The Slime Doesn't Die from Mana Transfer-Chapter 107 : Welcome Back

Some things happened just that suddenly.
After the “supervillain kills the whole family” trope, the protagonist shuts themselves away for ten years, finally masters unmatched martial arts, then breaks through countless enemies to confront the villain. Just as they are about to unleash their life’s greatest technique to make the villain kneel, a random thunderbolt comes down from the sky and kills the villain instead.
All those years of effort… reduced to a joke.
If this were in a novel, it would clearly be one of those intentionally disgusting plot twists designed to enrage readers. The result: comments deleted, comment sections locked, ratings plummeting, threads in forums cursing the author until eventually they apologize and rewrite the arc. But by then, the old readers no longer cared, revenue collapsed, and naturally, the story was abandoned.
But reality wasn’t bound by logic.
Rozelite, after braving a week of cold winds in the wilderness to finally reach Triumphal City, hadn’t even had time to find an inn when she heard the news.
The King was dead.
Not assassinated. Not struck down.
He had simply died of old age.
…Which somehow felt even worse than being struck by lightning.
At least if lightning had killed him, she could say it was heaven’s retribution. But dying of natural causes? What explanation was there?
All the strength she had been holding in on the journey—nowhere to put it.
“Is your dad really dead?”
Russell muttered in doubt, “This is way too coincidental. You just came back and suddenly he’s dead. He didn’t fake his death just to avoid seeing you, did he?”
Rozelite shook her head silently.
With the King’s passing, the entire city was under martial law.
Armed guards stood along the streets at intervals of less than ten meters, upright like statues, eyes fixed ahead.
This state would continue until the new king’s coronation was complete.
During this time, anyone who dared to cause trouble in the city would face the harshest punishment.
A strange, heavy atmosphere lingered over Triumphal City. The once-bustling marketplaces felt suppressed. Pedestrians walked quickly with lowered heads, barely daring to speak. Even the adventurers in the taverns, normally the loudest drunkards, now drank cautiously in hushed tones.
“Did you hear? The coronation ceremony will be in three days…”
“The next King—it’s got to be…”
“Ah, no surprise, the First Prince.”
“I was hoping to see some exciting political struggle.”
“Hah? What’s wrong with you?”
In a tavern, scattered whispers buzzed like flies, annoying enough to give someone a headache.
Rozelite sat quietly in a corner, sipping cheap sparkling wine, waiting in silence.
The sun gradually sank.
Dusk lit the clouds red as the guards on the streets began their shift change.
Rozelite rose without a word, leaving a few copper coins by the cup before stepping out of the tavern.
The moment she exited, the slime tendrils disguised as her clothing transformed back into a fitted metallic armor.
【Stealth Lv8】
【Shapeshift Lv7】
【Mimicry Lv5】
Rozelite’s form shimmered, and then her whole body melted into the twilight, almost invisible.
She moved along the shadows cast by the buildings, slipping past torchlight and patrol routes. With years of living in the capital, she knew these paths well. Before long, she reached the palace’s eastern perimeter, where stood an ancient, half-forgotten wall.
Her movements were as silent as a cat’s. Fingers hooking into the cracks, she vaulted over the wall without a sound, landing among weeds in a long-abandoned courtyard.
The palace’s defenses were far tighter than the outside.
Visible guards, hidden guards, overlapping patrols—an almost seamless web.
But Rozelite had grown up here. As a child, loved by both her father and brother, she had been allowed to run wild, exploring every corner. She knew every hidden nook, every gap one could squeeze into.
She stilled her breath, her toes barely touching the ground as she slid like a phantom, timing every patrol gap with precision.
Guided by memory, she wove through servant passages and disused corridors, drawing ever closer to the palace’s heart.
Tap-tap-tap—
A clamor of footsteps echoed down the corridor ahead.
Rozelite slipped behind the pedestal of a massive statue, melding perfectly into the shadows.
From the hall’s end, a group of people approached in a swarm.
At the front was a man dressed in black trimmed with silver, his face set, eyes sharp, radiating undeniable authority. Behind him trailed ministers and generals, spitting out urgent matters in rapid-fire tones.
“Your Highness, the coronation procedure—the third ritual has a dispute…”
“The maintenance team from the Royal Magic Academy has arrived in Skopje, three days’ correction schedule planned…”
“The Finance Minister requests adjustments to the budget for the late King’s funeral and Your Highness’s coronation…”
“The Captain of the City Guard seeks confirmation of the final defense map for the ceremony…”
Voices overlapped, noisy as a marketplace.
But the man’s stride never faltered.
As he walked, his cold, steady voice answered each one in turn.
“The coronation will follow precedent. No changes. Disputes dismissed.”
“Tell the maintenance team to hasten their work. Border duties cannot fail. Defiers will be executed.”
“The budget will be on my desk within the hour. Any excess will be drawn from the inner treasury. At a time like this, why speak of cuts?”
“The defense plan, he can collect my final approval this afternoon.”
With unshakable decisiveness, he handled the flood of state affairs, the group following until they reached a heavy oak door carved with intricate designs—the First Prince’s office.
He pushed it open, giving a final order to his attendants.
“No interruptions. Delay everything for one hour.”
Then he entered alone, shutting the door behind him.
The officials left outside glanced at each other anxiously before finally dispersing under the chamberlain’s signal.
And in that fleeting moment, as the door closed, Rozelite slipped inside like a wisp of smoke, using the crowd’s distraction as cover. She hid behind a heavy velvet curtain, holding her breath.
The office was silent, only faint city sounds drifting through the window.
Wells exhaled deeply.
He walked to the massive desk, not sitting, but pausing in thought with his back to the curtains.
After a moment, he suddenly turned his gaze toward them.
“How long do you plan on hiding there, Roze?”
Rozelite froze, her body stiff.
The silence stretched before she finally stepped out from the shadows.
Her metallic armor shifted back into clothing.
Her youthful face was laid bare, lips pressed tight as she looked at the brother who was both familiar and strange.
“Brother… I’ve returned.”
At those words, Wells fell silent.
A long time passed before he collapsed into the chair, shaking his head with a wry smile.
“Honestly, I’d rather you had rushed in here and punched me. I don’t deserve to be your brother.”
“…But regardless—”
“Welcome back, Roze.”