The courtyard stilled for a heartbeat, breath held in the hush before storm.
Then—
Chaos ignited.
Yamato lunged first—kanabo raised high, the war cry on her lips cracking through the air like a divine thunderclap. She moved with the weight of legend, and when her swing landed, it cleaved the training stones beneath Lucien's feet like they were glass.
But Lucien was already gone.
He slipped into shadow just before impact—his form unraveling into a stream of darkness—only to emerge behind her like a ghost reborn.
Only to be met by Ghislaine's foot, whistling through the air, aiming square at his ribs.
Lucien twisted mid-air, shadows spiraling around his limbs like bracers of living armor, but the blow still connected. The impact knocked him across the courtyard in a grinding spray of gravel and heat.
Ghislaine landed in a crouch, hair whipping around her sharp gaze. "Good," she said, voice like steel sliding from its sheath. "You're finally starting to move like a warrior."
Before he could answer, the air chilled.
Rangiku moved.
Her mist poured into the courtyard like spilled perfume, scentless and silver, warping light and swallowing depth. One moment she was lazily sipping her conjured sake at the edge of the training field—the next, she was behind him, blade drawn, breath ghosting over his ear.
"Boo," she whispered, wickedly amused.
Lucien spun, and the shadows answered—a tendril leaping from his back like a whip of living night, colliding with her spiritual blade. The clash split frost across the ground and sent tongues of black fire rippling into the mist.
Then—
Kuroka struck.
Her youjutsu ignited in a storm of color and pressure—burning spheres of focused energy detonated around Lucien, each one a kiss of wildfire, dazzling and deadly. Her magic danced like foxfire through the fog, and the scent of jasmine turned acrid with heat.
Lucien reeled, breath ragged.
He couldn't keep up.
And yet—
He breathed.
He centered.
"Shadow, be my blade."
The Lucifuge magic surged.
The earth shuddered beneath him as spirals of darkness bloomed from the stones—runes glowing with umbral fire. A whisper, a thought, and he vanished again—this time not as smoke or light, but like something older. Something primeval.
He erupted beneath Ghislaine, shadows coiling around his arm as he drove an uppercut of midnight flame toward her core.
She blocked—barely.
But it was enough.
Then came the split—Lucien's body blurred, and from his form unfurled three shadows, mirror-images given life and purpose. One surged at Rangiku, intercepting her spirit avatar mid-step. Another collided with Kuroka's tail just as it lashed toward his throat, scattering her spell mid-cast. The last flanked Yamato, forcing her to turn her next swing into a wide arc.
And still—he moved.
Yamato came again, faster this time.
But Lucien did not retreat.
He met her head-on, conjuring a sword from his own shadow—a jagged blade of living obsidian, humming with intent. The kanabo and the shadow-sword collided with the force of two worlds grinding together. The impact detonated through the protective wards of the estate, flaring golden lines into the sky.
The shadows screamed.
So did something inside him.
Memories—foreign, yet his—flashed across his vision:
A battlefield of corpses.
A crowned figure wreathed in black fire.
A wolf with ten eyes howling beneath a pale and broken moon.
Lucien stumbled—knees nearly buckling.
But he didn't fall.
With a guttural cry, Lucien pushed forward, shadows bursting outward like wings of night. They congealed into a massive arm, shaped of magic and memory, which slammed into the courtyard like a titan's fist—knocking all four of his opponents away in a single wave of void.
The silence that followed was electric.
He collapsed to one knee, sweat pouring down his face, arms trembling, his chest rising and falling like crashing tides. But his lips curled upward in a triumphant smile.
"I win," he gasped.
⸻
From the upper balcony overlooking the battlefield, Grayfia remained still, hands clasped before her. The mist hadn't reached this high, but she could still smell the blood in the air, the magic singing in the stones, the raw edge of power rising from her son like steam from a blacksmith's forge.
Beside her, Grayroad leaned forward, his mismatched eyes gleaming with respect.
"He's not playing at command anymore," the assassin murmured. "He's leading."
Grayfia's voice was soft, but unflinching. "He used to tremble in the dark. Now the dark trembles when he calls it."
The Lucifuge magic danced below—responsive, flexible, controlled. Not dominating him. Not resisting. Partnered.
Grayroad nodded. "That shadow-hand was overkill. Effective though."
"And dangerous," Grayfia replied. "I taught him to control it. But what moves through him now… there are pieces of it even I don't recognize."
She exhaled slowly, watching Lucien smile through the pain.
He's almost ready.
⸻
Back on the field, the groans of the defeated brought levity to the tension.
