Gremory Estate – Study
The moment the door clicked shut behind Lucien, the warm glow of the hearth dimmed, as if the fire itself sensed the shift in mood. A hush settled over the study, not the calm of peace, but the stillness of reflection and concern.
Sirzechs Lucifer exhaled slowly, reclining into his chair with the weight of generations pressing down on his shoulders. He swirled the remaining tea in his cup, watching the dark liquid settle with a faint tremor.
"He's grown sharper," he said at last, his voice thoughtful. "In power. In poise. It's as if he's preparing for more than just building a domain."
Grayfia stood by the tall, arched window, her arms folded across her chest, silver hair catching the dancing light. She remained silent at first, her gaze fixed on the shimmering illusion of the Underworld's sky, a mirror of stars that never changed.
"I thought it was just the burden of expectations," she said finally. "But it's more than that."
Her eyes narrowed, calculating.
"He fights like someone who's been here before, not trained through drills or honed by tutors, but forged through real war. Real blood. Real stakes."
Sirzechs nodded solemnly. "And his peerage… that's where things get complicated."
"Ghislaine Dedoldia," Grayfia said, turning to face him. "She shouldn't be capable of what she displayed. The Sword of Light is no demonic magic. It's an ancient discipline, taught during the fading age of gods to mimic the light-based attacks of angels. Her form was flawless. She locked into a grounded stance, centered everything, and when she struck…"
"The blade bent with velocity," Sirzechs finished, sitting upright. "She was accelerating it beyond its normal threshold."
Grayfia nodded, her voice low. "It was close to the true form of the technique. Had she pushed just a little further, she could've torn through sacred-grade armor. And she did it like it was routine."
Sirzechs let out a low breath. "That technique wasn't supposed to have any surviving practitioners."
"And Yamato," Grayfia continued, her tone almost clinical. "Her strength wasn't just raw magic. It was something deeper. When she fought, she hardened her skin not through transformation, but sheer willpower. She didn't defend with barriers. She braced with her spirit. Her club moved like an extension of her purpose."
"Martial will," Sirzechs murmured. "Maybe a refined version of Ajuka's theoretical soul pressure. Though this feels… older. More visceral."
"She blocked a spell by angling her arm and letting it slide off," Grayfia said, her voice flat. "Not a counterspell. Not deflection. Just mastery of intent and motion. She made magic seem like a suggestion."
"And still," Sirzechs noted, "they kneel to Lucien without hesitation."
Grayfia turned to him, a faint, tired smile touching her lips. "Because to them, he's not just their King. He's their origin."
They stood in silence for a long, heavy moment—two devils who had seen too much of war and far too little of peace.
Then Grayfia's voice dropped.
"They don't feel native to this world. Their names, their expressions, their phrasing... It's too precise. Too stylized. As though they stepped out of a storybook."
Sirzechs tilted his head. "You think… he summoned them from another world?"
"I think," Grayfia said, folding her hands behind her back, "they belong to another world, and I believe that our son knows it. He just hasn't decided whether to trust us with the truth yet."
Sirzechs scratched his chin, his gaze distant. "Could be a coincidence. Remember, during the banquet, before they received their Evil Pieces? I showed Lucien and Rias that old portrait of Albedo from the Archivium archives. They both said she looked like a character from some human series called Overlord. They practically said the name in sync."
Grayfia's lips thinned. "It's not the first time. I did some digging. The likenesses of Ghislaine and Yamato match characters from light novels and manga that Rias and Lucien read as children."
She crossed the room and retrieved a black lacquered folder. " I did some more digging and found that Lucien owns the rights to those properties in the Underworld. Manga. Light novels. Even adaptation contracts."
Sirzechs raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying he somehow brought them here from fiction? Or… they were real all along, and our world only remembered echoes?"
"Possibly either. Possibly both," Grayfia said grimly. "But the only being ever recorded to summon across dimensions was Lilith. But her rituals were said to have been erased by the Four Satans during the purge. That kind of magic doesn't just come back."
"Unless it never left," Sirzechs murmured.
There was a long pause, and then he added, "Maybe one of those human authors struck a deal with him. Like the Vermeil Clan did with that human horror writer. Or like Serafall did, she literally commissioned a magical girl manga starring herself and got three sequels."
Grayfia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes. And plushies."
Sirzechs grinned. "Still sleeps with one."
