Capítulo 5: Riches and Home
"They say power corrupts, but watching him casually sip tea while discussing balance-collapsing matters makes me wonder if he's either the most dangerous being alive... or just really into his afternoon snacks. Perhaps both. And somehow, that makes him even more terrifying."
—Regarding Demon Lord Rimuru Tempest.
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Lukas Wykes sat in the drawing room, his head bowed, his hands clenched into trembling fists. The ornate rug beneath him felt as suffocating as the weight of his family's expectations.
"You dare to return with this result?" his father's voice resounded. It felt like a clap of judgment, loud enough to make even the servants in the adjacent hallways freeze in place.
Lukas flinched but didn't dare look up. He knew what he'd see: his father, towering and imposing, the very image of aristocratic perfection, staring down at him with unbridled disdain. His father's sharp, tailored suit and carefully combed hair only added to the oppressive air of anger.
"B-rank," his father spat. "A disgrace to the Wykes name. Do you understand what this means? To our family? To me?"
"I—I tried my best," Lukas stuttered, his voice barely audible. His throat felt raw, as though the mere act of speaking required all the strength he had left.
"Your best?" his father sneered, his boot slamming into the table between them, sending a teacup shattering to the ground. The shards scattered like a constellation of failures across the floor. "Your best isn't good enough, you failure of a son! The Wykes family does not settle for mediocrity. You were supposed to be A-rank at the very least—someone worthy of carrying our name!"
The room fell silent. Lukas's mother sat in the corner, her face nothing but one of indifference, as if the scene playing out before her was of no consequence. She didn't lift a finger to defend him, nor did she offer a word of reproach. Her silence was worse than his father's rage—it was confirmation of his failure.
Her hands, folded neatly in her lap, might as well have been bound by chains of apathy.
"I've invested years into your training," his father continued, pacing now, his fury barely contained. "Hired the best instructors, spent a fortune on your equipment, and for what? To see you embarrass this family?"
Lukas's chest tightened, shame and anger warring within him. He wanted to yell, to tell his father that the test somehow wasn't fair. But the words stuck in his throat, choked by the realization that no excuse would ever satisfy his father.
Then came the blow—a backhand strike across his face so sudden it sent him sprawling onto the cold marble floor. The sting radiated across his cheek.
"You'll train harder. You'll push past this pathetic weakness, or I'll disown you. Do you hear me, Lukas? Disown you!"
Lukas nodded mutely, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His fingers curled against the marble, the cool surface doing nothing to soothe the burning humiliation in his chest.
The reprimand continued for hours. By the time his father stormed out, leaving him collapsed on the floor, the sun had long since set. The once-bright room was now bathed in the dim orange glow of fading lanterns.
Lukas Wykes didn't cry.
The tears that might have fallen were long since burned away by the heat of his resentment and shame.
Instead, he stared at the shattered remains of the teacup. Motherfuckers, he thought.
If they wanted him to be better, he'd be better. Not for them, but for himself. He'd surpass their expectations, but not to earn their approval. No, Lukas would prove his worth by tearing down everything they held dear. If they thought him a disgrace, then he would embrace that role fully. He would succeed not by their rules, but by his own, no matter how vile, treacherous, or self-serving.
A bitter smile curled his lips as he pushed himself off the floor.
The world would see Lukas Wykes not as the failure his family claimed him to be, but as a man who bent everything—and everyone—to his will. The embers of ambition sparked in his heart, ready to consume all who dared to stand in his way.
◇◇◇
Things were busy this summer.
I could tell as I flew over the streets of Xyrus, heading toward the adventurer's guild. The streets below were filled with activity—adventurers haggled over goods, merchants displayed artifacts and potions, and the disorder of conversation filled the air. Raphael had absorbed the contents of countless books from the library, and subsequently shared that knowledge with me, so even though I had only arrived yesterday, I felt like I understood this world's history well enough.
Landing gracefully in front of the adventurer's guild building, I drew far too many curious eyes for my liking. Without acknowledging them, I entered the open doors and stepped inside. The interior was no less lively than the streets. Adventurers of all ranks crowded around the quest board, discussing tasks, sharing tales, or arguing over rewards.
