I got Reincarnated Into High School DxD But I Refuse to Be a Slave to Anime Tiddies

Chapter 53

POV: Rias

Insania Urbs spread outward in tiers of iron and glass, a once great city which had long ago served as the capital of House Agares, back in the days before the great war, before Lucifer and the other Satans raised the floating city of Agares itself and set it within the heart of the territory as the new seat of power. 

From that moment onward the old capital had begun its slow decline. Streets that once carried the traffic of nobles and retainers grew quiet, districts emptied, entire avenues were left standing in neglect as the attention of the house turned toward the shining city in the sky.

Insania Urbs had become a shadow of what it once was.

Only after the fall of Agares had life begun returning to it.

Refugees, displaced clans, merchants, soldiers, administrators, all of them forced downward from the broken floating capital, had filled its streets again. The city breathed once more, though it breathed unevenly, like a body recovering from a wound that had not fully healed.

Rias Gremory ran through it as though the weight of that entire history bore down upon her shoulders.

Her boots struck pavement at a speed that would have torn the streets apart if she had allowed the force of her movement to exist unchecked. Instead she bent her power around herself like a veil, erasing the tremor of displaced air, the crack of compressed stone, the rush of parted wind, the echo of footfall, the scent of heated skin, the flicker of demonic aura, the residual distortion of magic. 

Every trace that might whisper she had ever been there at all vanished the moment it was created.

She could not afford to leave any trail if she hoped to leave the city alive.

She ran close to supersonic velocity, yet to the citizens below she was no more than a quiet absence moving between moments, and she left behind no dust disturbed, no papers fluttering, no windows rattling in their frames, no security wards triggered, no cameras flickering, no familiars startled from their perches. 

Her power of destruction did not simply annihilate matter when she willed it. It was far more versatile than the crude energy beam she had once used it as.

He had reminded her of that often.

She could still hear his voice sometimes when she trained, the mockery in it whenever she relied on the most obvious application of a power that could do far more. 

So she had practiced.

She had begun experimenting with using destruction in unorthodox ways, pushing at the edges of what she thought might be possible. She had theorized about erasing concepts, erasing distance, erasing the relationship between cause and effect, but those remained distant ambitions. For now she could only erase disturbance itself.

For hours she had used it to conceal.

She smoothed over the fabric of reality behind her as though she had never passed through it.

By any reasonable measure they should have lost her long ago.

How could anyone hunt something that left no scent, no sound, no footprint, no displaced magic, no altered temperature, no vibration in the aether, no breath in the air.

Yet several miles behind her she could hear them.

The bone rattling grumbling of the three headed dogs, Cerebros, rolled across the distant districts like a storm working its way through stone canyons. Their howls rose in discordant harmony, a sound that seemed to split into three separate frequencies and then merge again into one unbroken note of pursuit. 

They were good sensors, those beasts, attuned to trails that did not exist in the ordinary sense, and their masters would not be far behind them. 

They would not allow their secret to reach another set of ears.

It is terrible, oh Satan! It’s terrible what they’re planning.

The thought repeated in her mind as her lungs tightened and her vision began to blur at the edges. 

She had to make it out alive.

She had to reach Lord Falbium.

The rebels had to know.

Her clan crest throbbed at her chest, the intricate sigil burned into her flesh pulsing with an uneven rhythm. The injury she had taken there had made teleportation impossible. 

Without the stabilizing net of the crest she could not instinctively calculate the endpoint of a jump, could not ensure the safety of the space she would arrive in, could not prevent herself from materializing within stone or midair or into a sealed chamber. 

To attempt it would be to gamble her life for nothing.

How she had taken her clan crest for granted. It seems it’s only when you lose things that you truly begin to miss them and realize how reliant you were on them. But it was no use to think of things that aren’t now. She will get her crest fixed, but first she needs to survive this. 

She could not fly either. An aerial chase would be certain suicide. Her pursuers were numerous and powerful, and the wilderness she had crossed before reaching the city had offered cover, valleys and forests and ruins through which to slip. 

