The streets of Tempest were bustling with life as usual. Hobgoblins exchanged conversations in the markets, and Starwolves rested in the shade of the trees, while the scent of roasted meat wafted from the capital's restaurants.
Amidst this peaceful scene, Akira and Diablo walked through the main gates. There was no heavy guard, as the city guards were accustomed to seeing Diablo leave and return abruptly.
However, the moment Akira's feet touched the central plaza, the movement gradually ground to a halt.
Akira wasn't emitting any terrifying aura. On the contrary, he looked entirely normal, but the instincts of the monsters living in Tempest—instincts honed by countless battles—told them one thing: *This young man walking before them was an entity standing at the very apex of the world's food chain.*
"Akira-sama!"
A cry of joy pierced the silence. It was Shion, charging toward him like a cannonball, fully prepared to embrace him with her usual brute force.
But, barely a meter before she could touch him, Shion stopped abruptly. Her feet slid across the grassy ground, and her purple eyes widened in shock. Her body, which had been recklessly leaping forward, instinctively froze in terror of colliding with him.
"Shion?" Akira asked with a calm smile, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong? Aren't you going to hug me and break my ribs as usual?"
"I..." Shion muttered, looking at her trembling hands. "I don't know... my body refuses to move forward. It feels like if I touch you... I'll vanish."
From behind her, Benimaru and Hakurou approached, followed by Shuna, who was carrying a basket of medicinal herbs.
Hakurou opened his third eye and stared at Akira for only a single second before quickly snapping it shut, panting like a man who had just run a marathon. Cold sweat dripped from the old swordsman's forehead.
"You reckless disciple..." Hakurou said in a hoarse voice, his hand unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword. "You went to tame a monster... and returned as the monster itself. There is no longer a vessel for your soul. You are a bottomless abyss."
Benimaru smiled, though his forehead was also beaded with sweat. He took a step forward and placed his fist over his heart with a level of respect he had previously reserved only for Rimuru.
"Welcome back, Akira. It seems the Dark King failed to kill you. All of Tempest owes you its life, and now... we have an impenetrable shield."
"I came back to protect this place," Akira said sincerely. He placed his hand on Shion's stiffened head and patted it gently. Nothing happened to her; instead, she felt a strange warmth that made her relax. "Don't be afraid of me. I am still Akira. The void inside me is just a weapon for your sake."
Shuna smiled in relief and sighed. "Thank goodness you are safe. We have prepared a grand feast fitting for your return!"
While Tempest celebrated the return of its new hero in an atmosphere of warmth and laughter, dark threads were being woven elsewhere, far away from the light.
***
**[Ruins of the Kingdom of Jistav - The Destroyed Castle of the Puppet Master]**
Deep within the wastelands, where the empire of the fallen Demon Lord once stood, the ruins were blanketed in dust and silence. This place had not seen life since Rimuru Tempest annihilated its ruler centuries ago.
In the center of the collapsed hall, where a shattered crimson throne lay, space tore open with a golden flash.
"Layla," the Guardian of the Fabric, appeared, floating above the floor littered with skulls and rubble. She opened her pale hand and dropped a black thread dripping with a glowing golden liquid.
The thread did not fall onto the floor; it sank into a pile of ancient black ash accumulating beside the shattered throne.
**[Higher Administration Intervention: In progress.]**
**[Gathering scattered soul fragments from the 'Akashic Records'.]**
**[Restoring the destroyed entity...]**
The ash began to swirl upon itself in a dark vortex. The dead mana in the ruins was violently sucked toward a single point. Bones formed, then muscles, then skin as pale as a corpse, and finally... a very elegant tailcoat and a decorative magical cane.
A man stood there, his white hair neatly combed, his face bearing cold, cunning features. He blinked, then looked at his hands in absolute shock.
"I... impossible. That Slime devoured me... my soul was completely erased..." the man whispered, his voice trembling between terror and disbelief.
It was **Clayman**, the former Demon Lord known as the "Crazy Pierrot".
"Your thread was rewritten from nothingness, Clayman," Layla said in her cold, cosmic voice, looking down at him.
Clayman raised his head and took a step back in fear when he felt the terrifying, holy aura radiating from Layla. "Who are you?! Are you one of Emperor Rudra's angels?!"
"We are the ones who pull the angels' strings, and the ones who write the scripts of the universes," Layla answered, raising her finger. A golden light flashed and pierced Clayman's forehead, making him scream in agony for a moment before settling down, his eyes widening with the horrifying realization of the information just implanted into his mind.
"Rimuru... disappeared?" Clayman suddenly laughed, a hysterical, manic laugh that echoed through the ruins. "Hahaha! That damned slime who humiliated me vanished from existence?! But... his nation still stands?"
"And that nation is now protected by an anomaly named Akira," Layla said sternly. "We have granted you a second chance at life, and we have upgraded your power. You were a failed 'Puppet Master' in the past because you relied on cheap magic. But now..."
A golden screen appeared before Clayman's eyes:
**[Ultimate Skill Granted: Puppet Emperor, Mephisto.]**
**[Ability: Absolute soul control, unconditional brainwashing, and manipulation of angel legions.]**
"We will give you control over the angel legions in the 'Tenma Great War'," Layla continued, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Gather the armies of the Eastern Empire, move the angels like puppets between your fingers, and make Tempest drown in a sea of blood. That is the price for your new life."
Clayman looked at his new hand, pulsing with a power he had never even dreamed of. The power of an Ultimate Skill. His old, cunning smile returned to grace his face, and his eyes glowed with a deep, black hatred against Tempest, against Diablo, and against everything Rimuru stood for.
Clayman bowed with his usual theatrical flair and tipped his imaginary hat.
"I thank you for this generosity, Higher Administration," Clayman said, his voice dripping with toxic ecstasy. "I shall play you a symphony of destruction that will make the 'Tenma Great War' look like a children's play. Tempest... will burn to ashes!"
And so, the old maestro rose from his grave, armed with the power of the gods, to lead the world into a bloody war against the God of the Void.