POV: Meruem
Meruem watched Rossweisse rise into the air on black wings, and for one quiet breath he allowed her to believe distance might make any difference. That illusion of safety ended the moment she began to move, which might have been too quick to follow for most people but not him.
A blue magic circle snapped open beneath her feet, then another at her back, then three more around her shoulders, each one turning in circle as water, wind, and sound gathered into a single layered spell. Her demonic energy flowed smoothly, almost beautifully, with the grace of someone who had spent years training.
She thrust both palms forward.
A torrent of compressed water screamed toward him, wrapped in cutting wind and vibrating sound magic dense enough to grind stone into powder. The blast crossed the sky at terrifying speed, carving a white scar through the clouds and splitting the ridge below from the sheer pressure alone.
Meruem lifted one hand, while his other hand remained in his pocket, and the spell struck his palm and exploded. The water buckled outward in a vast circular spray, the wind peeled apart around him, and the sound magic shattered against his skin with a ringing shriek that made the ground tremble. The blast continued to pour against him for three full seconds, long enough to hollow a trench through the valley beneath his feet, long enough for Rossweisse's eyes to narrow with strain.
Then Meruem closed his fingers and the spell collapsed like glass.
"Your output is exceptional," he said, his tone calm enough that it sounded almost bored. "But you need to work on your efficiency. You're wasting half of your power making noise."
Rossweisse clicked her tongue and vanished in response. She appeared above him, wings folded tight, body reinforced with demonic energy as she drove her heel toward his temple. Meruem tilted his head. The kick passed close enough to stir his hair. She rotated in the air and followed with a second kick, then a palm strike, then a knee aimed for his ribs.
He blocked each attack with the back of his wrist.
Her technique was immaculate as always. Every movement flowed with mesmerizing grace, her body responding with a speed and coordination that surpassed most experienced devils by a humiliating margin. Meruem was quite certain that Rossweisse stood among the strongest devils of their generation, though that fact hardly impressed him given how utterly disappointing their generation was as a whole.
Even so, he did not consider her excellence worthy of special praise. Rossweisse had once been a Valkyrie, trained since childhood to become a weapon in service to Odin himself. Battle had been carved into her existence long before she ever became a devil.
It would have been truely embarrassing if she failed to surpass the pathetic wastes of space that populated most noble houses. He expected nothing less from his queen.
"Put in some more demonic energy, will you?" Meruem said as her fist struck his forearm and achieved nothing. "You need to enhance your strength beyond the limit to have the slimmest chance of harming me."
Her jaw tightened. "Easy for you to say. Maybe try explaining how instead of standing there mocking me."
Meruem smiled faintly and promptly disappeared from her sight. Rossweisse's pupils contracted as his [Alpha stigma] caught the frantic bloom of demonic energy around her nerves. She tried to turn, but she was too slow.
His open palm struck her cheek. The blow was gentle by his standards, and still it sent her crashing through the clouds, down through a shelf of stone, and into the side of a mountain hard enough to bury her in a crater of broken granite. The range shook as snow slid from distant peaks in white sheets.
Meruem descended slowly, black wings spread wide, his hands sliding back into his pockets.
A moment later, the mountain exploded outward. Rossweisse shot out through the dust, blood at the corner of her mouth, eyes bright with fury. Six enormous spectral hands erupted around her, each one formed from layered demonic energy and reinforced with blue-white runes.
Their fingers flexed with enough pressure to crush steel like butter. Their palms burned with rotating spellwork that shifted between water, wind, and sound.
"Show me what you got, Rose!" Meruem said.
The first hand shot at him with incredible speed, leaving a sonic boom in its wake.
He leaned aside lazily and dodged it. The second slammed down from above and he drifted backward, hands still in his pockets, his wings barely moving. The third and fourth tried to close from both sides while the fifth swept upward from below, boxing him in with overlapping strikes. Rossweisse moved in behind them, using the chaos of their assault to conceal her own advance. At least that part showed some thought. She understood how to mask her approach.
Many devils possessing [Queen pieces] tended to specialize excessively in only one aspect of the piece's nature. Some focused almost entirely on the [Bishop] side of the Queen, preferring to fight like pure magicians while relying exclusively on long range spells and overwhelming magical firepower. Inevitably, that approach left them vulnerable in close combat once an opponent managed to breach their distance.
Others pursued the opposite extreme and concentrated solely on the Rook aspect of the Queen piece, training their bodies and close combat abilities obsessively while neglecting ranged capability altogether. Those types often became terrifying at short range yet dangerously inflexible against enemies capable of controlling the battlefield from afar.
Meruem could understand why most Queens chose such paths. Mastering even one specialty to a truly high level demanded absurd amounts of time, talent, and effort which most simply do not have. Attempting to cultivate both aspects simultaneously was far more difficult.
Queens who tried to balance both styles ended up becoming mediocre generalists, competent in many areas without truly excelling in any. Specialists were usually more efficient because they pushed a single strength to its absolute limit.
However, Meruem refused to tolerate that sort of compromise in his own peerage. He demanded that his Queen master both aspects completely. He would not have Rossweisse fight as though she were merely a Bishop or a Rook wearing a Queen piece as decoration. She was a Queen, and he intended for her to exploit every advantage that title granted to its fullest extent.
Meruem stepped through the gap between two fingers as if strolling through a doorway. His [Alpha Stigma] read the current of her magic, the strain in the joints of the spectral hands, the point where the spell thinned when she redirected focus to her own body.
Rossweisse vanished from sight and appeared directly before him, her movements so swift and graceful that the air itself seemed to split apart in her wake. She struck with both fists simultaneously, one aimed toward his ribs while the other surged toward his throat with enough force to shatter steel.
For the first time, he took her seriously enough to parry in sequence. He intercepted her right wrist with his left hand before the strike could fully extend, redirected the second blow aside with the open palm of his right hand, then shifted his forearm upward to absorb the follow through of her attack.
At the same moment, he rolled his shoulder just enough to deny her the angle she sought while his elbow rose into guard position with effortless accuracy, sealing every opening before she could exploit it.
Their bodies blurred across the sky, each collision cracking the air. Rossweisse pressed with admirable ferocity, her wings flaring and folding to change angle, her fists wrapped in rotating sound barriers that made each blow detonate on contact. Meruem blocked all of them. She tried to drive a knee into his stomach and he caught it with his palm.
"You're too obvious with your attacks," he said. "You might as well loudly announce what you're gonna do next like a shonen protagonist."
