Chapter 113 – Diodora Comes to Him
The commotion in the hallway died down without dragging on any further.
For Akira, the whole thing had been… rather dull. If Sairaorg hadn't stepped in, he might've dealt with that filthy devil himself—his way.
On the other hand, Rias could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
If Akira had been the one to make a move, things would have gotten far messier. An open brawl in a place like this would only stain the Gremory name and invite political backlash.
"Thank you, Sairaorg," Rias said sincerely.
"It's nothing. Besides, even without me, your friend here seems perfectly capable of handling it himself."
"That's exactly why I'm thanking you."
"…What do you mean?" Sairaorg tilted his head, clearly puzzled by her answer.
"Akira isn't the type to hold back just because of someone's status. If he'd stepped in, there wouldn't have been any mercy. The outcome… would've been far worse."
"I see."
Sairaorg nodded in understanding. Yet deep down, his interest in Akira only grew.
There was something about Akira's attitude that felt… familiar. It reminded him of himself back in the days before he bore the weight of being the Bael heir.
Back then, he'd fought recklessly, never caring about the opponent's title or pedigree. But those days were gone. Now, every move he made reflected on the Bael name.
Even in that hallway incident, he'd held back, making sure not to inflict lasting damage. Control wasn't just about strength—it was about responsibility.
With that brief exchange over, the group finally entered the banquet hall.
Almost every noble descendant of the Seventy-Two Pillars was already present.
This annual gathering was more than just a celebration—it was a stage for social evaluation and subtle power plays. And this year carried even more weight with the Maou themselves in attendance.
"Good evening, Rias."
From across the hall, a refined voice called out. A girl with long violet hair approached gracefully—it was Sona Shitori in the human world, or rather, Sona Sitri.
Her peerage followed behind, dressed in elegant evening attire, exuding the poise of a high-ranking household.
"Good evening, Sona. I didn't expect you to arrive early."
"Just a little earlier than you, that's all."
"Your coming-of-age ceremony is soon, isn't it? How's the preparation?"
"No need to worry. I won't disappoint anyone."
Their eyes met, and a subtle spark passed between them. Though both wore polite smiles, the undercurrent of rivalry was unmistakable.
Behind them, their peerages mirrored that quiet tension—each side sizing up the other.
Especially Akeno and the rest of Rias' peerage. After recent intense training, their confidence had grown immensely.
Akira, however, had no interest in this exchange.
He drifted over to the lounge area, sank into a plush chair, and helped himself to a plate of pastries from the buffet. As he chewed, his gaze swept the hall.
From what he could tell, most of the devils here were of the High-Class rank. Of course, even within that tier, there were vast differences in strength.
The ones who stood out most were obvious—Rias, Sona, Sairaorg… and that bespectacled woman who'd clashed in the hallway earlier. All of them radiated power.
But Akira wasn't here to size up the competition.
He was looking for one face in particular—Diodora Astaroth.
The problem was, having never met the man in person, Akira couldn't pick him out of the crowd.
And if the rumors were true—that Diodora carried the "serpent" of Ophis inside him—it would be impossible to detect without his host revealing it. The power of the Infinite Dragon God existed on a plane beyond mortal comprehension.
Even the Maou themselves had interacted with Diodora without realizing anything was amiss.
"Looking for someone?"
A calm baritone voice spoke beside him. Sairaorg had taken the seat next to Akira, perhaps out of a shared sense of isolation. Outsiders, in their own way.
"Yeah. Do you know which one is Diodora?"
"Diodora? You mean Diodora Astaroth—the Astaroth heir. If I recall, he's also distantly related to Beelzebub-sama. Why? Do you have business with him?"
"Not business. I'm just planning to kill him."
"…"
Sairaorg stared at him, at a rare loss for words.
This wasn't just some random devil. He was a pureblood heir—and a relative of one of the current Maou. If Akira meant what he said, it was basically a declaration of war against Beelzebub himself.
"Don't joke around. This is the Underworld. Even as Rias' fiancé, acting recklessly will have serious consequences."
"Relax. I'll handle the fallout. Just point him out for me."
"…I really shouldn't have asked."
Sairaorg rubbed his forehead, already regretting sitting here. Knowing about a plan like this was enough to implicate him. He'd only come over to avoid the crowd.
At that moment, Rias approached with her group, apparently done with her verbal sparring match with Sona.
"Yo, Rias. Done already?"
"Yes. You two seem to be getting along."
"More or less."
Rias simply smiled, not thinking much of their interaction. If anything, a friendly relationship between Akira and Sairaorg could only be beneficial.
After all, though from different clans, Sairaorg was still her cousin. Her mother, Venelana Gremory, was born a Bael. She'd always admired Sairaorg's determination in carving his own path to the title of heir—especially in a clan where succession was a brutal competition.
The Bael Family wasn't like the Gremory, who had only one successor. In Bael, the heir's seat was a throne fought over tooth and nail.
"Oh, what a coincidence."
Sairaorg's sudden remark drew Akira's attention.
Following his gaze, Akira saw a young man walking toward them from across the room. Slender build, a face twisted into an insincere smile—and even from a distance, a stench of falseness clung to him.
Sairaorg let out a quiet sigh.
That was Diodora Astaroth—the official heir of the Astaroth Family.
Finally, Akira's target had appeared… and without realizing it, was heading straight for him.
Akira's eyes sharpened. Just looking at that face stirred bitter memories and a surge of rage he could barely contain.
Diodora was the architect of Asia Argento's tragedy. All her suffering, all the shattering of her hopes—rooted in the twisted ambition of this man.
And now, the culprit was right here, wearing that sickeningly fake smile.
"It's been a while, Asia," Diodora said with syrupy sweetness, as if greeting a long-lost lover.
Asia frowned slightly.
"Have… we met before?"
In the heart of the Underworld's political center, a pure-hearted girl reborn as a devil now stood face-to-face with a stranger.
A meeting that seemed inconsequential—yet held the seeds of a far greater conflict.
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