A few conversations faltered as I walked in. I caught snippets of whispered speculation about me—my entrance had clearly not gone unnoticed. Well, when you arrive by flying and look like a teenager, people tend to talk. I had already seen some staring from the windows as I descended.
"Did you see that?"
"Who's that kid?"
"Never seen him before…"
"It's him. The new S-rank…"
Ignoring the murmurs, I made my way to the counter. The receptionist, a young woman with green hair neatly tied back, looked up as I approached. Her eyes widened momentarily, but she quickly composed herself.
"Welcome, sir. How may I assist you today?" she asked politely.
Without a word, I reached into Belzebuth's stomach and retrieved the folded parchment of my quest form. Handing it to her, I said, "I'm here to confirm completion."
Before she could respond, I began unloading the materials I had gathered: shadowed kelp, venomous fangs, and heart crystals. Each item was remarkably large, and the reception desk creaked under their weight as I set them down.
Gasps and whispers erupted throughout the guild. Apparently, these materials were even more valuable than I had realized. I knew the reward was substantial—80,000 gold coins—but seeing the reactions around me confirmed just how extraordinary it was. For perspective, a modest house in this city costs a single gold coin.
The magnitude of this quest's reward bordered on the absurd.
"P-please wait for a moment while I contact the client," the receptionist stammered, clearly taken aback. "A quest and reward of this magnitude will need to be conducted at a more appropriate venue. In the meantime, please follow Aina to a VIP lounge."
At her words, another woman—much younger—stepped forward, bowing slightly and gesturing for me to follow. I nodded silently but paused before moving. As soon as I had dropped my loot, I had noticed it—too many shady eyes were fixed on me. Some adventurers were openly gawking, while others tried to remain inconspicuous. The way they looked at me was enough to predict trouble. I could already imagine them attempting to follow me later, hoping to rob or extort me.
I sighed, irritation flickering briefly in my mind. Better to deal with this now than let it fester.
I've learned my lesson, after all.
It's better not to let humans test my limits.
Or it'll be me who suffers.
The face of a certain Holy Knight flashed in my eyes—someone who I suffered a humiliating defeat from.
"Is something wrong, sir?" Aina asked, her voice polite but otherwise tinged with concern.
Turning to face the crowd, I saw most of them staring directly at me, their greed and curiosity plain as day. I released a small dose of my Lord's Ambition, letting an oppressive wave of pressure fill the room. The air became dense, and the weight of my intent pressed down on everyone like an invisible force.
The effect was immediate. Conversations died entirely, replaced by forced silence. A few of the weaker adventurers collapsed where they stood, unconscious. Others froze, their faces pale and drenched in sweat. Even the more seasoned among them couldn't hide their discomfort, shifting uneasily under the pressure. I didn't release the full extent of my aura—this was just a warning—but judging by the fear and the scent of panic in the air, it was enough.
Satisfied, I retracted my aura and turned back to Aina. I had shielded her from the effects entirely, so she stood there, confused and slightly unsettled but otherwise unaffected.
"Sorry about that," I said, my tone calm and measured, giving her a reassuring smile. "Lead the way, please."
She nodded, her steps quick but steady as she guided me through the guild. Behind us, the crowd remained frozen in stunned silence.
The VIP lounge was located in the farthest wing of the guild, separated from the main hall. The moment we stepped inside, I could tell they made a fancy of this place. Plush chairs and elegant decor replaced the rough, utilitarian furnishings of the main area.
Aina gestured for me to take a seat, and I chose one near the window, overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking, with the sprawling streets and distant mountains bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun.
"Please make yourself comfortable. The client will arrive a little later," Aina said with a bow before leaving the room. I leaned back, taking the opportunity to relax. The lounge was quiet, almost serene.
A dozen minutes of waiting after, I suddenly felt the faint stirrings of several presences near the lounge. Their attempts to mask their auras were amateurish at best, and their intent was all too clear. It seemed a few of the more daring adventurers had decided to test their luck.
