The Archetype | Rimuru Tempest x TBATE

There's something in those eyes… it's like staring into a bottomless well. The more human he tries to act, the more you realize he's anything but.

—Arthur Leywin regarding Rimuru Tempest.

.

.

.

Arthur Leywin adjusted the hood of his coat as he stepped out of the Adventurer's Guild with Jasmine Flamesworth at his side. The duo had just reported the completion of their dungeon mission, and their bodies were still dusted with traces and scents of dirt. The cool air of the early evening was a welcome relief after the stifling, enclosed spaces of the dungeon.

The guild hall behind them was lively as usual. It was a familiar rhythm, one Arthur was deeply used to now.

"I'd say this mission went smoother than the last. No injuries, minimal complications." Jasmine said beside him.

Arthur offered a small grin. "Yeah, I know right?"

The two chuckled softly, but their joy was broken as the guild doors swung open behind them. Arthur instinctively stepped aside, turning his head slightly to glance at who had entered.

That was when the air seemed to shift.

Two men strode through the wide double doors. The first was Kaspian, a tall, sharp-featured man who Arthur recognized. He wore suits befitting of the guild supervisor.

It was the second figure that truly froze Arthur in place.

Rimuru Tempest.

He looked about fifteen just as Arthur remembers, give or take, with a slender build that leaned toward feminine but didn't seem frail—just balanced in a way he was unfamiliar with.

His skin was flawless, pale, and smooth, the kind of perfection that felt inhuman. But it was his eyes that stopped Arthur in his tracks. Crimson red, shining with an eerie intensity, with diamond-shaped pupils that added an almost predatory touch.

His outfit was monochromatic with a consistent black tone throughout. A long, dark coat with structured and tailored fit extended past his knees and joined the black trousers underneath. His hands are gloved, covered in black leather. His clothes were uniform and minimalistic.

He was beautiful—impossibly so—and his presence felt far too composed for someone so young-looking. He wasn't ostentatiously powerful, nor did he exude the kind of raw, overwhelming aura one might expect from an adventurer of his level.

Instead, it was the absence of something—an unsettling emptiness where emotion or intent should have been—that set Arthur's instincts on edge. As those calm yet impossibly piercing eyes hovered over Arthur and Jasmine, Arthur felt his stomach churn.

For a brief moment, their gazes met.

Arthur felt it before he understood it—a shiver that ran down his spine, the cold and invasive kind. It wasn't a deliberate malice or even an overt intimidation.

It was simple awareness.

Arthur's hand twitched, instinctively brushing against the hilt of his trusted blade strapped to his belt. Jasmine, standing beside him, tensed as well, her eyes looking at Arthur before settling on Rimuru.

Kaspian walked forward with a faint sigh. "The guild is as lively as ever. I can't believe I missed this place. I don't ever want to go back there ever again."

Rimuru didn't reply. He simply stepped further into the guild. Arthur forced himself to take a step back, not out of fear—at least, that's what he told himself—but out of instinct. As Rimuru passed by, the temperature seemed to drop, an almost imperceptible chill settling in the air. Arthur clenched his fists to steady himself, his breath caught in his throat.

"Excuse us," Rimuru said.

Arthur blinked, realizing that Rimuru was addressing him and Jasmine.

Jasmine calmly stepped aside. Arthur followed suit, though he couldn't stop the tight knot of uneasiness binding his heart.

"Of course," Jasmine replied simply.

Rimuru nodded, his eyes lingering on Arthur for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he turned away, heading toward the quest board with Kaspian in tow.

Arthur exhaled, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath. His heart was pounding in his chest, though he couldn't quite explain why. Rimuru hadn't done anything overtly threatening, hadn't even acknowledged him beyond that brief glance. Yet the sensation of being seen—truly, deeply seen—lingered, like a phantom touch he couldn't shake.

"What was that?" Arthur whispered under his breath.

Jasmine glanced at him. "You felt it too, didn't you?"

Arthur nodded.

"That's not someone you want to cross," she said quietly.

