đ The Gala's Aftermath
Moments after the last toast had echoed through the grand hall, the air in Lucien Lucifuge's estate seemed to shift. The music had softened, the laughter slowly receding, leaving behind a palpable tension. Conversations hummed with quiet deliberation, each word weighed and measured. The chamber, once alive with revelry, now felt like a chessboard, each guest a piece whose next move was yet to be seen.
The nobles exchanged subtle nods, some leaning closer in hushed conversation, while others simply studied one another with wary eyes. The true game had now begun. New alliances were being forged and broken with a glance. Each individual's intent was a secret wrapped in diplomacy. But it was not just the nobles that Lucien was concerned with.
A soft breeze swept through the hall as the doors creaked open, its passage accompanied by the scent of twilight flowers and something ancient, something that clung to the air like memory. The temperature of the room shifted ever so slightly, as though the world itself had paused to acknowledge her entrance.
Sona Sitri.
With every step, she carried the weight of her lineage, a practiced tactician whose presence seemed to command the room before she even spoke. Her indigo gown shimmered with sapphire undertones, the fabric flowing like liquid night as she glided across the floor. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the gathered guests with the precision of a general scanning a battlefield.
Her peerage members followed her, their movements synchronized in quiet discipline. Her peerage, steadfast and poised, stood behind her like an unbroken wall, ready to respond to any order she gave. They were loyal to her, and it showed in the way they moved in perfect unison, a subtle but powerful reminder of House Sitri's strength.
"Lucien," she greeted him with a tone as crisp as winter, her eyes scanning the room with sharp calculation. "It seems the rumors of your rise were not exaggerated. I wonder if you have been keeping up with your chess skills?"
"They rarely are," Lucien replied smoothly, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that was part humor, part intrigue. He inclined his head slightly, a sign of respect but also acknowledgment. "I'm always up to play chess with you, my dear Sona."
Sona's lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, as if the exchange amused her, yet her gaze never wavered, always measuring, always calculating. "Serafall spoke with our parents," she continued, lowering her voice just enough to ensure only he could hear. A few nearby nobles leaned in, eager to catch the secret, but Lucien's attention was entirely focused on her. "As the head of my household's next generation, I've decided to come and stay within your territory for a time. I wish to observe how you govern, manage your vassals, and⊠see what lessons might be of value to House Sitri's future."
Her words fell like a stone into water, sending ripples through the room. The nobles exchanged subtle glances, some curious, others calculating. Sona's move had placed the spotlight firmly on her, and the Sitri Clan, renowned for its political acumen and pristine legacy, had just thrown down a gauntlet.
Lucien's brow arched in recognition. He could feel the weight of this decision, its implications. "An insightful move," he said, his voice low but carrying a note of challenge. His smile softened, but the glint in his eyes sharpened. "Kuoh will welcome our shared rule, Sona. Though know thisâŠ"
His voice dropped, thick with quiet authority, the challenge wrapped in velvet. "What you witness here will not be the old ways. I intend to reshape what it means to rule."
Sona's eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence, the challenge mirrored in her gaze. There was no malice in her expression, only a deep curiosity and an almost imperceptible thrill. "That's precisely what makes it worth studying."
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat longer, the unspoken tension between them crackling in the air. Sona's gaze softened, but only slightly, as she turned to mingle with the crowd. Her peerage followed behind her, each step disciplined, like soldiers marching to an unspoken command.
As they walked, the murmurs in the hall grew louder, ripples spreading from the point of contact between two powerful forces. Lucien remained at the center, his presence a constant reminder that the game had changed.
The night had begun, and now, the Underworld would watch closely.
đ„ The Phoenix Flame â Iolka's Challenge
The room's attention shifted, the air thickening with an electrifying anticipation as House Phenex entered. A procession of crimson robes and banners emblazoned with flames heralded their arrival, but it was not the usual figurehead of House Phenex who led them.
