Chapter 12: The Morning Audit
I float over to the dormant Rimuru, hovering in the cold night air. I look at the sleeping blue blob.
Azathoth, what's my current soul capacity? If I keep following this lunatic, am I going to end up as a glorified battery?
Analysis. Soul capacity is stable. However, the 'Lord of Continuity' warns that narrative drift is high. Survival is the priority.
Morning in the Forest of Jura arrives with a lack of professionalism that I've come to expect. No alarm clocks, no espresso, just the incessant chirping of birds that clearly don't have to work for a living.
I haven't moved. I spent the night hovering over Rimuru, not out of "friendship"—which is a low-yield emotional investment—but because if the Boss gets eaten in his sleep, my stock in this village plummets to zero.
Notice. Evolution process complete. The cocoons are dissolving.
I turn my attention to the fireplace. The golden light fades, revealing six figures that are... significantly more aesthetically pleasing than before. The Ogres have become Kijin. They've traded their bulky, savage frames for lean, refined humanoid bodies that wouldn't look out of place in a high-fashion catalog.
Benimaru stands first, his red hair vibrant, his presence radiating a heat that suggests he's finally been properly "funded."
"Lord Rimuru... and you," Benimaru says, his eyes landing on me. He bows. It's a deeper bow than last night. He knows the value of the energy he just received.
"The Boss is still 'recharging' after his massive over-expenditure," I pulse, my voice cutting through the morning mist. "Try not to wake him. I'm currently calculating the interest on the magicules he spent to upgrade your 'hardware'."
"We are in your debt," the old one, Hakuro, says. He looks sharper. More dangerous. Like a retired assassin who just got his pension back.
The peace is interrupted by a commotion at the village gate. Rigurd rushes over, looking like he's aged five years in ten minutes.
"Lord Shinji! We have... another guest!"
I float toward the perimeter. A Lizardman is standing there, leaning on a trident. He looks exhausted, his scales dull and caked in swamp mud. He carries an aura of self-importance that usually belongs to a middle-manager who just discovered a typo in a contract.
"I am a messenger from the Great Marsh!" the Lizardman croaks, puffing out his chest. "I seek the leader of this... humble settlement. My master, the great Gabil, demands your audience!"
Analysis. Species: Lizardman. Status: Messenger. High levels of narcissism detected. Current world event: Orc invasion of the wetlands is likely progressing.
Azathoth, give me a price tag on that trident. If he's going to stand there and bark, he can at least pay the 'consultation fee'.
Calculation. Steel-tipped trident. Quality: Common. Value: 8 Silver.
"You're late," I pulse, expanding a minor [Transaction Domain] just enough to make the Lizardman's knees wobble. "And your 'Master' has poor timing. We are currently closed for administrative maintenance."
"How dare you! I speak for the Lizardman tribe!"
"And I speak for the bottom line," I retort. "Rimuru is asleep. The Kijin are hungry. And I am five minutes away from 'converting' your weapon into a coat rack. If Gabil wants an audience, tell him to send a proposal in writing. With a bribe."
The Lizardman stammers, looking at the newly evolved Kijin who are now looming behind me. Benimaru looks like he wants to test his new fire-affinity on something scaly.
"Wait, Shinji," a groggy voice transmits.
Rimuru bounces up from his spot, finally awake. "A Lizardman? What's going on?"
"Boss," I pulse, not moving an inch. "We've been approached for a merger. Or a threat. It's hard to tell through the swamp-stink. I suggest we hear him out, then decide if their assets are worth the 'acquisition' cost."
Current Magicule Reserves: 98.3%. Location: Goblin Village Gate. Status: Lizardman messenger arrived. Rimuru awake.
Chapter End.