The winds of Tempest were different.
They weren't sharp with bloodlust like those blowing across the Demon Continent, nor thick with deceit like those drifting over the Western Nations. The air here was... warm. Not in temperature, but in presence. There was a rhythm to the land, a quiet unity between magic and life. Even the magicules in the air didn't weigh down the lungs as they often did elsewhere; here, they shimmered lightly, moving with purpose.
And it intrigued him.
Kiyotaka stood at the edge of a wooded ridge overlooking the capital of Tempest. His cloak—plain, dark, unadorned—shifted gently in the breeze. He remained still, statue-like, yet his gaze missed nothing. Beneath his hood, the subtle glow of violet eyes shimmered with quiet awareness.
He had been watching the city for days.
He had seen the patrols—efficient, but not invasive. He noted the placement of guards, the structure of their defenses, and the natural cooperation between races that once warred with each other. Kijin trading with Goblins, Lizardmen repairing walls beside Orcs. It wasn't a facade. It wasn't manipulation. They truly coexisted.
That was what held his attention.
"A functioning nation founded by a monster. Built not on fear or dominance... but trust."
Such a concept didn't exist in his old world.
There, control came through pressure. Authority was born from design, not desire. Obedience wasn't earned—it was constructed.
But here...
He continued watching from the ridge as children of different species ran past an open market, laughing. An elderly Orc woman handed a fruit to a young Goblin girl who had tripped. No judgment. No division.
"Impossible... and yet, here it is."
In the very center of it all stood one name: Rimuru Tempest.
He had witnessed Rimuru's ascension from afar. The destruction of Falmuth's army. The storm of wrath that birthed a True Demon Lord. But Kiyotaka had not flinched. He did not feel awe or fear when he saw Rimuru rise. He felt curiosity.
What fascinated him was not how Rimuru annihilated tens of thousands...
It was what he did after.
No campaigns of conquest. No executions of nobles. No throne of skulls.
Instead: forgiveness. Negotiations. Order.
"Why would someone who can take everything... choose to build?"
Kiyotaka had wandered across the borders of Jura Forest without a sound. The scouts never noticed him. The barriers did not recognize him as hostile. He had even tested their magical defense systems from a distance—they were robust, layered, intelligently designed.
But none of that would have stopped him had he wished to force his way in.
He hadn't come to attack. He had come to understand.
He was still watching when Tempest noticed him.
"He's been there since sunrise," Benimaru said, arms crossed in the council hall. His crimson eyes narrowed as he glanced at the projection floating above the round table.
The image showed a single figure standing at the forest's edge.
"No movement. No killing intent. Just standing."
"That's creepy," Shion said, hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
"He's not here as an enemy," Diablo said from where he lounged, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Shuna, seated beside Rimuru, nodded slightly. "He hasn't trespassed beyond the outer markers. That much is... considerate."
Rimuru studied the image.
The figure was cloaked. Calm. Not a scout. Not a diplomat. Not an assassin either. There was no signature of power pouring off of him, yet his mere presence sent silent ripples across their perimeter wards.
"He's suppressing his aura," Diablo noted with an amused smile. "Or perhaps... it's more accurate to say his aura is perfectly balanced."
Rimuru frowned thoughtfully.
"You recognize him?"
"No. But I feel him," Diablo said, his tone shifting. "There's something ancient in that silence. Not the wrath of a Primordial... but the weight of design."
That was enough.
Rimuru stood.
"I'll meet him."
Benimaru looked uneasy. "Alone?"
Rimuru gave a reassuring smile. "If he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have waited four days just to stare at us."
The wind barely stirred as Rimuru stepped past the treeline.
Kiyotaka's gaze shifted.
No sudden reaction. No battle posture. He simply turned and watched as Rimuru approached across the grassy slope.
They stopped a few feet apart.
No guards. No tension.
Just two monsters standing in the open air, beneath a pale blue sky.
"You've been watching for a while," Rimuru said casually, his expression open.
Kiyotaka regarded him for a moment longer. Then finally, he spoke.
"I wanted to see what kind of leader could resist the hunger that comes with power."
His voice was low. Calm. Balanced like still water.
Rimuru smiled lightly. "And?"
"I don't understand you. But I want to."
There was no deception in the words. No reverence. Just plain interest—clinical, almost.
"You're not from this world, are you?" Rimuru asked, sensing something now that they were closer.
Kiyotaka shook his head. "I was born elsewhere. Died there. This... is a second life."
"Reincarnated? Like me."
"Yes. But I wasn't reborn as a slime."
A flicker of amusement crossed Rimuru's face.
Kiyotaka pulled back his hood.
The violet eyes glowed faintly. Horns curled elegantly from beneath his dark hair. His skin was pale, but flawless—regal. And his presence, even suppressed, was undeniable.
"Kiyotaka," he said simply.
"Arch Daemon of the Black Lineage. No master. No nation. Only questions."
Rimuru studied him carefully.
"What brought you here?"
"A desire to understand the impossible."
Kiyotaka looked back at the city.
"A nation of monsters that doesn't rely on fear. A ruler who avenged his people with blood, then sought peace instead of conquest. That doesn't exist in my world. I want to know if it's real."
Rimuru didn't answer right away.
Instead, he stepped beside Kiyotaka, gazing over Tempest with him.
For a moment, they simply stood together. Silent. Two reincarnated beings—one born of curiosity, the other of compassion.
"Then come see for yourself," Rimuru said at last. "Stay as long as you like. I won't stop you."
Kiyotaka didn't smile. But there was something different in his expression. A flicker of thought. Possibility.
"Then I'll observe. Not as a guest. Not as a spy. As a student."
Rimuru glanced at him. "Even better. We could use someone who sees differently."
And in that quiet field beyond the forest, the first thread between two minds was woven.
The strategist without a home, and the Demon Lord who welcomed all.
Neither of them knew how far that thread would stretch.
But the world would feel it soon enough.