Instead, a woman stepped forward, commanding the space with a presence that could only be described as volcanic. Her long, fiery-orange hair cascaded in controlled waves, catching the light and casting an ethereal glow behind her. Her gown, a blend of crimson and midnight black, glowed with intricate, flame-inscribed runes that flickered and danced as if alive. Each step she took seemed to ignite the air around her, the heat palpable. Iolka Rivel Strachur, the stunning heiress of House Strachur, stood like a flame incarnate, exuding both regal power and an unyielding, almost otherworldly authority.
Lucien's breath caught in his throat. The moment her eyes met his, an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. She was not just beautiful, she was mesmerizing, dangerous. Her gaze, sharp and commanding, sent a pulse of recognition through him.
"Iolka Rivel StrachurâŠ" he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible but filled with awe.
Beside him, Rias's grip tightened on her wineglass, her expression hardening. "She looks exactly like the character from Pick Me Up Infinite Gacha manhwa!" she muttered, her eyes narrowing as she observed the woman before them.
Iolka moved through the ballroom like a blade cutting through silk. She stopped in front of Lucien, her presence overwhelming, as though she commanded the space around her with nothing more than her will. Her eyes lingered on him, assessing, piercing through to the heart of him, as if she were judging his very soul.
"Lord Lucien Lucifuge," she greeted him, her voice smooth yet carrying an underlying fire, one that could scorch even the strongest of wills. "I come bearing greetings from House Strachur⊠and a personal challenge. Should you accept?"
A ripple ran through the gathered guests at her words. Conversations faltered, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. The air itself crackled with anticipation. Was this to be a duel? A test of wits? Or something deeper, a contest that would bind them all in ways they had yet to understand?
Lucien's lips curled into a slow, dangerous grin, his crimson eyes alight with unspoken resolve. He was not one to back down from a challenge, especially not one as fierce as this.
"It would be my pleasure," he said, his voice steady but laced with the promise of things to come.
âïž The Duel of Proxy Champions â A Test of Strength
Iolka's challenge was clear: a duel of champions, with Lucien to select his chosen representative. The terms were simple yet significant. The right to propose a union between their houses would be decided not just by strength, but by the trust and loyalty of their chosen warriors.
Lucien's mind raced as he considered the gravity of the decision. The choices were vast, each person in his peerage possessing unique strengths, but only one truly embodied the warrior spirit that House Lucifuge had always stood for. The one who had always stood by him in battle, the one who carried not just strength but unshakable resolve.
"Ghislaine," Lucien declared, his voice resolute, unwavering.
The war-queen stepped forward without hesitation. Her military-style crimson dress billowed behind her like the raging flames of war as she unsheathed her sword, the air crackling with tension as her blade gleamed in the soft light. She stood tall, her posture perfect, a balance of confidence and readiness. There was no doubt in her eyes; she was ready for whatever this duel would demand of her.
Iolka's champions, two phoenix knights, flaming warriors with a long history of battle experience, stood at the ready. Their armor, glinting with the intense heat of their flame affinity, shimmered like living fire. They were formidable opponents, and the fight would be brutal.
The duel began with an explosion of motion. Ghislaine's blade met the twin forces of fire and fury as she fought with the precision of a seasoned warrior. Each strike rang with power, each movement honed by years of battle. The phoenix knights fought with blazing speed, their weapons engulfed in flames, each strike a calculated attack aimed at overwhelming her defenses.
But Ghislaine was undeterred. Her movements were fluid yet graceful and deadly, as she danced through the flames with ruthless precision. She cleaved through fire with steel, her blade cutting arcs through the heat, her focus unyielding.
The battle raged on, each clash of steel and flame echoing through the room. The tension built, and the crowd watched with bated breath. But in the end, it was Ghislaine who emerged victorious. Her sword landed with a decisive blow, knocking the final phoenix knight to the ground in a burst of flame. She stood over him, breathing heavily, her eyes hard but full of respect for the fight she had just faced.
They watched in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on every breath. Then, slowly, the whispers came in low and sharp, threading through the crowd. Lucien had just proven something beyond power. He had shown leadership, loyalty, and trust in those who fought for him. Ghislaine had not only won the battle but had displayed restraint, strength, and honor, earning the respect of everyone in the room.
