
But I could hear it in his tone—he was impressed too.
"Oh, just admit it already," I said, floating midair dramatically. "You've finally come around, haven't you? You've realized how glorious my homie is!"
There was a long pause.
"...Yes," Ifrit admitted, slowly. "I did underestimate him. I thought he was too soft. Too gentle."
"Ha!" I spun in the air. "I told you! From the very beginning, I saw it! That spark! That unbreakable will hidden beneath all the politeness!"
Ifrit continued, and I could hear the thoughtful respect in his voice now. "But he's... adaptable. Unbelievably resilient. Stubborn, even. He refuses to lose. And no matter how impossible the odds are, he somehow keeps coming out alive."
"Indeed, indeed!" I nodded sagely, striking a cool elder brother pose. "He is versatile. Prodigiously talented. Capable of being everyone's worst nightmare while still making friends with practically every living creature he meets! It's a masterful paradox, is it not?"
Ifrit stared at me.
Then he muttered, "Why do you look like you were the one just praised?"
"Because I was!" I declared, puffing out my chest and lifting my chin sky-high. "His success is my success. His strength, a reflection of my superior influence! I have shaped his destiny with my mere presence!"
"...You are still sealed."
"Little details!"
Ifrit ignored the jab.
"He doesn't even seem to run out of energy," he muttered, almost bitterly. "Every time I think he's finally exhausted his pool, he's still going."
I grinned. "Ah, that! That is one of his signature traits!"
I floated down and grabbed a bamboo pointer (yes, I had one), and tapped it against a hastily drawn diagram floating in the air, made of light and magicules. There were arrows. And a small doodle of Rimuru with sparkles around him.
"Let me explain it to you, fire boy. You see—Rimuru possesses one of the most ridiculously efficient energy management systems I have ever witnessed! Nearly every skill, every action, every regeneration function is tied into an internal circulation loop that minimizes waste and maximizes conversion. It's borderline cheating."
Ifrit sounded skeptical. "So... he regenerates magicules while spending them? Is that infinite energy?"
"To a degree, yes!" I flared with joy. "But no! Not infinite, no—that would be silly. Sustainable is more apt. Unless he's actively naming way too many monsters or suffering massive existential damage, the probability of him running out is extremely low. Every particle of energy he emits is reabsorbed or repurposed. It's self-sustaining! He's like an ecosystem. A slime-osphere!"
"That's not a real word."
"It is now!"
I hovered dramatically, cape (which I imagined into existence) flapping behind me as I declared.
"It is no exaggeration to say that my dear Rimuru is a self-perpetuating cycle of tactical brilliance! His mental faculties, thanks to Raphael, are borderline omniscient!"
"Again, you sound like you're describing yourself," Ifrit muttered.
"I am describing myself—by proxy! Because I am his brother!"
I lifted my chin proudly, as if the praise toward Rimuru reflected directly upon my own character.
Which, in a way, it did.
We were soul-bound brothers, after all. What was his triumph if not mine as well?
"My chest swells with pride at the thought of him," I said, more quietly now. "When I remember how far he's come—from that squishy, innocent little slime who trembled the first time he saw me... to this brilliant demon lord on the verge of reshaping a world."
Ifrit stayed quiet for a while.
"...He did impress me," he finally said. "He really did grow in more ways than one. I suppose we all did, in our own way. But his development is fascinating."
"Because he works harder than most people even realize," I added seriously. "He rarely rests. And yet, he still finds time to smile for others."
"Hmph. Sounds like you're getting emotional."
I scoffed. "Me? Never! I am the mighty Veldora Tempest!"
"You're tearing up."
"It's... allergies."
"...We're in an outer dimension."
"MAGICAL allergies!"
I turned away, wiping my eyes discreetly before resuming my dignified posture.
"Anyway, let the world be warned," I declared, pointing upward. "As Rimuru rises, so too do I!"
"...That's not how it works."
