Banquets didn't interest Shuo Nangong. Truth be told, he was here for one reason only—to deal with a certain perverted "nun enthusiast."
"Rias!"
The elevator doors slid open, and as the group stepped out into the corridor, a booming voice echoed down the hall.
"Hm?"
Rias turned, surprise flickering across her face—she knew that voice all too well.
"Sairaorg? It's been ages!"
"Yeah, it's been a while. But lately, you've been making quite a splash in the Underworld!"
The newcomer strode forward, his presence unmistakable—a powerhouse of a man, short black hair, muscle-packed frame, and an aura that crackled with barely restrained ferocity.
Rias smiled, turning to introduce him.
"This is Sairaorg Bael, heir to the Bael family—and my cousin."
Sairaorg's gaze locked onto Shuo, his eyes blazing with unfiltered battle-lust.
"So you're Rias's fiancé, Shuo Nangong. Word is, even the Red Dragon Emperor and White Dragon Emperor fell to you! How about we settle things with a match?"
He could barely contain his excitement.
Sairaorg knew Rias's meteoric rise—her easy victory over Riser—was thanks to Shuo's guidance.
But more than that, he could sense the raw, terrifying power radiating from Shuo's body, a force that dwarfed his own.
This was the opponent he'd dreamed of—someone who could truly test his limits.
Shuo found himself admiring Sairaorg's courage and resolve.
Sairaorg Bael: the current heir of the Great King Bael family.
His father's half-sister, Venelana, had married into the Gremory clan, making him cousin to Sirzechs and Rias.
Yet, despite his Bael heritage, Sairaorg hadn't inherited the family's signature Power of Destruction. Sirzechs and Rias had—the former even becoming a Maou, an honor that left the Bael elders fuming.
His mother, branded a disgrace for bearing a child without the family's power, was shunned. Both mother and son lived as outcasts on the Bael borderlands.
Growing up, Sairaorg endured endless ridicule for his weak demonic power—bullied, mocked, and ostracized.
But his mother's unwavering encouragement forged him into steel. He stopped crying, embraced brutal training, and built his strength from the ground up.
His dream? To become Maou, and create a world where bloodline meant nothing—where only strength could shape destiny.
When his mother fell ill and slipped into a coma, Sairaorg returned to the Bael estate, defeated his brother Magdaran, and reclaimed his birthright as heir.
Among the six prodigies of his generation, his magic and support stats were the lowest—yet his strength alone eclipsed them all.
With sheer power, he tamed the berserk Longinus, Regulus Nemea, and reincarnated its wielder as a Devil using seven Pawn pieces.
In many ways, Sairaorg was the archetypal anime protagonist—except fate hadn't granted him plot armor. In canon, he'd eventually lose to the "Breast Dragon Emperor," Hyoudou Issei, in the Rating Games.
But to Shuo, Sairaorg was one of the few men he genuinely respected.
A true warrior.
So of course, he wouldn't turn down a challenge.
System prompt:
Sairaorg, Red Tier Mission—Defeat him using only martial arts. Earn his wholehearted respect.
Shuo's lips curled into a sly grin. "You want to fight me? I'm game. But let's wait until after the banquet and Rating Games."
Sairaorg's eyes lit up. "Perfect! After the Underworld conference, we'll have a proper, honorable match!"
He extended his hand; Shuo took it, their grip firm—a silent pact forged between warriors.
The air between them practically sparked. Rias and the others watched the handshake, equal parts amused and exasperated.
Is this how men greet each other?
And… they knew Shuo's true strength. Even without his dragon avatar, he could go toe-to-toe with the Biblical God.
A match with Sairaorg? Wasn't this just bullying?
Rias and her group exchanged glances, silently hoping Sairaorg wouldn't get too crushed.
After the handshake, Rias frowned. "Sairaorg, why aren't you inside? Why hang around this corridor?"
He shrugged. "It's boring in there. The Agares family and the rest have arrived, but Zephyrdor started picking fights the moment he walked in. It's a circus."
A flash of disgust crossed his face.
Suddenly, a loud crash erupted from inside the hall.
Everyone spun around and rushed in.
A door had been smashed to splinters. Two Devils—a man and a woman—stood face to face, eyes blazing with murderous intent.
Behind them, their respective factions gripped weapons, tension thick as ice. The slightest spark would set off a bloodbath.
"Zephyrdor, if you want to fight here, I won't back down. Even if I kill you, the higher-ups probably wouldn't blame me," said a bespectacled female Devil, her tone cold as steel.
Her words, dripping with killing intent, seemed to bounce off the male Devil.
He just laughed. "Ha! You think you can take me, you stuck-up bitch?"
"I was nice enough to invite you to my private booth for a good time! The lady of the Agares family is so damn uptight—still a virgin, can you believe it?"
He sneered, voice dripping with vulgarity. "You even smell like a virgin. I just wanted to help you loosen up!"
The room fell silent. Even Shuo and Sairaorg's expressions soured.
Most of the female Devils glared daggers at Zephyrdor, especially the bespectacled woman—her face was stone.
Shuo curled his lip in open contempt. "And this guy's supposed to be a noble heir? He's worse than a street thug. Hell, even that turkey's got more class."
Rias and Sairaorg said nothing, but both silently agreed.
The truth was, genuine talent among Underworld nobles was rare. Most were nothing but pampered brats.
Even Riser of the Phoenix clan, for all his playboy antics, had real strength as a High-Class Devil.
But Zephyrdor? He was a disgrace—crude, weak, and utterly beneath the title of Devil.
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