Yamato groaned from where she was half-hung in the crook of a tree. "Barely…"
Kuroka twitched inside a cracked crater, her twin tails flicking weakly. "Nyaa~ that was fun. You broke me a little."
Rangiku brushed ash from her sake gourd and fixed her hair, grumbling, "Alright, now it's personal."
Ghislaine, already standing again, extended her hand toward Lucien. Her knuckles were bleeding, and her smile was proud.
"Good," she said. "You're ready to bleed for it now."
Lucien grasped her hand and stood—sore, slow, but steady. "Once we reach our new territory," he said, "I want you three to train me harder. Not like a noble. Like a warrior. Break me down. Rebuild me. I want to earn every step."
The three summoned warriors exchanged glances.
Yamato cracked her neck. "Hell yeah."
Ghislaine grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."
Rangiku's eyes gleamed with challenge. "You're going to regret saying that."
Lucien just smiled—shadows still twitching at his back, as though even they were pleased.
"Good."
Three Days Later – Gremory Estate, Nightfall
Night had settled over the Gremory estate like a velvet curtain, pinning sapphire lanterns to the walls that glowed like stars. Their light shimmered across polished blackstone floors, reflecting in gentle waves—quiet, proud, and ancient.
Lucien stood in the private study shared by his parents, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the fire crackling in the hearth. Shadows danced across the tall bookshelves, flickering over the Gremory lineage portrait mounted above the mantle—bloodlines, legacies, and expectations.
He heard the measured click of heels before the door even opened.
"Lucien," Grayfia greeted smoothly, ever composed.
Sirzechs followed, loosening the high collar of his coat. "You asked to speak with us, son?"
Lucien turned and gave a respectful nod. "Thank you. For coming."
"You're our son," Grayfia replied, stepping past him to pour tea into three waiting cups. "You never need to ask for time."
Sirzechs sank into the armchair by the fire, Lucien taking the one opposite—his posture formal, but his mind already racing ahead.
Porcelain chimed softly as Grayfia set down the cups, steam curling between them like threads of unsaid truths.
Sirzechs broke the silence. "You've been thinking about telling us something."
Lucien blinked. "…That obvious?"
Grayfia seated herself beside her husband, one leg crossed with effortless grace. "You already told Kuroka."
Lucien looked down at his teacup. "How did you—?"
"We're not blind," Sirzechs said gently. "Or absent. We've watched how your summons move. How they look at you."
Grayfia's voice remained cool, but her gaze turned sharp. "Ghislaine's swordplay—her Sword of Light—was once whispered about among angels and dragon-kin. Yamato's energy control matches a lost technique from the East known only in forbidden texts: Haki."
Sirzechs leaned forward, voice quiet but intense. "And Rangiku…"
Lucien tensed, just slightly.
"She holds herself like nobility. But her aura isn't demonic—it's spiritual. Mist-bound. She manipulates emotion like a symphony. That kind of control doesn't come from this world… unless it predates it."
Grayfia studied her son closely. "They don't follow you like reborn devils. Not with gratitude. They follow you like believers. As if they knew you before they came here."
Lucien was silent for a beat, then met their eyes.
"…Would you believe me if I said I don't think they're from this world?"
Sirzechs exhaled softly, not in surprise—but in relief.
"We already believe that. We were only waiting for you to trust us enough to confirm it."
Grayfia's voice gentled. "You've never lied to us, Lucien. But you've… edited the truth."
He gave a small, rueful smile. "I didn't want to overwhelm you all at once. It's a lot."
"You trusted Kuroka," Grayfia said, but not unkindly. "And Rias is next."
Lucien nodded. "She deserves to know. Especially before things escalate."
Sirzechs rose and placed a hand on his son's shoulder—firm, warm, grounding.
"You don't owe us the whole truth before you're ready. But know this—we're not afraid of what you'll say. Devils born of fire. Angels turned traitor. Dragons fused with gods. If your summons walk from beyond dimensions or stories… you're not the first Gremory to breach the edge of the world."
Grayfia stood beside her husband, her expression unreadable.
"But if danger follows—if someone or something sent them—we need to be prepared. For you. And for the clan."
Lucien stood too, emotion catching in his throat.
"When I tell you everything, it'll be because I've earned the right to stand beside you… not behind you."
Grayfia stepped forward, her hand rising to touch his cheek—cool fingers brushing warmth into his skin.
"You already do, Lucien," she whispered. "You just haven't accepted it yet."
Sirzechs smiled, soft and proud.
"And when you're ready… we'll listen. Together."
Lucien gave a grateful nod and turned to leave, the burden on his shoulders lighter.