"Silence, blasphemous doubter! You'll thank me when my next dramatic entrance saves the day."
"Or ruins it."
"I add spice!"
I heard Ifrit sigh. Again.
I plopped back into my throne of manga, grinning like an idiot.
My brother was out there. Fighting gods. Breaking rules. Changing the world. And here I was—watching, waiting, cataloguing his every moment like a proud, slightly delusional older sibling with too much free time.
But in my heart, I knew:
One day, the world would herald us both—our beginning.
The Demon Lord Rimuru Tempest...
And his ever-faithful, overly dramatic, eternally proud Storm Dragon brother—
Veldora-sama!!
···—–—⚜—–—···
「 ✦ Rimuru Tempest | Filler✦ 」
It was night, and I walked along the streets of the Heiligh Kingdom's capital aimlessly. Some parts of it were still under reconstruction after the damages left behind by the demon invasion.
At some point, I'd accidentally wandered into the pleasure district, where various women had already invited me to their beds. Some even tried being forceful about it, but we all know they couldn't manage that even if they tried.
Still, the night proved that my carnal desires remained as awfully dull as when I was still a simple slime. Even through demon lord ascension, there were things you just couldn't fix. It wouldn't matter if I grew myself a cock—they'd be useless if I was perpetually not in the mood.
I can be attracted to others, can be captivated by sex appeal, but that didn't mean I suddenly get the urge to act on it.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair as my mind drifted—particularly to the women I'd known in this world.
There was Iu, who'd been the closest thing to a best friend ever since I died again. Our friendship had complications—we always argued over trivial things, and there was that moment she kissed me.
Then I get told that she wasn't even real to begin with.
The thought still disgusted me even though I mourned her still.
There was also the death goddess, Hel. She wasn't particularly important to me, but our connection was more of a matter of relatability born of slightly similar circumstances in relation to strength and isolation.
Just as I served to alleviate her loneliness and curiosity, she conveyed to me that she understood part of my struggles in the brief time she knew and stalked and bothered me.
We were nothing more than that—just as nothing less.
But she was dead now, too, and I wasn't particularly too bothered about that.
Women have a strange habit of getting attached to me, I've discovered. It was like this back in Tempest, too—and gods, I'd have appreciated it if it were the same back on Earth.
My closest remaining bonds here were probably Tio and Shizuku. I cared for Shizuku the same way I cared for the kids I'd saved back in Engrassia. So far, she was the only one with no strange issues. Tio had her questionable moments, but she'd gained more restraint lately.
"Women are so complicated," I muttered, stopping to stare up at the full moon. "It's the same in every world."
The sound of footsteps had been following me for a while now.
"So, why exactly are you following me?" I called out, turning toward a nearby alleyway.
A sharp intake of breath echoed from behind me. After a moment, a girl stepped forward into the moonlight. She was blonde and young—probably around Shizuku's age. Maybe even younger.
Her clothes marked her as one of the district's workers—simple dress, a bit too revealing for the cool night air, but practical for her line of work.
"You knew?" She looked genuinely surprised, her voice trembling slightly.
"Hard to miss when someone's been tailing me for three blocks." I studied her face. Something about her eyes caught my attention. "So?"
"I... I don't really know why I followed you." Her voice was quieter now, more honest. "You just... you looked different from the other men who walk through here."
"And different how?"
"Like you weren't looking for anything. Most men here, they have this hunger, you know? This need. But you... you looked empty. Not in a bad way, just... like you were as lost as I was."
That caught me off guard. I'd been so focused on my own wandering thoughts that I hadn't considered what I might look like to others.
"And what exactly are you lost about?"
She let out a bitter laugh. "Everything? Nothing? I don't even know anymore." She moved closer to the railing that overlooked another section of the capital. "Do you ever feel like you're watching your own life happen to someone else?"
I found myself walking over to join her at the railing.
"Can't say I have or haven't, but I get the idea," I said.
