The space between death and rebirth was cold. Not physically—cold in feeling. There was no light, no sound. Just weightless drifting in a void where memories floated by like dying stars.
But he was awake.
Even in death, something in him remained sharp. Calculating. Watching. Waiting.
And then—
He breathed.
His eyes blinked open beneath a blood-colored sky.
A summoning circle crackled around him, burning with desperate magic. Faint traces of incense clung to the air. Robed figures surrounded him, chanting in tongues barely holding together. Their voices trembled—not from reverence, but from fear laced with hope.
"O Great One," croaked a hunched old priest, bowing low before him. "We beseech you... save our kingdom. The Western Empire's forces have reached our gates. We have no one left. Please... deliver us."
He sat up slowly, eyes calm, body unfamiliar.
He looked down at his hands—pale, elegant, claw-tipped. A strange black mist coiled around his shoulders. In his reflection within the swirling magic, he saw curled black horns above glowing violet eyes.
"This… isn't human."
He didn't speak, not yet. His mind raced—not with panic, but with clarity.
"I've been reborn. Reincarnated."
Memories of a colorless place called the White Room stirred at the edge of his mind. It was far behind him now. But the way he observed people, dissected situations—that hadn't changed.
The kingdom before him? Small. Poorly fortified. Population under thirty thousand, he estimated. Military value: negligible. Summoning technique: ancient, powered by thirty sacrificed priestesses. Outcome: temporary success, followed by failure.
He tilted his head.
"They summoned me to save them. But they have nothing worth saving."
He stood.
And as he did, he felt something shift inside him.
A quiet spark. No—a whisper of understanding.
Instinctively, his vision adjusted. Glowing threads unraveled around every living being nearby. Their thoughts, fears, and intentions danced before him like strings.
"What... is this?"
He inhaled. Then, it clicked.
"I can see... everything."
He closed his eyes.
The knowledge flooded in—not memories, but systems. Names. Descriptions. Powers that didn't belong to the human world.
Unique Skill: Mind's Eye.
He opened his eyes again. The entire layout of the kingdom unfolded before him like a strategic board. Soldiers. Civilians. Nobles. Every heartbeat. Every lie. Every hidden weapon.
Next, he felt a pulse in the center of his mind. Lines connected from him to the men and women around him—not physically, but emotionally.
Unique Skill: Master Puppeteer.
He spoke a word, low and imperceptible. The general leading the guards lowered his sword. The court mage stared blankly, then turned his staff on the prince. The priest who summoned him dropped to his knees, whispering prayers with glazed eyes.
And then it came—like a soft current of light.
Symbols danced around him. Ancient runes, lost languages, formulas for magic and warfare that no human should comprehend.
Unique Skill: Erudation.
In seconds, he understood the circle that summoned him—and dismantled it from within.
He had not moved from where he was summoned. And yet, the kingdom collapsed.
He stood atop the castle's crumbling spire, watching the fires spread through what once was Delwinn.
Not in anger. Not in pleasure. Just calm, surgical silence.
19,870 souls.
He had them. Not consumed. Not transformed.
Stored.
"I could use them. Rise as a Demon Lord immediately."
"But what would that accomplish?"
He stared at his palm, where violet-black energy coiled like ink in water. Something distant tugged at his senses.
A wave of magicules. Dense. Ancient. Trembling with power. It wasn't just magic—it was a presence.
"Someone just ascended."
A name whispered into the currents of the world.
Rimuru Tempest.
A monster. A slime. One who had cast aside weakness and risen above even demons.
He smiled faintly.
"A monster... with restraint and power. Merciful, but not naive. Dangerous, yet idealistic."
"I want to meet him."
And so, the Arch Daemon vanished into the shadows of the world.
No one knew his name.
Not yet.
But soon, they would know Kiyotaka—
The daemon who watched from the dark.
And the world would change again.