Svelten's final curse hadn't been a death sentence. It was a metamorphosis. He had cursed Rimuru to thirst for blood. To become a Dead Apostle.
If the Holy Church figured that out? They wouldn't offer him sanctuary. A terrifying entity capable of slaughtering the White Knight, now mutating into the next Twenty-Seventh Ancestor? They wouldn't take that gamble.
And honestly, Rimuru wasn't going to take the gamble of trusting them, either.
His injuries were catastrophic. Truly, completely catastrophic. If he hadn't devoured Svelten and assimilated the White Knight's ability to knit flesh and restore magic through blood consumption, the "Vampiric Impulse" would have been nothing but a debilitating debuff.
Without that stolen vampiric healing, he would have already been worn down and killed by the increasingly aggressive waves of Executors hunting him.
"Heh. Altrouge didn't even bother chasing me. I'm practically dying at the hands of the Church instead." Rimuru sighed.
He understood the mechanics of the White Knight's anti-healing claws perfectly now. But understanding it only made him realize there was no conventional cure.
[The primary issue is the fatal strike to your heart. As a Phantasmal Species, the heart is not a vital organ for you. However... the conceptual weight of that curse is continuously destroying your vitality. It acts as an anchor. Even if the curses on your superficial wounds are suppressed, the rot at your core causes them to endlessly reopen and worsen.]
"Yeah. I know. Curing it would actually be simple, but I need time and absolute isolation to purge it," Rimuru muttered, leaning heavily against the peeling wallpaper of the room. He ignored the terrified, shivering family huddled by the wall.
"The manhunt is the real problem. Every fight just piles on more damage."
[If it comes down to it, you could request assistance from...]
"No." Rimuru cut the AI off sharply. "That would drag the Archelot family straight into the meat grinder between the Dead Apostles and the Church. And if the Burial Agency digs too deep? Even if May and the Dean manage to protect me, I'd lose my right to stay at the Clock Tower."
Rimuru knew exactly how the scales balanced.
The support of the Dean, the backing of the Three Great Families, and his own political capital as a Lord, those were his ultimate safety nets.
Even if this physical body decayed into ash in Italy, his clone in London had to remain spotless.
If that identity fell, he would truly have no place left in the human world.
No, wait, Rimuru thought, a bitter smile twisting his stolen face. That's a lie. If that happens... my only option left would be to actually join the Dead Apostles.
"Seriously, why the hell did I go to Germany?" Rimuru groaned, rubbing his temples. "I knew Europe was the absolute epicenter of the war between the Church and the bloodsuckers. I knew Germany was practically a Dead Apostle sovereign state." He let out a long, exhausted breath. "And I went in waving a flag, actively hunting for them. Everything went so smoothly at the Clock Tower, it completely blinded me..."
[In layman's terms: you got a big head.]
"...Yeah. Fair enough."
Rimuru pulled the collar of his trench coat up, hiding the festering, blackened claw marks on his neck. He ran a hand through his long, blonde hair.
To avoid exposing his true identity and inviting unwanted scrutiny, he had completely abandoned his hydro-mancy and his signature slime traits.
For the past week, he had been operating exclusively under his newest disguise: Fina-blood Svelten, the White Knight. He moved as a vampire and a phantom.
Until he found a way to permanently cure or suppress the Vampiric Impulse, Rimuru planned to wear Svelten's skin like a burial shroud.
"Since the hounds have already tracked me this far, let's move. I'd rather avoid another fight."
[Do you have a destination in mind?]
Rimuru pushed off the wall and slipped silently out of the house. He dissolved into the thick Italian fog, shaking his head.
"If possible, I want to circle back to Germany. I need to find the Wizard Marshal, Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg."
Zelretch was a notoriously meddlesome, eccentric old man. But right now, Rimuru was banking on that exact eccentricity. An intervention from the master of the Second Magic might be his only lifeline.
"I just hope he doesn't try to make me his apprentice..."
Zelretch. The man whose alignment was literally documented as "Furious at evil, mocks good."
He was a being who would burn with righteous fury at true malice, but cynically ridicule hollow, hypocritical "justice."
Considering the Type-Moon universe's definition of "good" usually boiled down to the Holy Church's fanaticism or Emiya Kiritsugu's trolley-problem utilitarianism... Rimuru entirely understood the old man's cynicism.
The Clock Tower's version of "good" was just as twisted, shaped entirely by magus sociopathy.
If Rimuru had lived as long as Zelretch and seen as many parallel worlds, he'd probably mock this inherently malicious universe too.
Furthermore, based on the old man's canon interactions, like his fondness for Rin Tohsaka and the foundational philosophy he instilled in Nagato Tohsaka, Zelretch's core moral compass was actually surprisingly straight.
And a straight moral compass meant Rimuru could negotiate with him.
[...I seem to recall that, until very recently, your primary objective regarding the Wizard Marshal was to eat him.]
"Well, plans change. Honestly, if it wasn't a matter of life and death, I'd really prefer not to owe him a favor. It's going to make it incredibly awkward to backstab him later." Rimuru sighed as he walked through the mist. "The ability to travel between parallel worlds... it's just too tempting."
[...Your feeding window is closing. It has been exactly 49 hours since your last blood intake.]
Great Sage suddenly warned, shifting the topic.
"Mn. I doubt this sleepy little town has any serious criminals lying around. I'll go find a sleeping homeless guy and just buy a pint off him."
Rimuru reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of lira notes. He paused, a sheepish look crossing his face.
"Oh, right. I forgot to leave cash for that family."
[Send a familiar. Returning in person elevates the risk of an ambush.]
"Good point."
Rimuru nodded. He flicked a single finger. A droplet of clear water materialized, instantly morphing into a tiny, translucent sparrow that took flight, darting back through the fog toward the house he had just vacated.
A few seconds later, the familiar arrived at the windowsill.
Through the bird's eyes, Rimuru saw the scene. Several heavily armed Executors had already kicked the front door in and locked down the perimeter.
"Damn it!"
Rimuru's pupils contracted to pinpricks. He knew exactly what had happened.
The moment he walked out the door, that terrified, shivering family had immediately snitched.
….
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