Behind him, his parents exchanged a glance.
"He's holding back something enormous," Sirzechs murmured.
Grayfia's gaze lingered on the door. "And when he speaks it… it may change more than how we see him."
"The Maous?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The world."
It was an auspicious morning in the Underworld. Twin suns hovered in a violet-tinged sky, casting golden light over the obsidian fields of the Gremory estate. Magic stirred subtly in the air, as if the world itself sensed a coming shift. Even the ancient rose gardens seemed to bloom brighter, their petals trembling faintly in the breeze.
The towering gates of the Gremory estate stood before Lucien, the weight of parting heavier than he'd anticipated. For all his bravado—his declarations of surpassing his parents and grandmother—leaving behind his childhood home, his family, and the rhythms of his old life struck deeper than expected.
Behind him, the estate loomed: centuries of noble legacy carved into obsidian and silver-veined marble, its runes pulsing softly in the daylight. Before him lay the unknown.
At the courtyard's edge waited Sirzechs, Grayfia, Venelana, and Zeoticus. The morning air carried a crisp chill, laced with lingering enchantments and the scent of long-lived roses—blooming still, even after centuries of war, thanks to Venelana's touch.
She was the first to step forward, cupping Lucien's cheek and brushing aside his bangs the way she had when he was small. Her elegant fingers, always warm, trembled faintly.
"You've grown up so fast, my little devil," she whispered, eyes shining with pride—and something softer, more fragile.
Lucien grinned and hugged her tight. "I'll make you proud, Grandma. House Lucifuge is going to rise—with style."
Zeoticus chuckled behind her and stepped up to ruffle Lucien's hair—though the boy ducked instinctively. "Just don't marry a hundred women at once, or the council will have my head. And your grandmother will take the rest."
Lucien smirked. "No promises, Gramps."
Then came Grayfia.
She didn't speak at first. She just pulled him into a hug—tight enough to steal his breath. His ever-composed, unshakable mother… trembled.
"I don't want to let go," she whispered, voice cracked and raw against his ear.
Lucien blinked, stunned. His mother, the Strongest Queen, the paragon of composure and poise, had cracked.
It hit harder than he'd expected.
He held her tighter. "I'm coming back, Mom. Stronger."
When she finally stepped back, her expression had reset to diamond clarity. Her silver eyes swept over his gathered peerage—Kuroka, Ghislaine, Yamato, Rangiku—and her voice sharpened.
"If my son comes back with so much as a scratch," she said, "then one of you better be bleeding. Or I swear by the Abyss—you'll learn firsthand why I earned my title."
A tense silence followed.
Yamato felt a cold bead of sweat trail down her neck. She's stronger than Kaido. Than anyone I've ever faced.
Ghislaine stiffened. Predator.
Even Rangiku straightened. "Haven't felt that kind of bloodlust since Unohana-Kaichou went for my throat," she muttered, half-impressed, half-terrified.
Lucien gave a weak smile. "You terrify them, Mom."
Grayfia's lips twitched. "As it should be."
Sirzechs stepped in then, pulling Lucien into a crushing bear hug. "You're leaving before Rias comes back. She's going to kick your ass."
"I left her a letter," Lucien replied. "Told her and her peerage they're welcome in my new territory anytime."
Sirzechs sighed and clapped his hand on Lucien's shoulder. "You'll be the death of me and your grandfather. Just keep training."
"I will. I plan to turn Ri-Ri and me into monsters. That way, you and Mom can focus on giving me a few siblings."
Sirzechs barked a laugh. "You'd better. And Lucien—" his voice softened, father over Maou—"make us proud. Build something undeniable."
Lucien nodded. "I will."
He turned toward the teleportation gate, its crimson sigils glowing with ancient power. His peerage followed behind, composed but not unaffected.
Just before he stepped through, Grayfia caught his wrist one last time.
"Lucien," she murmured, voice like cut glass. "You'll be tested—not always by battle. Some of our allies fear what you represent. Trust sparingly. Be patient. Be smart."
He met her gaze. It wasn't just a warning about politics—it was something deeper. Older.
"I'll remember," he said softly.
And then, with a pulse of crimson magic—
They vanished.
⸻
The teleportation array deposited them atop a windswept hill.
A cool current swept through Lucien's cloak and tousled Rangiku's hair. Before them stretched a breathtaking vista.
A grand manor rose from a fertile valley, its gothic spires piercing the clouds like obsidian daggers. The surrounding hills rolled like dark velvet, shrouded in mist and framed by ancient pines whispering in the wind. Roads glinted like fresh-cut onyx, leading to distant villages and outposts—watchful and still.
