The Legend of the Faerie Realm: Avalon.
"Avalon…" May murmured.
"The legends say… the ancient King Arthur lost her most precious scabbard. The Noble Phantasm known as Avalon." Rimuru's voice took on a soft, almost poetic cadence. "It is a Bounded Field. It is the hometown of the faeries. It is the Everdistant Utopia."
Rimuru paused, a faint smile touching his lips.
"But most importantly… as a scabbard, it doesn't just grant the wielder absolute protection from all harm. It possesses the power to instantly heal any wound the wielder sustains, and it halts the aging process entirely."
"It heals all wounds. Including… conceptual curses."
He spoke the words like a bard singing of salvation.
"But…" May hesitated, hating herself for pouring cold water on his hope. "That's just a legend, Rimuru. And even if it physically exists in the modern era… you know how Noble Phantasms work. They are conceptual weapons. They require the mana of their original owner, the Heroic Spirit, to be unlocked and activated."
"Spiritual Evocation," Rimuru smiled, tapping a stack of thesis papers. "I haven't just been sitting around. I've been auditing classes in the Evocation Department. Professor Kayneth El-Melloi might be an arrogant prick, but when it comes to answering academic questions, he doesn't hold anything back. I've learned a lot."
The truth was, the heroic spirit summoning system utilized by the Greater Grail wasn't some impossibly profound, unreplicable Mystery.
The Department of Spiritual Evocation, where Kayneth served as a First-Class Lecturer, existed entirely to study the summoning and possession of spirits, wraiths, and even Divine Spirits via mediums.
The various "Subcategory Holy Grail Wars" that popped up around the globe were proof that the ritual could be mimicked.
The Greater Grail system in Fuyuki was simply a massive, hyper-efficient battery that bypassed the agonizingly complex preparations usually required for a medium, and footed the astronomical mana bill.
For a Lord of the Clock Tower, theoretically summoning a Servant without a Grail wasn't impossible.
The impossible part was keeping them anchored.
Without the Greater Grail drawing prana from the leylines, the mana upkeep for a high-tier Servant, especially a Saber-class, was crushing.
Even for a Phantasmal Species like Rimuru, maintaining King Arthur's existence independently would be a massive, constant drain. For an ordinary human magus, it was flat-out suicide.
"Alright, assuming you can somehow supply the mana…" May sounded unconvinced. "Do you even know where the scabbard is? …Wait. Cornwall?!"
May slumped forward, her dove letting out a pathetic little coo of defeat as she gave up trying to poke holes in his logic.
Then, through the familiar's eyes, she noticed Rimuru tapping the cover of the book he held. The Dukes of Cornwall.
"Truthfully, I can't even guarantee it's still there," Rimuru admitted, a wry edge to his voice. "So, I need to make a trip to verify it..."
He stood up, reaching across the table to gently scoop the magical dove into his hands.
"Well. It's been a while since we went shopping together. How about I accompany you today?"
"You're bragging about taking a familiar on a date?!!" May's voice squawked indignantly in his mind, though the dove nestled comfortably into his palm.
...
Avalon. The Everdistant Utopia.
It was indeed one of Rimuru's long-term targets. But if it weren't for this apocalyptic, heart-rotting curse, he wouldn't have dreamed of accelerating his timeline to hunt for it now.
Without the colossal mana influx of Artoria Pendragon, Saber, the scabbard was nothing more than an indestructible, shiny piece of metal.
Rimuru had no idea if the Great Sage could analyze and replicate Avalon's conceptual healing if he just ate the dormant scabbard. What he did know was that even if replication was possible... he had to activate the damn thing first.
And activating Avalon meant summoning the King of Knights.
Honestly, Rimuru liked Artoria as a character. Her design was iconic. But rationally speaking? Actually living and fighting alongside her?
She'd be a nightmare, Rimuru concluded dryly. Way too rigid. Way too much chivalry.
In a twisted way, Rimuru felt he had much better compatibility with someone like Emiya Kiritsugu. If only the Magus Killer would swap out his "sacrificing the few for the greater good" complex with "sacrificing whatever is necessary for my own immediate survival."
More importantly, acquiring the scabbard seven years ahead of schedule would irreversibly derail the timeline of the Fourth Holy Grail War.
But right now? Rimuru let out a long, exhausted sigh.
Screw the timeline.
He was quite literally dying. Ensuring his own survival and securing his political foothold at the Clock Tower took absolute precedence. As for what happened seven years from now... he'd burn that bridge when he got to it.
He just didn't know if the Einzbern family had already excavated the scabbard from Cornwall yet. He needed to find out.
And conveniently enough, the Einzbern castle is also located in Germany...
Rimuru smirked softly as he walked out of the Grand Library. His main body in Croatia was temporarily safe. Once he regenerated his strength and purged the superficial curses, his next destination was set.
Germany. Round Two.
…
"I am… without sin?"
Three days ago, when Rimuru had stared at the pregnant, silver-haired nun and asked that question, she hadn't answered. She had simply shaken her head, her single eye unreadable, and allowed him to stay.
For the first twenty-four hours, Rimuru had slept with one eye open, terrified of a trap.
But three days passed. The small, secluded courtyard perched on the sloping edge of the border town remained entirely untouched. A few priests and Executors had passed by, but they only ever stopped at the front gate to offer a respectful greeting before moving on.
It made Rimuru realize this nun was far from ordinary, and it gnawed at his curiosity.
He wondered if she had seen through his disguise and recognized him as a cursed victim rather than a true vampire. He wondered if the eye hidden beneath her patch was a rare Mystic Eye capable of perceiving Karma or sin.
But every time he tried to pry, his questions shattered against the impenetrable wall of her quiet, shaking head. She offered absolutely nothing.
It was only now, watching her from the porch, that Rimuru finally understood.
Maybe it isn't some profound Mystery at all, he thought, a bitter, cynical smile twisting his lips. Maybe to her, when an innocent-looking person cries out for help and reaches out a hand... her only instinct is to pull them up.
How laughable.
Rimuru sat on the wooden steps of the courtyard, the setting sun casting long, orange shadows over the dozens of fresh bandages wrapped around his torso.
Just five minutes ago, she had forcibly taken the broom out of his hands while he was trying to sweep the dirt path. She had shooed him back to the porch like an invalid.
[Analysis: Your current emotional state perfectly aligns with the Wizard Marshal's alignment: "Furious at evil, mocks good."]
"Shut up!"
….
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