Her eyes widened as he drove his forehead lightly into hers. The sound cracked like stone splitting. Rossweisse reeled, and Meruem's hand closed around her wrist. He spun once and threw her upward through a bank of clouds. She recovered quickly, spreading her wings, forming a platform of wind under one foot, and twisting her body upright.
A blue magic circle opened beneath Meruem's feet. Thirteen enormous chains erupted from it, each one glowing with frost-blue light. They wrapped around his ankles, wrists, chest, throat, and wings in less than a heartbeat. Runes flared along their length, binding him firmly in one place.
Rossweisse thrust both hands forward and Lightning fell from the heavens. The sky became a white-blue furnace as lightning magic hammered into Meruem's body from every angle. Sound waves folded into blades and spears, striking the same points again and again. The chains tightened until the air around him warped.
Meruem looked down at the restraints with mild interest. "Not bad," he said. "Binding me in one place and bombarding me with spells is not a bad tactic."
Rossweisse poured more demonic energy into the spell. "You really like the sound of your voice, don't you?"
Meruem flexed and the chains shattered instantly. Fragments of blue light scattered across the sky like broken stars. Rossweisse's expression flickered, and that tiny break in composure was enough to miss his movements.
Meruem appeared behind her. "I hope you're not delusional enough to think that was enough to subdue me?"
He seized the back of her collar and hurled her higher into the sky. She tumbled once, forced her wings open, stabilized herself, and looked forward.
He was already there and greeted her with a knee to the stomach. Rossweisse coughed blood as her body folded around the impact. The force launched her downward like a meteor. She hit the ground with enough power to crush an entire section of forest into a circular plain of splintered trees and upturned earth. Meruem landed three paces from the crater's edge.
"You were a Valkyrie," he said, watching her push herself up with shaking arms. "Is this the standard of Odin's guards?"
Rossweisse spat blood onto the broken ground and glared up at him. "Keep talking," she said, voice rough. "It makes aiming easier."
"Your aim is fine. But what use is it when you're too weak to actually harm me?"
A ring of water formed behind her, then compressed into needles thinner than hair. She fired them without warning. Meruem turned his head as the first passed his cheek. He caught the second between two fingers. The rest bent away from him under [Sovereign Pressure] and buried themselves in the mountainside behind him.
The mountain split apart. He was always impressed by the sheer amount of destruction someone below Ultimate-class could cause in this world.
Meruem crushed the needle between his fingers and studied the demonic energy residue.
"You are most dangerous when angry," he said. "That's unfortunate, because anger also makes you stupid."
Rossweisse rose into the air again, breathing hard, blood trailing from her lips. "You know, I don't even care about the spar anymore. I just want to wipe that annoying smirk off your face."
Dozens of magic circles unfolded around her. Water became mirrors. Wind became rails. Sound became a hidden pulse that ran between every circle. Meruem's crimson eyes brightened. Meruem's crimson eyes narrowed slightly as he understood what she was constructing before the attack even began. She was building a shifting field, a mobile array designed to redirect her spells from impossible angles while concealing the true point of attack beneath overlapping waves of resonance.
That was much better!
The first blast came from behind him. And he quickly turned and burned it away with his own flame. The second came from below and his [Sovereign Pressure] crushed it into sparks. The third came from his blind side, although he had no blind side. He slipped past it, then allowed the fourth to strike his shoulder. It burst against him harmlessly.
Rossweisse moved constantly, accelerating between her own wind rails, firing water lances and sound bursts while lightning crawled along the edges of her wings. She was beginning to understand. She could never overwhelm him with single attacks. She had to make the field itself hostile. She had to turn every direction into a threat.
Meruem let her continue. A sound blade struck his neck and broke. A water lance hit his chest and scattered. The difference between a high-class devil and an ultimate was so huge that by mere casual reinforcement of his body, all of her attacks were as harmful to him as feathers.
A spiral of wind wrapped around his right arm, trying to twist the limb out of alignment. He allowed it to pull for half a second, then burned the spell out from within with a flicker of flame.
Rossweisse came in behind the collapse, fist glowing, all her reinforcement gathered into one strike. Meruem caught her fist in his hand. The shockwave flattened the crater further.
"Excellent timing," he said.
He pulled her closer and tapped two fingers against her sternum. The touch detonated [Sovereign Pressure] through her body. Rossweisse flew backward, skipped across the ground once, then tore a long furrow through the earth before she forced herself to stop with both hands.
She stayed on one knee for several seconds.
Meruem waited for her to gather herself. He was not here to crush her after all. Crushing her would have taken no time and taught her nothing. What interested him was the shape of her will under stress. That last flaw had to be burned away.
"Get up," he said.
Rossweisse laughed once, breathless and bitter. "Why didn't I think of that?!"
"Why are you hesitating?" he asked casually. "I told you to fight me with the intent to kill. Surely, this is not the best you got?"
Her demonic energy surged and the sky darkened.
Meruem looked up curiously as something fascinating began to occur. Oh so this is what she has been working on, he observed curiously.
One circle appeared overhead, then another, then dozens more, and soon hundreds spread across the sky. The rings stacked vertically into a colossal cylinder that reached into the clouds. Each circle rotated at a different speed, covered in glowing runes and intersecting patterns of light that connected the entire structure together. The sheer concentration of demonic energy distorted the atmosphere around it. Lightning arced toward the formation. The clouds twisted into a spiral. Even the air trembled beneath the pressure.
Meruem's eyes narrowed with genuine interest. Rossweisse hovered beneath the formation, arms raised, wings spread, blood running from her nose and mouth as the first line of the chant left her.
"By the rings that bind heaven to earth, arise."
The cylinder expanded.
"Let a thousand turn as one beneath my will."
The rings brightened. She looked akin to a fly trapped in a massive hurricane.
"Layer upon layer, harmonize! Circle upon circle, converge!"
Meruem felt the pressure multiply. The ground below them began to sink. From the outside it looked like a typoon of endless magic cricles stacked on top of each other.
"Gather the breath of storms and the fire hidden between stars."
The pathways between the circles ignited in sequence. Demonic energy climbed through the structure, accelerating with each layer.
"Through endless convergence, forge a spear no world can withstand."
Meruem smiled. This was not bad at all. "So that is what you were hiding."
Rossweisse's voice shook, yet she continued.
"May every seal become a path, and every path become judgment."
The array groaned and Meruem saw the flaw before she did. His eyes quickly spot the weakling in this hypercomplex magic array.
