Underworld. The Bael Territory.
With steady steps, the middle-aged man advanced forward, then dropped to his knees before the throne, his voice low and respectful:
"How may I be of service, Ancestor?"
His messy black hair fell over his forehead, and his purple eyes shone with the unmistakable mark of the Bael Clan.
He was none other than the current Lord Bael.
Zekram lifted his gaze toward him with indifference, as if asking about something trivial:
"Who is the current heir of the Bael Clan?"
Such details rarely interested him, and thus he had no idea who the new heir was.
Lord Bael swallowed hard, an uncomfortable prickling twisting in his gut—
a primal instinct whispering that something terrible was coming.
"…It is my youngest son, Magdaran Bael."
Then he added, his hesitation painfully obvious:
"Did… did Magdaran do something?"
Zekram's eyebrow rose slightly, and his usually flat tone shifted with a rare hint of interest:
"Oh~… that boy who likes plants and flowers."
It seemed the name stirred a familiar memory, for he continued in a calm, confident voice as though the decision had long been made:
"Tell him he is removed from the position of heir.
Let him focus on his research on plants… it's better for that child than being forced down a path he does not want."
"Ancestor, I beg you to reconsider!"
Lord Bael blurted out, tension tightening his facial muscles as he struggled to keep his voice steady. He rushed on, words tumbling out as if trying to outrun his fear:
"The younger generation of the Bael Clan has only two members… and the only one who inherited the Power of Destruction is Magdaran."
Then, with even clearer worry:
"So… it will be impossible to find a suitable heir if Magdaran is removed!"
"It seems the title of Lord Bael has given you the courage to oppose my decisions…"
Zekram spoke softly, but beneath that softness lay a blade-sharp coldness—
a killing intent that needed no explanation.
His eyes fixed themselves on the kneeling man as if piercing straight into his soul.
"Do you believe you have the right to object?
Or perhaps you think I am unaware of your use of the King Piece?"
And the moment he finished speaking, the Power of Destruction erupted from his body like a dark storm—
a crushing wave that obliterated everything nearby without mercy.
His fury was unmistakable…
and Zekram's fury was not something to be taken lightly.
Lord Bael's body shrank involuntarily with the first tremor in the air, as though the destructive power itself pressed against his bones. His forehead hit the floor, and his voice trembled despite his desperate attempts to steady it:
"A–Ancestor… this is a misunderstanding!
I only used the King Piece to protect the clan… I have never gone against your orders!"
But his defense met no response.
The throne, the stone, even the air… everything trembled under Zekram's wrath.
Zekram took a single step forward—
yet it was enough to make Lord Bael feel as if the gates of hell had opened beneath his knees.
Tendrils of the Power of Destruction snaked through the hall like black serpents ready to devour anything.
Zekram spoke slowly… with a coldness equal to the edge of an abyss:
"If I wished to destroy the Bael Clan… I would have done so long ago."
Before he continued, the destructive waves ceased abruptly, as though the air itself had been denied permission to move. Everything fell silent in an instant—
a suffocating silence that drowned the hall.
Zekram lowered his hand slowly, then turned his head slightly toward Lord Bael—
a single glance enough to crush the last traces of resistance.
His voice came out calm… yet it felt like a gate of ice closing upon the soul:
"As for the heir… there is no need to worry."
Lord Bael froze, cold sweat trickling down the side of his face as Zekram continued without the slightest hesitation:
"Because I already have a suitable candidate.
Someone stronger than you…
and possessing the Power of Destruction."
There was no threat in his tone.
No anger.
Just a simple truth—
one spoken by the progenitor himself, and one sharp enough to shatter Lord Bael's heart like fragile glass.
"As for your use of the King Piece…"
Zekram's voice dropped, cold and unforgiving as a wall of ice:
"I will overlook it for now… but the punishment will not be absent."
He did not spare him another glance.
He simply let the words hang over Lord Bael's head like a tightened noose waiting for the right moment to snap.
Then he turned away, his steps carrying the confidence of someone who knew the world itself bent to his will. And despite the icy chill of his earlier tone… his mood seemed to improve, even gain a hint of excitement.
For now, he was on his way to spend some time with Misaki and Ren—
And today, the old man seemed ready to enjoy a good mood.
Before the echo of his footsteps faded, he delivered one last line—
a decree that allowed no discussion:
"By the way… the new heir of the Bael Clan will be announced at the upcoming Gathering of Young Devils."
Then he left the hall, behind him nothing but heavy silence…
and a kneeling man trembling in fear and helplessness.
_
The next day.
"I didn't expect to come back here again…"
Ren muttered as he walked slowly through the streets of Kuoh Town, observing the familiar buildings with an entirely different gaze this time. Starting today… he was officially a student at Kuoh Academy.
He took a deep breath before adding with a soft, mocking tone:
"And not just that… I'm now Kurosaki Bael Ren."
He spoke the new name with quiet bitterness.
He had no desire for titles or responsibilities, but reality was simple:
He was the new heir…
and the official overseer of Kuoh Town.
For the truth that most did not know was that the authority over Kuoh did not originally belong to the Gremory Clan as it appeared…
but to the Bael Clan.
And it seemed the old man couldn't tolerate seeing those rights in anyone else's hands.
He had marched straight to Sirzechs and the others, fought a long dispute—
and reclaimed everything… with interest.
And as expected of the Bael Clan…
they had prepared a set of customized Evil Pieces with astonishing speed.
Ren murmured as he rolled a gleaming white chess piece between his fingers, pulsing with a faint, almost living glow.
These Evil Pieces were entirely different from the usual kind.
Instead of forcing the reincarnated individual to become a Devil alone—
This version reconstructed the person according to the closest race to their true essence—
with a clear influence from Ren's own nature.
The pieces were created using Ren's blood…
a bloodline that was an unnatural fusion of several races woven into deadly harmony.
Thus, the pieces constantly shifted, adapting themselves to Ren's condition at every moment.
If Ren were to gain dragon blood, for example…
Those revived through these pieces could reincarnate as dragons with demonic traits.
And if Ren gained a different lineage…
the reincarnation possibilities would change accordingly.
Most importantly—
All of these Evil Pieces were Mutation Pieces—
A nearly impossible phenomenon…
but entirely expected when their source was someone like Ren.
For Mutation Pieces weren't merely "better" than normal ones—
They were more flexible, more powerful, and allowed nearly limitless potential for growth.
Ren looked at the full set of pieces thoughtfully, then gave a small smile that never reached his eyes.
"At least… that makes choosing my Peerage easier."
He wasn't starting from zero.
He already had several candidates in mind—
individuals he had seen potential in…
and perhaps something else known only to him.
And as he continued walking toward the gates of Kuoh Academy, his steps carried a mixture of confidence…
and boredom.
...
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