Arthur swallowed, his fingers flexing at his sides. He didn't need Jasmine's warning to know that. Rimuru Tempest was dangerous—not in the obvious, overpowering way of a raging beast or a battle-hardened warrior, but in the quiet, unshakable confidence of someone who had nothing to fear.

They already stepped outside into the cool evening air, but Arthur still couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to find Rimuru Tempest watching him. But the door had already closed behind them, and the chill in the air began to dissipate.

"Let's go." Jasmine said.

◇◇◇

I drummed my fingers on the armrest of my chair, feeling equally bored and curious. Across the room, Kaspian, the adventurer guild's leader, struggled to pour tea with hands that trembled like leaves in the wind. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple despite the cool, crisp air of the room.

Poor guy looked like he might collapse at any moment.

Seated directly in front of me was Virion Eralith, the former king of the elven kingdom of Elenoir. His sharp features exuded a presence of unshakable authority, the kind that could make even seasoned warriors squirm in their seats.

To his right stood two impressively powerful humans. One of them was someone I knew called Baron Wykes, a man whose fiery temper and equally volatile reputation preceded him. The other was a woman I hadn't seen before, who Kaspian introduced as Varay Aurea.

Varay's stark white hair and abyssal black eyes gave her an intimidating, almost supernatural presence. Virion moved with deliberate calm, his hand lifting a teacup to his lips. Yet, when he opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze locked onto mine.

"Rimuru Tempest," he said, his tone steady and commanding. "I want you to become the Grand Marshal of this continent."

"What?" The word slipped from my mouth before I could stop it, my surprise breaking through my usually composed demeanor. That was the first thing he said after Kaspian had practically dragged me into this meeting, his panic written all over his face.

Baron and Varay were the one to debrief me on the context of this meeting.

It was to prepare for the upcoming war with the continent of Alacrya, and they supposedly want me to become the Grand Marshal—a position that is above even the lances and equal to a council member, only below the supreme commander of the army.

I hadn't even settled into my chair properly before Virion decided to drop that bombshell. Now, I have no idea what they saw in me—especially since I haven't revealed any of my big cards as of yet—but they have no valid and real reason to give a supposed mysterious Special Grade a lofty position.

"Did I stutter?" Virion asked.

"You should have," I shot back instinctively, my tone more disrespectful than intended.

Baron Wykes immediately stepped forward, his face flushing with anger. "Watch your tongue, you insolent little—"

Virion raised a hand, silencing him with a simple gesture. Baron stopped mid-sentence, his glare burning with rage. The tension in the room thickened like a brewing storm, but Virion remained calm, his composure unbroken as his sharp gaze stayed locked on me.

I leaned back in my chair, letting my eyes drift across the room as I processed the situation. "So," I began, letting my words drip with sarcasm, "these are two of your legendary Lances? The so-called strongest warriors of Dicathen? Sure, they look impressive enough, but are they just for show, or do they actually do something? Why would you need me if so?"

Baron clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "You fucking—!"

"Baron!" Virion's voice cracked through the air like a whip, halting the man in his tracks. His tone was sharp, commanding, and left no room for argument. Baron swallowed his fury and stepped back, his jaw tightening as he begrudgingly complied.

I allowed a small, satisfied smirk to tug at the corners of my lips. "Careful, Wykes," I said with a threatening tone. "Do you really want to test me again? You?"

Baron's face turned a deeper shade of crimson. That little jab was enough to make my point crystal clear. He glared daggers at me, but he didn't speak. He couldn't afford to.

Turning my attention back to Virion, I studied him carefully. Despite my less-than-courteous behavior, he didn't flinch or falter. If anything, he seemed completely unbothered.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said at last, leaning forward slightly. "I'm not interested in the job."

Virion nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful, as though he had anticipated my response. "I see," he said evenly. "Would you care to explain why?"

I sighed, letting my fingers resume their idle tapping on the armrest.

"I've had my fill of wars and titles," I explained. "Let someone else deal with the mess. That said, depending on how things go in the future, I might reconsider. But for now, count me out."

For the first time during our exchange, Virion's stern expression softened—just a fraction. Was that a faint on his lips? It was hard to tell. Without waiting for him to say anything further, I stood up and adjusted my coat.

