Seven years. Seven years of tireless construction, quiet prosperity, and an unspoken anticipation of the storm. The initial shockwaves of Rimuru City's declaration of independence had faded, replaced by the humming rhythm of progress. My Divine Blueprints, flowing from my mind to Johnson and Johny's capable hands, had transformed our city. The Theodosian Walls stood complete, an imposing testament to our defiance, bristling with newly developed defenses.
"Your Majesty, the final cannon is mounted on the northern gatehouse," Johnson announced one crisp autumn morning, his face smudged with grease but beaming with pride. Beside him, Johny was already sketching improvements, an endless wellspring of innovation.
"Excellent," I replied, my gaze sweeping over the colossal weapon. It was an intimidating sight: a massive, cast-iron tube mounted on a sturdy wooden carriage, its wide muzzle designed to unleash devastating force. "How are the ballistics holding?"
"Precise, Your Majesty," Johny confirmed, tapping his notebook. "The mana-infused gunpowder provides incredible propulsion. And the simplified loading mechanism means we can fire them faster than any siege weapon known to this continent. They'll chew through any attacking force."
These were no ordinary cannons. They were the first fruits of our industrial revolution, a blend of my past life's knowledge and this world's mana. They were crude by Earth standards, muzzle-loaded behemoths that required careful aiming and a torch to ignite, but here, they were revolutionary. We had also developed smaller, hand-held versions—bulky, single-shot guns for our elite guard, capable of punching through most armor. Our defensive capabilities had skyrocketed.
Miles, ever my steadfast Prime Minister, managed the city with a wisdom far beyond his years. The influx of refugees from the burned villages had swelled our population, providing much-needed manpower for our mines, farms, and workshops. They had been seamlessly integrated, now fiercely loyal citizens, seeing Rimuru City as their only true home. Stanley, my Marquis of Foreign Affairs, expertly cultivated our alliances with the Sunstone Confederacy, the Northern Wildholds, and the Riverland Commonwealth, ensuring a steady flow of trade and vital intelligence. Steve and Marlow, my Ministers of Commerce, had woven an intricate web of trade routes, both overt and covert, establishing Rimuru as a powerful economic hub, rich with mana crystals and advanced goods.
Amidst the relentless drive to build, to fortify, to prepare for the inevitable war, something unexpected had blossomed in my life. A connection, deep and profound, with Lindsy.
She was more than just my Minister of Shadows. She was the one who saw through my masks, who understood the quiet weight of the crown I bore. Her intelligence, her quick wit, her fierce loyalty, and her surprising compassion had drawn me in slowly, subtly. I found myself seeking her out not just for reports, but for conversation, for her perspective, for the warmth of her presence.
One evening, nearly five years into our peace, I found her in her office, poring over complex intelligence reports. The soft mana-glow lamps cast a gentle light on her face, highlighting the determined curve of her brow.
"Lindsy," I said, her name feeling natural on my tongue.
She looked up, her usually guarded eyes softening slightly. "Your Majesty. Need a report?"
"No. Not tonight." I walked over, finding myself reaching out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. It was an instinct I hadn't known I possessed. My past life had been consumed by work, by family responsibility, leaving no room for personal connection. But here, with Lindsy, it was different. It was real. "Sometimes… even a king needs to just… exist."
She gave a small, rare smile, a warmth radiating from her that settled deep within me. "And sometimes, even a Minister of Shadows needs to stop looking for hidden meanings."
Our relationship had grown from there, slowly, naturally, a quiet understanding blossoming into something tender and profound. We started taking walks along the unfinished outer walls in the evenings, talking not of war or strategy, but of dreams, of childhood, of the simple beauty of the stars above Rimuru City. For the first time in either of my lives, I felt truly seen, truly cherished, for who I was, not just for what I could do. I found myself laughing more, truly relaxing, a lightness I hadn't known possible. I loved her. This fierce, intelligent, beautiful woman who moved like a shadow but shone with an inner light.
One star-filled night, on a quiet stretch of the unfinished inner wall, I knelt. "Lindsy," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "my life has been about building, about strategy, about a 'what if.' But you… you are the most beautiful, most real part of this new life. Will you… will you marry me? Will you rule this city by my side, not just as a minister, but as my Queen?"
Her eyes, usually so composed, welled up. A soft, joyful laugh escaped her lips. "Yes, Shouyo. A thousand times, yes!"
Our wedding was a quiet, intimate affair, celebrated within the inner circle of our ministers and my family. It was a moment of pure joy, a brief respite from the relentless march towards war. Two years after our marriage, a new, even more profound joy arrived. Lindsy was pregnant. The news sent a wave of quiet celebration through the city. A direct heir. A future. It solidified the legacy of Rimuru City even further.
As Lindsy's pregnancy advanced, her role as Minister of Shadows became increasingly difficult to manage. Her stealth, her agility, her ability to slip into dangerous situations—all were compromised. We discussed it at length, our hands often clasped, her gentle kicks from within a constant reminder of the precious life growing inside her.
"Your Majesty," she said one afternoon, her voice resolute despite the sadness in her eyes. "I cannot continue to lead the Shadows from the front line. My current condition… it puts the entire network at risk. And I cannot risk our child."
I knew she was right. It was a logical, necessary decision, but it broke my heart to see her step back, even temporarily, from the work she excelled at. "Who will lead, Lindsy?" I asked, though I already had a name forming in my mind, one I knew she trusted implicitly.
"Kael," she stated without hesitation. "My second-in-command. He's been my shadow for years, Your Majesty. His loyalty is absolute, his instincts are sharp, and he's learned everything I know. He can command the network while I'm… on leave."
Kael was a quiet, unassuming man, perhaps in his late twenties, with sharp, watchful eyes and an almost unnatural ability to blend into any background. He had been one of Lindsy's earliest and most trusted recruits, a former scout from a shattered village, whose family had been saved by the Kutsilyo Shadows. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his words were precise and insightful. He was a phantom, perfectly suited to lead the covert operations of Rimuru City.
"Very well," I affirmed, a heavy sigh escaping me. "Kael will be the acting Minister of Shadows. Lindsy, your wisdom will still guide him from the shadows, but your health, and our child's, are paramount."
The transition was seamless. Kael, though solemn, accepted the immense responsibility with quiet determination. He moved with the same fluid grace as Lindsy, his presence almost imperceptible, a constant, watchful guardian over Rimuru City's secrets.
Lindsy, though focused on her pregnancy, continued to advise me, her insights into the political machinations of the noble houses proving invaluable. Our spies, through Kael, confirmed the intelligence Stanley had long warned of: King Leo Von Delgado's royal army was indeed fully mobilized. Scouts had been spotted within a day's march of our eastern borders.
The 7 years of peace, bought by blood and built with sweat, had finally reached its end. The sun, setting over Rimuru City, cast long, ominous shadows across the completed Theodosian Walls. From my position atop the highest tower, I saw it: the distant, unmistakable glint of steel, the organized dust cloud rising from the plains. An entire royal army. Tens of thousands. Their war banners, emblazoned with the Golden Lion of Delgado, fluttered defiantly in the twilight breeze.
"They're here," Miles whispered beside me, his voice grim.
The air thrummed with a low, menacing roar—the collective shouts of a vast army, echoed by the rhythmic pounding of war drums. The ground itself seemed to tremble. My hand instinctively went to my side, touching the hilt of my sword. Lindsy, safe in our chambers, her belly round with our child, was a constant, burning image in my mind. This was it. The true test of Rimuru City. The war had finally come.