One ring rotated milliseconds too slowly. Another output too much demonic energy. A third failed to align its harmonic frequency with the layer above it. The cylinder still looked magnificent to ordinary eyes. To Meruem's special gaze, it was a palace built on cracking glass.
"Rossweisse," he said, voice sharpening. "Stop."
She did not.
"Descend, O celestial engine of annihilation. Erase all that stands before me."
The circles ignited upward through the cylinder. For one breath, the technique seemed stable.
Then the whole sky broke. Hundreds of acceleration rings began firing out of order. Magical lances tore free in random directions, carving through mountains, piercing the clouds, boiling rivers into steam. Sections of the cylinder exploded. Recoil slammed back down the demonic energy pathways and into Rossweisse's body.
Her skin split with light while her bones began to fracture and her magical circuits flared red, then white.
Meruem moved, quickly concerned for his queen. He crossed the distance before the next beam could fire and seized her against his chest. Sovereign Pressure wrapped around them in a spherical shell as the Array collapsed into a gigantic demonic energy detonation.
The world vanished in blue-white light. For several seconds, there was only force.
When the glare faded, half the mountain range had been erased. The clouds had been punched open into a vast circular wound. The ground below had become molten glass. Meruem hovered at the center of the devastation with Rossweisse limp in his arms.
Her breathing was ragged. Demonic energy leaked from her body in violent pulses. Her internal flow had become a knot of broken channels and collapsing pressure points. He placed one hand over her sternum and forced his own demonic energy into perfect stillness before pressing it into her system.
"Breathe!" he said.
She convulsed. He tightened his hold and stabilized the worst rupture near her heart.
"Breathe, Rose."
Her lungs dragged in the air. Meruem's gaze traced every fracture in her flow. He sealed the largest leaks first, then compressed the wild demonic energy around her core, then forced the backlash residue out through her wings in thin streams of blue vapor. It was delicate work.
Demonic energy was chaotic by nature, which was precisely why it was so poorly suited for healing or creation. Unlike light magic, which embodied order and harmony, demonic power was deeply individualistic and violently uncompromising.
Every devil possessed their own unique demonic signature, and those signatures were fundamentally incompatible with one another except in rare cases involving close blood relatives or members of the same peerage.
Within a peerage, the connection created through Evil Pieces made their energies similar enough that they could interact without immediately rejecting one another. That compatibility allowed devils to assist each other's recovery through physical contact by regulating the flow of demonic power and stabilizing damaged pathways.
What Meruem was doing to Rossweisse at this moment, however, went far beyond ordinary healing assistance.
He was forcibly injecting his own demonic energy directly into her pathways and compelling her unstable demonic flow into equilibrium through sheer force of will and control. The process was unimaginably delicate. One mistake would cause violent rejection inside her body and likely destroy her internal pathways altogether.
Attempting something like this was akin to balancing a needle upon a single strand of hair while both were caught in a storm. Such supreme mastery over demonic energy manipulation should have been impossible for a devil to achieve. The only reason Meruem could perform it at all was because of the [Alpha Stigma].
Rossweisse opened one eye. "That was deeply unpleasant to experience."
"Your attack was way too unstable and dangerous."
Her lips twitched weakly. "So it might have killed you?"
"No. Not even close."
She gave a faint, pained laugh, then winced.
Meruem descended to what remained of the ground and set her down carefully. He kept one hand on her chest until her demonic energy stopped tearing itself apart.
"So that's your ultimate attack," he said.
"It was supposed to be," she answered quietly. "Ever since you told me about the Gun Devil… a creature larger than skyscrapers, carrying rifles the size of buildings and capable of erasing cities in seconds… ever since then, I kept wondering how I could reproduce that kind of destruction through magic."
"And you decided to stack magic circles on top of one another?" Meruem asked, sounding strangely pleased that his Queen had managed to take one of his absurd ideas and transform it into something tangible.
"Yeah," Rossweisse answered with a tired sigh. "A single magic circle can only output so much energy before the spell formation begins destabilizing. There is always a limit where the formula collapses under its own burden. So instead of trying to force one circle beyond that limit, I created a sequential harmonic system."
Meruem raised an eyebrow. "A convergent sequence?"
The term convergent sequence, much like the mathematical concept itself, referred to a chain of values that progressed step by step toward a singular endpoint or final limit. It was similar to how there existed an endless chain of fractions between one and two, infinitely progressing toward a value without ever fully escaping the structure governing it.
From what Meruem had observed, Rossweisse's array operated under a similar principle. Every successive layer refined the attack further and pushed the spell incrementally closer toward its ideal destructive endpoint.
"Exactly," Rossweisse said, her eyes brightening faintly despite her exhaustion. "The circles function like linked acceleration chambers. Every ring receives magical energy from the previous one, refines it, compresses it further, and then transfers it upward into the next layer."
Above them, several damaged circles still rotated slowly, their glowing runes flickering like dying stars.
"The formation itself follows what I call a RRCS - Recursive Runic Convergence Sequence. Each circle mirrors the structural formula of the previous ring while slightly increasing rotational complexity and mana density."
"…What does that even mean?" Leonardo interrupted suddenly as he arrived alongside Kuroka and Valerie. "I feel like you're just making shit up to sound smarter. Still it looked cool as hell from far away."
Rossweisse let out a weak laugh despite the thin line of blood at the corner of her mouth.
"Think of it as building momentum," she explained patiently. "The first circle pushes the spell forward. The second circle pushes even harder. The third amplifies that acceleration again, then the next continues the process, over and over and over. By the hundredth circle, the beam becomes a compressed kinetic force wrapped inside layers of magical erosion fields."
"The beam?" Valerie murmured quietly.
"It reaches velocities where most defenses stop mattering," Rossweisse explained. "Physical barriers would collapse from pressure alone. Magic barriers get stripped apart by the friction before impact even occurs. If I can perfect the formation completely, then it should theoretically possess enough penetrative force to injure even an Ultimate-Class entity."
Meruem looked toward the horizon where an entire mountain range had vanished.
"And the cylinder shape?"
"That part is the most important component," Rossweisse answered immediately. "The circles can't simply float independently. They need to remain synchronized through a stable vertical harmonic axis."
A faint grimace crossed her face. "If even one circle deviates slightly, the entire lattice destabilizes and the errors propagate upward like cascading fractures in an infinite series."
The others did not understand a word she was saying but nodded like they did anyway.
"And that means?" Valerie asked with visible confusion.