Then, more seriously, he said, "But you're right. This isn't normal, and it's not just about mystery. It's about responsibility."
Grayfia nodded, her expression sharpening. "I'm assigning Grayroad to watch quietly over him from the shadows. Lucien trusts him, and he's strong enough to keep up. If something goes wrong… I want someone who can protect him. Not just observe."
Sirzechs rose from his seat and turned to face the window, watching the starlit illusion beyond.
"Good. He's not just our son anymore."
Grayfia stepped beside him, her voice lower now. "He's a symbol. And symbols draw shadows."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, quietly, Grayfia said, "I hope Ghislaine and Yamato teach him to use the powers they've shown. That he learns whatever truths they brought with them."
Sirzechs gave a thoughtful nod. "If he's going to bear a kingdom on his shoulders… he'll need every edge."
They stood in the quiet of the Luciferian study, one forged from marble, blood, and will. The fire at their backs crackled faintly, like the breath of a resting dragon.
Because somewhere, beyond the reach of their protection…
Their son was already carving a legacy the world had never seen, and legends never sleep.
The Queen of Mist and Mischief
The day had waned into twilight, and a quiet stillness settled over the upper floors of the Gremory estate. The corridors, once alive with the footfalls of servants and the soft voices of peerage members, now lay hushed, an interlude of peace before the next ripple in Lucien's carefully spun plans.
Lucien moved through the halls with quiet purpose, his presence cloaked in residual shadow magic. He passed portraits of Gremory ancestors and paintings enchanted to shimmer with faint glimmers of light, only half-aware of their watchful eyes. His mind lingered on the conversation with his parents, the weight of it pressing against his chest like invisible chains.
His father's pride had been subtle but unmistakable, but his mother's warning… far less so.
You carry both Lucifer's flame and Lucifuge's shadow. Remember what either costs.
They weren't blind. They had seen the way Yamato's spiked club vibrated with will beyond steel. They had witnessed Ghislaine channel ancient sword techniques that had been long forgotten in the Underworld. His peerage members weren't just powerful; they were too perfect, too precise, as if they had been carved from ancient tales and half-remembered dreams.
Lucien reached his chambers and entered without fanfare. With a soft wave of his hand, the door shut behind him, muffling the estate's world with a gentle click.
The room was bathed in a soft amber glow from a floating crystal lantern suspended near the high ceiling. Velvet curtains danced with a phantom breeze. On the darkwood desk, the Queen Piece glimmered faintly with black and red, flecked with violet. Beside it lay the summoning scroll, etched with layered Lucifuge runes and complex system-forged magic that pulsed faintly, as if breathing.
Lucien exhaled, untying the ribbon in his hair and letting the silver strands fall loosely. He rolled his shoulders, walking toward the desk. His fingers brushed the Queen Piece, thoughts swirling in a tempest of doubt and anticipation.
So far, only Kuroka knew the truth, and even then, not all of it.
Rias would be next. She deserved that.
But his parents?
His gaze flicked toward the window, where the mirrored sky of the Underworld reflected constellations no human would ever see.
They probably already know, he admitted to himself. They're just waiting for me to say it.
Lucien sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees.
"I could tell them," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Everything. The system. The summons. Even my memories…"
But the thought made his chest tighten.
They were powerful, yes. But they were still his parents. He didn't want them dragged into something that wasn't meant for them. Not yet. Not until he knew what the system wanted… and what it would cost.
"System," he called silently.
A familiar voice responded in a smooth, feminine tone, like a whisper traced through silk.
I am listening.
"How much… am I allowed to tell them?"
You may disclose the existence of your summons and that your Evil Pieces enable you to pull entities from beyond this world. However, you may not reveal your knowledge of this world's future or key narrative events that have yet to unfold.
Lucien let out a slow breath. It wasn't everything, but it was enough.
"Alright. Good. But you need a name. I'm not calling you 'System' for the rest of my life."
Names flickered through his thoughts: Athena, Freya, Morgana, but none quite fit.
Then one rose from deep in his memory.
Lilith.
The First Woman. The Queen of the Night. The shadow in myth, the fire behind rebellion.
He smiled.
"Your name… is Lilith."
Designation accepted: Lilith. Your interface has been updated, my King.
"Much better. Now I don't sound like a software patch."
A wise choice. Host, shall we proceed with your next objective?
