The soft hum of teleportation magic filled the air as a crimson circle appeared near the warehouse entrance.
Rias Gremory's figure stepped out first, her long red hair glistening in the moonlight. Behind her, her peerage followed with the practiced silence of a well-oiled team: Kiba, Akeno, Koneko, each of them instantly on alert.
Rias scanned the scene with narrowed eyes, her crimson gaze sharp and calculating. The warehouse before them was dark, silent, and oppressive—just the kind of place where a stray devil could lie in wait, plotting an attack. She could feel it in her bones; something wasn't right. "Keep your guard up," she murmured, her voice low but commanding. "We don't know how strong this stray is, but we can't afford to underestimate it."
The group moved into the warehouse with quiet precision, their steps light and careful. The silence around them was thick, almost suffocating.
Rias led the way, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow, every sense heightened. She could feel it—the familiar hum of tension in the air, the sense that something dangerous was just out of sight, waiting for them.
Akeno's eyes glinted with an excited spark, but her posture was tense. She held her hands slightly raised, crackling with the faintest spark of electricity. "It's too quiet," she murmured, voice a little too calm for the situation. "I don't like it."
Kiba was at the ready, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the shadows ahead of them. "Strays don't usually hide like this," he muttered, his usual confidence replaced by wariness. "They don't wait. They attack when they feel cornered."
Koneko, small and silent, was already a few paces ahead, her keen senses picking up on every detail. She sniffed the air, her nose twitching as her ears perked up. "Smells like blood," she said, her voice quiet but sharp, cutting through the tension. "Fresh. Not much magic though."
Rias's gaze flickered to the bloodstains on the floor, the way they dotted the concrete in random patterns.
She frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. Something didn't sit right. Blood like that... it felt too controlled, too deliberate. It was a mess, but it wasn't chaotic enough to have come from a fight. "Let's move. The stray's close."
It didn't take long for the heavy scent of blood to grow stronger, more oppressive.
Kiba's sword gleamed faintly in the low light, his posture tense. "There's definitely been a fight here," he said, his voice low. "The stray's probably still here, hiding in the shadows.
Then they rounded a corner, and the scent of blood hit them with full force. But it wasn't just any trail—this was a massacre, a brutal final act. The body of the stray devil lay sprawled across the concrete floor, unmoving.
Rias froze. Her crimson eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of the devil's corpse. The creature was twisted, blood splattered in jagged patterns around it, its wings crumpled, its body bent in unnatural angles. It was clear: the stray was dead. And whoever had done this... had done it with brutal, overwhelming force.
Akeno's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer to the body. "This isn't what I expected," she murmured.
"It's dead?" Kiba said as scanned the body
Koneko knelt beside the body. "Whoever did this… was strong."
Akeno's lips curved into a small, wry smile. "Seems like we're not the only ones hunting down strays."
Rias's gaze flickered to the body one last time, her mind sharp as ever, but a strange feeling washed over her. A sense of something familiar yet foreign.
The power here—it was raw, primal like a dragon.
She straightened, her expression hardening. "Let's get out of here."
As the group moved toward the exit, Rias couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the last time they'd encounter whatever—or whoever—had left the stray dead in its wake.
—
I leaned back against the leather couch in my room.
I stared at my hands. Still trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the raw, surging energy I'd unleashed just an hour ago.
Holy hell.
I killed a devil.
And the craziest part?
I didn't even go all out.
I exhaled, long and slow, sinking further into the cushions.
That thing… that devil. It wasn't weak. That wasn't some low-tier grunt scavenging for scraps. He was fast. Strong. Probably had years of experience tearing people apart.
And yet, I killed him.
No elaborate technique. No clever magic circle or divine intervention. Just raw speed, strength, and Mana Burst.
What class was that devil anyway? High-tier? Mid? He wasn't low, that's for sure. The dude had confidence. Speed. Claws that looked like they could fillet steel. He had probably killed dozens before me, all while delivering some villain monologue about how tasty humans are.
