That time I got reincarnated as a Tiefling and knew too much

Three months.

That's how long it had been since the end of the Orc Lord's march and the sudden, headache-inducing birth of Tempest—capital city of the "Monster Emperor."

A title I never asked for, mind you.

And in those three months, a lot had changed.

First of all, I've bled. A lot.

Training under Hakuro was one thing. But training under Hakuro and Shizu?

Yeah. Turns out sparring with a centuries-old swordmaster is painful. Sparring with a centuries-old swordmaster while your angry teacher-wife that's also a century old swordmaster that also kicks your teeth in?

Worse.

I barely got a break between Hakuro's ghost-like slashes and Shizu's "helpful" mid-fight fireballs. And every time I hit the ground face-first, Shizu would just stare down at me and ask:

"Learn anything?"

"Yeah," I'd groan. "That dying is preferable."

But… I got better.

I started catching Hakuro's afterimages. Reading the wind before Shizu's blade moved. Learning how to fight not just with strength or speed—but with instinct.

More importantly, I started making real progress with my skills.

I'd spent weeks experimenting with my magicule control—memorizing spells from stories and games, breaking them down, and reforging them into something I could actually use. I wasn't Rimuru, but I had knowledge he didn't. I had theories. Systems.

I wasn't copying magic.

I was inventing it.

The first spell I made was a variation of lightning—[Nerverburst], I called it. Less "zap" and more "short-circuit your nervous system through the air." Then came [Gravemark]—a field that messed with spatial pressure and made it harder for enemies to move without realizing why.

And my favorite?

[Caladrius]—a pseudo-healing construct based on heat manipulation and magicule stitching. Shizu helped with that one. She didn't say it, but I think she was proud.

Beyond the blood, though, we built something. Not just skills or spells, but an actual civilization. Better than canon.

The forest that once crawled with beasts and whispers now echoed with the sounds of hammers striking stone and voices yelling over blueprints. What used to be dense wilderness was now a clearing ringed with buildings that hadn't even existed in canon—stone granaries, two-story workshops, a sprawling mess hall that doubled as a public gathering hall, and an aqueduct system that, by the way, nearly broke Gobta's legs during its first test run.

He even tried to enchant a shovel once. It exploded.

Rigur had evolved into an actual leader, barking orders while riding a hellspider like it was the most normal thing in the world. The orcs had quickly fallen into rhythm—hauling, building, even cooking. It helped that they had no idea how to say no to Shuna, who had somehow become the defacto "princess of logistics."

Benimaru trained the troops.

Shion patrolled the borders.

Mzcore complained about everything.

"All in all, life was good." I sighed, leaning against the window of the very much still-under-construction modernized castle they insisted on calling my palace. It wasn't finished—there were still exposed beams, a few confused goblins trying to figure out what 'ambient lighting' meant, and a suspicious crack on the floor where Gobta may or may not have crashed through testing out a prototype golem suit—but it was coming along.

They'd based it off of those sleek mansions you see in high-end magazines. Black stone, glass windows, minimalism with an edge. Honestly? It fit me better than a ten-story golden monstrosity with gargoyles and spires. I wasn't trying to flex power.

I just wanted something with insulation and good tea.

"Could've fooled me," came a voice behind me.

I didn't even have to turn around.

Shizu stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at me with the same expression you'd give a lazy cat who somehow became king of the country. Her mask was off for once, hanging loosely at her side.

"You could at least try to act like an emperor."

I gave her a flat look. "I am acting like an emperor. One with excellent delegation skills."

"You mean slacking."

"It's called efficient prioritization."

She stared.

I stared back.

Eventually, I sighed. "Fine. I'll try to help later."

"Try not to break anything."

"Tch."

Before I could respond with something vaguely witty, a distant rumble drew my eyes skyward. I tilted my head, squinting past the morning haze to see—

"...Great," I muttered. "More flying horses."

A full platoon of pegasus knights descended from the clouds in formation, their silver armor gleaming under the sun like a synchronized middle finger to my schedule. The banners they bore were unmistakable—black and gold. The Forge Crown of Dwargon.

"They're early," Shizu noted, stepping beside me.

"We already sparred last time," I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "Why is it always me they want to bother?"

"Because you're an even bigger threat than what Rimuru was."

"…Fair."

With another sigh, I pushed off the window and made my way down the stone steps. The outer corridors of the castle weren't fully sealed yet, giving me a view of the plaza where citizens had begun to gather. Goblins in vests, ogres in uniform, even a few lizardmen with spears—they all turned when they saw me walking down.

"Lord Akuma!"

"Emperor!"

"Akuma-sama! Long live the dark majesty!"

Okay, that one was new. Gotta talk to Fenral about training slogans again.

But the best part?

"Lady Shizu! Empress!"

She froze.

I smirked.

"Empress, huh?" I teased, glancing at her sidelong.

"…They'll be corrected later."

"They're not wrong though."

"Akuma."

"Kidding. Kidding."

I lifted a hand, waving casually at the small crowd as we walked, offering a faint smile I'd practiced in the mirror once or twice. The people smiled back.

"Well... Guess It is a good chance for round 2," I smirked.