Lucien nodded approvingly as he watched his champion. She had done more than just win; she had reaffirmed the strength of their bond, the strength of House Lucifuge. And with that victory, Lucien knew that his path forward was set. House Strachur had thrown down the gauntlet, and Lucien had answered with the power of his most trusted ally.
đ° The Unwanted Advances â Riser's Lackey
The tension in the ballroom thickened, coiling like a storm waiting to burst, as the echoes of Lucien's duel victory still hung in the air. The guests continued to mingle, but their eyes were cautious, like predators watching for weakness. Conversations were now careful, a game of subtle moves beneath the grand façades of politeness. And yet, it was not the negotiations that would soon steal the attention.
Across the room, a minor noble from House Phenex, one of Riser's lackeys, Cyrus Phenex, eyed Kuroka with too much interest. The sliver of a smile on his lips was too eager, his approach too sure. Kuroka stood at the edge of the room, calm, her expression unreadable, as her tails swished lazily. There was an amused glint in her golden eyes, watching the crowd with the quiet observance of a predator waiting for the right moment.
Cyrus was emboldened by the whispered rumors and his understanding of Kuroka's past, and saw an opportunity for himself. He decided to make his move. With a smirk, he approached her, offering a forced, insincere compliment, the kind that always dripped with arrogance.
"You know," he said, "with those eyes and that figure, I'm sure you could be something far greater than a mere servant. How about you come with me, and weâ"
Cyrus's words were cut short, the air shifting with Kuroka's subtle change. Her ears flicked back, her eyes narrowing, but she didn't move. Not yet.
But the noble, too arrogant to take the hint, took a step closer. His breath became too warm, too familiar as his hand reached out for her arm. Kuroka's lip curled, revealing the faintest hint of her fangs. She was about to act when Lucien's voice rang out across the ballroom like a clap of thunder, silencing the murmur of conversation.
"Step away from her now! That's my fiancé, you damn fool!" His voice was cold, and as it echoed through the room, a palpable silence fell, every eye turning to the Lucifuge heir.
Cyrus froze, his hand suspended in the air as Lucien stepped forward. His presence was ice, an unspoken command that chilled the space around him.
Riser Phenex, standing nearby, attempted to smooth over the tension with his usual arrogance. "Now, now, Lucien," Riser said with a forced smile, "let's calm down. We're all friends here, aren't we? We are fated to be family. Can you please excuse my foolish cousin's outburst?"
Lucien's aura flared dangerously. The power of Destruction, Umbrakinesis, and Cyrokinesis surged from him, shadows coiling around his feet and ice manifesting in his breath. His blue eyes now blazed crimson with a wrathful coldness as he looked at Riser and his cousin Cyrus like they were both insignificant insects.
"Riser," Lucien's voice was low, but the danger in it was unmistakable. "I know you and your party arrived late, so you might have missed the announcement that Kuroka is one of my fiancés. So tell me, how would you act if you saw someone flirting with your fiancé in front of you? Would you react, or would you let him go?" He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a chilling tone. "I feel that my Auntie Rias needs to know that her fiancé would protect her. So, would you let me handle this trash?"
The noble's face drained of color, his bravado now shattered, his previous confidence melting under the weight of Lucien's words. Riser gritted his teeth, gnashing them in frustration, but he knew better than to challenge Lucien outright.
"You are right, Lucien," Riser muttered through clenched teeth. "I will let you handle my cousin as you see fit."
âïž The Challenge â A Rating Game Issued
The noble, now trembling, still tried to maintain some semblance of pride. Cyrus' eyes darted between Lucien and Kuroka. Cyrus realized that he had clearly underestimated the heir to House Lucifuge, and the weight of his mistake was becoming more apparent.
"Do you need a reminder of your place, or shall we make this official?" Lucien's voice was colder now, each word measured and deliberate, as he stepped into the noble's personal space. The room fell even quieter, everyone watching with bated breath.
Cyrus finally realized the gravity of the situation. But his pride, foolish as it was, made him press forward. "What? You can't be serious. You think I'd be afraid of you? I have a full peerage unlike the likes of you."
