The celebration did not last forever.
As dawn gave way to a working morning, Rimuru noticed something that had been quietly bothering him since the previous night. The goblins moved with renewed energy, yes—but their bodies were still thin, their injuries slow to heal, their weapons crude even by monster standards.
Loyalty alone would not keep them alive.
Rimuru gathered the goblin elders near the center of the village. Tamura stood a short distance away, presence subdued, listening without inserting himself. To the goblins, he remained Noctis Vale, a silent observer whose depth they did not dare question.
"I want to make something clear first," Rimuru said. "If you follow me, your lives will change. Not just today—permanently."
The elders bowed. "We are prepared, Rimuru-sama."
Rimuru hesitated, then asked the question that mattered.
"What are your names?"
The goblins froze.
Names were not something they possessed individually. Only the chief had carried one—and he was gone.
"We… do not have names," the elder said carefully. "We are simply goblins."
Rimuru was silent for a long moment.
Tamura watched fate shift.
In this world, names were power. To give one was to accept responsibility for the result. Rimuru understood that instinctively, even without knowing the full consequences.
"Then I'll give you names," Rimuru said.
The reaction was immediate.
Shock. Fear. Awe.
One by one, Rimuru named them—short, simple names, spoken carefully, as if afraid of breaking something fragile. With each name, magic surged. Bodies strengthened. Frames expanded. Green skin darkened and hardened.
The goblins changed.
They became Hobgoblins.
The village erupted into chaos—not panic, but disbelief. Goblins stared at their own hands, their voices deeper, their strength unmistakable.
Rimuru staggered slightly, drained.
Tamura noticed instantly and moved closer—not to intervene, but to stabilize. His presence, resonating quietly, helped smooth the ambient magic flow. Rimuru did not even realize he had been assisted.
To Rimuru and the goblins, it felt natural.
To the world, it was not.
Tamura's system chimed.
[Sign-In Complete.]
[Reward: Skill Integration – 「Silent Dominion」]
Effect: Consolidates compatible passive and control-type skills into a higher-order composite skill.
Information reorganized itself.
---
Status – Noctis Vale
Species: Slime (Unclassified Variant)
Existence Tier: Undefined / External
Magicule Capacity:
Constant
Self-Regulating
Zero Waste
Integrated Skill:
Silent Dominion
(Observer Beyond Fate + Presence Suppression + Mental Nullification + Environmental Mastery)
Effect: Absolute perception control, environmental awareness, mental immunity, and threat concealment within a defined radius.
Extra Skills:
Perfect Energy Efficiency
Adaptive Resonance
Threat Assessment (World): Unmeasurable
Operational State: Stable
---
Tamura dismissed the status.
That should keep things tidy, he thought.
---
The Direwolves approached next.
They watched the transformation of the goblins in silence, ears twitching, instincts screaming warnings. They understood what had just occurred.
Their master—by law and by strength—was not an ordinary slime.
Rimuru turned toward them. "You too," he said gently. "If you're going to stay here, you'll need names."
The wolves tensed.
Naming among them was sacred.
One by one, Rimuru named them. Magic surged again. Fur darkened. Bodies grew denser, stronger. Their forms refined into something more lethal, more majestic.
They became Tempest Wolves.
Only the largest wolf remained.
The one who had knelt first.
Rimuru paused before him. "You'll lead them," he said. "Your name is Ranga."
The magic this time was violent.
Ranga howled, body expanding, aura exploding outward before stabilizing into something sharp and powerful. When he lowered his head again, his eyes burned with absolute loyalty.
Tamura observed quietly.
This was canon.
Unchanged. Clean. Proper.
Rimuru sagged afterward, clearly exhausted.
Tamura drifted closer and spoke softly. "Sit. Don't push it."
Rimuru nodded, too tired to question why he had listened.
As the newly named monsters gathered—hobgoblins and Tempest Wolves alike—the atmosphere shifted again. This was no longer a refugee camp.
It was the seed of a nation.
Rimuru looked around, realization dawning slowly. "I guess… this place really does need a name."
Tamura did not answer.
He already knew what Rimuru would choose.
But this time, he let the world hear it first.
The story moved forward, step by step—unaltered where it mattered most.
And beside its growing king, Noctis Vale remained exactly where he intended to be.
Out of the spotlight.
Out of the prophecy.
And very much inside the future.