"Well," I said as I turned toward the door, "if that's all, I'll be taking my leave."

And then, I walked out of the room.

———

"That Wykes, though. I have to be careful. I don't ever wanna become like that," I said with an overexaggerated sigh as I tied my hair to a ponytail while making my way out of the guild leader's office and down the stairs into the guild's main hall.

The crowd of adventurers had noticeably grown. This was the time of day when they returned from missions to rest or team up with others for new ventures. I paused midway down the staircase, taking in the lively scene before me.

"I don't wanna at all," I repeated to myself in a whisper. I'm doing fine as I am now, but there's a war coming whether I liked it or not. I know things hadn't gone well in my past world, but at this point, I have a huge drive to protect the little peace I've built around myself.

I'll just leave tomorrow's problems to tomorrow's me.

Descending the stairs fully, I noticed a hush fall over parts of the hall as some adventurers turned their attention toward me. Their stares didn't faze me; I was used to it by now. Ignoring them, I moved toward the guild's heavy wooden doors, ready to leave. Just as my hand reached for the handle, the doors burst open with a loud crash. A young adventurer stumbled in, his breath ragged and his clothes drenched in sweat.

But he didn't care.

His eyes darted frantically around the room until they locked onto me.

"Ah!" He exclaimed as he rushed to me with desperation. He held my hand and practically knelt, tears streaming down his flushed face, mingling with the sweat dripping from his brow.

"Your excellency, Rimuru Tempest," he began with a trembling voice. "Please, I need your—"

Before he could finish, I pulled my hand away sharply. It wasn't just that his palms were clammy and unpleasant—though that didn't help—but I didn't even know him. People would kill for a chance to touch me, and this stranger had done so without a second thought.

"Continue," I muttered with an icy voice, letting my tone emphasize the boundaries he'd just crossed.

"R-right," he stammered, clearly shaken. "As I was saying, I need your help. There was a dungeon raid led by an AA-rank adventurer, and I was their carrier. I stayed outside as instructed, but then the safety crystal shattered suddenly. That means they're in serious danger! A dungeon like that shouldn't pose such a threat, especially not to someone of his caliber. He wasn't alone either; the party included Lucas Wykes, Note, and Jasmine Flamesworth—"

He continued, but I didn't bother listening after he mentioned Note and Jasmine. If those guys were in danger raiding a dungeon the assigned team is supposed to be perfectly capable of conquering, then that only meant something went wrong inside or there was some unexpected variable—like a mutated or uncharacteristic beast.

"So, please, I beg of you—"

"Fine." I said simply, interrupting him.

My nonchalant response sent ripples through the hall. Conversations that had been buzzing around me hushed, and I could sense the adventurers' surprise. They'd been whispering about me—accusations of selfishness and arrogance—as if they were any different. I paid them no mind.

Glancing at a nearby table, I caught the four adventurers sitting there—two men and two women—quickly averting their eyes when I looked their way.

"Hypocrites," I muttered under my breath. The oppressive quiet of the hall carried the word farther than I intended, and it earned me several scornful glares. I didn't care.

"Lead the way," I said to the adventurer who had pleaded for my help. He nodded vigorously, his relief evident, and motioned for me to follow.

I was famous in this world, though not always for the reasons I would have liked.

The young adventurer led the way, his frantic energy propelling him forward as he glanced over his shoulder repeatedly to ensure I was still following.

"It's not far," he said, his voice tight with anxiety. "The dungeon entrance is in the northern cliffs. I—I left my cart there when the crystal broke."

I didn't respond and jut followed him silently.

An hour later, we arrived at the Xyrus portal leading to the Beast Glades. Erwin, as he had finally introduced himself during our hurried walk, pointed toward a distant ridge visible from the portal's edge.

"That way," he said. I nodded, his words serving as sufficient direction. That's good enough.

"Stay here," I told him firmly as I prepared to head out.

"B-But—" he began to protest, his face paling at the thought of being left behind.

"No buts. You'll only slow me down," I cut him off sharply. "I can't guarantee I'll find your friends alive, but I'll at least bring back their bodies."