Meruem made a mental note to improve Valerie's education later. He could not allow one of his servants to appear intellectually helpless in front of others.
"The backlash becomes exponential," Rossweisse whispered. "Every circle amplifies the error in the exact same way they amplify power."
Only then did Meruem properly notice the slight trembling in her hands.
Technique creation was one of the most difficult undertakings imaginable within the world of magic. Most devils could spend centuries studying magical theory without ever creating anything remotely original. Even among high ranking nobles, the overwhelming majority merely inherited and modified preexisting systems rather than inventing entirely new structures from scratch.
Rossweisse, however, was building something truely revolutionary. His decision to reincarnate her as his Queen proved itself more correct with every passing day. She was a genuine prodigy.
"The formation was feeding all of its synchronization calculations through me," she admitted. "Three hundred and eighteen circles… all rotating at different frequencies… all demanding constant correction…" Blood suddenly spilled from her lips. "It's harder than I thought."
Meruem immediately stepped forward, catching her before she collapsed completely.
Valerie quickly moved beside them and began healing her carefully.
Rossweisse remained silent for several moments, staring at the fading remnants of the Harmonic Array overhead.
"The synchronization burden increases too quickly," she muttered weakly. "Once I exceed one hundred and twenty seven circles, the calculations begin overlapping one another faster than I can process them. I can stabilize the trajectory or stabilize the compression ratio, but I can't maintain both simultaneously. My body simply can't keep up with the processing load."
"Then your mind is the bottleneck," Meruem observed calmly.
"I am aware of that," Rossweisse said, frowned slightly.
"No," Meruem corrected. "You misunderstand. Your processing method itself is primitive."
"What do you mean, master?" Her eyes narrowed immediately, exhaustion forgotten for the moment as intellectual curiosity took over.
"You're attempting to manually conduct hundreds of rotating systems at once." He traced several geometric patterns into the dirt. "No human or devil mind for that matter can sustain that simultaneously at your current scale. Your mind must evolve into a distributed framework."
Rossweisse crossed her arms despite her exhaustion. "What do you suggest then? "
"Cognition partition," Meruem said simply. "You can separate your thought processes into independent partitions capable of parallel computation. Divide your consciousness into multiple simultaneous cognitive chambers, each one responsible for a different section of the formation."
Rossweisse immediately understood the implications. "You mean assigning separate mental processes to separate harmonic layers…"
Generally speaking, what Meruem described was hardly revolutionary within the higher fields of magical theory. The Mind Arts had existed for countless centuries as one of the oldest and most feared branches of magic, and concepts such as thought acceleration, cognition partition, parallel processing, memory reinforcement, and emotional suppression were already recognized as foundational principles within the discipline.
What made the Mind Arts infamous was the horrifying degree of danger involved in their practice.
The mind was an organ of terrifying delicacy, and attempting to alter, divide, or enhance one's own cognition through magical means carried risks so catastrophic that even veteran magicians treated the subject with extreme caution.
A single miscalculation while tampering with the structure of one's consciousness could permanently cripple the practitioner's mental faculties. In the best cases, victims merely suffered cognitive impairment, memory degradation, emotional instability, or the complete collapse of higher reasoning.
In the worst cases, their minds shattered entirely, leaving behind little more than empty shells incapable of coherent thought before death inevitably followed.
The danger became even greater for devils.
Demonic energy was inherently chaotic by nature, violent and unstable in ways that made direct interaction with the brain profoundly unwise. Most magical disciplines relied upon circulating demonic power throughout the body or manipulating it externally, yet the Mind Arts demanded that energy flow directly through the nervous system and into the mind itself.
Even the slightest imbalance could corrupt neural pathways, distort perception, or irreversibly damage the soul connected to the consciousness.
Because of this, countless cautionary tales existed throughout history.
There had been arrogant prodigies who sought to master mind reading only to lose the ability to distinguish their own thoughts from the thoughts of others. Some attempted to perfect their memory and instead became trapped beneath the unbearable weight of endless recollection, incapable of forgetting even the smallest detail until madness consumed them.
Others tried to divide their cognition into multiple streams of thought and permanently fractured their personalities in the process, reducing themselves to drooling wrecks that could scarcely remember their own names. Entire bloodlines had been ruined by such hubris.
For that reason, the Mind Arts remained one of the very few magical disciplines forbidden within most academies. Even institutions dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge considered it too dangerous to teach openly. The risks outweighed the rewards so heavily that only the truly desperate, the truly gifted, or the truly insane willingly pursued mastery over the mind.
"Yes," Meruem said. "One section handles the rotational calculations. Another regulates the flow of the demonic energy etcetera."
Rossweisse slowly sat upright despite the pain running through her body. "That would drastically reduce recursive congestion…"
"It would reduce feedback accumulation as well," Meruem replied. "Your current method forces every calculation to pass through the same cognitive pathway. The bottleneck compounds exponentially as the number of circles increases."
Rossweisse's expression sharpened as her mind raced through possibilities.
"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "that would solve almost all of my issues. But I would need a genuine expert to teach me properly so I don't accidentally lobotomize myself. I doubt hiring someone capable of teaching advanced Mind Arts would be cheap."
"Why would we hire one?" Meruem asked, sounding genuinely confused. "You already have one standing in front of you."
The group stared at him. Well, everyone except Leonardo, who clearly failed to understand the sheer absurdity of what Meruem had casually admitted.
"You're serious?!" Rossweisse practically shouted.
"Have I never mentioned this before?" Meruem asked nonchalantly.
"By Lucifer's hairy balls," Kuroka exclaimed, blinking repeatedly. "I knew you were talented, but this is getting ridiculous. How in the world did you even learn something like that?"
"My mother taught me," he answered calmly.
The [Conqueror] trait of House Balam, which allowed its members to project their consciousness into other beings and forcibly assume control over them, was an extraordinarily dangerous ability when used without preparation.
A practitioner risked being mentally overwhelmed if the target possessed a stronger will, and prolonged usage carried an even greater danger. Fragments of the victim's personality, memories, instincts, and emotional impulses could imprint themselves upon the user over time, gradually eroding their sense of self until the distinction between identities began to blur.
It was an unacceptable risk for any serious noble House.
Because of this, every member of House Balam who inherited the [Conqueror] trait underwent intensive training in the Mind Arts from early childhood. The Balam clan became some of the foremost experts in mental disciplines precisely because survival demanded it.
