Story: NG+

Chapter 8: The Price of Greed and the Dawn of a New Alliance



The Orc army, shattered by Rimuru's single, strategic blow, was now a rudderless ship in a storm. Their collective will, their greatest strength, was gone. Rimuru's allies, a blend of hobgoblins, ogres, and Tempest Star Wolves, fell upon them like a tide, their movements precise and their attacks swift. The Orcs' overwhelming numbers were now a liability, a confused mass of panicked monsters that stumbled over one another.

On the ground, the hobgoblins, led by a surprisingly mature Gobta, moved with a coordination that was alien to their race. A few months ago, they would have charged headlong into battle, hoping brute force would win the day. Now, they were an organized unit. As a wave of bewildered Orcs charged, Gobta issued a sharp, mental command to his squad, a talent he'd developed under Rimuru's tutelage.

"Flank right! Use the terrain to your advantage!" he thought, his agility allowing him to dart around the Orcs with ease. The goblins, now equipped with better spears and armor, obeyed without question. Their strikes were not random slashes, but targeted thrusts to the Orcs' vital points, a lesson Rimuru had taught them through countless practice drills.

This is what it feels like to be strong, Gobta reflected, a thrill running through him as he parried a clumsy Orc blade with his spear. Not just strong, but smart. This is all thanks to Rimuru-sama.

Beside them, the Tempest Star Wolves, led by Ranga, moved with a terrifying grace. Ranga, no longer a simple beast of instinct, used his newly acquired tactical mind to direct his pack. He communicated with his wolves through a low, powerful growl that conveyed complex battle formations. They didn't just bite; they targeted the Orcs' flanks, driving them into the waiting spears of the hobgoblins.

The Orcs are nothing without their will, Ranga thought, his eyes glowing. We are more than just a pack. We are a part of a unified whole, a single, living weapon under the command of our master.

Meanwhile, the Orc Lord, isolated and enraged, let out a final, furious roar. Its eyes, once filled with a corrupted hunger, now held a flicker of something new: awareness. It was a being of power, but it was also a puppet of the unique skill it had consumed. It had been driven by an insatiable, endless desire to devour, a living embodiment of the "Orc Disaster."

"End it," Rimuru's mental command was gentle, but firm.

Benimaru, his sword wreathed in roaring crimson flames, lunged forward. His movements were not reckless, but elegant and precise, honed by Rimuru's tutelage. His once-simple fire magic had evolved, purified into a scorching, focused flame that burned away the corruption of the Orc Disaster itself. The blade, a testament to his accelerated growth, was a conduit for a force that was both destructive and cleansing.

I am not just a swordsman, Benimaru thought, a fire in his heart matching the flames on his blade. I am a warrior of the Tempest. Rimuru-sama has shown me a way to control my power, a way to turn my rage into a focused, deliberate force. This is not the wild fire of a petty monster, but the purifying flame of a true commander.

Souei, a flash of shadow and steel, appeared at the Orc Lord's back. He didn't just attack; he bound it. From his shadow, he manifested powerful, razor-thin chains, a perfected fusion of his shadow and steel thread abilities. The chains wrapped around the Orc Lord's legs, each link glowing with a dark energy that anchored the massive creature in place, preventing its escape.

My skills have grown beyond what I could have imagined, Souei mused, his mind as sharp as the chains he had created. This power, this precision, is thanks to Rimuru-sama. I am no longer a simple spy; I am a tool of perfect execution, a shadow that can bind even a calamity.

Shion, her immense strength now controlled with perfect focus, swung her massive odachi with a force that created a shockwave of its own. It was not a wild, untamed blow, but a precise, devastating strike aimed at the Orc Lord's very foundation. Her enhanced power, honed by Rimuru's mentorship, was now a surgical tool of destruction.

This isn't just brute strength, Shion's mind, clear and focused, echoed. It's power with a purpose. It's the strength to protect, to serve my master, to execute his will with a single, flawless strike. I am not the monster I once was; I am the blade he has forged.