Way to have an unsecured VIP lounge, guys, I mentally deadpanned. I sighed again, feeling exasperated but simultaneously amused. Did they truly think they could succeed where so many others had failed? Standing up, I walked to the door and opened it slightly, just enough to let my voice carry.
"If you value your lives, I suggest you leave now."
The silence outside was telling. After a few moments, I sensed the hesitant retreat of the would-be intruders. Shaking my head, I returned to my seat. Some people just never learn.
About ten minutes later, the door opened again, this time revealing a tall, sharply dressed man accompanied by two guild officials.
"Rimuru Tempest, I presume?" he said, his tone polite but edged with curiosity.
I inclined my head. "That's correct."
"My name is Edmund Pevensie, representative of the client for this quest. On behalf of my employer, I extend our deepest gratitude for your efforts."
He gestured to one of the officials, who stepped forward with a large chest. The weight of it was evident from the way the man struggled slightly even with both arms, and when he opened it, the contents confirmed my expectations. Gold coins, neatly stacked and gleaming, filled the chest to the brim.
"Eighty thousand gold coins, as promised," Edmund said. "Additionally, our client has authorized a bonus reward, given the exceptional quality of the materials you've provided."
I raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. The second official stepped forward, presenting a small, ornate box. Inside was a jewel unlike anything I had seen before—its surface shimmered with an iridescent light, and I could feel a potent magical energy emanating from it.
"This is the Mana Core of a Phoenix Wyrm, a rare artifact highly sought after by mages and alchemists alike," Edmund explained. "It's a token of our client's appreciation."
I nodded, accepting the box and placing it in my storage. "Thank you. Let your client know I appreciate their generosity."
With that, the formalities were concluded. As Edmund and his entourage left, I remained in the lounge for a while longer, enjoying the peace and quiet.
Eventually, I stood and made my way to the exit. As I stepped back into the guild's main hall, the adventurers who had witnessed my earlier display avoided meeting my gaze. The path to the door was clear, and I walked through it without a single interruption.
For now, my business here was done.
———
A week had passed since my first arrival in this world, and already I had achieved what many would consider a lifetime's worth of success. I've invested in stocks that Raphael deemed profitable, and helped them accomplish a success they dreamed for years in just days.
I got myself a bank deposit worth over a hundred thousand gold coins, and I've built enough reputation as an adventurer. That's why, I've finally gained the peace of mind to look for a permanent place to stay.
I'm currently looking for a house.
"I believe this particular one suits you best, dear sir," Vincent Helstea said, sitting on the sofa across from me. I leaned forward and picked up the cup of coffee in the tea table between us, and took a slow and deliberate sip. The warmth and depth of the flavor soothed me.
I examined the paper Vincent had handed me, which featured the image and sales details of a particular villa. I studied it for a moment before speaking.
"I heard you owned an auction house," I said, fixing him with a casual but probing gaze as I crossed my legs. "How did you end up in the real estate business?"
Vincent leaned back and relaxed in the sofa. "The auction house was just the beginning. These days, my interests span across multiple ventures. When opportunity knocks, one must answer."
I raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Diversification, huh? I suppose that's one way to stay ahead."
"Precisely," Vincent said with a chuckle. "And in a city like Xyrus, there's no shortage of opportunities for those willing to take risks. But enough about me. What do you think of the villa?"
I glanced back at the paper in my hand. It was a sprawling estate located on the outskirts of the city, far enough from the main bustle of Xyrus yet close enough to maintain convenience. The architecture was elegant yet understated, with large windows and high arches that allowed natural light to flood the interior. The surrounding land was vast, bordered by a beautiful and lush park.
"It's nice," I admitted, tapping my fingers thoughtfully on the armrest of the sofa. "Peaceful, secluded... it fits my needs. But isn't it a bit too quiet?"
Vincent smiled knowingly. "That's entirely up to you."
A part of me enjoyed the idea of a serene retreat, away from prying eyes and unnecessary drama. Yet, another part of me—perhaps the side of me still adjusting to this world—felt the need for a connection, however fleeting, to the people around me.
