Rimuru wasn't angry that they snitched. Betrayal was human nature; he expected it.
He was angry because by running to the Executors, that family had just signed their own death warrants.
They had witnessed the supernatural. The Mage's Association operated on the principle of concealing Mystery, usually through memory manipulation.
The Holy Church didn't bother with such delicate methods. To an Executor, anyone who had brushed shoulders with demons or heresy wasn't a victim to be saved. They were a contagion to be purged.
Now that the Church and the Association had a working peace treaty, burying the evidence of the supernatural was the one thing they universally agreed upon.
…
Minutes later.
The dense Italian fog completely swallowed the scent of fresh blood hanging over the rural town.
Crimson droplets seeped steadily through the wooden floorboards of the rustic cabin, pooling in the dirt below.
Rimuru stood silently in the doorway of the house that had briefly been his sanctuary. The glowing, blood-red claws he had manifested slowly dissolved from his hands.
Behind him, a mass of black mist surged forward like a cluster of starving tentacles, falling upon the mangled corpses of the Executors.
The mist devoured them, instantly converting their life force into fresh blood that rushed through Rimuru's veins, aggressively knitting together his festering wounds.
Even with the influx of vitality, Rimuru coughed. A thin trail of dark blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
He looked down.
The teenage boy was huddled in the corner, sobbing hysterically over the lifeless bodies of his parents.
Rimuru didn't say a word. He walked over, dropped the heavy pouch of lira he had intended to leave earlier directly in front of the boy, and turned to leave.
The kid wasn't a toddler. He was fifteen, maybe sixteen. Old enough to understand what he needed to do next. The money in that bag was more than enough for him to flee this town, change his name, and disappear for a very long time.
"Are you a vampire?"
Rimuru paused in the doorway.
The boy wiped his tear-stained face, his voice cracking with raw, jagged hatred. "When those men came to the village today, they said they were hunting a demon… and just now, you…"
Rimuru hadn't bothered to hide his approach. In his frantic rush to get back, he had fully manifested Svelten's bat wings and smashed straight through the front door.
"If I am… what then?" Rimuru asked, glancing back over his shoulder. He cut the boy off before the inevitable demand could leave his lips. "I know what you want to ask. But no. I am not the kind of vampire you're thinking of."
"I cannot grant you the Embrace. I cannot give you the power for revenge."
"I just came back to pay for my lodging. Take the money, leave this town, and try to survive."
Rimuru sighed, adjusting the collar of his trench coat. The Executors were dead. Which meant his location was, once again, completely compromised.
"You brought them here!!"
The boy screamed, his voice breaking as he lunged forward, fists clenched in impotent, agonizing grief. "You did this! You have to take responsibility!"
"I should just kill you."
Rimuru didn't even turn his head. His voice was a flat, dead calm that froze the boy in his tracks.
"Good and evil aren't simple concepts," Rimuru said coldly. "If your parents hadn't snitched, they wouldn't be dead right now. They would be alive, and they would have a small fortune in that bag."
"But they chose to believe in 'Justice.'"
"I won't say they believed in the wrong people. But in this world, everyone has to pay the price for their own choices."
Rimuru fell silent. Without another word, his body dissolved into a swarm of black bats, scattering into the night sky.
His heart felt heavy. A complex, bitter knot tightened in his chest.
I'm sorry.
As he flew through the freezing wind, Rimuru murmured to the empty night. Between justice and kindness… I will always choose my own survival.
…
Meanwhile, inside a dimly lit cathedral hundreds of miles away.
A priest stood with his eyes closed, hands clasped in silent prayer before the altar.
Suddenly, the candles lining the pews flickered and died, snuffed out by an unnatural draft. Shadows detached themselves from the corners of the room, writhing and twisting as they delivered their silent, telepathic reports.
"A Dead Apostle wandering like a phantom has been located in the southern countryside…"
The priest opened his eyes, scanning the decoded missive in his hand. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble.
"Based on the physical description and the abilities displayed, it is highly probable we are dealing with one of the Twenty-Seven Ancestors. The White Knight, Fina-blood Svelten."
"Does that mean our vanguard squad is already dead?"
A voice echoed from the gloom. A middle-aged man sat in the back row of the pews, his presence so thoroughly erased he seemed like just another shadow. "Still. If it truly is the White Knight, why is he hiding like a cornered rat?"
"Rumor has it that a week ago in Berlin, an unknown magus clashed violently with the Black Princess. It is highly likely the White Knight suffered catastrophic injuries during that encounter."
"Then this is a golden opportunity." The middle-aged man stood up, stepping into the dim moonlight filtering through the stained glass. "Is the White Wing Lord involved?"
"Unclear." The priest didn't look up from the report. "We don't need to concern ourselves with the feud between Trhvmn Ortenrosse and Altrouge. Let the dogs bite each other. It only benefits us. However, since the White Knight has fled into our territory…"
"An Ancestor, isolated and gravely wounded. Send the absolute best we have. Who are the top-tier Executors currently stationed in Italy?"
"We have three available. However…"
"What is it?"
"…" The middle-aged man steepled his fingers, pausing. "One of those Executors… his wife is currently pregnant. Logically speaking, he shouldn't be deployed on a suicide mission against an Ancestor."
"What is his own stance on the matter?" the priest asked, turning around.
The chance to hunt one of the Twenty-Seven Ancestors was astronomically rare. To the Burial Agency, it wasn't just a duty; it was the ultimate glory.
Hearing the priest's question, the middle-aged man raised an eyebrow. An image flashed in his mind, the face of a young man who worked with terrifying, robotic efficiency. A man who hunted heretics relentlessly, as if the grueling, bloody labor was a form of self-flagellation.
"Knowing him…" The middle-aged man frowned deeply. "He will undoubtedly choose to take the mission."
….
+20 chapters on my p@tr3on: Kazuma_trash
you can join my discord server: https://discord.gg/5Y7uZ2kN2Y
Or in short just click in join via invite link in your discord and enter this code: 5Y7uZ2kN2Y