We settled in silence for a while, both looking out at the sleeping city below. The sounds of the pleasure district faded to distance from here, replaced by the occasional night bird and the gust of wind through the narrow streets.
"I used to have dreams," she said suddenly. "Stupid dreams about being saved, about some hero coming to save me from all this." She laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "Childish, right?"
"Not necessarily."
"You think so?" She turned to look at me, and for a moment that raw vulnerability was back. "Even for someone like me?"
"Someone like you?"
"A whore." The word came out flat, matter-of-fact. "A whore who's already lost whatever was worth saving."
I looked at her as she turned back to the city view. She reminded me of when I used to question myself about identity, about what remained of who I used to be after everything that happened.
"I think the idea that someone can be 'ruined' or 'impure' is something people made up to make themselves feel better about not helping."
She was quiet for a long moment. "You really believe that?"
"Survival takes many forms, doesn't it? Everyone's just trying to survive in their own way. And I think that the fact you're still hoping for something better means there's still something worth saving."
Her shoulders started to shake, and I realized she was tearing up. Not the dramatic sobbing I might have expected, but the exhausted kind of tears that come after holding back for too long.
"I'm sorry... I don't even know your name and here I am falling apart in front of you."
"Don't sweat it." I reached into my coat and pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to her. "It's safer to fall apart in front of strangers."
She took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "Safer how?"
"Well, strangers don't have expectations of who you're supposed to be. At least that's how I think."
She nodded as if that made perfect sense. "What about you? Do you ever fall apart?"
"More often than I'd like to admit."
"But you seem so... together. So sure of yourself."
I almost laughed at that. "Appearances can be deceiving, girl. Most of the time I'm just making it up as I go along."
"Really?"
"Really." I leaned against the railing. There was something refreshing about talking to someone who didn't know my reputation, my burdens, my responsibilities.
She was quiet again.
"Can I ask you something?" she said eventually.
"Sure."
"What are you running from?"
The question caught me off guard. "What makes you think I'm running from anything?"
"You give off that energy. I've seen that look before. In the mirror, though, mostly."
"It's complicated," I said finally.
"Most things worth running from are, aren't they?"
She was right about that.
"What about you?" I asked. "Besides the obvious."
"Besides selling my body, you mean?" She didn't sound offended. "I'm running from becoming the kind of person who stops feeling guilty about it. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah, it does."
"The day I stop hating this is the day I lose the last piece of who I used to be," she continued. "So I hold onto the guilt. It hurts, but it's proof that I'm still me underneath."
"Woah. That's actually pretty deep. Incredible."
"Don't sound so surprised." A small smile played at her lips. "Just because I'm a prostitute doesn't mean I'm stupid."
"I didn't think you were stupid."
"Most people do. Men especially. They think if you're desperate enough to do this work, you must be too dumb to do anything else." The smile faded. "Maybe that's easier for them. If we're just empty-headed whores, they don't have to think about why we're really here."
"That makes sense."
Another stretch of silence, less comfortable this time.
"I should go," I said.
"I know."
I started to turn away, then stopped. "Will you be alright?"
"I always am." She paused. "Well, I survive. Which isn't the same thing, but it's something."
I reached into my pouch and pulled out a small bag of gold coins. Not enough to change her life completely, but enough to buy her some choices.
"Here."
She looked at the bag but didn't take it immediately. "Why?"
"Just take it. This is awkward."
"This won't fix anything."
"I know. But maybe it'll help."
She accepted the gold with steady hands. "Thank you."
"Take care of yourself."
"I'll try."
I walked away then, but I could feel her watching me go. When I reached the mouth of the alley, I looked back once. She was still there, silhouetted against the distant lights, the bag of gold held carefully in both hands.
The encounter was so random, so uneventful, and certainly—probably—hardly held any meaning other than serving to waste money. Still, I couldn't help but be a little glad I didn't leave with nothing.