Lucien's smile was sharp, predatory. As his gaze turned toward Cyrus, the room seemed to freeze, as if the very air around them had stopped moving. A pulse of shadows rippled through the air, cold and suffocating.
"If you dare lay another finger on my fiancée's or peerage members, I will show you the cost of disrespect." Lucien's voice dropped, cold and calculating. "I challenge you to a Rating Game. Will see how well your bloodline fares against me on the battlefield."
Cyrus's face went pale as the weight of Lucien's words hit him like a hammer. The Rating Game was no simple affair; it was a test of power, a contest that could have life-and-death consequences. To challenge a noble bloodline to a Rating Game was no small matter.
Lucien turned toward the nobles in the room, his voice laced with authority. "I'll leave it to you all to decide if this is the behavior we condone at such a gathering." His gaze swept over the gathered guests, his challenge hanging in the air like a sword over their heads.
Serafall Leviathan, who had been watching with curious amusement, was the first to speak. Her voice, light and teasing but with a serious undertone, carried across the room. "What Lucien says goes," she said, her smile widening. "House Lucifuge is on the rise, and the last thing anyone wants is a stain on this event. A Rating Game will settle this. Let's see if your noble bloodline is as strong as you think."
Ajuka let out a low laugh. " Looks like Lucien inherited your temper, Sirzechs."
The noble stood, humiliated, but knowing he had no choice but to accept. He nodded, defeated, as the guests murmured in approval.
"Then it's settled," Lucien declared, turning to Kuroka, who smirked in amusement. "Make sure he understands his place. I'll arrange the game's details."
đ The Battle Looms â Raising Stakes
Lucien stepped back, his gaze sweeping across the ballroom as the tension in the room slowly returned to its usual hum. The guests exchanged looks, some filled with awe, others with a quiet approval. Lucien's power had been on full display not just in the challenge itself, but in the way he handled the situation. His calmness, his control, and his ability to dominate the moment he had shown that he was not just a prince, but a force to be reckoned with.
The lackey had been dealt with decisively, but the stakes had just been raised. A Rating Game would now be held, a public display of power, and it would bring the tensions between House Phenex and House Lucifuge into the open.
The challenge itself was more than just a duel; it was a statement. Lucien's power, his authority, and his resolve were no longer just words; they were actions. And now, he had to prepare for a battle that would test not only his strength but the loyalty and trust of his allies.
As the crowd slowly began to disperse, Lucien turned toward his peerage, his voice steady and commanding.
"We prepare for this battle like any other," he said, his eyes burning with determination. "No half-measures. We will fight to win."
Poison in the Veins â A Plot Unraveled
 Narberal and Grayroad quickly delivered unsettling news that one of the guests had been poisoned. The assassin's target had been clear: Lucien himself.
The poison was magical, designed to affect only those with Maou-class bloodlines.
Lucien felt a chill run through him.
He immediately reviewed the surveillance shadows with Kuroka and began to track the assassin's movements.
They traced the plot back to House Varnoct, a lesser noble house with hidden ties to devil-purist factions.
These radicals sought to rid the Underworld of "impure" Maou-bloodlines like his.
With cold calculation, Lucien issued judgment: "Discredit them. Expose them. Make them vanish."
The assassin would be dealt with, and the incident would be swept under the rug, forever hidden from the world.
Makima and Magik â The Chessboard of Power
 Later, Makima cornered Lucien briefly in a quiet corridor. Her eyes gleamed with silent hunger, studying him with the unhurried grace of something wild and watchful.
"I find power that builds with restraint far more dangerous than power that destroys recklessly," she said, her voice silky and unsettling. "That's why I'm still watching you."
Lucien held her gaze for a moment, his smile tight but controlled. "I'm glad you're intrigued," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. But inwardly, a voice screamed at him This is trouble.
Lucien had encountered figures like her before, and he knew exactly what Makima was capable of. His memories from his previous life, where Chainsaw Man had introduced him to her, made his skin crawl. Makima was not a being that operated with simple ambition; she was a manipulator, a controller, and one who weaved webs of influence and subtle dominance.
Her allure is as much a weapon as her eyes. Lucien thought to himself.