Lucien rose and walked to the summoning scroll.
"Yes," he said. "It's time for my Queen."
Warning: Queen-class summon will destabilize local power fields. Expect dimensional pinging and astral harmonics. Do you accept the risks?
"I do. Let them ping. They already suspect something."
Summoning initiated.
The Queen Piece glowed fiercely, rising from the table into the air.
The Lucifuge sigils around the scroll flared to life, black mist swirling outward like smoke from a memory. The room grew colder. Shadows stretched unnaturally. Arcane syllables rang through the space not spoken, but felt.
A pulse of pressure burst outward. Then silence.
A moment later, the mist condensed into flesh and form, taking shape as golden hair flowed from the shadows like sunlit silk.
Her curves were impossible to miss. Her attire was scandalous by any dimension's standards, yet beneath it all was a wild grace. In her eyes, the glint of a seasoned warrior. The scent of plum wine, sakura blossoms, and battle hung in the air.
Rangiku Matsumoto stepped forward from the mist, one hand on her hip, the other lazily tossing her hair back.
"Well, well," she purred. "Took you long enough, darling."
Lucien arched a brow. "Welcome to the Underworld, Queen of Mist and Mischief."
Rangiku smiled with a slow, teasing grin that promised chaos.
"Let's make some trouble."
Bonds Forged in Steel and Silk
The morning sun of the Underworld bathed the Gremory estate in a muted, ethereal glow. Soft gold spilled through the canopy of enchanted trees, their violet leaves rustling with every whispering gust. The Gremory private training grounds rang with the echoes of stone and spellcraft. The air still carried the sharp tang of burned sigils and ozone, remnants of the intense magic that had been woven here. This was where champions had been made—where the very air hummed with potential.
At its center stood Lucien, his crimson hair damp with sweat, his skin alive with contained power. Each breath fogged the air faintly, as if the heat of his training could warp even the cool Underworld breeze to his will. Shadows curled at his feet, not cast by sunlight, but conjured from his will. They flickered like sentient ink, waiting at his heels, ready for his command.
Surrounding him were four women, each as different as fire and ice, steel and silk. They weren't merely a peerage. They were a court, each a reflection of the power and responsibility he was becoming.
Ghislaine Dedoldia, the Black Wolf Sword King of Dedoldia, stood like an unyielding fortress of muscle and instinct. Her red leather straps covered her massive breasts. She wore loose-fitting cargo pants slung low on her hips, the edge of a black G-string visible as a deliberate detail, not a mistake. Her special green demon eye wards off enchantments and traces the seams. The demon eye also let her see the flow of mana around her. Her arms were crossed, feet light and restless, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Ruby red eyes tracked Lucien's every movement with a predatory gleam.
Every time he redirected her furious strikes using precise footwork, the flicker of Lucifuge's shadow, or the economy of motion she had taught him. Her grin sharpened, like a wolf savoring a worthy opponent.
"You've gotten sharper," she growled, voice rough like gravel. "Still not fast enough to land a clean hit, though."
Lucien rolled his shoulder, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Give it time."
Yamato, regal and radiant, danced around the perimeter of the ring. Her massive kanabo, slung across her back, was a harbinger of destruction. Her black and crimson yukata flowed elegantly, slashed open at the sleeves and sides to allow for powerful lunges. Her white hair shimmered like moonstone, catching the light with every graceful movement.
"Your center of gravity's improving!" she called out, eyes gleaming with challenge. "That means I don't have to hold back anymore!"
She pivoted with the fluidity of a divine storm, her kanabo crashing into a summoned boulder and shattering it with ease.
Lucien coughed into his fist. "You've been holding back?"
"She says while wielding a club the size of a horse," Kuroka muttered from her perch.
Kuroka lounged atop a sun-warmed rock, looking as relaxed as a housecat that had just feasted. Her twin tails flicked lazily behind her, golden eyes half-lidded, studying the scene with bemusement. Her black qipao clung to her form, silver roses embroidered across the fabric an heirloom of both beauty and lethal intent.
Her posture was carefree, but beneath it an unmistakable aura coiled like a serpent ready to strike at any moment.
"Nya~ I like this little family," she purred, her voice light but filled with a teasing undercurrent. "But I still get top cuddling rights, right, Master?"