The open air above Insanis Urbs would leave her exposed beneath a sky crowded with watchful eyes. 

Her only option was to run and so run she did.

Her demonic energy was dropping to critical lows. She felt it in the sluggish response of her limbs, in the slight delay between intention and motion, in the way her heart hammered too hard against ribs that felt too tight.

Ahead of her rose the central tower, a vast office building of dark glass and steel that pierced the skyline. She knew who occupied the top floor. Seekvaira Agares, her childhood friend, had been stationed here by her father after Agreas fell, appointed as the overlooker of the city in the new regime and managed the influx of immigration of people that lost their homes after Agreas fell. 

It was a delicate post, balanced between loyalty and suspicion, and Rias understood the risk of coming here. To bring pursuit to Seekvaira’s door could unravel everything her friend had worked so hard to secure. 

Under the authority of the Great Prince of Hell, anyone who had served the previous Satans existed in a fragile state of tolerance. The word traitor hovered over them like a shadow. They retained their authority only at the discretion of Rizevim himself, and that discretion could vanish without warning.

Pillar or not, every noble family that had once supported the old order lived under scrutiny.

A single misstep could end them.

She hated the thought of putting Seekvaira in that position.

But she had no other choice.

It would not be long before she was caught.

She entered the building without being seen.

The lobby bustled with officials and clerks moving between desks and elevators, their voices blending into a constant murmur of administrative life. Elevators chimed softly. Shoes clicked against marble floors. Stacks of documents moved from hand to hand. None of them noticed the absence threading through the room.

Rias slipped between them like a gap in reality.

She ascended the stairwells in a blur, passing floor after floor in seconds, her hand brushing the rail once to steady herself as exhaustion began gnawing more insistently at her muscles.

At the top she moved past the secretary.

The woman sat at her desk sorting through files, her pen scratching quietly across paper. She did not look up. She could not see the distortion of nothingness sliding past her chair.

Rias paused before the office door.

She forced her breathing to slow, gathered the last of her focus, and slipped inside.

The room was spacious yet strangely humble. Modern lines and minimal ornamentation replacing the ostentation expected of an aristocratic devil. A long table dominated the center, and beyond it, near the window that overlooked the vast sprawl of Insanis Urbs, stood Seekvaira.

Rias let her power fall away.

Her form resolved into visibility.

Seekvaira turned, and shock widened her eyes.

“R-rias…?”

They crossed the room in an instant and embraced each other fiercely, the sudden contact offering Rias a small measure of comfort. The warmth of a familiar presence washed over her with a force she had not expected, and for a moment she felt the tight coil of tension in her chest loosen.

Despite the danger and the exhaustion, she felt an immense relief at seeing her friend again.

With Sona confined under the watchful eyes of the Great Prince and the political climate growing colder by the day, opportunities to see the people she once spent her days with had become nearly impossible. The life she had once taken for granted felt like something that belonged to another era entirely.

“You look terrible,” Seekvaira said softly, drawing back to examine her.

Rias gave a weak smile. “And you are as blunt as ever, Seek Seek,” she said playfully.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” seekvaria muttered blushing. Then her expression hardened as she looked into Rias’s eyes. “You aren’t meant to be here Rias...what…happeend?”

“I’m being hunted,” Rias replied, her voice strained despite her effort to keep it level. “They know that I know. If I am caught, something terrible will happen.”

“Hunted by whom?”

“Zaorama Nebrios and those aligned with him. I don’t know how, but the Cerebros are on my trail no matter what I do. They are only miles away.”

“Zaorama the terrible?” Seekvaira’s composure faltered for a fraction of a second. “Rias, do you understand what you are asking by coming here?”

“I do,” she said. “And I wouldn’t have come if there were any other path left to me. I need you to hide me, Seek. Just long enough for them to pass, or long enough for me to regain strength. I must reach Lord Falbium. The rebels must know what is being prepared.”

