Even before the announcement, a quiet tension had gripped the upper echelons of power across the Cardinal World.
The Festival of Concord—a grand gathering held not long ago in the heart of Nyvaris—had dazzled rulers, nobles, and scholars alike. It was more than a celebration; it was an unveiling of divinity. There, the Supreme One, Varvatos, had descended in presence, walking among mortals. His will was clear, his power absolute, and his authority unquestionable.
It was during this gathering that Varvatos had personally introduced a figure few had ever seen or heard of—a quiet, composed man named Rimuru—to the most powerful beings alive:
Guy Crimson, Luminous Valentine, Leon Cromwell, Draguel, Milim Nava, Ramiris, Carrion, Frey, Clayman, and the aloof Dino.
At the time, many leaders dismissed it as symbolic—perhaps a gesture of favor, or a show of trust. Rimuru had said little. He didn't posture, didn't claim territory or title. He simply stood beside the Supreme One.
But now, everything was different.
Since the festival, kings and queens, merchant lords and scholars had made relentless efforts to reach the heart of Nyvaris—to secure an audience, a meeting, even a whisper of continued relations.
But their letters returned unopened. Their emissaries were halted at the divine barrier that sealed Nyvaris from all entry. Not even the birds they sent—enchanted with tracking spells—could breach its airspace.
Only Dwargon—the mighty kingdom of stone and steel—held an alliance with Nyvaris, forged directly through King Gazel Dwargo. The rest were left to wonder: was Nyvaris retreating from the world?
Then came the sky-born message:
"By the will of the Supreme One, Varvatos, the rightful King of Nyvaris is henceforth Rimuru. Let all nations bear witness."
And just like that, the silence of Nyvaris broke.
Across the world, reactions burst like thunder in every court.
In Falmuth, King Edmaris stood before his war cabinet. "A new king," he said quietly. "And one chosen by the Supreme One himself." The room fell still.
"Our paths to Nyvaris through Gazel have failed," one minister said.
"But now... perhaps Rimuru will answer."
"We must act quickly," Edmaris said. "Draft a formal letter. A respectful offering of friendship."
In Englassia, the Three Lords of Council conferred behind closed doors.
"This is our chance," one of them said. "Varvatos is untouchable. But Rimuru? He is mortal—chosen, yes, but one we might understand, influence... perhaps even align with."
In Raja, Queen Mira stared out over the sea. "I remember him," she whispered to her chancellor. "He stood beside Varvatos, silent. Now he is king."
"Shall we send word?"
"No. We will sail. I will go myself."
In Siltrosso, the merchants were already celebrating.
"The market is shifting," said the gold-robed Speaker of Trade. "The divine crown sits on a new head. That means new opportunity, new terms, new contracts."
"But who is Rimuru?"
"Does it matter? He holds Nyvaris. We go to him."
Yuuki Kagurazaka sat back, brows furrowed. "So he's the new king, huh?"
"You've met him?" asked one of the top guildmasters.
"Once. Barely. At the festival. He didn't say much."
"What's your read?"
Yuuki smiled faintly. "Quiet. But the type that listens before he moves. If Varvatos picked him... he's not ordinary. We'll make contact soon."
"Looks like it's official," Guy said, lounging on his crystalline throne. "Rimuru's the king now."
Rain, standing beside him, crossed her arms. "You were there when he was introduced."
"I was. And I remember something very specific." Guy leaned forward. "Varvatos never introduced people lightly. Especially not to all of us. That should've been our clue."
Draguel nodded in quiet understanding as he read the floating glyphs above his court.
"Rimuru…" he murmured. "So this was Varvatos' plan all along. To place someone none of us expected."
"Shall we reach out?" asked his steward.
Draguel's smile was distant. "We don't need to. He'll come to us."
Most leaders in the West had no record of a "Rimuru." His name had not graced their archives or royal lists. But they knew the will of Varvatos was supreme.
In Farmenas, King Edmund II called for a team of scholars to research every mention of "Rimuru" from the festival.
In Blumund, their ministers whispered: "If Gazel has been replaced... then the world is shifting faster than we can adapt."
In Angelus, the Council of Five agreed to convene a "circle of envoys" to extend diplomatic greetings—wrapped in costly gifts.
And in the shadows, the merchants, nobles, and middle lords who had once placed their fortunes behind Gazel... now redirected their attention.
"A new king sits on the throne of the greatest land in the world. And he is unknown. That means he's approachable—or vulnerable."
"Varvatos does not err. This Rimuru will be important."
"It is time we got to know him."
Within the heavily warded walls of Dwargon's royal citadel, King Gazel Dwargo stood silently in his private chamber.
The chamber was quiet, lined with war maps, crystal records, and ancestral weapons. A heavy sense of thought pressed on Gazel's brow.
The announcement from Varvatos still rang in his mind:
"Rimuru is now the King of Nyvaris."
Dwargon had been the only nation to formally establish ties with Nyvaris. Since the grand festival not long ago, foreign leaders had tried again and again to reach the mysterious kingdom—only to find silence.
Gazel, once the bridge between this world and Nyvaris, had also received no word… until now.
And now, it was not Varvatos, but someone new—a man few of the leaders in the world even recognized.
A soft tremor ran through the stone beneath his feet.
Gazel's hand instinctively moved toward his sword, but he stopped. He recognized the energy. It wasn't magic—it was command. A will far greater than his own.
At the center of the chamber, space folded inward silently, forming a swirling oval of light and mist. No sound. No spectacle. Just a ripple of undeniable authority.
The portal opened, not with flare or flame, but with the quiet certainty of Varvatos' power.
"Gazel," came the familiar voice, deep and calm, echoing from beyond the veil. "I imagine you have questions."
Gazel exhaled. "I do."
"Then come. Nyvaris awaits."
Without hesitation, Gazel stepped forward.
Gazel emerged in a courtyard paved with smooth gray stone, inlaid with blue-glass veins that reflected the soft light of the evening sun. Ahead stood a tall palace with gently sloped towers, glass-paneled windows, and walls adorned with climbing ivy and silver pennants. Soldiers and aides passed in silence, focused, dignified. But every brick and tile was immaculately placed, reflecting deep wisdom and restraint.
This was Nyvaris. Not godly, but disciplined. Not grandiose, but perfected.
Standing at the base of the palace steps was Rimuru.
He wore a well-fitted navy cloak, edged in silver, his expression steady but not cold. He had the bearing of someone newly crowned—shoulders squared, but eyes still observing.
Gazel approached him with a measured gaze.
"So you are Rimuru."
"Yes," Rimuru replied simply. "Thank you for coming, King Gazel."
"Varvatos says he chose you. I trust his word… but I'd be lying if I said I didn't come to see it for myself."
Rimuru gave a small, respectful bow. "Then I hope I can prove worthy of that trust."
Behind them, the grand doors of the palace opened. There, waiting in the council chamber lit by amber glass and a wide skylight, was Varvatos, seated not on a throne but at a long, darkwood table.
He stood as Gazel entered.
"Thank you for coming quickly."
"Of course," Gazel said. "Your silence before this… had much of the world guessing."
"And now they'll stop guessing," Varvatos replied. "They'll start watching. Rimuru's ascension changes the balance. And it begins now—with the two of you."
The three men took their seats as attendants offered drinks and parchment.
The meeting to shape the next age of diplomacy had begun.