Queen Morena had personally overseen Meruem's education in the Mind Arts (even though he didn't inherit the Conqueror trait) since he was young, drilling mental defenses, cognition control, and identity stabilization into him long before he fully understood their importance.
The soul that eventually occupied Meruem's body had inherited everything the previous Meruem possessed. Memories, instincts, emotional reflexes, mannerisms, habits, and personality traits had fused together instead of one soul simply devouring the other.
They had become one existence sharing the same continuity of self rather than two separate identities struggling for dominance.
That was why traces of the previous Meruem still remained within him.
"This is perfect!" Rossweisse said brightly, genuine excitement overtaking her exhaustion. "You really are amazing, master. Then can you teach me the Mind Arts?"
"Of course," Meruem answered simply. "You're my queen after all. In any case, your close combat abilities still require significant improvement. You continue fighting too much like a pure mage. From now on, you will spar with Belathriel weekly in hand to hand combat. Both of you should benefit from the training."
"Are you sure, master?" she asked carefully. "No offense intended, but I'm significantly stronger than Prince Belathriel."
"Don't underestimate him," Meruem said proudly. "He's my brother after all. Besides, you will fight using only hand to hand combat while he can use everything in his disposal to make it fair."
Rossweisse groaned in immediate misery. Apparently physical conditioning was universally hated regardless of species.
"Are you nerds finally finished with your nerd talks?" Kuroka yawned dramatically. "Because we still have something important to do."
"Why am I the only one forced into hand to hand training?" Rossweisse complained.
"That's not true," Meruem answered calmly. "Kuroka is already prodigious in hand to hand thanks to her Touki and you know it."
"But what about the other two?" Rossweisse pointed accusingly toward Leonardo, who stood casually sucking on a lollipop, and Valerie, who only offered her a sympathetic smile.
"They're training diligently as well," Meruem answered with amusement. "Their development simply follows different directions."
He turned toward Leonardo. "Have you considered what I told you earlier?"
"Yeah," Leonardo replied casually. "I have an idea how to deal with it
"Deal with what?" Valerie asked curiously.
"I don't feel like explaining," Leonardo answered flatly.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to. Stop asking stupid questions."
Integrating Leonardo into the already existing peerage dynamic had been considerably less smooth than Meruem originally hoped. The boy possessed tremendous talent and creativity, but he was deeply antisocial and openly antagonistic toward the others more often than not.
"What do you think is the one weakness all summoners have in common?" Meruem asked the group instead.
"Summoners…" Kuroka said thoughtfully. "I would say the biggest weakness is the classic 'kill the summoner first' strategy. Most summoners pour all their strength into their creations while leaving their real bodies weak and vulnerable. So the best tactic is usually bypassing the summons and directly targeting the summoner."
"That's correct," Meruem nodded. "Which is why I instructed Leonardo to devise a method of compensating for that weakness." He looked toward the boy. "What solutions have you considered so far?"
"Two, actually," Leonardo answered proudly. "Are you familiar with Marvel comics?"
"Yes," Meruem said slowly. "Why?"
"There's this character I really like called Venom," Leonardo continued excitedly. "It's a symbiote that bonds with a host body. The core weakness of summoners is that all their combat potential exists on the outside if that makes sense. Their monsters become powerful while the summoner is still physically fragile.
"So I started wondering what would happen if I reversed the relationship between creator and creation. Instead of creating a monster that fights for me, I create one specifically designed to merge with me. Kind of like living armor. Pretty cool, right? Although I still need to study biology properly before attempting it seriously. I don't want to accidentally create some horrific parasitic abomination that melts my organs."
That was actually an excellent idea.
"The creature would constantly react to danger before my conscious mind fully processes it," Leonardo continued enthusiastically. "Since the monster originates from my own imagination and shadow, its instincts naturally synchronize with my intentions."
Kuroka tilted her head. "Longinus are such bullshit."
"And because it remains connected to your Sacred Gear," Meruem analyzed calmly. "The enhancement scales alongside your imagination."
"Right," Leonardo said with a grin. "The stronger my visualization becomes, the more advanced the organism evolves. At higher levels, I could be super awesome."
"What else you got?" Meruem asked.
Leonardo looked very pleased with himself. "My second idea is rather boring if you ask me. Basically, I create a monster with a pocket dimension inside its stomach and just hide there during fights."
Meruem remained silent for several moments before speaking again. "Have you considered offensive deterrence?"
"…Offensive deterrence?"
"Create consequences for targeting you directly." Meruem continued calmly. "If an enemy attempts to bypass your summons and attack your true body, the action itself should trigger an instant retaliation. Sort of like autonomous guardians, creatures permanently attached to your shadow that activate independently whenever hostile intent approaches your position."
"Yeah… actually, now that I think about it, I have a ridiculous number of options for fixing the weakness."
"Your greatest advantage is imagination," Meruem told Leonardo. "Most summoners are limited to individual creatures. A specialist if you will, while your specialism is omnipotence."
Leonardo stared at him. "Omnipotence…"
"You can create virtually any form of monster, each possessing entirely different abilities," Meruem continued. "What else would you call that? The best way to take advantage of your versatility is to create adaptive creatures specialized against particular enemy races or abilities. And because every creature originates from the same source, they can evolve cooperatively."
"Ohhh," Kuroka slowly grinned. "So if one monster learns something…"
"The others inherit the adaptation," Leonardo finished immediately.
"Now you understand," Meruem said with a grin. He then turned toward Valerie. "Valerie, continue working on Project Mahito."
"Understood, master," Valerie bowed respectfully, though a slight hesitation lingered beneath her voice. Most would have missed it entirely.
Meruem did not. But he decided to address it later instead of now. Honestly, he was surrounded by faint hearted people...well, with the exception of Leo.
His gaze shifted toward Kuroka afterward. "Then, my dear," Meruem said with a gentlemanly bow. "Shall we?"
He had already contacted Rias Gremory and arranged a meeting between Kuroka and Shirone. Kuroka still stubbornly insisted on calling her little sister by her old name.
He could feel Kuroka's hands trembling faintly despite the playful smile she wore.
She was nervous.
After all this time, she was finally going to see her sister again.
...
POV: Alphard Bael
Alphard Bael, current head of House Bael, had long ago reached the point where surprise had become a rarity so distant that he could scarcely remember what genuine astonishment once felt like.
Such detachment was inevitable for a devil who had lived as long as he had, because time itself dulled novelty into repetition, and every event that lesser beings proclaimed unprecedented eventually revealed itself to be merely another variation of an older pattern. Wars rose and fell.