“Zaorama reports directly to the great prince,” Seekvaira said quietly. “All pillars that were part of the previous administration are under heavy scrutiny. I-if he suspects I have harbored you, I will lose everything. You have already put me and the life of my family in enough danger by simply coming here to this city. Everything I hold dear will be forfeit!”

“I’m sorry,” Rias said, and meant it truly. “I know what I endanger and what I’m asking of you. But I have nowhere else. I beg of you, Seek. Please”

Seekvaira studied her, taking in the dimmed aura, the tremor in her hands, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. “You are nearly depleted.”

“I have been running for hours.”

The secretary’s voice sounded through the intercom. “Lady Seekvaira, you have guests from the High Council.”

Rias felt the blood drain from her face. “They are here,” she whispered, trembling.

For a fleeting, irrational moment she wondered whether Seekvaira might step back, might distance herself, might decide that survival required sacrifice. And she would not blame her if she did so. She knows how selfish she is being right now, putting the life of her friend in danger.

Seekvaira did not hesitate. “In the wardrobe,” she said, moving toward a large built-in cabinet along the far wall. “Quickly. Go!”

Rias easily slipped inside. The space was large enough to conceal several people, its interior lined with hanging coats and sealed boxes. She drew the doors closed just enough to leave a narrow slit through which she could see the office.

She erased herself again, everything from her visibility to every stray particle of energy, every lingering warmth on the floor where she had stood, the faint indentation in the carpet, the shift of air within the room. She erased the embrace they had shared, the displaced fibers of Seekvaira’s clothing, the faint scent of her own sweat and fear.

She became a silence within wood.

The door to the office opened.

He entered without hurry.

Zaorama Nebrios was easily over seven feet tall, his frame enormous yet proportioned with unsettling smoothness. Not a single hair marked his body, and his skin was pale as milk, so unblemished that it gave him the impression of an enormous infant stretched into monstrous adulthood. His lips curved into a grin that showed too many teeth, a grin that did not reach his eyes.

“Lady Seekvaira Agares,” he said, removing his hat and bowing. “It’s always a pleasure to witness governance conducted with such refinement.”

Seekvaira inclined her head. “Lord Nebrios. To what do I owe the honor?”

Rias pressed her back against the interior wall of the wardrobe and fought to keep her breathing shallow. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, in the injured crest at her chest. 

The enclosed space seemed smaller than it had a moment before, the air thinner, as if the presence of the towering devil outside had somehow reduced the volume of the room itself.

Zaorama remained near the threshold, his enormous frame made still by an ease that suggested he could afford to be patient forever.

“I was hoping you could invite me inside your office and we may have a discussion,” he said, and the words were delivered with the mildness of a request offered to an equal, though his eyes carried no uncertainty about what the answer would be.

“Of course, my Lord,” Seekvaira replied. “Please, come in.”

He stepped farther into the room and allowed the door to close behind him, and the soft click sounded to Rias like a latch settling on a cage. Seekvaira gestured toward the seating area near the table.

“Would you like some wine, My Lord of Nebrios?” Seekvaira asked, her voice even, and Rias hated how normal it sounded, how the rhythm of hospitality continued despite the fact that a predator had just entered the room.

Melina, the secretary, rose slightly from her desk as if to move.

Zaorama lifted a single pale hand, the motion calm and economical, the gesture sufficient to halt movement without any sign of effort.

“My gratitude, Lady Seekvaira, but no wine,” he said, his smile ever present upon his face. “I have no doubt that the heiress of House Agares has something suitable for the occasion, though I would rather not impose upon your stores.”

Seekvaira’s gaze flicked briefly to Melina, then back to him. “Melina, would you bring a glass of ale for our honoured guest then?”

Melina nodded and rose from her chair, and the faint scrape of wood against the floor reached Rias through the wardrobe door. In a room where survival depended entirely upon what remained unnoticed, even the smallest sound felt dangerously loud.

Zaorama’s smile remained unchanged, though his attention followed Melina as she moved.

