The forest was quiet—too quiet for a world that hid wolves with fangs like knives and goblins with eyes full of fear.
I slid between roots and ferns, my slime body gliding over damp earth. With Magic Sense open, the map of the world unfolded in ripples: heat signatures, mana flows, heartbeats like dull drums. A cluster of weak presences flickered ahead. Goblins.
"Great Sage," I called in my mind, "confirm."
> [Analysis: Multiple humanoid lifeforms detected. Threat level: low. Emotional state: distressed.]
Right on schedule with the story I knew.
I emerged into a clearing of crude huts and smoky fires. The goblins startled, spears wobbling in shaky hands. An elderly goblin, taller than the rest only by his bent posture, took a hesitant step forward, his eyes wet with a kind of desperate hope that hurt to look at.
"G–great one… are you… a named monster?"
"I'm Rimuru," I said, voice echoing oddly from a body that was more jelly than anything else. "I'm not here to harm you."
The elder fell to his knees with a thud. Around him, goblins dropped their spears and bowed, the fear in the clearing twisting into awe.
"Please," he begged, "our tribe is hunted by direwolves. They come at night. We cannot fight. We ask for your protection."
In the original timeline, Rimuru agreed. I would too—but this time, I had a System.
A cool light unfolded in front of me.
---
[Quest Generated]
Title: Stand with the Hopeless
Objective: Protect the Goblin Village from the Direwolf Pack (Night Raid)
Rewards:
• Fame: +200 to +350 (scaled by performance)
• Summoning Points: Equal to Fame gained
• Reputation: "Guardian of the Weak" (local)
Failure: Village destroyed, casualties high
---
So the System tied Fame to acts that shaped stories, not just battles. Good.
"I'll protect your village," I said. "But I'll need information. Numbers. Paths the wolves use. Anything."
The elder nodded frantically and hobbled to his feet. "Yes, yes! We will tell you all we know."
I listened—herding routes, the night winds, the way the wolves tested the fences, how they always circled twice before striking. While he spoke, I let Great Sage model the terrain.
> [Suggestion: Establish chokepoints at the northern gap. Dig shallow trenches to break charging lines. Create noise traps to split the pack. Probability of success increases by 41%.]
"Everyone," I said, "we're going to fix your defenses. You, take five and bring logs. You, gather vines and cloth—anything that can trip a wolf. And you—get the injured under shelter."
They looked at one another, unsure. I hopped once—firm. "Move."
They moved.
While the goblins scurried, I slithered to a stack of withered herbs and a few chipped water gourds. Predator hummed inside me like a quiet engine.
"Great Sage, extract usable compounds, prioritize coagulating properties."
> [Affirmative.]
A minute later, I spat out a sloshing gourd of basic potion, the liquid shining faintly blue.
The elder stared at it as if I'd conjured the moon.
"Distribute to the wounded," I said. "We'll need everyone standing."
By sunset, the clearing had transformed. We'd carved shallow trenches in a crescent, laced them with branches to tangle paws, and planted sharpened stakes where the earth funneled into a narrow kill-zone. On the rooftops, crude horns waited to split the night with sound. Fires smoldered low, ready to be fanned bright at my signal.
I stationed the oldest goblins to carry the injured and guard the children; the youngest would run messages. The bravest took spears and nervous breaths and stood beside the trenches, knuckles white.
It was a patchwork defense made from fear and hope. But sometimes that's enough.
Night arrived on quiet paws.
The first howl rolled over the treetops like thunder against bone. Then another, closer. Shapes slid between the trees—direwolves, lean and scarred, eyes like coals pushed into snow. The air grew sharp with their hunger.
I eased forward, slime-smooth, and let mana thrum. Not enough to panic the goblins—just enough to be felt.
"Hold," I murmured. "Let them commit."
The lead wolf snarled and sprang. Behind it, the pack flowed like a shadowed river.
"Horns!" I called.
The blare shattered the night. Wolves flinched, their charge wavered—and the first line hit our trenches. Paws slipped. Bodies tangled. Our spears lanced forward in a ragged line. Two wolves fell, snapping and gurgling, and the goblins shouted, astonished at their own success.
The alpha—bigger, smarter—stayed back, watching me. Good. Watch me.
I raised a pseudopod. Water Blade formed—thin, whisper-sharp. With a flick, it sliced through the air and shaved a line along the flank of a lunging wolf. Blood sprayed like ink in the firelight. The pack recoiled, reevaluating.