Alliances formed and collapsed. Kings declared themselves eternal before age or something else humbled them. Even revolutions possessed a cyclical quality once one had witnessed enough of them.
Power itself became predictable after sufficient centuries.
As the head of House Bael, Alphard occupied the highest position any Pillar House could realistically attain within the Underworld's political order. The Satans possessed supreme authority in theory, yet even their authority rested upon foundations that houses like Bael had spent millennia constructing.
Everything is temporary - governments change, systems evolve and ideologies shift with new generations. Everything but House Bael. Bael has been here since the beginning and will be here after the end.
Every devil in the Underworld, whether they understood it or not, moved within a world shaped by Bael influence. From peasant villages hidden in the outer territories to the great cities of the underworld, the hand of House Bael could always be found somewhere beneath the surface.
That understanding had given Alphard a calm few could unsettle.
Until Meruem Beleth. The mere thought of the boy caused Alphard's fingers to tighten slightly against the armrest of his chair.
Seventeen!
An infant by devil standards. Yet within the span of mere weeks, that child had managed to challenge assumptions that had endured for centuries with such casual brutality that Alphard found the experience genuinely irritating in a way he had not felt in a very long time.
The ancient belief that no devil could reach Ultimate Class before the age of twenty or more accurately hundred had been treated as a natural law of devil evolution itself, something as fixed and immovable as gravity.
Exceptions had never existed because the very nature of demonic growth rendered such advancement impossible. Even the most gifted prodigies in history had required time for their power to mature fully.
Then Meruem Beleth shattered that law as though it had been made of glass.
What disturbed Alphard was not merely the achievement itself, impressive though it undeniably was. Power could be understood. Genius could be measured. Even monstrous talent still belonged within recognizable categories.
Meruem did not.
That was the problem.
The boy behaved as though the world's established limitations were little more than inconveniences imposed upon lesser beings. There was no reverence in him for the laws older devils had spent centuries building.
No instinctive caution before ancient authority. No awareness of where he was expected to stand within the hierarchy of the Underworld.
Worst of all, Meruem looked upon House Bael with a kind of dismissive contempt that bordered on the surreal. As though Bael itself were merely an obstacle to be removed once it became troublesome enough.
That, more than the boy's strength, grated upon Alphard's nerves.
The world made sense when power produced proportionate reactions. Even hatred possessed logic. Enemies feared House Bael because they understood its weight. Rivals respected it because they recognized the consequences of disrespect.
Every political interaction ultimately revolved around acknowledgment of Bael supremacy, whether openly expressed or quietly accommodated.
Meruem disrupted that balance simply by existing.
The boy treated House Bael the way older devils treated minor noble families that barked too loudly at formal gatherings. There was irritation in his attitude, impatience certainly, perhaps even disgust, yet there was no intimidation whatsoever.
Alphard found that profoundly unnatural.
It irritated him further that Sirzechs Lucifer had successfully maneuvered House Bael into accepting the Rating Game proposal. Even now, Alphard disliked remembering the conversation.
One third of Bael territory!
Even now, the demand felt absurd. No sane negotiator would have requested such terms for disputed borderlands that were vastly smaller in scale. Yet Meruem had understood something important. The negotiation had never truly been about land. It had been about humiliation, leverage, and forcing House Bael into visible concession before the eyes of the Underworld.
For perhaps the first time in centuries, Alphard had been compelled to yield ground publicly to someone outside the authority of the Satans.
A seventeen-year-old boy.
The irony would have been amusing under different circumstances.
Still, irritation alone would have been manageable. Alphard had endured irritating rivals before. Time eventually buried all of them.
Meruem inspired something rarer.
Uncertainty.
Every era occasionally produced singular figures who stood outside conventional expectations, individuals who disrupted the natural rhythm of history simply by existing within it. Most burned brightly before collapsing beneath the weight of their own excesses. A few reshaped entire civilizations.
Alphard found himself wondering which kind Meruem Beleth would become. And for the first time in many centuries, the answer genuinely eluded him.
He knocked gently upon the door and entered calmly into a room that looked deceptively simple, lacking the gaudy excess and vulgar displays of wealth so common among the greater noble houses.
There were no mountains of gold, no enchanted chandeliers dripping with gemstones, no walls screaming pedigree through expensive vanity. The chamber instead possessed a quite elegance that somehow carried far greater majesty than open extravagance ever could. Every object had purpose, every piece of furniture seemed chosen with deliberate care, and the quiet atmosphere of the room carried the oppressive confidence of old power that no longer needed to advertise itself.
Alphard fell to his knees the moment he entered, lowering himself into full prostration before his mighty ancestor.
The man seated calmly upon the chair with a book resting in his hand could only be described as the embodiment of refinement.
Zekram Bael appeared as a middle-aged man with neatly kept black hair streaked faintly with silver at the temples, giving him the distinguished appearance of someone untouched by the decay of age yet impossibly ancient all the same. His violet eyes were calm and serene, carrying none of the obvious menace one would expect from one of the most terrifying figures in devil history.
That tranquility only made him more unsettling. There was an immense stillness about him, the kind possessed by beings so powerful that they no longer needed to assert dominance openly. His nobleman's attire was immaculate without being ostentatious, dark fabrics embroidered with subtle silver patterns that only revealed their craftsmanship upon close inspection.
Even seated casually with a book in hand, he carried himself with the effortless authority of someone who had spent millennia shaping the course of the Underworld itself.
"Good evening, Ancestor. I hope I do not disturb," Alphard spoke respectfully.
"Rise, Alphard," Zekram Bael said calmly. "How was your meeting with Sirzechs?"
Alphard immediately reported everything without omitting a single detail. He spoke of the proposed rating game between Bael and Beleth, the conditions attached to it, the demand for one third of Bael's territory, and the agreement that the tournament would occur two years from now. Throughout the entire report, Zekram remained completely composed, neither interrupting nor showing surprise at any point.
"The Beleth boy is quite ambitious, would you not agree?" Zekram said at last with deep laughter that filled the room warmly. "Though I do find myself wondering whether that ambition is merely the arrogance of youth, or whether he possesses something substantial enough to justify such confidence."
"With all due respect, Ancestor," Alphard said carefully, "I believe the boy has already proven beyond any reasonable doubt that he is someone to be taken seriously. What he has accomplished is simply unprecedented. Even Sirzechs Lucifer and Ajuka Beelzebub can not claim the same."
