Story: NG+

Chapter 6: The Architect's Intervention



The march was a marvel of silent, disciplined efficiency. Rimuru's army, a blend of hobgoblins, direwolves, and ogre warriors, moved as a single, unified entity. There was no chaotic shouting, no panicked urgency. Each step was measured, each formation precise. The direwolves, now Tempest Star Wolves, carried the hobgoblins with a speed that defied their bulky forms, while the ogres moved with a stoic, powerful grace. They were a force of calm resolve against the impending storm of chaos.


At the head of this procession, Rimuru rode upon a large, powerful direwolf, his body glowing with a faint, reassuring light. His mind, however, was a whirlwind of calculations. According to Ciel's analysis, the Orc army will reach the Lizardmen's main settlement within the hour. We will be cutting it close, but my forces are more than capable of handling this. The goal isn't a fight to the death; it's a surgical strike, a show of overwhelming strategic superiority.

He had no intention of allowing his people to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. His plan was elegant in its simplicity and devastating in its execution. He would use his own unique abilities to create a battlefield where the Orcs' single-minded assault was a fatal weakness.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the Lizardmen's settlement, despair had set in. The chieftain, a broken man, watched as the last of his warriors were decimated by the encroaching horde. The air was thick with the stench of death and the insatiable hunger of the Orcs. The Orc Disaster was a reality, not a myth. He had seen his people, proud and strong, simply vanish into the endless, consuming mass.

Suddenly, a massive, muscular Orc, far larger than the others, appeared at the front of the army. Its skin was a sickly green, its eyes glowed with a malevolent, corrupted magic. This was the Orc Lord, a being of immense power, now swollen with the lives of countless monsters it had consumed. It let out a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the chieftain's hall. This was not a monster; it was a calamity given form.

The chieftain, his hope extinguished, could only watch as his civilization was about to be devoured. He closed his eyes, awaiting the end, a prayer forming on his lips for the "slime Rimuru" to be safe and far away from this place of certain death. He had foolishly doubted a true leader and now his people would pay the ultimate price.

Just as the Orc Disaster prepared to unleash its final blow, a different sound echoed across the swamp. Not the roar of battle, but a steady, rhythmic march. The sound was alien to the forest, a purposeful cadence that spoke of discipline and order.

Rimuru's army, now within sight of the Lizardmen's settlement, paused. They formed a perfect line, their weapons gleaming in the dim light of the marsh. Their leader, a small slime, floated high above them on the back of a direwolf. He was an unassuming figure, but the aura of power he projected was undeniable. He gave a single, calm mental command.

"Prepare for battle."

The Orc Lord, its senses sharp with corrupted power, turned its head. Its small, beady eyes focused on the new arrivals. They were few, so few, compared to its vast army. It saw a single slime, some goblins, and some wolves. It let out a condescending grunt, a sound that said, A mere handful of insects, come to their slaughter.

Rimuru simply smiled. He had no intention of engaging in a battle of attrition. He would end this in a single, decisive stroke. This was not a test of strength. It was a demonstration of the power of a true architect, a master of a perfected world. The stage was set.