{Dawn, Tannin's Mountain}
—Bova Tannin—
For the past few days, Bova had been working non-stop. From settling things with his siblings —beating them up— to cramming most of what his father planned for him.
Right now, it was all about strength. To put it simply, how hard he could punch.
Dragons were naturally strong. Their bodies were built for it, their scales worked better than any brass knuckles, and a single punch could crack a skull.
But Bova didn't think that was enough. After watching his father coat himself in demonic power during a spar with another dragon, he got an idea.
'This is difficult…'
He had managed to coat his fists in demonic power, like a thin glove. On his first try, he realized that without proper control, one punch made the coating explode—wrecking both the opponent's face and his own scales.
That's why he was being careful, adjusting it bit by bit so it caused more damage without shredding his fists.
But was that enough?
'Now the fire—'
For someone as competitive as Bova? Definitely not.
He exhaled dragon fire over his fists, already wrapped in demonic power. He moved cautiously this time—he'd burned himself before when he screwed up the balance between the two.
This time, he was slow, deliberate, aiming to create a proper move.
'If I can make it like demonic dragon flames… it'll be stronger.'
That was the plan. Demonic Dragon Flames were brutal, but too dangerous to be used in tight spaces or against singular targets. This would fix that.
Once his fist was wrapped in a barely stable coating of demonic dragon fire, he decided to test it right away.
He wanted to see the damage output and the recoil on his hand. So, without wasting a second—or giving the unstable mix a chance to collapse—he drove his fist at the massive, cracked boulder in front of him.
The problem?
He didn't hit the boulder. He hit someone else.
"How have you be—"
His slit pupils widened as his peerage master's face appeared inches away. His heart stopped. It was too late to pull back, and the unstable coating meant that if he flinched now, his fist could blow up along with the devil's head.
'Shit!'
He shut his eyes, praying the devil would dodge or teleport like always.
But he didn't. The punch landed and Bova's stomach dropped.
Instead of flesh, though, he felt like he'd struck solid metal—unbreakable metal.
Before he could make sense of it, the demonic-draconic mix broke down and exploded, tearing through his hand. Or what was left of it.
"Fucking idiot!"
The last thing he expected was to hear his master cussing him out. The elegant devil stood in front of him, covered head to toe in black armor. Blood and bits of flesh clung to the armor plates.
Bova looked down. His right hand was gone—everything past the wrist blown off.
As for the devil? He stared at him, horrified.
* * *
Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for what just happened. If the Bracelet of Imagination hadn't kicked in at basically light speed, with just a thought, I'd probably be dead. Or at the very least, half-dead.
And this guy… this dragon didn't even look fazed about losing his hand.
"Boss?" he muttered, a little nervous in his voice.
"Were you trying to kill me?" I snapped, barely holding back from cursing again.
The impact from that attack was insane. It left a crater around us, and the boulder behind me had crumbled without even being hit directly.
If the bracelet hadn't absorbed most of the shock, I wouldn't even be standing.
"I—I no," he stammered, standing there in his dragonoid form. "I was aiming for the boulder before you appeared."
Okay, fine. That part was on me. I should've checked what he was doing before teleporting right in front of him.
But that wasn't the issue.
That attack didn't just almost kill me—it blew his damn hand off.
Sighing behind my helmet, I released the form. The black armor melted back into my wrist and wrapped itself into the bracelet again.
Bova scratched at his scaly face with his left hand, his long nails scraping across his cheek, while his other arm just… dripped melting flesh. His missing, burnt limb was hanging there like it was nothing.
He didn't even look like he felt pain.
Another sigh. I cut my palm open. Twice I'd met this guy, and twice I'd ended up feeding him my blood.
The bracelet shifted, reshaping into a vial as I squeezed blood into it.
"Drink."
His hand wasn't going to heal instantly—my blood worked faster on me than anyone else—but it would still repair him way quicker than waiting for another healer.
He didn't question me, didn't hesitate. Just downed it.
Sairaorg was already proof that my blood could regrow lost limbs. Now Bova was the second.
Steam rose from his wrist as bone, nerves, and tissue started pulling themselves back together.
He stared in awe. I stared too, but for a different reason.
