London. The Clock Tower.
"Teacher, Teacher! Look!"
Erol came stumbling into Rimuru's private lounge, her tiny hands raised high above her head. She was balancing a sphere of hyper-compressed water bigger than her own head.
With a gleeful shriek, she detonated it right in front of him, drenching his desk, hoping for praise.
Rimuru didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He dried his paperwork with a flick of his wrist and officially named her new, highly destructive spell the "Depth Charge."
It had been half a month since Rimuru's main body first clashed with the Black Princess in Berlin.
During that time, Professor Rimuru's gentle, accommodating teaching style, combined with his flashy, highly practical hydro-mancy, had firmly cemented his status among the student body. He was rapidly adopting the aura of a "celebrity professor" in future eras.
And little Erol's chaotic, adorable energy played an indispensable role in that rise. At the very least, she had completely subjugated the entire General Foundations department.
The main lecture hall was now fully recognized as the Demon King Erol's personal playground.
...
Croatia.
It's often said that when bad luck finally breaks, the Goddess of Fortune tends to smile doubly bright to make up for it.
After weeks of agonizing, meticulous self-surgery, Rimuru had finally purged the necrotic curses from his superficial wounds.
Only the lethal, rotting gash on his heart remained, weakly struggling against his holy mana as he slowly ground its conceptual weight down to nothing.
Outside the small border town, the manhunt had abruptly stalled.
Grand Inquisitor Vissela, sensing Altrouge's violent incursion back into Northern Italy, had been emergency-redeployed to intercept the Black Princess. Without their bloodhound, the Burial Agency's pursuit of the "White Knight" hit a bizarre, dead stop.
Thanks to the nun's absolute sanctuary, the Church completely lost his trail. And Rimuru's innate Phantasmal Magic Resistance was high enough to scatter any low-tier astrology or scrying attempts.
"So, if the Goddess of Fortune really does exist, I'd much rather believe she looks like you."
Rimuru carefully spread a layer of melted cheese over a slice of toasted bread. He plated it next to a bowl of rich, steaming stew and set it gently on the wooden table in front of the nun, who was staring blankly out the window.
"You know, I've been here for almost three weeks, and I still don't know your name."
"It isn't important."
The nun slowly shook her head. She looked down at the perfectly cooked meal, noting how Rimuru's culinary skills had improved dramatically during his stay.
"The residual stench of sin on you is growing fainter," she stated plainly.
"Ah. If you mean the curse, then yes."
Over the past few weeks, Rimuru had grown accustomed to her archaic, deeply religious way of describing Magecraft and Mystery.
He had also realized that despite being an ordinary nun without magic circuits, her innate, perhaps divine, intuition regarding the supernatural was terrifyingly sharp.
"If that is the case, it is time for you to leave."
Rimuru's hand paused as he set down the silverware. He offered a soft, genuine smile. "Yeah. It is."
He sat across from her, his expression turning serious.
"I really can't thank you enough for taking care of me these past few weeks. I know I've asked this before, but since I'm leaving, and I don't know if I'll ever have the chance to repay you, please, let me ask one last time."
"Why did you save me?"
"Why?" The nun tilted her head, her single eye entirely serene. "Because the innocent are without sin. And to turn a blind eye to an innocent soul crying out for salvation… is a sin in itself."
"I see… I understand now."
Rimuru nodded slowly. Just as he thought.
Over the past few weeks, Rimuru had grown accustomed to the nun's quiet, impossibly kind nature. He had gotten used to her spacing out, her infuriating lack of self-preservation, and her deeply naive view of the world.
But as the days passed, a nagging anxiety had started to gnaw at him. Can she really survive on her own until her husband comes back?
"Once this final curse is purged, I'll be leaving. I just hope your man comes back before then," Rimuru muttered, shooting a disapproving glare at her swollen stomach. "Because honestly, I think I need to have a serious talk with him."
Rimuru wasn't an expert on obstetrics, but with the Great Sage analyzing her physical state, it was glaringly obvious she was at least six or seven months pregnant.
She was entering the stage where basic mobility was becoming difficult. For a husband to abandon his wife to fend for herself in this condition was unfathomable to Rimuru.
A dark suspicion had already taken root in his mind: Did the bastard just run off and leave her?
But the nun remained tightly tight-lipped about her husband, and Rimuru knew better than to push.
They had maintained a comfortable, unspoken distance since day one. Whether she had saved him simply because she couldn't ignore a plea for help, or whether he was just biding his time to repay a life debt, neither had ever pried into the other's past.
...
Nightfall.
"One more week to completely eradicate the necrotic rot on my heart," Rimuru murmured, leaning against the porch railing and staring up at the starry sky. "Let's just hope nothing explodes before then."
At the end of the day, Svelten's fatal strike was just a high-tier conceptual Magecraft.
The Vampiric Impulse, paid for with immortal life force, was a permanent, biological mutation.
But the necrotic curse rotting his heart?
That was just a spell. It was powerful and terrifying, yes, but after weeks of intense research and holy magic application, Rimuru was finally grinding it down.
His biggest fear, that Svelten had embedded a tracking sigil into the curse, had thankfully proven baseless over the past two weeks of uninterrupted peace.
Rimuru let out a long, contented breath. He pushed off the railing, ready to head back inside for the night.
But out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the moon.
It wasn't silver.
It was tinged with a faint, unmistakable shade of crimson.
Rimuru froze. The comfortable, relaxed atmosphere shattered instantly.
A Magus's intuition wasn't superstition; it was a sixth sense tuned to the World. He had been feeling a faint, prickling anxiety all day, worrying about tomorrow, worrying about...
[Notice: What is the matter?]
"We're leaving. Tonight." Rimuru's heart sank like a stone. He made the decision without a second of hesitation.
But just as the words left his mouth, a cataclysmic eruption of mana tore through the night sky.
It happened on the far side of the border town, a blinding, localized pillar of light that shot straight into the stratosphere.
The shockwave tore the clouds apart, instantly vaporizing the dense Croatian fog and bathing the sleepy town in an unnatural, glaring brilliance.
"..."
Rimuru stared at the moon. It was turning violently, undeniably red.
The Black Princess is here.
….
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