And just as Rigurd had so proudly declared, it wasn't even noon before the preparations for my expedition to the Dwarven Kingdom were completed.
Impressive. For a guy who used to sleep like a rock beside Ranga, he's moving up in the world.
Rigur was coming with me—predictable. But so was Gobta, which… well. Poor guy. He's definitely going to suffer. A lot. But pain breeds strength, and strength breeds respect. Suffer now, Gobta, rise later.
As for me? I "fashioned" a hoodie. Which is a fancy way of saying I raided the goblins' stash and took a black travel cloak once owned by an adventurer.
I didn't exactly blend in, being a horned, violet-eyed Felborn with a tail. The kind of thing you see once and start telling campfire horror stories about. I may not be a demon, but with my race extinct and collectors crawling everywhere, it pays to be cautious.
Maybe being a slime would've made life simpler.
I sighed and leapt onto Ranga's back, sinking into his shadowy fur. Velvet? Cloud? Whatever it was, the novels seriously undersold this. I could build a throne out of this fur and live like a king.
"Master," Fenral's voice called from behind. Ever composed. Always behind me like a phantom.
I turned to see him, his tall frame cloaked in that ever-shifting robe of darkness, pale eyes glowing like coals.
"Are you sure you do not need me with you?" he asked, tone heavy with quiet duty. "It would take but a moment for me to slaughter your obstacles."
Tempting.
But I shook my head.
"No. I need you here. Guard the village while I'm gone. I don't know what might change if you're with me instead of watching over this place."
And it was true. With Fenral around, events might spiral too far from the expected path—faster evolutions, unintended conflicts, the butterfly effect of putting a nuke into the narrative too soon.
He bowed wordlessly. "As you wish, Master."
With that settled, we set out.
Our supplies? Fruits, nuts—basic stuff. Unlike Rimuru, I needed to eat. I wasn't a blob that could hibernate and self-regulate through magic. At least I got to enjoy flavor. That's a fair trade, right?
Our path followed the Great Ameld River northward. I had a mental map already, but Gobta was guiding us anyway. Apparently, he had made the trip before.
Why though?
As we sped across the land—thanks to our upgraded wolves—I took a moment to marvel again at Ranga.
Unlike in canon, Ranga didn't just evolve with thunder magic. Under my influence, his growth was… different. The surrender of his father, followed by my naming and the dominance of my shadow element, caused Ranga to absorb not just thunder but also darkness.
He was now a Shadow Tempest Wolf—his body laced with arcs of violet electricity coursing between wisps of dark mist that coiled around his fur like smoke.
And yet, even with that power, he was the same loyal puppy underneath.
"Try not to push yourself," I told him.
He howled—and promptly went faster. Of course.
Show-off.
After a few hours of high-speed wind-blasting travel, I started using [Thought Communication] to pass the time.
"Hey, Rigur," I asked. "Who named your brother?"
He perked up with pride. "Ah! Thank you for recalling my name, Sir Akuma-sama! My brother was named by a passing member of the magic-born races!"
Huh. That's not sketchy at all.
"One of them visited your goblin village?"
"Yes, Master. About ten years ago, when I was still a child. He claimed to 'see something' in my brother."
Let me guess… Gelmud.
"Yup. Sir Gelmud, he called himself. Said he would love to have my brother among his men!"
So the demon lords had scouts even back then. I made a mental note. That guy needed to die either way so I could acquire the demon lord Seed.
"…I imagine so," Rigur continued. "But now, we serve you."
I nodded. "Good choice."
We weren't joining any demon horde. I'd make one. One that wouldn't just conquer—no, it would redefine the world.
"Ranga," I said over the link. "Do you still have doubts about serving me?"
There was a pause. Then a deep, rumbling breath.
"…I did, once," he admitted. "When you defeated my father, I feared you. Not because you killed him—but because you could have."
"I didn't."
"No. You spared him. And you named us. You gave me the strength I didn't even know I sought. Now… I understand why Father follows you."
A pause.
"…Though if you'd like a rematch, I wouldn't mind."
I smirked. "I'll be happy to grind your face into the dirt again."
"Heh-heh… If you had gone all out back then, we wouldn't even exist now. We owe our future to your mercy."
He was right. I'd held back a lot. Because I didn't want pets—I wanted people. And now, I had them.
"You've grown, Ranga."
"Ah-hah-hah! To hear such praise…!"
He looked like a 16-foot-tall murder beast with crackling black lightning, but acted like a tail-wagging golden retriever.
And somehow, that worked for me.
We spent the next couple days alternating between rushing through terrain and talking through Thought Communication. I tried not to vomit from the speed. I also found out Gobta once visited Dwargon to sell magical gear. That actually surprised me. He really was a little entrepreneur when he wasn't flying through trees.
Eventually, I got the lowdown on Dwargon's current ruler.
Gazel Dwargo. The Heroic King. Third in line from the original. Strong, just, and terrifyingly competent.
A living legend.
I couldn't wait to spar with him.
"In that case," I asked Gobta, "how long until we arrive?"
"If I had to guess, we should arrive by the morrow, sir! The mountains are already looming!"
Indeed, the sharp peaks of the Canaats towered ahead. The sky behind them was painted in twilight gold.
Three days since we began our journey. No trouble. No interruptions.
Finally, we reached the vast grasslands that spread before the city carved into mountain stone. A place shaped not just by chisel and hammer—but by purpose.
The Armed Nation of Dwargon.