But I still bodied him.
It didn't feel good. It didn't feel bad.
It just felt necessary.
No nausea. No dramatic inner turmoil. No whispering to the heavens, "What have I done?"
Just… "Whew. Glad that wasn't me."
I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers. The couch beneath me felt too soft, too quiet, like the world hadn't just shifted on its axis a few hours ago.
I needed to train.
Badly.
That devil hadn't been weak. Far from it. And yet I took it down—without going all out. That was the part that kept echoing in my head. If I could crush something that dangerous with what was basically a mana-fueled punch…
And how long before I run into something stronger?
What if the next one's smarter? Faster? An ultimate class? Perhaps a super class..
Damn.. I can't afford be complacent yet.
I needed a place. The kind of training place that didn't end with me accidentally drop-kicking a building or getting surprise-mauled by another devil in an alley.
I tapped my phone and hit "Hayama (a.k.a. Human Alfred)".
One ring. Two.
"Master Leon," came the ever-steady voice. "How may I assist you?"
"I need a place to train," I said bluntly. "Somewhere private. Isolated. Reinforced. Preferably where I won't vaporize the garden or accidentally traumatize the staff."
A pause.
"I… see," he replied slowly. "Is there a reason for this sudden request?"
I scratched the back of my head. "Let's just say I've been feeling... energetic lately."
More silence. I could practically hear him weighing how concerned he should be.
"Well," he said eventually, "there is one place. Sub-level three, west wing."
I blinked. "Wait—we have a sub-level three?"
"Technically, it's a classified fallout shelter," he said with a faint trace of pride. "Commissioned by your grandfather. He believed in being prepared for all manner of scenarios."
"Like nuclear war?"
"Nuclear war, civil collapse, a vampire invasion, the Second Coming—he was very thorough."
Fifteen minutes later, I was following Hayama down a corridor behind one of the wine cellars. The air grew colder the deeper we went, and the walls turned from luxury wood paneling to matte steel and carbon alloy.
Then we reached it.
A door the size of a bank vault, covered in old biometric locks. It scanned my ring, then my retina, then gave this satisfying hiss as it opened.
And what lay beyond?
A full-on underground combat facility.
The place was built like a proper bunker—thick concrete walls reinforced with steel beams, the kind that could probably tank a small explosion without flinching. There were a couple of old training dummies set up—more patched than polished—and a whiteboard on the far wall where notes and routines had been scribbled and erased a hundred times over.
In the corner, someone had thrown together a makeshift rest area: a ratty couch, a mini-fridge humming quietly beside it, and a dented thermos that smelled suspiciously like old coffee. Nothing fancy. Just practical, personal, and private.
I turned in a slow circle. "This is… insane."
"Your grandfather preferred the word 'prepared,'" Hayama said mildly.
I nodded slowly… then turned to face him, serious now.
"Hayama."
He looked at me, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Yes, Master Leon?"
"I need you to keep this between us."
His posture straightened.
"I'm serious. No one—no one—can know about this. Not my parents, not the staff, not anyone who walks around in a suit with a last name ending in '-sama.' Not even if they ask."
Hayama gave me a long look.
I didn't say a word—just stared at him, my eyes locked on his, letting the weight of my silence speak for me. I needed him to understand how serious I was.
He watched me for another beat. I could see it in his eyes—that calculation, that flicker of judgment, wondering if this was teenage melodrama or something more. Then he nodded once, firm and deliberate.
"You have my word, Master Leon. What happens in this room stays in this room."
I exhaled. A bit of tension I didn't know I was carrying let go.
"…Thanks. I mean it."
"Of course," he said with a small bow.
"Dinner is in two hours," Hayama added, offering a small control tablet. "Try not to kill yourself in the meantime. Master Leon."
I grinned. "No promises."
And just like that, the room was mine.
The perfect hidden lab-slash-dojo-slash-magic-punch-box.
Time to get to work.