"I'll take it," I said after a moment, setting the paper down on the table. "But I'll need some modifications."
"What sort of modifications?"
"For one, I'll need a proper workshop. Something spacious, with enough room to experiment freely without worrying about collateral damage."
"Understandable," Vincent replied, nodding as he jotted down notes. "Anything else?"
"A reinforced library," I added, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I plan to gather a collection, and it needs to be well-protected."
"Of course," he said, his pen moving swiftly. "I'll have the best enchanters in Xyrus handle the reinforcement."
"And," I continued, leaning back in my seat, "a secure underground space. For personal projects."
Vincent's pen paused for the briefest of moments before he resumed writing. He didn't ask questions, and I respected that.
"Consider it done," he said smoothly. "I'll have my team start the preparations immediately. The villa will be ready for you within the week."
I gave a small nod of approval, giving him a big smile. "Efficient~ I like that."
My new home.
The thought felt oddly grounding.
A symbol of permanence in a world that had otherwise been anything but.
"I'll expect updates," I said, standing and offering my hand.
"Of course," Vincent replied, shaking it firmly. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Special-Grade Adventurer Rimuru Tempest."
◇◇◇
Vincent Helstea watched Rimuru Tempest leave, his figure fading away as the doors were closed shut by the servants of his manor. He found himself exhaling deeply, for reasons he himself didn't know.
Leaning back in the plush sofa, he mixed the remaining coffee in his cup, lost in thought. Special-Grade, or as they are, S-rank adventurers. The title alone carried a reputation of unmatched strength and prestige, yet meeting Rimuru in person had been quite the unsettling experience. Vincent prided himself on his ability to read people—an essential skill he took pride in and one he credits his success to.
However, Rimuru was an enigma he couldn't unravel.
His outward demeanor had been pleasant enough, polite, somewhat playful and eccentric, but with a confidence that never tipped into arrogance. Yet, it was his eyes—those piercing crimson eyes—that had unnerved Vincent the most.
They weren't the eyes of someone his age, nor even a seasoned adventurer. As if they'd seen more than any mortal should ever witness, and yet they held no burden of time. Instead, there was an emptiness, not cold, but detached. Vincent remembers clearly feeling much the same way when he first saw Arthur Leywin.
Vincent tapped his pen against the notebook he'd used to jot down Rimuru's requests. A workshop, a fortified library, and a secure underground space. The specifics weren't particularly odd for an adventurer of Rimuru's rank, especially one likely engaged in the kinds of research or experiments that required absolute discretion.
But the way Rimuru had spoken, with such casual dominance, left no room for doubt or negotiation. It wasn't arrogance, but rather an expectation that his will would simply be carried out. And Vincent knew he'd comply without hesitation.
"Efficient~ I like that."
The memory of Rimuru's parting smile sent a slight chill down Vincent's spine. It had been lighthearted, even playful, but it hadn't reached those crimson eyes. No, they remained inscrutable, observing and calculating. The contrast was disconcerting. Who—or what—was Rimuru Tempest, truly?
Vincent set the cup down and rose to his feet, walking to the window of his office to take a moment and gaze at the city. Vincent was no stranger to dealing with powerful individuals—kings, adventurers, and influential merchants—but Rimuru felt just felt different in a way he couldn't wrap his head around.
He found himself absently rubbing his hands together, a nervous habit he hadn't indulged in years. Rimuru's aura hadn't been oppressive or intimidating in the traditional sense. Instead, it was a quiet pressure, like standing too close to the edge of a cliff, aware of the vast chasm below but unable to look away.
"Special-Grade Rimuru Tempest," he muttered under his breath. The title now carried a weight far beyond what he'd imagined when they first met.
Shaking his head, Vincent returned to his desk and reviewed the notes he had taken. It didn't matter how uneasy Rimuru made him feel. Business was business, and Vincent Helstea wasn't one to let emotions cloud his judgment. He would ensure that the villa was completed to Rimuru's exact specifications—quickly and without error. After all, satisfying a client like Rimuru was a matter of profit.
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