"..."
At the outskirts of the capital city of the Jura-Tempest Federation, on a newly cleared stretch of flat land, goblins and orcs still lingered after felling trees and gathering lumber. All the monsters stared curiously at their lord and king.
Lord Rimuru's face—half grimace, half horror—was... what was wrong with him?
"Lord Rimuru?"
Noticing Rimuru's worried, slightly anxious expression, a tall female Oni with long pale-purple hair and an obsidian-like single horn bent down toward him, frowning slightly. "Did those human merchants deceive you, Lord Rimuru? Were their goods shoddy, or did they raise the prices unfairly?"
Dressed in a tight-fitting purple suit, the woman's unbuttoned collar strained against her snow-white chest, accentuating her voluptuous, seductive figure.
As the king's secretary, the Oni woman couldn't stand to see Rimuru upset. Clenching her fists, she ground her teeth. "How dare they betray Lord Rimuru's kindness! I'll beat them into the sky if they did!"
Please don't! Big Sis!
Startled out of his thoughts, Rimuru nearly jumped. Remembering his secretary's violent temper, his soul almost left his body.
Beat them into the sky? If I really ended up in that hellish universe, would you even want to live anymore—or are you trying to get us both killed?
"Shion, calm down. It's not about the quality or price of their goods."
Quickly grabbing the Oni woman—whose entire body was already radiating waves of magicules—Rimuru shook his head and said seriously, "This time, no outbursts. I mean it."
"Lord Rimuru..." Shion looked confused and tapped the side of her waist holster, where her so-called 'handgun' rested. "Other than their alchemy, which seems impressive, they aren't particularly strong. Just slightly better than ordinary monsters or human adventurers."
"That's industrial tech... well, fine, think of it as a type of alchemy if you must."
Rimuru sighed, his delicate face creasing with frustration. "It's not about strength or weakness. It's about the fate of this newborn nation, the Jura Forest, and every life around us—whether this world will survive or be destroyed."
He ruffled his silver-blue hair wildly. "Ahhhh, if I'm wrong, if it's just a coincidence, then that would be great!"
"This... this serious?"
Now even the fierce Shion shrank her neck, her earlier bravado fading. Despite her usual temper and jealousy, or how she often acted spoiled and playful around Rimuru, she trusted him deeply—utterly convinced of his words.
"They're here."
After once again reminding the surrounding Oni, Tempest Wolves, and Lizardmen not to provoke or start any trouble, Rimuru exchanged a glance with Hakurou and the ever-dependable village chief, Rigurd. At that moment, a distant rumbling echoed from above.
"Hah... if it's fortune, let it come. If it's disaster, I can't avoid it anyway. Come."
Taking a deep breath, Rimuru straightened up and stepped out from under the raised Tempest banner, walking to the edge of the platform and craning his neck skyward.
"They've gotten... bigger." He murmured. "Looks like their little trade trips have been profitable."
Their hulls were light gray, and with his Predator-enhanced vision, Rimuru could clearly see that not only were the vessels larger, but also newer and sturdier. The undersides of their wings gleamed with mounted cannons and short-barreled guns—autocannons? rocket pods? missiles?
Vrrrrrrrroooom!
The roaring gusts drowned out all murmurs from the gathered monsters.
As the lead shuttle descended, seven or eight transport craft followed in perfect formation, landing simultaneously. In an instant, the once-open field became crowded.
With a hiss of pressure release, the air valves vented, and the hatches opened. A group of armored mercenaries and combat automatons stepped down the ramps, followed by familiar faces—seasoned merchant-traders. At their center, a tall, neatly dressed young man with short brown hair spread his arms wide, laughing heartily.
"Lord Rimuru Tempest!"
"Mr. Edwin Webb."
The two clasped hands warmly, Rimuru forcing a polite laugh. But his gaze drifted to the new faces among the entourage—their movements synchronized, their armor shining, clearly soldiers.
Compared to the previous, shabby caravan of makeshift traders, this time everything looked far more formal and professional.
"Who are they?" Rimuru asked.
"Oh, them? Retired auxiliary soldiers hired by my trading company," Edwin replied easily, following Rimuru's gaze without the slightest hesitation. "All thanks to your generosity, Lord Rimuru—may I call it that?"
Rimuru casually spread his hands. "You mean that 'craftwork gift' you gave me?"
"Exactly." Grinning, Edwin gave a thumbs-up and gestured for the engineering automatons aboard the transport ship to unload the sculptures, reliefs, and oil paintings wrapped in tapestries.
Spotting the centurion statue he had seen earlier through the holo-communicator, Edwin pulled down the drapery and said, "Whether it's for a manor, a central square, or a government hall, a sculpture of an Astartes warrior is the perfect fit. They are the embodiment of the Emperor's authority—powerful, immortal, invincible. The extension of Imperial might..."
While Edwin continued his enthusiastic introduction, Rimuru had already approached the statue.
Under the sunlight, the towering marble-gray armored figure gleamed with golden luster, radiant and imposing.
"Skull and angel-wing motif, double-headed eagle, massive pauldrons and power pack, a Roman-style crested helmet... and that enormous chainsword..."
