Five days had passed since Lucien made his bold request.
Each morning began before dawn in the private training grounds. Lucien pushed himself through a brutal rhythm, sparring with Grayfia until his muscles burned, then retreating to the family archive to devour ancient tomes on magic theory. In the quiet hours between, he sat cross-legged in meditation, attempting something few devils ever tried: forging an internal magic core modelled after human mages and magical beasts.
It was gruelling. His unstable Power of Destruction continued to drain him dangerously. His ice magic remained rudimentary. Spatial magic existed only in theory. Yet deeper still, something shadowy and dormant stirred whenever he pushed his limits, a quiet, hungry presence he couldn't yet name.
Grayfia watched him closely during their sessions, her steel-blue eyes never missing a flaw in form or control.
"You are reaching too far, too fast," she warned on the third day, catching him as his knees buckled after a failed Destruction burst.
Lucien wiped sweat from his brow, silver-tipped crimson hair clinging to his forehead. "I don't have the luxury of going slow."
On the fifth day, the rhythm broke.
The Lucifuge-Gremory archive chamber was an ancient, sacred place. Cold, eerily so, the temperature was not a product of mere enchantment but a manifestation of the secrets kept within its walls. Wards layered thick as latticework hummed quietly, defying detection and divination. This was no space for casual research; it was a vault for forbidden knowledge, an echo of the past that refused to be forgotten.
Deep within the Lucifuge-Gremory archive chamber, Sirzechs stood motionless before a glowing projection crystal. His crimson eyes hardened, brows furrowing as old sins resurfaced.
Grayroad emerged from the shadows like ink given form, a tall figure wrapped in shifting darkness, eyes glowing faintly violet. As a direct descendant of Grayfia's maternal line, his command over shadow and secrecy was absolute.
"My lord," Grayroad spoke, voice low and resonant. "We have located Kuroka Toujou."
Sirzechs' crimson eyes sharpened. "Report."
Grayroad waved his hand. Holographic images materialised: ruined ritual sites, shattered binding collars, blood-stained laboratories hidden beneath Naberius territory.
"The experiments were worse than what we feared. Illegal fusion of demonic bloodlines, forced Ki suppression, and attempts to create artificial Super Devils using children. Kuroka's master intended to use Shirone next. She killed him in a desperate act of protection, not premeditated murder, but survival."
"Unapproved experimentation," Serafall said, her usual cheer completely gone. "Binding seals. Ki suppression. Demon blood spliced into hybrid children. They weren't training devils… they were manufacturing weapons."
Her words were low, chilling. Something the Underworld had tried to bury.
Silence fell like a blade.
Sirzechs' jaw tightened, demonic power flickering at the edges of his control.
Serafall's fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening. "We let them make her into a monster… and then blamed her for surviving."
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Grayroad continued, steady and precise. "She has been hiding in the northern Hokubu Mountains. Her Senjutsu signature is faint, controlled. She is exhausted… but still evading pursuit."
Sirzechs exhaled slowly, the weight of the truth settling in his chest. "Then the official records were a lie."
"Yes, my lord. Fabricated and buried by remnants of the Old Satan Faction."
Another silence, heavier this time.
"All this time…" Serafall murmured, voice low with restrained anger. "We called her a stray."
Sirzechs' gaze hardened, resolve crystallising behind his eyes.
"Prepare a covert recovery team," he ordered. "No one moves until I give the word."
A brief pause.
"And Grayroad… ensure my son doesn't learn of this yet. Not until the truth is undeniable."
Grayroad bowed, already fading back into shadow. "As you command."
The chamber dimmed slightly as the projections faded.
The truth had been uncovered in silence.
Now it would be dragged into the light.
Two Weeks Later – Maou High Council Chamber
The obsidian dome of the Maou High Council Chamber echoed with tense murmurs. Holographic projections of declassified files, ritual diagrams, and grim evidence floated above the central platform. The Four Great Satans stood at the forefront, their presence alone enough to silence most dissent.
Sirzechs stood before them, as imposing as ever. His voice rang with the authority of someone who had seen the depths of the devil's darkness and had still managed to rise above it.
"Kuroka Toujou did not flee because she was a monster. She ran because she was hunted… because this system, our system, failed her."
A ripple moved through the chamber.
Serafall stepped beside him, her usual playfulness gone, her voice cold and precise. "This wasn't negligence. It was a sanctioned conspiracy. Rogue nobles turned children into test subjects… and we allowed it, and that ends today."
The chamber erupted. Shocked whispers, angry outbursts, and calculating silence filled the air.
Falbium Asmodeus raised a hand, his expression unreadable. "Then what do you propose?"