“Please,” he said gently, his voice almost apologetic, “do not trouble yourself beyond the glass. I do not drink what most people offer, and I would dislike wasting your hospitality. With your permission, I will take out my own drink.”

Seekvaira paused, and Rias could feel the shape of her friend’s caution in the silence. “If you prefer something else,” Seekvaira said, “you may of course take it.”

Zaorama inclined his head as though she had granted him a great favor rather than acknowledged his authority. “Thank you,” he replied. “In a place like this, one learns that the best drink is the one you make yourself."

He raised his hand, palm upward, and the air above it shimmered with a distortion. A bottle appeared as though it had been waiting just out of sight, luxurious and heavy, engraved in gold and silver filigree that caught the office light in fine, delicate lines. 

Rias felt her stomach tighten at the casualness of the act. The ease with which he produced the bottle while speaking calmly about trivial matters made the entire moment feel deeply wrong. It reminded her of a predator stretching lazily while circling prey, amused by the idea that the outcome had already been decided.

She did not like this feeling. Not one bit.

Zaorama took the glass when Melina returned, and politely thanked her. His exaggerated courtesy unnerved her. He poured a thick golden liquid that moved too slowly for any ordinary drink, and even from inside the wardrobe Rias sensed an unpleasant suggestion of purity clinging to it, a cleanliness that felt like something scrubbed too hard. 

The liquid caught light with a faint internal glow, and the sight of it made Rias think of sanctuaries violated, of reliquaries pried open, of prayers made useless by a hand that did not care.

Seekvaira’s gaze lingered on the bottle for a moment longer than politeness allowed, and Zaorama noticed.

“Curious?” he said amused.

Seekvaira did not deny it. “It is not a drink I recognize.”

Zaorama lifted the bottle slightly, and observed it. “It is the blood of Saint Januarius,” he said, and he pronounced the name with careful respect, which made Rias’s skin prickle because she could not decide whether that respect was mockery or genuine. “A relic once guarded in Naples, cherished by the faithful who believed it softened and liquefied at certain times, having faith that obedience to ritual could persuade even dried sanctity to move.”

She had heard of Saint Januarius. She remembered stories about the preserved vials, about the crowds that gathered to witness the miracle each year, waiting for the blood to liquefy as proof of divine favor. Hearing that name now, spoken so casually by this thing, made her skin crawl.

Zaorama continued, his tone as composed as if he were recounting a minor anecdote at dinner. “He was a bishop. He lived in an age when the empire demanded conformity and called any refusal treason, and he chose the sort of loyalty that rulers describe as rebellion when it does not serve them. The faithful remember him for endurance and for martyrdom, for the way devotion can become an offense simply because it will not bend, and those who persecute always insist they are only preserving order.”

Rias swallowed, fighting the urge to gag at the idea of that saint’s blood being poured like an indulgence for a devil’s palate. The ease of cruelty was what struck her most, the way a holy thing could be taken, bottled, adorned, and consumed with the same calm manner used to discuss governance.

Zaorama raised the glass and rifled a great drink down his throat and leaned back against his seat.

Seekvaira remained silent, her posture straight, her hands composed, though Rias could imagine the tension in her friend’s muscles, the rigid control required to keep her expression from revealing anything.

Zaorama set the glass down with measured care, and then his gaze drifted across the room, lingering upon surfaces without appearing to inspect them.

“You visit, my lord, pleasant as it is, is a surprise to me,” Seekvaira said calmly, attempting to determine the purpose of his appearance. “Had I known you would be here, I would have prepared a welcome befitting of your stature.”

“I’m afraid my visit concerns a matter of urgency,” he replied. “A fugitive has entered the city. A rather distinguished fugitive.”

“I was not informed of such,” Seekvaira replied evenly.

“That does not surprise me. The matter is delicate.”

He stepped further into the office, towering against the minimalist decor. “You see,” he continued, “this individual possesses certain knowledge which, if disseminated carelessly, could create unfortunate misunderstandings among our peers.”

“And you believe she is here?”