From his knowledge, Makima wasn't the type to join anyone's side unless she could control the game. Everything she did, every word she spoke, was wrapped in layers of hidden intent. In Chainsaw Man, she'd manipulated others for her own gain, turning allies into pawns and using them as tools for her larger, unseen goals. She had no true loyalty, only her own calculated pursuits. If she's here, as one of the Underworld nobles, then she has a bigger game at play.
Lucien, despite the smooth façade he kept feeling an unbidden sense of wariness coil inside him. The power she exuded wasn't just in her words or the way she moved, but in how she controlled the narrative. Lucien had learned from his previous life that a person like Makima didn't just offer herself. She calls it an opportunity, but there are hidden chains behind her offer. She's the reason that phrase exists: never trust a pretty face.
Makima's every word was a calculated measure, a subtle enticement, but Lucien knew better than to bite the bait. If he accepted her offer, if he allowed her to join his peerage, he would be inviting a storm into his life, one where he would never be sure if he was leading the charge or if he was simply playing into her hands.
As she walked away, Lucien's gaze lingered on her, watching her every movement with suspicion. She wasn't here to help him; she was here to position herself as a queen in a game of chess, and Lucien was not about to be her pawn. I'll need to keep her at arm's length.
Lucien turned to Magik, who had been silently observing the interaction. She flicked a glance at him, eyes calculating. "Your rise is both impressive and inevitable," she said, her tone like ice. "But the question remains, will it break the system, or will the system break you?"
Lucien met her eyes. Magik, unlike Makima, was more straightforward in her approach; her words were less of a manipulative game and more of a challenge. But even then, Lucien couldn't ignore the weight of her observation. She's watching too, but at least she's honest about it.
Family and Tension â The Storm Approaches
 Meanwhile, as the guests continued to gather and the nobles began to plot their futures, Tiamat arrived as a towering presence above them all.
Her blue robes, trimmed in gold and adorned with elaborate scales, sparkled as she descended from the sky, an ancient force of nature that dwarfed those around her. Her horns gleamed in the moonlight, and her presence made the very air crackle with potent, primal magic.
With a voice like a roaring flame, she declared her intentions to the room: "I've decided to move to my soon-to-be grandson-in-law's territory. And if anyone has a problem with that⊠I'll show you what happens when you mess with a dragon's family."
The devils around her stiffened. No one, not even the most powerful of houses, dared challenge a dragon of her magnitude.
Lucien held her gaze, his respect for Velzaria's grandmother unmistakable. She had chosen his side, and her presence would only strengthen his resolve.
đ The Watchers â A Brooding Fate
Later that evening, Lucien sat in his private study, the quiet hum of magic vibrating in the air. The Rating Game rules were sprawled out before him, and his pale blue eyes scanned over them with focused intensity. He was deep in thought, trying to navigate the complex web of strategies he would need to deploy to win. The duel with Cyrus had escalated swiftly, but Lucien knew this was more than just a simple victory. It would serve as a pivotal moment in shaping his future and the legacy of House Lucifuge.
His mind raced as he considered all the angles. He couldn't afford to approach this lightly. This wasn't just about showing power; this was about sending a message, not just to his enemies but to those who would consider joining his cause. The stakes were higher than ever. If he failed, it would be more than just a personal loss. It would be the unraveling of everything he had fought for.
Suddenly, a soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Lucien looked up, expecting it to be one of his servants or perhaps a messenger. But to his surprise, it was none other than his father, Sirzechs Lucifer.
Sirzechs had a knowing smile on his face, his crimson hair catching the candlelight as he stepped inside. His presence was both comforting and unnerving, like a towering mountain that both protected and tested everything that came close to it. Lucien had always admired his father's calm demeanor, but tonight, there was something different in Sirzechs's posture, a subtle weight, as though he knew the magnitude of what was to come.
"I saw the challenge," Sirzechs said, his tone steady but with a hidden weight to it. "You've done well, son. But remember, in this world, nothing is ever truly settled."
Lucien's gaze remained firm, unwavering. He didn't flinch. Instead, he met his father's eyes and replied in kind, his voice low but filled with determination. "I know. But I intend to shape this world."