Sirzechs' gaze swept across the nobles. "As of this moment, Kuroka's stray designation is revoked. Her bounty is nullified. She will be placed under the guardianship of my son, Lucien Lucifuge-Gremory, under full oversight of House Lucifer."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then chaos.
"You would entrust an SS-class stray to a boy barely of age?"
"He's no ordinary child."
"Reckless!"
From the back rows, quieter voices cut through with sharper edges.
"The Crimson Prince takes after his father… powerful, calculating."
"Or dangerously impulsive."
Laughter rippled from a cluster of younger nobles.
"First a Nekomata, next a fox… what is he building, a collection?"
The tension in the room sharpened.
Serafall's voice cut through it like a blade.
"Lucien has the strength to face her. But more importantly, he has the will to understand her. That is rarer than any power you value."
The chamber stilled slightly.
Then the chamber didn't settle.
No agreement.
But hesitation.
The kind that comes when truth forces its way into a room that had long refused to see it.
High above them, the projections flickered with evidence hanging like ghosts over the assembly.
And slowly, something shifted.
Redemption was no longer seen as weakness.
It was overdue justice.
From the side gallery, a rich, velvety voice cut through the noise with effortless authority.
"The Vermeil Succubus Clan," Lady Vermeil announced, rising gracefully, "gives its full and unconditional support to Lucien Lucifuge-Gremory in this matter."
Her golden eyes gleamed with quiet, dangerous amusement. "The boy shows vision. We approve."
Sirzechs met her eyes with a subtle nod. The alliance, unspoken yet unmistakable, did not go unnoticed.
Beside him, Serafall leaned in slightly, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.
"He's going to have his hands full with that one."
Sirzechs exhaled, something almost resembling amusement flickering through his composure.
"Then I'll triple his training regimen."
Post-Meeting – Nobles' Lounge
The opulent Nobles' Lounge buzzed with whispers and clinking glasses. A cluster of younger high-class devils gathered near the spirit-fire hearth, their voices dripping with mockery.
"Did you hear that? The Crimson Prince playing saviour to a stray Nekomata? What's next, adopting fallen angels?"
Laughter rippled through the group.
"If his first pick for his peerage is a wanted criminal, I can only imagine what the rest will look like. Those two aren't building peerages… they're building zoos."
"First, Rias takes in a fallen angel hybrid, now this."
"Ten-star coins say he has a tail fetish. Next, he'll be chasing nine-tailed kitsune or dragon girls."
Laughter rippled, though some chuckles sounded forced.
Then, quieter—
"…Still, an SS-class stray isn't exactly a joke."
The amusement didn't vanish.
But it thinned.
Across the lounge, Lady Alecta of House Valefor swirled her midnight wine with deliberate calm. Beside her, Lord Galbreath of House Oriax watched the room through half-lidded eyes, already measuring outcomes that had yet to unfold.
"Fools," Alecta murmured.
Galbreath glanced at her. "Which is?"
"The laughter." She took a slow sip, gaze distant, precise. "They think this is indulgence. A phase."
"And you don't?"
A faint smile touched her lips.
"That boy is building a faction. Not of pampered heirs or polished prodigies… but of survivors. Fighters." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the hearth. "Loyalty born from exile. Power tempered by suffering."
Galbreath's fingers stilled against the rim of his glass.
"And if even half of them survive what's coming?" he asked.
Alecta's smile deepened, something colder beneath it.
"It won't begin with a declaration…" she said softly.
"It will begin with a whisper from his table."
A pause lingered between them.
"If that table survives," Galbreath added, voice low, deliberate.
Alecta let out a quiet breath, amused.
"Then the question won't be whether you approach it…" she said, setting her glass aside.
"But whether you'll be invited."
"Dangerous way to describe him."
The voice slipped into their conversation like silk over a blade.
Lady Vermeil reclined a short distance away, as though she had always been there, golden eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement. A goblet rested loosely in her hand, untouched.
"I would have said…" her lips curved, slow and knowing,
"inevitable."
Alecta met her gaze, unflinching.
"Is that the Succubus Clan's official stance?" she asked lightly.
Vermeil's smile didn't waver.
"No," she replied. "That's my personal interest."
A subtle shift moved through the nearby nobles. Conversations didn't stop—
But they started listening.
At the far edge of the lounge, near a column half-lost in the far shadows, Esdeath stood apart, ice-blue hair framing a cold, predatory smile. Frost slowly spread across her glass as she listened in silence.
The temperature around her dropped just enough to be noticed… and avoided.
The nobles' laughter had grown quieter.
Not gone. Just… restrained.
And across the room, more than one noble began to wonder.
whether the boy they had mocked so easily…
was already deciding who would be worthy to stand beside him.