"Not unprecedented," Zekram Bael corrected calmly.
"Pardon?" Alphard said with visible surprise. "You mean to tell me there has been another individual who reached the realm of the Ultimate-Class before the age of twenty? The vast majority of devils never achieve such a level even after thousands of years!"
"The age at which he achieved it is not relevant," Zekram said calmly as he closed the book in his hand. "The true peculiarity lies elsewhere. The boy advanced from an ordinary High-Class devil to a genuine Ultimate-Class existence within the span of roughly two years. Perhaps even less. Tell me, Alphard, from the perspective of pure demonic energy reserves, how large is the gap between a High-Class devil and an Ultimate-Class one?"
"It depends upon the specific individual," Alphard answered after a moment of thought. "But, a low Ultimate-Class devil would generally possess somewhere between twelve and fourteen times the demonic energy reserves of a standard High-Class devil. A middle Ultimate-Class devil could possess sixteen times or more."
"Precisely," Zekram replied. "For a High-Class devil to ascend into the realm of the Ultimate-Class, their demonic reserves must expand by factors so enormous that most devils require millennia of accumulation to bridge that gap, even under rigorous training and ideal conditions. Throughout recorded history there have only been three clear exceptions to that principle."
"Sirzechs, Ajuka, and Him?" Alphard asked slowly, uncertain where his ancestor intended to lead the conversation.
Even thinking of the third Super Devil left a bitter discomfort in him. The son of Lucifer was not a pleasant subject for any devil of sound mind.
"Yes," Zekram said. "Those three were born possessing reserves so vast that they effectively began life already standing at the threshold of High-Class. Still even they required decades before they reached the realm of the Ultimate-Class. Rizevim himself didn't fully ascend into that category until his late fifties."
"Are you suggesting the Beleth boy's rise is unnatural?" Alphard asked directly.
"You would be a fool to conclude otherwise," Zekram answered calmly. "It's simply impossible for a devil to become Ultimate-Class within two years through ordinary means."
"Ordinary means?" Alphard repeated carefully.
"Yes, ordinary means," Zekram said. "The reason I stated that his rise wasn't unprecedented is because there was another case somewhat similar a little over four thousand years ago, before the Great Flood."
Alphard could not conceal the shock that crossed his face. "Who was it? Surely the Underworld would remember someone like that. There would be records."
"Not if every record of him had been deliberately erased," Zekram said with a strangely fond smile. "Tell me, have you ever heard the tales of Moloch the Blasphemer?"
"I can't say that I have," Alphard admitted.
"He was the eldest son of Lucifer."
The words struck Alphard with enough force that he momentarily forgot how to breathe.
"A son of Lucifer?" he repeated in disbelief. "I thought Lucifer only ever had one son."
The revelation felt utterly absurd, almost sacrilegious in scale. Alphard could scarcely process it. It was akin to telling a devout Christian that Christ had possessed a forgotten twin brother erased from the scripture. His mind immediately flooded with questions so rapidly that he could barely organize them.
If Lucifer had another son, then what happened to him?
Where was he now?
How could someone of such significance vanish entirely from history?
Why would the records be erased intentionally?
What crime or horror would require the complete removal of a being tied directly to the lineage of the original Lucifer?
The more Alphard thought about it, the more unsettling the implications became. Devils preserved bloodlines obsessively. Noble pedigrees older than human civilization were documented with near religious care.
For an entire son of Lucifer to disappear from collective memory implied deliberate action on a scale almost unimaginable.
And if someone powerful enough to erase history itself had deemed Moloch dangerous enough to be forgotten, then Alphard was no longer certain he wanted to know the rest of the story.
"He was Rizveim's twin," Zekram said with the calmness of one recounting a tragedy so ancient that grief itself had long ago turned to ash. "Moloch Virelith Lucifer was everything our race has ever admired and feared within itself. He possessed brilliance beyond measure, power that eclipsed kings, and a cunning mind that could unravel the schemes of entire pantheons before they had even taken form.
"Beauty rested upon him as naturally as fire rests upon the sun, for he bore the full majesty of Lucifer's bloodline, and with that beauty came a pride so immense that even the heavens could scarcely endure it. From the hour of his birth he was hailed as the perfect heir, the prince destined to lead devilkind into an age of supremacy that would make even the gods tremble with envy."
Zekram's crimson eyes narrowed slightly as old memories surfaced within them.
"He was among the principal architects behind the Tower of Babel, whispering forbidden knowledge into the ears of mankind and teaching mortals how to reach toward powers they were never meant to touch. Many believe the corruption of the antediluvian world began with the fallen watchers and Lucifer, yet there are those among the oldest devils who suspect Moloch's hand reached even deeper into humanity's ruin than his father's ever did. He uncovered secrets capable of usurping divine authority itself, blasphemies so profound that even speaking of them invited calamity. For that reason he came to be known by a single title, one whispered with awe and terror alike across every realm - The Blasphemer."
Alphard found himself unable to comprehend how a being of such monstrous importance could simply vanish from history as though he had never existed at all.
"What happened to him?" he asked quietly.
Zekram exhaled slowly before answering.
"He grew jealous of his brother," he said. "You see, for all of Moloch's genius, his younger brother Rizevim Livan Lucifer was something far worse than gifted. He was a monster born beyond all measure, a superdevil whose existence defied reason. Even in youth he rivaled the strength of his father, and every year thereafter his power only continued to grow. Moloch looked upon him and saw the future slipping from his grasp. He feared that one day the throne of Hell would no longer belong to him.
"So he began to seek greater power. Then one day he vanished without warning. For two years no one knew where he had gone, what forbidden places he had wandered, or what horrors he had unearthed in the depths of existence. When he finally returned, the entire Underworld stood frozen in disbelief, for Moloch had become as powerful as a Satan. No devil in history had ever risen so quickly. The nobles praised him as the greatest prince our race had ever produced, and for a brief, shining moment it seemed certain that he would surpass even Lucifer himself."
Zekram's voice darkened. "Then the decay began."
"Decay?" Alphard asked.
"At first the signs were subtle," Zekram replied. "Moloch, who had once possessed flawless self control, began forgetting small things. His temper grew shorter. His patience faded. Soon he claimed to hear whispers in empty halls and see figures standing where no living thing existed. Every passing month drove him deeper into paranoia. He accused loyal servants of treachery, suspected conspiracies within every conversation, and saw enemies in the faces of those who loved him most."