Sirzechs chuckled softly, but there was something deeper in his voice, a quiet pride mingled with a warning. "Good. Just don't forget⊠those who shape it often end up breaking it."
Lucien stayed silent, allowing the weight of his father's words to sink in. It was a reminder he had heard before, though it felt different now, the words resonating with a gravity that mirrored the path ahead of him. He was no longer just playing a game. He was forging something that could either elevate or destroy him.
Sirzechs' gaze softened, and he stepped closer to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You have ten days," Sirzechs continued, his voice solemn but filled with authority. "The Rating Game will take place in ten days. The full Underworld will be watching. Those who crave your downfall will be watching, looking for the slightest weakness. Those who are still undecided, unsure whether to join your camp, will also be watching closely. Give it your all, my son."
Lucien stood tall, feeling the intensity of his father's words settle on him like a mantle he could not cast aside. His father's pride and concern were both evident, but so was his belief in Lucien's ability to succeed.
Sirzechs' eyes softened even further, and he added, his voice low with an undercurrent of emotion, "Your mother and I are both proud of you, Lucien. We've always been. The other three Maou and I share that pride, even if they won't say it aloud. But remember this: the price of power is steep. They'll watch you fall or rise, and those that wish to control you will always have their eyes on your next move."
Lucien took a deep breath, his pulse steadying. The weight of the Rating Game was no longer just about personal pride; it was about something much bigger now. His choice, his next move, would strike like a drumbeat in the dark, each action echoing through the veins of the Underworld. He could feel the eyes of those who both supported and despised him. He was at the crossroads of destiny, with no way to turn back.
Sirzechs gave his son a final, knowing smile before turning to leave, his voice echoing softly in Lucien's ears: "Just don't burn yourself out too quickly, son. You remind me so much of your mother. But there's a balance you must find. Remember that."
Lucien watched his father leave the room, and the door clicked shut behind him. The room felt colder now, and his gaze turned back to the papers spread before him. He hadn't noticed how tightly he had been holding his breath, nor how much he had been holding back. The weight of the moment seemed to settle deeper into his bones.
Moonlight poured through the windows like liquid silver, casting a pale glow as Lucien sank into his chair, the weight of unseen burdens pressing down on him. He wasn't just preparing for a Rating game. He was preparing for a pivotal chapter in his story. The legacy that he would leave behind, the way he would shape the Underworld's future, all rested on this moment.
As Lucien stared into the reflective surface of the enchanted glass in front of him, his mind wandered. It wasn't just about showing his power; it was about making a statement to all who would listen. The Underworld was at a crossroads, and Lucien was standing at the very heart of it.
The time for the game had come. The players had been set in motion.
đ The Forces Align
In the distance, Ophis sat in the Dimensional Gap, watching the pieces move as if guided by unseen hands of fate. Her twin voids flickered with dark intent.
"If the pieces are moving," Ophis spoke to the shadowed figure beside her, her voice low and deliberate. "We must observe. The boy may be the change this world requires."
Her cold gaze lingered for a moment before her focus shifted. Somewhere far below, Lucien was beginning his preparations for the first major step in his journey. The game was more than a duel; it was a turning point, a pivotal moment in the history of the Underworld.
Meanwhile, far from the hidden gazes of dragons and gods, another voice echoed through the realms: that of Trigon. Through Raven's pendant, his deep, rumbling growl echoed with an edge of both threat and warning.
"This world is your proving ground," Trigon's voice rumbled, a growl that reverberated in Lucien's mind. "But I'll not see my daughter bound to a fading flame. Survive. Or be consumed."
Lucien shivered slightly as the weight of the words pressed in on him. He had always known that the cosmic forces had their eyes on him, but now, more than ever, he felt the weight of destiny pressing down on his shoulders. The path ahead was lined with shadows, but he had no choice but to walk through them.
Would he survive? Or would the flames of ambition consume him?
The pieces were in motion. The game was set. The storm was coming, and Lucien was standing at its heart, ready to claim his place at the center of the Underworld's future.