The bluntness of my words made him flinch, but I wasn't about to sugarcoat the situation. His trembling lips opened as if to argue, but he thought better of it and nodded reluctantly.

I'm being nice, I thought to myself, though the thought felt hollow. This didn't feel nice enough, though. Was I doing this for him? For Note and Jasmine Flamesworth? Or was it for myself?

No, I corrected internally. I'm doing this because I'm still part human.

A voice in the back of my mind scoffed at the notion. Not true. You're doing this to secure a favor. Or maybe just to keep up appearances.

I shook my head, frustrated at the conflicting thoughts swirling within me. Ever since becoming a demon lord, my moral compass—if I even still had one—had been unsteady at best. The remnants of my humanity clashed with the apathy that came with my power. I wasn't sure which side would win out in the end.

An anchor. The idea floated to the surface of my thoughts, unbidden. If I had an anchor, something or someone to ground me, maybe I wouldn't feel so untethered.

A familiar face flashed in my mind—not Veldora, though I missed him dearly—but someone else.

My best friend.

An elven woman, fierce yet dependent, wild yet free.

Shaking off the lingering thoughts, I focused on the task at hand. Without another word, I leapt into the air, summoning the bright, bluish wings that had become my signature ever since I assimilated with Veldora's draconic will. They unfurled with a radiant glow, geometric panels shimmering with hues of purple and gold. The light they cast reflected off the rocky terrain below, illuminating the path ahead.

The wind rushed past me as I soared toward the northern cliffs. The landscape blurred beneath me, dense forests and jagged outcroppings that marked the boundaries of the Beast Glades. As the cliffs came into view, the air began to grow colder.

I landed outside with a soft thud.

Before me was the gaping maw of the Dire Tombs, which was the name of the dungeon.

Raphael.

<>

The familiar sensation of Raphael's visualization appearing in front of me like a three-dimensional hologram enveloped me. Using my universal perception in conjunction with his superior analytical powers, Raphael was able to develop a comprehensive map of the Dire Tombs in no time.

Every passageway was laid bare.

Every beast—dead or alive.

Every ore—rare or otherwise.

And finally, a group of struggling adventurers. These adventurers were all A-rank or above, considered the best of the best you can possibly assemble in a dungeon raid. But how helpless they are as I can see.

I extended my hand, feeling the ultimate skill within me that I barely used until now. Uriel.

The spatial powers of Uriel seamlessly connected with the visualization in my mind. With Raphael assisting in the complex calculations, I activated the teleportation as if pressing a button. The familiar sensation of spatial distortion engulfed me, and in an instant, I arrived at the bottommost floor of the Dire Tombs.

The transition was marked by glistening purple and golden lights forming intricate geometric patterns on the ground. No sooner had I materialized than a blazing fireball hurtled toward me.

Shing.

The fireball struck, but it was no more than a gentle breeze against my defenses. I waved my hand, dispersing the smoke cloud that followed. Standing before me, magic staff raised and face etched with shock, was Lucas Wykes. Behind him, Arthur Leywin supported a woman to her feet, their expressions equally bewildered.

Their faces all but screamed, "Where'd he come from?"

Before addressing them, I took a moment to survey the surroundings. Accelerating my perception to a precise level, I expanded my awareness. The room was a massive cavern, lacking any visible supports or pillars. A lush, moist environment filled with vibrant greenery stretched across the space, while the crystalline walls emitted a radiant, natural light that belied the depth we had reached.

Despite the grim circumstances, the cavern's beauty was undeniable.

There are only five of eight remaining, I thought to myself, wondering if I've arrived too late. Still, as long as Note and Jasmine Flamesworth were among the survivors, I considered this a victory. Cold as it might seem, they were my primary reason for coming here.

Those two have a big future, and I want to see them make it big.

The others had not fared as well. While I didn't know where one died, the remaining two were already beyond saving, their lifeless forms entangled within the vines of a titanic monstrosity looming not far from me.

I've read about it.

The Elderwood Guardian.

An S-rank that's particularly powerful even for the classification.

"R-Rimuru Tempest!?" The woman supported by Arthur Leywin shouted in surprise, making every head turn towards her—and by consequence, to me.