Lucien wiped sweat from his brow, his breath a little ragged. He let out a laugh, half-winded and completely honest. "You're all lethal and completely insane. I must have excellent taste."
Kuroka's grin sharpened, her fangs flashing in the sunlight. "Took you long enough to figure that out."
And then there was Rangiku Matsumoto, leaning casually against a broken training dummy, her expression a mixture of amusement and indifference. A new flame in his circle, but a Queen in every sense of the word. Her strawberry-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder, glinting like rose gold. Her black-and-white kimono was scandalous in its design, fitted to accentuate her curves and yet made for battle.
With a sake gourd in hand, she took slow sips, her other hand casually resting on her hip. She surveyed the chaos around her with detached amusement, her ice-blue eyes twinkling with quiet mirth.
"You know," she murmured, pausing to sip from the gourd, "I expected more blood or at least some dramatic declarations of eternal love. This is almost… civilized."
Yamato turned toward her, eyes wide with shock. "You're drinking during training?!"
"I'm hydrating," Rangiku said smoothly, the words slipping from her lips like honey. "Spiritually."
Kuroka snorted from her perch, her eyes gleaming. "I like her."
Lucien, chest heaving from exertion, finally allowed himself to relax just enough to appreciate the unique dynamic taking root around him.
What had begun as mere recruitment had evolved into something far deeper. These weren't just allies. They were anchors. Mirrors. Steel and silk, chosen and bound by something stronger than fate itself.
As he closed his eyes to center his breath, the shadows around him pulsed once, then stilled, like they were attuned to his every movement, every heartbeat.
⸻
Elsewhere in the Estate: Shadows Stir
In a far wing of the manor, high atop a moonlit balcony framed by black marble, Grayfia Lucifuge froze mid-stride.
She had been returning from the estate's war room, scrolls tucked neatly beneath one arm, when a ripple of power brushed her senses like a whispered name.
A Queen piece, but not like the others. This one moved like perfume through a ballroom scented with laughter, layered with intent.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Velvet silk. A wine-drenched dusk. Mischief with teeth.
Her silver eyes narrowed.
"She's summoned," Grayfia whispered.
Within seconds, she was beside Sirzechs and Grayroad, already waiting on the west-facing balcony that overlooked the training grounds.
Among his gathered peerage, Lucien stood firm, his aura sparking with calculated force, a quiet warning to all who watched. Shadows moved like water at his command, undulating in perfect rhythm with his intent.
Sirzechs nodded as Grayfia joined him. "You felt it too?"
"She doesn't feel like a noble-born," Grayfia said slowly. "But her presence… It's refined. Playful. Dangerous in all the right ways."
Sirzechs chuckled softly. "She reminds me of Magrisa the Veiled Dawn."
Grayfia turned to him, a flick of silver hair catching the moonlight. "The devil who seduced an entire enemy court mid-war and danced through their ranks like a waltz of daggers?"
"She had the same balance of silk and fire."
Grayroad tilted his head, studying Lucien and his peerage. "You think she's a reincarnation?"
"No," Grayfia replied, her voice low. "But I wouldn't be surprised if she were born of a myth, like Magrisa's. I felt an ancient magic before he slept for a full day."
Sirzechs leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Are you saying the same thing as Grayfia that Lucien has found some of Lillith's old magic?"
Back on the Field: The Final Test
Lucien opened his eyes.
The air around him vibrated with expectation. Four auras flared around him: Kuroka's sleek menace, Yamato's burning resolve, Ghislaine's honed steel, and Rangiku's liquid confidence.
"Alright," Lucien said, raising one hand. "Let's finish with one last test. All four of you. Against me. No killing blows."
Kuroka stretched lazily, her tails curling. "Ooh~ I love these team-building exercises."
Ghislaine cracked her knuckles. "Let's see if you can finally knock me back."
Yamato smirked, flipping her kanabo into both hands. "I'm going to strike you; your shadow will flinch."
Rangiku, now without her sake, stepped forward, her eyes half-lidded with playful danger. "You'll regret inviting all your wives to attack you at once, handsome."
Lucien grinned, and his shadow responded with tendrils rising like a silent army at his command.
"Then show me," he said, his voice low and sure.
"Let me show you why I deserve to be your King?"
The battle erupted with flash and fury.
Four storms converged on a crimson flame.
And the Underworld watched its heir forge bonds deeper than blood, tempered in steel and sealed in silk.