“I believe,” Zaorama said lightly, “that a hunted creature will always seek familiarity. We are creatures of habit, Lady Agares, even when we imagine ourselves unpredictable.”

Rias felt a tremor move through her limbs. He spoke as though describing a theory, yet his eyes drifted slowly across the office and came to rest for a brief moment upon the very wall that concealed her.

Her heart seized.

A cold wave of panic surged through her mind.

He knows.

The thought struck her with such force that it nearly shattered her concentration.

Oh Satans below he knows. He knows I am here.

Her mind raced wildly, images of discovery flooding her thoughts. She imagined the wardrobe doors swinging open beneath his massive hand. She imagined the enormous pale fingers reaching toward her throat. She imagined the triumphant grin widening across his face as the hunt ended.

Her heartbeat thundered inside her chest so loudly she felt certain it would echo through the room.

It is too loud. My heart is too loud. He can hear it.

Seekvaira’s voice remained calm. “Insanis Urbs is vast. If she has entered, she could be anywhere.”

“Indeed. Vastness is a delightful illusion,” Zaorama replied. “But you, as the overlooker, must appreciate that even the largest city narrows considerably when one knows where to apply pressure.”

He walked toward the window and gazed out over the city for a moment before turning slowly back toward Seekvaira. “Tell me, Lady Agares, were you and Rias Gremory close in your youth?”

The use of her full name froze Rias akin to a child caught stealing.

“We were acquainted,” Seekvaira said. “Many of the noble houses were.”

“Acquainted,” Zaorama repeated, as though tasting the word. “How charmingly neutral.”

He paced once across the room, his enormous form moving with surprising grace. “If Rias were to seek assistance, would she not choose someone of intelligence and discretion? Someone positioned delicately within the current administration. Someone who might weigh sentiment against survival.”

Seekvaira did not respond immediately. “You are asking whether I would betray the trust placed in me by my father and by the Council?”

“I am asking,” Zaorama answered, his smile widening almost imperceptibly, “whether sentiment has ever outweighed duty in your experience.”

Inside the wardrobe Rias’s hands clenched tightly against the wooden wall.

A small part of her feared the answer.

A cold and rational part of her understood that if Seekvaira chose survival, it would be the logical decision.

“My duty is to the stability of this city,” Seekvaira said. “If a fugitive threatens that stability, I would report it.”

“How reassuring.”

Zaorama’s gaze drifted once more, and for a fraction of a second it rested upon the wardrobe door. He did not move toward it. He did not reach for the handle. He simply regarded it with mild interest before returning his attention to Seekvaira.

“You will understand, of course, that I must conduct a thorough search of the premises.”

“Of course,” Seekvaira replied, though Rias caught the faint tightening at the edge of her voice.

Inside the wardrobe, Rias felt her hyper awareness sharpen to a painful degree. She could hear the faint rustle of Zaorama’s clothing, the minute creak of floorboards under his weight, the subtle shift of air each time he moved. 

Her own breathing sounded deafening inside her ears.

Why am I breathing so loudly?

She tried to slow it.

Her lungs refused to obey.

No it is not my breathing. It is my heartbeat.

The pounding within her chest felt violent enough to shake the wardrobe doors.

He can hear it. He must hear it.

Her eyes blinked reflexively and she immediately panicked again.

Stop blinking. Even blinking is too loud.

She suppressed the urge to erase more, to obliterate the wardrobe itself, knowing that such a distortion would be louder than any heartbeat.

Zaorama took a step toward the wall.

Then he stopped.  

“On second thought,” he said softly, “I have every confidence in your integrity, Lady Agares. A search may prove unnecessarily disruptive.”

The grin remained, fixed and unreadable. “Should Rias Gremory attempt to contact you,” he added, “I trust you will remember where your loyalties lie.”

“I will,” Seekvaira said.

Zaorama inclined his head. “Then I shall not trouble you further.”

He turned and left the office, the door closing behind him with quiet finality.