"Huddle over here, everyone." I said with a loud enough voice for everyone else to hear. But they really are high-ranking adventurers. A boy with black-hair and glasses, no younger than Arthur himself, rushed to me. So did Jasmine and a blonde man with a missing arm—who I assume is the party leader. Lucas Wykes also made his way to me, albeit with a low and embarrassed presence.

The Elderwood Guardian watched us, its massive, vine-covered form exuding an unsettling calm. Its glowing eyes betrayed no sense of urgency, as though it understood that time was on its side.

"Stay close and stay quiet," I instructed, my voice firm but steady. "Especially you, Wykes," I added, glaring at the boy who could've seriously injured Arthur Leywin had I not appeared in an awfully convenient time.

"I'll handle this."

With that, I strode forward with a leisurely pace. I heard them talking about relief at my appearance—sudden and random as it was. These guys had it rough, but no one will die anymore. Not on my watch. As I put more distance between us, I glanced up to meet the beast's glowing red eyes, an otherworldly gleam that seemed to pierce through the dim air of the dungeon.

We had a staring contest for a moment. Then, without warning, massive vines erupted from the ground, surging toward me like a tidal wave of malice. The vines were grotesque—moist and sticky, likely the reason the fire-attribute mages in the team behind me hadn't been able to do much. Each tendril was adorned with cruel thorns and blades as sharp as swords, a guarantee of certain, painful death for anyone unfortunate enough to be ensnared.

But not me.

"Rimuru!" Jasmine's voice rang out from behind, panic lacing her shout as the vines enveloped me completely. To an observer, it might have seemed like I was another goner, swallowed by the beast's relentless assault.

It's been a long time since someone's been worried about me, I mused, smiling a bit wider than I cared to admit.

"Incinerate."

A single word was all it took. Black sparks ignited within the cocoon of vines, tiny pinpricks of light that quickly grew into an eruption of violent, otherworldly flames. The black fire consumed everything in its path, reducing the vines to ash in an instant. Fragments of burnt and torn plant matter flew through the air, scattering across the cavernous space. Despite the destruction, the beast remained largely unharmed. I could tell it was capable of regenerating its vines as long as it had mana to burn.

The beast leaned back in what I could only describe as surprise. Its hesitation was brief, but it was enough. I thrust out my hand, reaching deep within myself to resonate with the draconic will of the Storm Dragon that lay dormant inside. The black flames I wielded were no ordinary fire—they were mystical, defying the very laws of thermodynamics.

A palmful of black flame appeared in my hand, writhing like a living entity. I crushed it between my hands, then pulled them apart, the flame stretching and shaping itself to my will. It formed a fiery tether between my palms, and as I shifted into an archer's stance, the tether took the shape of a blazing arrow.

The black flame's pulse promised imminent destruction, its ominous glow casting an eerie dark light across half my face.

As if sensing my intent, the Elderwood Guardian began preparing its own counterattack. Stacks of vines twisted and ground against one another, coiling into a massive, spinning cone. The friction generated by the rotating vines produced intense heat and smoke, and the cone began to shine with a molten brilliance. It spun faster and faster, gaining both momentum and penetrating power. While I was confident that I wouldn't lose, I marveled at the intelligence of what was only a supposed mindless beast.

We unleashed our strikes simultaneously. The black flame arrow shot from my hands, a streak of destruction cutting through the air. The spinning cone of vines tore through the space between us, grinding against the air with a deafening roar.

The impact was cataclysmic. The black flame overwhelmed the spinning cone with ease. The flames surged forward, consuming the everything entirely and continuing their destructive path unimpeded. The chamber was rocked by shockwaves, the ground trembling beneath my feet, cracks spiderwebbing through the crystalline walls.

For a moment, the air was filled with crackling flames and the groans of disintegrating vines, and when the flames finally subsided, the Elderwood Guardian lay motionless, its massive frame charred and crumbling.

Its glow in its eyes had dimmed to nothingness as the chamber grew eerily quiet. I lowered my hand slowly, the black flames dissipating into faint embers that vanished into the still air.

I turned towards the group behind me and showed them a beaming smile. "That takes care of that!"