Chapter 41: The Market Correction
"I'm going to spend the next few minutes teaching this delinquent the true meaning of a 'downward trend'," I pulse, my voice a cold, resonant frequency that vibrates through the violet-tinted air of the barrier.
Shogo Taguchi stares at his reddened, throbbing knuckles. The arrogance in his eyes is being rapidly replaced by a bewildered rage. He's used to being the hammer; he doesn't know how to react to an anvil that hits back.
"You... you little trash ball!" Shogo roars. His aura flares, the dull light of his [Berserker] skill turning into a jagged, violent crimson.
He lunges again, his movements a blur of unrefined speed. It's the kind of high-velocity assault that would liquefy a normal Goblin. He rains down a flurry of blows—hooks, jabs, and haymakers that crack the stone pavement beneath us. Every strike sounds like a sledgehammer hitting a vault door.
Notice. Target is increasing magicule output to 120%. Impact force is rising. [Obsidian Aegis] is holding at 100% integrity. Diamond Logic is successfully dispersing the kinetic energy.
Azathoth, he's persistent. I'll give him that. But he's fighting like a toddler in a tantrum. No form, no strategy, just raw expenditure of magicule capital. It's an aesthetic nightmare.
I don't bother dodging. To dodge is to concede that his attacks have value. I simply hover there, an unyielding obsidian sphere, letting him exhaust his reserves. Every time his fist connects with my membrane, the sound of the impact echoes through the plaza, a rhythmic reminder of his failure to penetrate my defenses.
"Finished?" I pulse during a millisecond lull in his assault.
"Shut up! Die! Die! Die!"
Shogo draws back his right fist, the crimson light intensifying until it's almost blinding. He's putting everything into one strike—a "total liquidation" of his remaining energy.
"That's enough," I pulse.
[Transaction Domain]
I snap the domain tight. The atmospheric pressure within five meters of me triples instantly. Shogo's foot slips as his own weight suddenly becomes a burden he hasn't accounted for. His punch goes wide, the sheer momentum carrying him past me.
As he stumbles, I glide forward, my surface brushing against his arm.
[Law Manipulation – Copy]
Analyzing Target's secondary attributes... Acquired [Physical Reflex Acceleration]. Soul Capacity usage: 38%. Warning: Overcapacity risk remains manageable, but stabilization is required for further integration.
"You're so slow," I broadcast, the sarcasm in my internal monologue finally leaking into my external frequency. "In the time it took you to miss that punch, I could have filed three patents and a tax return."
Across the plaza, the situation is turning grim. Kyoya, the swordsman, is weaving through our Goblins with terrifying precision, his blade cutting through armor as if it were parchment. Kirara is standing back, her voice carrying over the din of battle, forcing our defenders to freeze in place with her manipulative commands.
And then, I see it. The first "loss" on the balance sheet.
A group of Falmuth knights, taking advantage of the barrier's suppression, have cornered a High Orc laborer near the central storehouse. A spear thrust, a spray of blood on the fresh stone—the Orc falls.
The air in Tempest changes. The cheers of the Falmuth soldiers rise, a cacophony of looters who think they've won the day.
"Rimuru," I transmit, my voice dropping into a dark, absolute zero. "The first casualty has been recorded. The cost of this invasion just went up by an order of magnitude. I'm done auditing. It's time to move to the 'Foreclosure Phase'."
Notice. Magicule Reserves: 94.8%. Location: Western Gate, Tempest. Status: Casualties confirmed. Hostility level: Absolute. Soul Capacity: 38%.
Azathoth, forget the data. Forget the ROI. If these humans want to treat my home like a discount bin, I'm going to make sure the price they pay is their very existence.
Chapter 2.