Altrouge's worldview was incredibly simple: Might makes right.
To the Black Princess, whose very existence was synonymous with tyranny, disrespecting a monarch was a capital offense.
Yet, she didn't order the Black Knight to finish the execution. This specific pack of feral hounds had been assigned to Rimuru.
Overstepping and disciplining them herself would completely undermine his newly minted authority.
Despite her chaotic whims, Altrouge understood the absolute necessity of the chain of command. She had delivered the practical lesson; the rest was up to him. She didn't take a single step past him, remaining a terrifying, graceful shadow at his back.
In her eyes, Rimuru was still thinking like a soft, civilized magus. He wanted consensus. He wanted his subordinates to understand his reasoning.
But Dead Apostles didn't care about ideals or camaraderie.
They followed monsters because monsters kept them off the Holy Church's execution pyres. It was a transaction of blood for protection. Nothing more, nothing less.
Rimuru didn't entirely agree with that brutal philosophy, but he was too new to the vampire underworld to argue the point. He let it drop, turning his attention back to the castle's patriarch.
Jubstacheit von Einzbern, Acht, had watched his synthetic "family members" get ripped apart without a single flicker of grief.
"He seems to have recognized you," Rimuru noted.
"Hmph." Altrouge wrinkled her nose, adopting a haughty, aristocratic air. "If he couldn't even recognize a Princess, the vaunted Einzbern name is truly nothing but an empty shell."
Rimuru mentally coughed. He had distinctly noticed that Acht only broke his stoic facade after the Black Knight drew his signature demonic sword.
The Black Princess herself was notoriously reclusive; it was her two knights who served as her recognizable, violent calling cards.
But seeing Altrouge looking so terribly proud of herself... Rimuru wisely kept his mouth shut.
"Indeed. Even an old relic like myself has heard whispers of Her Highness, the Black Princess."
Acht's contracted pupils slowly dilated. He closed his eyes. When he opened them a second later, the lingering shock was completely gone, replaced by an eerie, glacial calm.
Rimuru recognized the shift instantly. It was exactly what the Great Sage did. Acht wasn't "calming down"; he was a precision terminal severing its own simulated fear subroutines to restore absolute, mechanical logic.
"May I ask what brings the illustrious Black Princess to the Einzbern gates at such a late hour?" Acht's throat moved mechanically, his voice devoid of inflection. "If you require homunculi, this old man can certainly arrange a few premium models as a gift of goodwill."
As he spoke, the surviving maids fell back, forming a tight defensive phalanx around their patriarch. Altrouge's crimson eyes gleamed. She could feel the massive leylines beneath the castle roaring to life.
Deep within the frozen fortress, hundreds of heavy combat golems and advanced homunculi were opening their eyes, breaking out of their cultivation tubes.
Acht was preparing for total war.
Altrouge just laughed. She took a graceful step backward, slipping behind Rimuru's shoulder.
"As much as I'd love a personal tour of the famous Einzbern Workshop, I'm afraid I'm not the protagonist tonight," she purred. "The one looking for trouble is the gentleman right in front of you."
The gentleman in front of me.
Acht shifted his ancient gaze to Rimuru. He took in the pale blue hair tied back in a neat ponytail, the pristine white knight's uniform tailored with intricate red crests.
If this boy hadn't been standing directly in front of the Dead Apostle Queen, Acht would have assumed he was some arrogant, blue-blooded aristocratic prodigy from the Clock Tower. He certainly didn't look like a rotting corpse.
Yet, Acht couldn't get a read on him. The bizarre, bone-white Oni mask completely erased the boy's magical signature, scent, and aura. Even his power level seemed blurry, almost illusorily weak. It was a high-tier Noble Phantasm, completely blinding Acht's sensors.
Meeting the homunculus's calculating stare, Rimuru offered a slight, courteous nod. The golden eyes shining through the mask's slits were utterly freezing.
"A pleasure to finally meet you, Patriarch of the Einzberns," Rimuru said, his voice echoing crisply behind the carved wood. "You may refer to me as... the White Knight."
"The White Knight..." Acht murmured, the gears in his artificial brain spinning rapidly, trying to reconcile the title with the unfamiliar face.
"It's fine if your database comes up empty, Lord Acht," Rimuru chuckled softly. "My objective tonight is actually quite simple. I'm just here to borrow something."
Acht's gaze flicked down to the shredded, synthetic corpses littering the snow. "Your current posture does not strike me as that of a borrower."
You slaughter my people, breach my gates, and then ask for a favor? Do you think the Einzberns are completely spineless?
Rimuru rubbed the back of his neck, sounding genuinely regretful. "Ah, my apologies for the mess. I explicitly told them a strictly non-lethal approach."
"Then this old man has a counter-proposal," Acht replied smoothly, his tone as even as a frozen lake. "I do not know what you wish to borrow, but out of respect for Her Highness the Princess, I am willing to negotiate. However..."
The patriarch's eyes locked onto the feral vampires cowering in the snow.
"Would Your Excellency be willing to hand over the culprits who murdered my clan members? After all, as you just stated... they blatantly defied your direct orders."
Rimuru paused.
Behind him, the feral Dead Apostles who had been enthusiastically tearing the maids apart just moments ago suddenly started shaking violently. Cold sweat poured down their pale faces.
Every vampire knew the golden rule of the underworld: getting caught by the Holy Church meant a quick, fiery death.
Getting caught by a Magus meant a one-way ticket to a formaldehyde tank, where you would be vivisected, grafted, and harvested alive for decades.
Rimuru tilted his masked head, letting the silence stretch.
"Is that right?"
Hearing Acht's proposal, Rimuru paused for a fraction of a second. Then, a low, raspy chuckle echoed from behind the Oni mask.
"You know, as far as compensation goes, that's a perfectly reasonable demand..."
Rimuru narrowed his eyes, peering past the patriarch at the endless ranks of autonomous combat dolls locking into defensive formations. His voice took on a theatrical, mocking lilt. "But then again, your dolls really are dreadfully fragile. If they break that easily... it puts me in a rather awkward spot."
He threw his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. "Well. It seems negotiations have broken down."
….
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