In the darkness of the wardrobe, Rias did not move. She did not breathe more deeply. She did not allow relief to surface. For even as the echo of his presence receded, she could not rid herself of the certainty that he had known, that he had stood within arm’s reach of her hiding place and chosen, for reasons she could not fathom, to play along.

Only when several long moments had passed did she let her forehead rest against the wood, her body trembling with exhaustion and the fragile, temporary gift of survival.

…

After that chilling experience, she stayed hidden within Seekvaira’s office for the rest of the evening, only at midnight did she finally trust herself to leave, though not before thanking her friend fiercely. 

She hugged her for a moment longer than she would have allowed herself in any other circumstance naively hoping, perhaps, that warmth of a familiar presence could be stored away like fuel for the next stretch of running.

I’m so foolish. Idiot. Moron.

Is this what they meant when they said pride comes before fall?

The thought circled her mind as she moved through the sleeping corridors of the tower and out into the night air of Insania Urbs. She erased her passage with practiced instinct, smoothing away every trace of movement, every breath of disturbed air, every whisper of scent and aura, the shame followed her as faithfully as the fear did. 

She had been too arrogant, too stubborn, too desperate to be useful to volunteer and insist on going on this mission despite her parents’ wishes for the contrary. She had told herself that her insistence was duty when it had also been something else, something ugly and aching, an attempt to outrun grief and guilt that clung to her like smoke.

She had felt useless and wanted to do something to make her forget her brother’s death, wanted a task that would force her eyes forward instead of letting them drift back to the moment everything broke. She wanted to get her mind off wallowing in self pity, off the constant awareness that she had played a part in bringing a calamity that may doom her entire race. 

The thought of it had become a poison that seeped into every quiet moment, and she found herself circling the same regret again and again, imagining how she could have prevented this situation from happening if she had just let him die back then, a thought that made her sick even as it returned persistently.

So instead of lamenting, instead of letting herself collapse under a history she could no longer alter, she decided it had already happened and she would do something to help the people who were doing their best to fix her fuck ups. 

And so she insisted on going on this mission.

It had been a simple mission of simply rescuing a couple of reincarnated devils that were being hunted and had hidden in a forest. It hadn't taken much to convince Lord Falbium, especially after showing him her ability to conceal her presence with her power of destruction. 

Despite his misgivings, Lord Falbium was a pragmatic man and thus he agreed to send her on that mission along with her teammates, and Rias had felt, for the first time in what seemed like an endless stretch of grief, that she could still be useful in a world that had moved forward without waiting for her to breathe again.

The mission had gone successfully, and she had volunteered to work as a diversion until all reincarnated devils were brought away, but somewhere along the way and the fight she had entered somewhere where she shouldn’t have gone to. 

After seeing the easy success of her mission, Rias felt confident and believed that she needed to do more, that she could do more, and that thought had been as intoxicating as it was dangerous.

So she infiltrated the great tower of the Great Prince that was being built, apparently planned to be as big as the Tower of Babel of old, and she reckoned it would be safe to do reconnaissance there. 

She believed her concealment ability to be perfect, that they would not notice, and that she would bring valuable information back.

How wrong she had been.

She found out valuable information alright, terrible news, and she also learned with much to her regret that the tower was not simply a construction project - it was a nest of eyes and instruments and minds designed to find what should not be found. 

She had been seen. 

Zaoarama Nebrios had somehow seen her. The moment she realized it, the air itself seemed to turn hostile, and she fled in terror, and even now the memory of that pale skin and that fixed grin, of the calmness with which he spoke while hunting her, pressed against her thoughts like a hand against her throat.

Though she had learned of their plans, if she had died it would have been for nothing and she would have only made her parents unbearably sad, and the image of her mother’s face if the news reached her was enough to steady her steps and keep her mind from collapsing into panic completely.

Focus Rias, she told herself as she ran through the forest, still not trusting herself to fly in the open sky. You will have plenty of time to mull over your stupidity when you arrive at the camp.