The land breathed old magic. Deep. Calm. Potent.
"Damn," Rangiku whistled, hands on her hips. "I was expecting a haunted ruin. Not… this."
"It's too clean," Kuroka murmured, tail flicking. Her eyes narrowed. "Too… arranged."
Yamato said nothing, already analyzing terrain, defense points, and bottlenecks. "Too many approach routes. We'll need perimeter defenses."
Ghislaine cracked her neck. "Good ground for training. These woods are older than they look. We'll find monsters."
Lucien's crimson eyes glinted. Despite the ache of departure, his heart lifted. He stepped forward, gesturing wide.
"Welcome," he said, quiet pride threading through his voice, "to our new territory."
As they descended the hill, familiar blue text scrolled across his vision.
[Mission Complete: "Train with Your Peerage"]
[Rewards Granted:]
• +1 Bishop Piece (Special)
• 300,000 Demonic Power Points
• +1 Personal Summon Slot
• Rare Item Draw x1
"Lilith," he asked aloud as they entered the outer gardens, "what's the extra Evil Piece for?"
[This Bishop piece is special. It allows you to recruit a being of unique or undefined classification—or awaken a latent trait in a current peerage member.]
Lucien arched a brow. "Awaken a trait?"
[Correct. If a peerage member has dormant ancestry, sealed potential, or incomplete class alignment, this piece can catalyze a breakthrough.]
Kuroka's ears twitched.
She hadn't spoken much since arrival. While the others admired the land, her gaze kept drifting—toward the forest's edge, the manor's spires, the sky.
Lucien noticed and slowed his stride.
"You alright, Kuroka?"
She gave him a lazy smile. "I'm fine, nya~ Just… new places have new smells."
He raised a brow but moved on.
Behind him, her smile faded.
Too perfect. Too polished. No new noble gets this clean a slate… unless someone wants them watched.
⸻
The manor doors creaked open, enchanted hinges responding to Lucien's presence like a beast stirring from slumber.
They stepped into a vast entrance hall of obsidian-veined marble, softly aglow with sigils of protection and surveillance. Soulglass chandeliers floated overhead, humming faintly. Gargoyle sentinels stood at every archway, ready to animate at the first sign of threat.
A grand staircase split into twin wings. Plush crimson carpet lined the path. Suits of armor flanked the walls, and portraits—blank, gold-framed canvases—waited for history to fill them.
Rangiku let out a low whistle. "This isn't just a manor. This is a throne with a roof."
Ghislaine silently mapped the training yard beyond the east corridor. Yamato drifted toward the library, eyes wide with childlike wonder.
Lucien placed a hand on the banister.
"It's ours now."
⸻
Later, gathered in the central courtyard beneath the steady glow of Underworld sunstones, Lucien called his peerage to him.
"Time to meet our second Bishop."
He held up the crimson Evil Piece, grin tugging at his lips. "She's blonde. Small. Powerful. And technically the same age as my mom—give or take a century."
Rangiku stared. "A loli?"
"In form only," Lucien said smoothly. "She's Yue. A vampire princess."
He activated the summoning.
A golden magic circle flared beneath his feet, vampiric runes woven into demonic summoning scripts. Pale fire lit the courtyard. The air stilled.
Then—she appeared.
Barefoot on the glowing sigil. Hair like liquid gold, eyes like fresh-spilled blood. Skin pale as snow. She wore a high-collared gothic dress of midnight velvet and white lace, adorned with pulsing red gemstones.
Her gaze locked instantly onto Lucien.
"You're my Master," she said softly.
And then—she stepped forward and bit him.
Lucien stiffened as cool lips met his neck and fangs pierced skin.
Everyone froze.
Yue drank only a few drops, reverent. A pledge.
"She's a vampire," Kuroka explained calmly. "It's a ritual. Blood for loyalty."
Yamato's grip tightened. Rangiku raised a curious brow.
Yue pulled back and licked her lips.
"Good," she purred. "You're strong. I'll protect you."
The torches flickered. The courtyard hummed with ancient resonance.
"Another beautiful blonde," Rangiku muttered. "It's a curse."
Lucien chuckled. "We need to name this place."
After rounds of banter—Lucien's Rest, Midnight Hollow, Gremory Annex #1 (immediately vetoed)—one name silenced them all.
Grayfia's Heart.
Not a monument. A promise.
To the woman who raised him. Who loved him. Who terrified them all into obedience.
Lucien spoke the name aloud.
And the manor answered.
The sigils pulsed brighter. The air shifted.
It was home now. A fortress. A future.