Rimuru swallowed hard. A creeping chill of despair rose quietly up his spine.
"I... you... this... this is—"
Putting all these features together, the conclusion was undeniable—and perfectly matched his worst fears.
In his previous life as a 37-year-old unmarried salaryman, much of his free time was spent on video games, anime, and light novels. He'd at least heard of that legendary tabletop franchise that crossed oceans to reach global fame.
He had never played it, but those unmistakable Space Marines... he now understood exactly where he was.
Darkness. Heaviness. Chaos. Extremes. Brutality. Horror.
For the Emperor—the Astartes—galaxy-spanning wars waged for millennia. The merciless slaughter and systematic extermination of heretics and xenos. Psychic powers, Chaos demons, the gods of the Warp...
Could it be that magicules were psychic energy? That this world was some isolated planet on the fringe of the galaxy? Was his reincarnation the work of the Chaos Gods? And worse—had he become a xenos or heretic?
No—!
Lifting his gaze to the clear blue sky, Rimuru suddenly found it foreign and distant.
For a fleeting moment, he saw illusions—or perhaps something more. Beyond the veil of the stars, he felt it: several vastly different, transcendent beings turning their gaze this way. The crimson Blood God roaring, the ever-changing screeching, the decaying Plague Lord whispering, the sinuous, alluring entity moaning in ecstasy...
And then, merging into one—an icy violet-red sun hanging in the boundless void.
The vision vanished.
As if nothing had happened. Perhaps it was just his imagination, a hallucination born of panic.
Ahhh... stop! Stop! Calm down! Calm down! It's just a coincidence. Just a coincidence!
Otherwise, if this truly were the Imperium of Man, how could this merchant be so friendly—and even gift him a Space Marine statue? It must be superficial resemblance, nothing more. And besides, wasn't it the Empress, not the Emperor?
Yes, that was it. Coincidence.
Just like his reincarnation—this world had slimes, dwarves, dragons, and other creatures resembling myths from his previous life, yet with major differences. This was just another case of accidental cross-influence between worlds. That tabletop game must have been unconsciously inspired by such beings. There had to be discrepancies.
Surely the world wasn't that extreme. Nothing to worry about. Everything's normal—
Yeah, right!
He was still anxious as hell.
...
"Lord Rimuru. Lord Rimuru? Lord Rimuru!"
Unaware that the slime before him had descended into a full-blown cranial storm of self-induced paranoia, Edwin raised an eyebrow, half amused, half concerned, as he watched the Monster Nation's king pressed against the Astartes statue, contorting and muttering like some avant-garde performance artist.
No matter how many times he saw it, this so-called king of monsters never failed to give off an air utterly devoid of majesty.
Even in humanoid form, he was... well, just plain adorable.
Forget the governors of his homeworld's colonies—even the hulking, broad-shouldered patrol officers of a local precinct carried more presence than Rimuru did.
As for the Emperor—the Supreme, Holy, and Perfect Empress whom they all served and worshiped...
Well... Rimuru had never seen her, nor had the qualifications to. But judging from the pious, almost groveling reverence displayed by planetary governors and the pompous auxiliary troops stationed on local worlds during the unveiling ceremonies of the Sacred Selene statues—towering over ten kilometers tall—Rimuru could tell one thing.
That awe-inspiring majesty was etched deeply into every soul.
To humble such mighty rulers and lords into prostrating, trembling worms—it was truly a terrifying display of authority.
"Thank you, Edwin."
Returning to his round, blue slime form before shifting again into his familiar blue-haired, golden-eyed human shape, Rimuru exhaled softly. His expression was complex as he studied the many sculptures depicting Astartes warriors standing proudly with swords drawn.
Yes—after running comparative analysis with [Great Sage], Rimuru had reached a conclusion: this so-called Galactic Empire was not that Imperium of Man.
At least... not the one he knew of. Otherwise, there was no way this merchant could be so friendly, so accustomed to dealing with a non-human slime lord.
"Let's talk."
Sensing Rimuru's unease, Edwin assumed he was simply worried about the massive power gap implied by the imported goods and the empire behind them.
"Of course."
After gesturing for his crew to coordinate the cargo transfer with Tempest's officials and offload the ordered goods, Edwin followed Rimuru into the newly completed guest district of the capital, surrounded by Oni guards, mercenaries, and attendants.
"These new faces," Edwin said as they walked, "are retired auxiliary soldiers I hired after my first successful trade expedition."
"You must have made a good profit from the last shipment, then?" Rimuru asked.
Edwin nodded candidly. "No point hiding it. When we first met, my team and I were complete novices at trade. You must have noticed—we were broke, drowning in debt. That old freighter we flew? It was rented, paid for on credit."
"After several failed ventures, losing out to better-equipped rivals whenever we found a new world, we were on the brink of bankruptcy. It was only then that we discovered this 'virgin world'..."
He turned his head, locking eyes with Rimuru's golden gaze. "And then we were lucky enough to encounter your slime subordinate at the landing zone."
"Why tell me all this?" Rimuru tilted his head, confused.
"Because I want to be honest."