Hakuro, a blur of motion and steel, moved through the chaotic battlefield with a serene grace. While the others focused on the Orc Lord, he served as their protector and an executioner of the Orc generals that might have interfered. His swordsmanship, already a pinnacle of their race, had been refined into a deadly art by Rimuru's guidance. He moved with an economy of motion, each strike a perfect arc that severed an Orc General's corrupted limb before the monster even had time to fully comprehend its defeat.

"Strength is not about ferocity, but control," Hakuro's mind, a serene pool of focus, reflected. "My master has shown me the path to true swordsmanship: to strike only when necessary, and to make that strike absolute. This is the sword of a raging Tempest."

The combined assault was too much. Benimaru's blade, with its purifying flame, struck the Orc Lord's core. The creature, its corrupted body unable to withstand the purifying heat, let out a final, agonizing shriek before its body began to disintegrate.

As its form began to fade, a ghostly, translucent figure emerged from within. It was the original Orc Lord, a monster filled not with malice, but with a profound and tragic regret. Its voice, a whisper of a dying soul, reached Rimuru's consciousness. "Thank you... thank you for freeing me from this curse of hunger... My will... was taken by the skill..."

Rimuru felt a pang of sorrow. The Orc Disaster was not an evil being; it was a victim, just as so many had been. Rimuru, understanding its plight, reached out a pseudopod.

"I will free you from your hunger," he promised.

He activated his unique skill, Predator. The Orc Lord's fading essence, its unique skill and all, was consumed. Inside his Imaginary Space, Ciel worked her magic, a silent process of analysis and purification. The skill Starved, a potent but dangerous unique skill, was carefully extracted, purified, and stored. The Orc Lord's soul, now free of its curse, was allowed to rest in peace.

With the Orc Disaster completely neutralized, silence fell over the swamp. The remaining Orcs, their minds now clear, simply collapsed, their hunger and rage gone. They were just monsters again, exhausted and bewildered.

From the Lizardmen's settlement, the chieftain and his surviving people emerged. They walked through the battlefield, a landscape of defeated Orcs, their eyes wide with disbelief and awe. The overwhelming disaster, the calamity that had destroyed so many, was... simply gone.

The chieftain, his old bones trembling, walked toward Rimuru, his face etched with shame and profound gratitude. He saw not a terrifying monster, but a small, unassuming slime surrounded by a formidable army of disciplined warriors. He knelt, his forehead touching the muddy ground.

"Rimuru-sama," he croaked, his voice thick with emotion. "Forgive my foolishness. Forgive my son's arrogance. You are a true leader. You are a true king. You have saved us from certain annihilation. We, the Lizardmen, owe you our lives. We pledge our eternal loyalty to you."

Gabiru, battered and broken, crawled his way to the front. He looked at the chieftain, then at Rimuru, and the shame in his heart was a physical weight. The pride he had so foolishly put his trust in was now dust. He had led his people to a needless slaughter, all for the sake of his arrogance, only to be saved by a monster who he had ridiculed. He, too, knelt, a silent, humble figure. "I... I am a fool," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Forgive me, Rimuru-sama, I am yours to command."

Rimuru accepted their oaths with a gentle nod. He then gave an order to his people: "We will not celebrate yet. There are many dead, both Orc and Lizardmen. We will give them a proper funeral first. Then, we will feast."

The funeral was a solemn affair. The Lizardmen and Rimuru's allies worked together, honoring the fallen without distinction. It was a somber, respectful process that solidified a bond born not just in battle, but in shared grief.

Afterwards, a great feast was held. It was a celebration of survival, of new beginnings. As the ogres, goblins, and Lizardmen shared food and drink, Rimuru watched them, a profound sense of satisfaction settling within him. The foundations of his nation had been laid not with stone and wood, but with loyalty, trust, and a shared victory over a calamity. The Great Forest of Jura had a new, unexpected king.