He was amazed at the healing. I was amazed he wasn't screaming his lungs out while his hand literally rebuilt itself.
"Your blood is definitely amazing," he said, looking at me. "And… I'm sorry about the scare."
I couldn't even blame him. I was the idiot who teleported in front of his punch.
"Yeah, that one's on me." Third sigh of the day. "But seriously—what the hell was that move? It blew your entire hand off."
The energy felt familiar, but I couldn't place it.
"It was the same attack I used against you when I almost lost control," he said, flexing the half-formed fist. Skin and scales hadn't finished growing back yet. "Since I can't use it in tight spaces, I was trying to adapt it into a melee form."
That… was actually smart.
He might've been young, but he was still older than me. Definitely in his twenties, while I was barely eighteen—sort of.
"And is your hand supposed to explode every time you use that move?" I raised a brow. "Because that doesn't sound very… repeatable."
He gave a bit of a grin. "That's why I'm trying to figure out the perfect way to mix the two without losing my hand again."
I checked his status—didn't change much. No new skills listed. So he hadn't learned it as a skill yet.
Well, it'll be useful when he figures it out.
"Anyhow," I said. "You can guess why I'm here, right?"
He glanced at his healed hand, flexed it, and nodded, satisfied.
"Finally here to take me to your estate?" His mouth opened, showing a line of sharp teeth in a grin that was almost scary.
I stepped back and dropped my ass on a slab that had broken off the boulder.
"Well, let's say there's a war I'm about to fight, and I want your help." He was my rook, but still green in some things. "I know it's sudden, and we haven't really done much since you joined as my rook, but would you fight alongside me — as a bonding thing?"
Bova wasn't quite what I'd expected. Headstrong, not great at cozying up. But not all bad.
"A war, huh?" A bright glint lit his eyes. "Will the enemies be strong?"
He was kind of like Sairaorg—loved a fight, loved a challenge.
"Our opponents are high-born vampires. Tricky skills, and more than enough to beat most devils." The more I talked, the more fired up he got. "And the Old Satan Faction will be there too. This will be tough."
High stakes. Plenty of dead soldiers likely.
Smoke curled from his nostrils and his teeth flashed like a crocodile's.
"For a dragon, nothing bonds better than fighting side by side," he said, stepping toward me. "I'd love to fight beside you, Boss."
He offered his newly healed hand and I didn't hesitate to shake it.
"Then welcome to the team, Bova." A dragon rook, and a queen who could empower dragons. The vampires weren't ready for what was coming.
"Want some food before we leave?" he asked, both of us noticing the sun climbing.
Last time I'd been here, Tannin had offered food and I'd wondered why Sirzechs had turned it down — then the plates showed up and I understood.
"Well, my queen already has food prepared at the manor. And… I'm not eating raw monster meat." I paused and looked at him, "But you should meet your family before we leave."
I could wait until he told his family.
He scratched his chin. "Father isn't here. He went to meet Mephisto Pheles. My brothers… they aren't in the mood for food."
The last part made me raise an eyebrow, but I didn't pry.
"Oh, but Father told me something." He stepped back. "He said it wouldn't be proper for me to walk around in this form at your place."
This form—he meant being a full dragon on his feet, wings and huge tail and all.
"Father doesn't enjoy taking the human form, but I don't mind. So—"
He extended his arms, and a dark red glow suddenly enveloped him. The glow thickened until all I could see was a red silhouette of the dragon.
The form shifted: the tail shrank, the snout receded into his face, his feet and hands reshaped, and the wings disappeared along with the tail.
The glowing scales vanished, replaced by human skin. His height settled around six feet, his face small but well-toned with a sharp jaw, and his body muscular and well-built. Red clothing, matching his eyes and roughly-cut long hair, covered him.
Finally, the transformation completed. A handsome man, dressed entirely in red, stood before me. He reminded me a little of Sirzechs, but with sharper, stronger facial features.
"Is this," he asked, wearing a proud smirk, "good enough to stand as your Rook, Lord Faiser?"
Mirroring his smirk, I replied, "Not as handsome as me, but definitely handsome enough to be my Rook."