"Lord Rimuru, I owe you more than I can express. When we were destitute, you didn't destroy us—even though you easily could have. Instead, you treated us as equals, as partners in trade."
That was the truth. Edwin knew exactly how weak they were—barely better than ordinary civilians, armed with weapons suited only for scaring off minor gangs with no supernatural powers.
They were the lowest of the low among the Sacred Selene Empire's freelance merchant fleets—a ragtag group with one refurbished transport ship to their name.
But that was the nature of their profession: wildly unpredictable. One could lose everything and die forgotten in the void... or strike fortune and defy fate itself.
"I need your help, Lord Rimuru. My team and I want to claim exclusive rights to this fertile, habitable planet."
"Exclusive... rights to the entire planet?"
Rimuru stared at Edwin's outstretched hand, momentarily stunned. He had to admit—the man's ambition startled him. But then again, in an interstellar civilization, it wasn't entirely unreasonable for a merchant to think in planetary terms.
"Why such a thought? Isn't fair trade enough?" Rimuru asked—and immediately realized how naive that sounded.
Edwin laughed bitterly. "Why else would I be here, Lord Rimuru? A free merchant lives for profit. And believe it or not, I'm considered one of the more ethical ones among the Empire's chaotic ranks of traders."
He gave a self-deprecating smile.
"Because I've stuck to those damned principles, I've been mocked endlessly by my peers and colleagues. Bacterial bombs, viral weapons—they're the cheapest and most efficient methods out there. But I refuse to use them... I was nearly at my limit. Fortunately, the first profit I made from trading with you kept me going."
"Don't look at me like that. I'm not a good person. Just a man who loves money."
As they reached the gate of the reception district, Rimuru listened to Edwin's confession and couldn't help but shake his head. The gloom on his face lifted somewhat, replaced by a faint smile.
"To love wealth, yet take it by honest means—that's rare. You've given me reason to believe the situation I'm facing isn't as hopeless as I feared."
Phew... so it probably isn't the extreme Human Imperium. There's still room for negotiation and diplomacy.
"Hah? You believe that so easily? Aren't you afraid I'm just spinning a story?"
"I have ways to analyze your speech and behavior. You're not lying. We're friends."
Crossing the threshold, Rimuru extended his hand. "You wanted closer cooperation, didn't you? Let's talk at the welcome banquet. Since we're being open—I, and my companions, want to understand. What exactly is the Empire like?"
"Let's start with the merchants. You said you're an independent trader—how do the others conduct their business?"
...
"You filthy swine! You dared to harm the great Shoke Sanghi, the future Imperial Knight!"
This was the front line of the First Legion of the Astartes—the Dark Angels—during their planetary conquest. On a newly discovered, unregistered, unclassified colonial world found by a wandering merchant fleet.
At a freshly built riverside dock, blood and fire filled the air. The scorched earth reeked of burnt leather and flesh. Countless mangled corpses floated on the water—humans in tattered, dusty clothes and various demi-human slaves among them.
Along the shore, the shredded bodies of seven or eight mercenaries lay scattered.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of laborers' corpses covered the ground. Even the overseer automatons had their sensors smashed and limbs torn apart. The ragged, bloodied crowd of rebels surrounded several well-dressed merchant nobles.
Their faces twisted with a mix of hatred and grim satisfaction, eyes burning with venom as they glared at a young man whose cheeks were still flushed from drink, his mouth running incessantly.
"Do you even understand what you've done? This is rebellion! You attacked an Imperial citizen and his property! Release me now, and perhaps I can still—"
Schlkk!
A sharpened iron spear thrust up from below, piercing through the young man's shoulder blade and grinding viciously into the muscle of his neck. Blood and shredded flesh splattered out in a thick spray.
"Release you?! You bloodsucking monsters!!" roared a filthy, disheveled man, his clothes little more than a stinking rag.
His cheek, half-burned through by a laser blast during the uprising, was crudely bandaged together. His expression—gnashing teeth, blazing eyes—was the very image of an enraged demon. He brought down a heavy hammer again and again, shattering the young merchant's legs and severing his tendons.
"AAAHHHH!!"
The once-proud Shoke Sanghi lost all his earlier arrogance, his face contorted in agony as snot and tears streamed down his cheeks. "Spare me... please... ahh—my servitor has already contacted the nearest Imperial fleet! Kill me, and you'll all die with me—"
"Hahaha! So this is an Imperial citizen, huh? Not so divine after all! You bleed, you cry, just like the rest of us!"
There was no mercy. A bearded old man, limping from a prior battle, sneered as he pulled the trigger of a scavenged ballistic weapon. The shot tore through Shoke's arm, sending blood spraying.
"N-no... don't kill me... I don't want to die... I can still forgive you—" Shoke's pleading turned to sobs.
No one listened.
As the freed laborers dragged the merchants toward the cesspit, intent on drowning them in filth—
WHOOM!
A dozen massive gunships screamed down from the clouds. Their steel-gray armor gleamed under the sunlight, and upon their hulls shone a golden double-headed aquila—the unmistakable emblem that struck terror into every soul present:
The Imperial Army.
RATATATATATATA!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
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