A trace of genuine sorrow entered Zekram's expression.
"It was a tragedy that shook the entire Underworld, for Moloch had been wiser than his father and far more reasonable than his brother. Many among the nobility believed he would become the guiding light of devilkind, the ruler who would finally lead our race toward victory against Heaven. To witness such a brilliant mind collapse into madness was like watching a star rot in the sky.
"His mood swings worsened until even the slightest irritation became grounds for slaughter. Servants who breathed too loudly were torn apart where they stood. Advisors who failed to answer quickly enough vanished without explanation.
"The prince who had once debated philosophy and strategy with unmatched eloquence slowly regressed into something childish, impulsive, and grotesquely immature, as though his mind itself had begun aging backwards. In time he could scarcely comprehend matters beyond the simplest thoughts.
"He created what became known as the Court of Miseries, a grotesque gathering where nobles were forced to participate in cruel games crafted for his amusement. Every contest ended in suffering, humiliation, or death. Entire bloodlines were destroyed because Moloch found their screams entertaining for a fleeting moment. Terror spread throughout the Underworld, and eventually the nobility begged Lucifer to intervene before all of Hell descended into ruin."
"And did he?" Alphard asked.
"He did," Zekram answered quietly. "Lucifer confronted his son personally. Moloch lost what little sanity he still possessed and unleashed his fury upon the Underworld. Millions perished beneath the weight of his rage. Though his power had become immense, what value did such power hold when the mind commanding it had already collapsed into madness?"
Zekram closed his eyes briefly. "In the end Lucifer was forced to kill him after a battle that scarred the Underworld for generations. Yet even then we mourned him. We mourned what he had once been, and what he might have become had he not reached beyond the limits of wisdom. There was beauty within Moloch still, even at the end, and the loss of that beauty a great tragedy."
Alphard rarely saw his ancestor speak with such solemn sorrow. Zekram had always seemed distant from the concerns of others, almost untouched by emotion, yet now there was unmistakable grief within his voice.
"Why did he lose his sanity?" Alphard asked.
"Because madness was the price of the power he sought," Zekram said with a weary sigh. "Moloch became powerful so quickly because he attempted to imitate the gods themselves."
Alphard frowned.
"Imitate the gods? What do you mean?"
"In those ancient days," Zekram explained, "the gods were still young and arrogant. They believed they could endlessly grow stronger through human worship without consequence. Moloch saw this and convinced himself that devilkind could achieve something similar."
"But devils can't grow stronger through worship," Alphard said impatiently.
"No," Zekram replied. "We are creatures born from darkness. Pure devotion carries little value to our kind, and unlike the gods we possess no natural ability to absorb faith. Yet devils are reflections of the divine in many ways. Where gods flourish through hope, reverence, and love, devils resonate with despair, depravity, hatred, terror, obsession, and suffering. Moloch realized this truth long before anyone else.
"So he created a cult unlike anything the human world had ever seen. Its followers proved their devotion through atrocity. Murder became a sacred ritual. Human sacrifice became prayer. Entire villages were butchered in ceremonies dedicated to his name. Rape, torture, mutilation, cannibalism, slavery, incest, desecration of corpses, betrayal between kin, wars of extermination, and acts of cruelty so abhorrent that even other devils recoiled in disgust became offerings laid upon his altar. He taught his followers to revel in despair and transformed depravity into a form of worship."
Alphard felt a chill crawl through him despite himself.
"I don't know how nor do I wish to know, but Moloch devised a system capable of harvesting the emotions produced by these horrors. The terror of dying victims, the hatred of broken souls, the madness of men driven beyond reason, all of it flowed toward him and became demonic energy that nourished his strength. Yet even that was insufficient for his ambition.
"When members of his cult died, their souls did not pass naturally into the cycle of reincarnation. Instead, they were drawn to him. Consumed by him so that their despair, hatred, and corruption would further empower his existence. For a time it worked. His power expanded at a terrifying rate, enough to rival beings who had spent eternity cultivating their strength.
"But just as the gods later learned through bitter experience, Moloch discovered that such power is never freely given. Power born from worship always carries the weight of those who provide it. The emotions he harvested poisoned him. Every soul he consumed left fragments behind.
"Every act of madness fed madness back into his own heart. The hatred he cultivated within humanity seeped into his thoughts like venom. The despair he harvested became his own despair. Over time the countless corrupted souls within him eroded his sanity until nothing remained of the man he once was."
"To think a devil accomplished something like that..." Alphard murmured.
He could scarcely imagine possessing either the will or the talent necessary to create a system capable of harvesting emotions on such a scale and converting them into demonic power.
The sheer magical sophistication required bordered on incomprehensible. How brilliant would one need to be to even conceptualize such a method?
"Listen carefully, Alphard," Zekram said, his tone growing heavier. "To you the danger may appear obvious now, but that wisdom was purchased through suffering beyond measure. Entire civilizations perished before we understood the cost of tampering with powers that devour the soul of the wielder. The tragedies of the past exist precisely so that fools in the present do not repeat them."
"I understand, ancestor," Alphard said solemnly. "You believe the Beleth boy may be walking a similar path?"
"Perhaps not the exact same path," Zekram replied. "But I would wager the principle is similar. Men intoxicated by power rarely perceive the chains tightening around their own necks until it is far too late. The boy is proud, and pride has always been the defining flaw of House Beleth. And arrogance has a way of convincing gifted fools that consequences exist only for lesser beings."
"Then eventually he too will lose his mind," Alphard said grimly. "We must stop him before he grows strong enough to unleash devastation beyond containment."
"Indeed," Zekram answered. "But haste would be foolish. We shall proceed patiently and gather information before taking action. I want every informant we possess across the Underworld, the human world, and the heavens to remain vigilant for any unusual developments. If a new cult begins spreading through mortal society, I want to know. If whispers of strange rituals emerge, I want reports immediately.
"Any new religion, hidden organization, mass disappearances, outbreaks of violence, or unexplained surges of demonic activity are to be investigated thoroughly. Before we strike, I intend to understand precisely what kind of monster we are dealing with and prepare a countermeasure capable of ending him permanently."
"It will be done, ancestor," Alphard said firmly.
As always, the burden of protecting the Underworld rested upon the shoulders of House Bael.
AN: I've started a new DxD story with the Horseman of War as the MC. Check it out.
Advanced chapters are available on my Patreon, so if you want to read ahead or support me so I can focus more on writing, check out my Patreon. Patreon/abeltargaryen