"Great Sage, estimate their numbers?"
> [Twenty-three remaining. Alpha maintaining cohesion. Morale: high.]
"Let's change that."
I spat Sticky Thread, netting a wolf that leapt over the trench. It thrashed, bound tight. Another tried to flank; I slid under it and snapped a Water Blade across its tendons. It crumpled with a whining yelp.
The goblins fought harder now, not just surviving but seeing possibility. A spear struck true; another wolf fell limp across the stakes. The night lightened with the hiss of breath and the raw surprise of victory.
The alpha howled, a sound that cut through the clamor and pinned the goblins like a knife. Wolves regrouped, low and lethal. This one knew when to press and when to pull. Clever beast.
It lunged—not at the trenches, but at me. A grey bolt, fangs bared wide. It expected me to dodge. Instead, I surged forward.
"Come, then."
At the last moment, I flattened, the alpha sailing over me—and Predator snapped open like a black mouth under ice.
The wolf hit it, half-through. I clamped down and dragged, the world dimming to a single focus: consume. Its legs scraped dirt, claws throwing sparks as it fought for purchase. Then, with a wet, muffled thud, it was gone—folded into the void within me.
Silence fell in a strange, ringing way. The pack staggered, momentum broken. Wolves without an alpha are knives without hands.
> [Predator Result: Sample acquired. Capabilities assimilated — Minor Bestial Intimidation. Temporary boost to presence when facing lesser beasts.]
I rolled, letting the new Intimidation pulse. A ripple of pressure pushed outward, not overwhelming—just enough for wolves to feel the shape of a bigger monster in the dark.
They broke.
The pack peeled away and fled, limping into the trees, leaving snarls and blood and trampled leaves behind. Goblins stared after them, chests heaving, spears trembling, eyes wide like children seeing the sunrise for the first time.
Then the cheering began—awkward, overwhelmed, real.
A cool chime rang in my mind, quiet as snowfall.
---
[Quest Complete: Stand with the Hopeless]
Performance: Minimal casualties, alpha eliminated, defensive command successful
Fame: +320
Summoning Points: +320
Reputation: "Guardian of the Weak (Local)"
New Passive: Minor Bestial Intimidation (situational)
---
I let out a breath I didn't need. It was one thing to know the story. It was another to feel goblins press their foreheads to the ground in gratitude, to see children staring at me not with fear but with the open-mouthed certainty that a miracle had just happened.
The elder shuffled up, eyes wet again, but with joy this time.
"Great Rimuru… you saved us."
"We saved us," I corrected. "Get the wounded tended. We'll burn the carcasses away from the village. Rotate watch in pairs. No lone patrols."
He nodded, more confident already.
Another screen slid open, soft blue against the embers.
---
[Status]
Host: Rimuru Tempest (Reincarnated)
Species: Slime (Unique)
Fame: 320
Summoning Points: 320
Special Skill: [Predator]
Unique Skill: [Great Sage]
Extra System: [Multiversal Summoning]
New Passive: Minor Bestial Intimidation
---
And then the one I'd been waiting for:
---
[Multiversal Summoning — Rank Access]
Current Points: 320
Unlocked Ranks: C
Advisory: Higher ranks require more points and stronger world-stability. Balance protocols active.
Candidates (Sample):
• Rock Lee — Rank C — Cost: 200 — Power Level: C+ — Unique Skill: Fist of Youth
• Krillin — Rank C (restricted) — Cost: 250 — Power Level: B (capped) — Unique Skill: Destruction Disc
• Usopp — Rank C — Cost: 150 — Power Level: C — Unique Skill: Sharpshooter's Spirit
Notes: All summons are loyalty-bound to host, personalities preserved; abilities are converted to Unique Skills/ Titles / Evolutions compatible with the world.
---
I stared at the glowing list, feeling the edge of a grin I couldn't quite stop.
"Great Sage," I thought, "recommendation?"
> [Analysis of present needs: Village defense and training capacity are priority. A candidate capable of instruction, morale management, and flexible combat is optimal.]
"Krillin then," I mused, eyeing the panel. "Balanced by the System, strong enough to deter, humble enough to lead training. And he scales with me."
> [Affirmative. Projected synergy with village development: high.]
"Rock Lee would raise morale too," I argued with myself, "but Krillin brings ranged options and battlefield experience. Usopp would be great later for engineering and tactics, but right now we need a backbone."