* * *
{Morning, Barbatos Manor}
—Elmenhilde Karnstein—
It would be a lie to say she wasn't nervous, uneasy, or unsure. She didn't even know what kind of Longinus the girl sitting opposite her possessed.
'Ingvild Levaithan,' she had finally learnt the name of Faiser's queen. 'The true descendant of the original Leviathan, with a stronger claim to the name than even the current Satan Leviathan.'
The same Satan Leviathan whose title she still didn't understand.
One would assume a Satan would be proud, serious, and unapproachable, consumed by work, barking orders at devils, skipping meals, and ignoring family because of their duties.
But here she was—Satan Serafall Leviathan, the strongest woman of the Underworld—lying on a couch and casually reading the report Elmenhilde had submitted on the Tepes army composition.
"Can I get another pastry, Ingvild-chan?" Serafall asked, tilting her head cutely toward Faiser's queen.
"Of course," Ingvild replied, nodding and moving quickly toward the pantry with a smile.
Elmenhilde just stared, utterly confused. She didn't know what to think.
'Did I… make a mistake?'
She wasn't sure if Faiser's involvement was a good thing. Considering how casual they seemed, would Queen Carmilla even approve?
But as Serafall finally looked her way and spoke, Elmenhilde realized that even while lounging, a Satan could assess a situation better than anyone else.
"The Tepes faction has relatively few noble houses. Over the years, Carmilla's faction has recognized quite a number of vampires as nobles, giving them status," Serafall said, scanning the report.
"We are strict, but not unreasonable like the Tepes faction. Many vampires have been given titles and land for their achievements. Not massive holdings, but enough to wield power and influence," Explained the vampire.
Then Serafall continued, making Ingvild nod in understanding. "The real issue is the army size under each noble house," she flipped through the pages while still lying on her back. "The Tepes faction may have fewer noble houses, but each house fields a massive army—almost three times the size of the armies of Carmilla's noble houses."
Elmenhilde fidgeted with her skirt, looking down. "That is… correct."
Over the years, the Carmilla faction had focused on developing their faction—better rights, better living conditions for vampires. While she firmly believed that nobles were always above low-born vampires, she also respected Queen Carmilla's choice to support those of lower status.
This approach made the Carmilla faction far more peaceful than the Tepes faction had ever been. But it also created a problem. The Tepes faction had spent years building a massive army, along with research and development facilities dedicated to advancing warfare. The Carmilla faction's R&D, by contrast, had focused on improving the lives and conditions of their vampires.
They had never expected the Tepes faction to gain a Longinus user and secure the support of the Old Satan Faction. Without that, even with a slightly weaker army, the Carmilla faction could maintain stability.
But now? Things were falling apart.
"With Faiser's current legions…" Serafall's brow furrowed. "The numbers are still tiny."
She had recently learned about the army structure of the devil pillars. Each pillar controlled a certain number of legions, gathered through inheritance, personal recruitment, or with the help of Elders and Satans.
"Less than ten legions in total," Serafall sighed. "Nowhere near enough for this."
Not all legions were equal. Depending on the rank of the pillar, the number of legions differed. The Barbatos pillar, being higher ranked than Valefar, commanded thirty legions, while Valefar could only command ten.
Currently, Faiser, as lord of both pillars, had eight legions and a few devils which were not enough to form a full legion.
Each legion contained 6,666 devils, the number loved by devils. Including the extras, Faiser commanded fifty-five thousand devils.
A massive number—but far from sufficient for a full-scale civil war. And most of that force was made up of low-class devils, little more than fodder in battle.
"Lady Serafall…" Elmenhilde finally asked. "Will this work?"
She wanted affirmation, even if it was a lie. She needed some sort of reassurance.
And she got it—not from Serafall, but from him.
"If it doesn't work," came his confident voice, "we will make it work."
Faiser Valefar-Barbatos—the devil lord who chose to stand by her and the Carmilla faction.
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{A/N: Got a pat reon named RedLamp01 with 30+ chapters for this story (60+ total).
Till Chapter 80 available on Pat reon for this story and till Chapter 35 available for DxD: Black Dragon Emperor.
P.S. Next chapter on pat reon marks the end of this volume, chapter 82 will be the start of Canon time period.}