A laugh bubbled in my core. I was a slime comparing shonen power kits in a fantasy village that still used sticks. Life was weird.
I turned to the elder, who waited, breath held as if the night itself depended on my next words.
"Tonight, we rest," I said. "Tomorrow, we build. And I… will call an ally from beyond the sky."
He blinked. "Beyond… the sky?"
"You'll see."
The goblins broke into whispers. Stories were already knitting themselves together: the blue slime that devoured the wolf king; the blue lights that spoke in words no one else could hear; the promise of a champion summoned from the world of legends. Fame wasn't only numbers. It was the way people told your name around a fire.
I slid to the edge of the clearing where the smoke met the stars. The System waited, humming like a held breath.
"All right," I whispered. "Let's be careful. Let's be smart. Let's change the story."
Confirm Summon: Krillin — Cost 250 points?
I hesitated only long enough to feel the weight of the choice. In another life, in another timeline, I would have done this differently—more slowly, more cautiously. But the wolves would return, and the world was already bending around my presence. The safest time to rewrite fate was before it decided to resist.
"Confirm."
The points dropped, the panel pulsed—once, twice—and a circle of light unfurled on the ground like a blooming flower. The air tasted clean and electric. Starlight bent inward. A silhouette took shape: short, solid, a monk's orange gi reimagined in darker, Tensura-friendly fabric. The System spoke with quiet finality.
---
[Summon Complete]
Name: Krillin
Origin: Dragon Ball
Converted Race: Human Martial Artist (Adapted)
Rank: C (restricted by balance protocols)
Power Level: B (capped; scalable with host evolution)
Unique Skill: Razor Ki Disc (Destructive energy disc; precision, high cut potential; heavy stamina cost in current cap)
Title: Veteran of a Thousand Fights
State: Loyalty-Bound (High), Personality Preserved
Affinity: Energy / Martial Arts / Tactics
---
The light faded. He blinked under the moon, took in the village, the goblins, me. His eyes were cautious, kind, and very, very awake.
"So…" he said, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile that felt like sunlight after rain. "I'm guessing you're the boss?"
"I'm Rimuru," I said. "Thanks for coming."
He glanced at the goblins—at their bandaged arms, their trembling hope—and then at the trenches, the spears, the smell of blood fading under woodsmoke.
"Looks like you've been busy." He grinned. "Good. I hate being bored."
A faint pressure pulsed from the System, and I saw the moment adaptation settled over him. His breathing slowed into a martial rhythm; his aura tucked itself in, neat and disciplined. The Unique Skill hung at his shoulder like a sheathed blade.
"I can train them," Krillin said, voice soft so only I would hear. "We'll start with footwork and group formations. If the wolves come back, they'll find a wall where they expected straw."
"Perfect."
He turned, clapped his hands, and the goblins jumped.
"All right, everyone! I'm Krillin. Starting tomorrow, we're going to make sure none of you die to a sloppy bite ever again. We'll go step by step. You'll hate me during drills and thank me at dinner."
They blinked, then some began to nod, uncertain but willing. The elder exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath for years.
I pulled up my Status again, watching the numbers settle.
---
[Status]
Fame: 320
Summoning Points: 70 (after expenditure)
Active Summon: Krillin (Rank C, Power Level B capped)
Synchronization: Passive (When Host Evolves, Summons gain evolution windows)
---
"Great Sage," I asked, "how much pushback can the world handle?"
> [Unknown. However, the Multiversal System appears to be self-regulating. Early summons are constrained; as Host renown and evolution increase, constraints loosen. Caution recommended.]
"Noted."
I looked at the village—at flickering fires, at shadows moving toward rest, at a small line of children peeking at Krillin with shy smiles. I thought about the arcs to come: humans and politics, merchants and monsters, demon lords and dragons. About threads I could tug to spare lives, choices I could make that would curve the river of fate before it reached the cliff.
This was the same story. It was also a different one.
"Tomorrow," I said, mostly to myself, "we start building Tempest."
A breeze moved through the trees, cool and damp and full of the forest's steady breathing. Somewhere beyond the hills, a lone wolf howled a last, uncertain note. In the clearing, Krillin started demonstrating a basic stance, knees bent and hands loose, and a dozen goblins tried to mirror him and nearly fell over, laughing harder than they had any right to after a night like this.
I laughed too.
The System hummed, patient, a door I'd only just begun to open.
And the world listened.