The trees blurred past her, trunks and branches becoming dark vertical streaks in her peripheral vision as she moved through the undergrowth with the same silent efficiency she had used in the city, erasing the signs of her passage as she went, and yet the forest felt different from Insania Urbs, because the wilderness held its own kinds of listening. 

The air carried scents that could be read like ink by creatures built for pursuit, the ground held impressions that could be interpreted by a skilled tracker, and the night itself seemed to have a pulse that she could not smooth away entirely.

She felt uneasy all of a sudden.

Like a rat caught in a trap, a fox caught in a snare.

She halted, the sudden stop controlled so precisely that leaves did not rustle beneath her boots, and she tried to make sense of what her instincts were warning her of, the sense of attention closing around her from multiple directions, as if she had stepped into a space that had been prepared and measured in advance.

Suddenly she felt something fast moving towards her, and with no time to turn around she ducked to the ground, spreading her legs low to the green earth, her body flattening on instinct as the air above her head split with a violent rush.

Thud!

The impact shivered through the nearby trees.

She turned toward the sound, and she saw a great ax firmly stuck to a tree a few meters behind her, the blade buried deep in wood as though the trunk had been soft as flesh. Rias felt chills creep across her skin, because she understood clearly that had she been a second slower, the ax would have cut her in two and the forest would have swallowed the result.

“Man, I missed!” a deep voice said, the tone almost cheerful.

“I fucking called it. You owe me five souls now bitch,” another voice said, this one sounding coarse and excited.

“Hold on there pal. We didn’t include the part where she had the reflex of a cat,” the person who spoke first retorted, sounding offended on principle. “This is an unknown variable to our wager, you cannot expect me to pay for that!”

“Bitch! Did you just expect her to just stand there as you threw your ax to cut her then?” the second voice snarled, the hostility rising fast and loud. “Of course she’s gonna doge, you fucker. I’m getting my souls no matter what, y’hear me!?”

“Stop bickering, you fools,” a third feminine voice said, and the sound of it came from behind her, deeper in the forest where shadows pooled thickly between the trees.

“Chock on my dick, slut!” the second voice answered crassly, as if vulgarity itself were another weapon.

“I would if you had any bigger than two inches!” the girl retorted dryly.

“It’s not my fault that you’re wider than the marina trench. And two inches is an average size!”

Rias kept low, her muscles tense, her eyes scanning for movement between the trunks, and she considered for an opening to escape, yet even as they bickered their attention remained fixed upon the space she occupied, as if her position were a point on a map that had already been marked.

“Enough, you fools!” a fourth voice called out, and the tone belonged to a man who carried authority in the steadiness of his speech and the expectation of obedience. “I will not fail lord Zaoarama because of your bickering.”

“Always so serious!” the second voice muttered, loud enough to be heard by everyone, and Rias could hear the faint shifting of bodies around her now, the way they repositioned in a loose circle that kept her contained.

“Please forgive the lack of manners, lady Rias,” the fourth, the one who seemed to be the leader, spoke, looking in the general direction of her. “They are ill mannered low born devils. Now, will you reveal yourself so that we can apologize properly for our conduct?”

The polite tone would have been almost convincing if not for the hideous grin she could now make out between the trees, a grin worn with pride. Yet he said something that made her mind catch and twist.

They could not see her.

Then how did they know that she was here?

She decided to keep silent, holding her concealment steady, holding her power of destruction tight around herself like a skin, erasing the smallest tremor of breath, the faintest shimmer of aura, every possible sign that could betray her.

“No use in pretending you’re not there,” the fourth voice said. “Lord Zaorama is a peerless genius, the moment he laid his eyes on you, he had already created a device to detect you.”

He took out a small device that looked like a small figurine of two horned devils with red skin, and even from where she crouched she could sense a faint prickling in the air around it, a subtle hum that made her crest ache.

“With this nifty little device we can see you by activating it in your general vicinity. Sort of like a GPS, cool isn’t it?”

Rias felt her stomach sink. She slowly revealed her visage, judging that it was no use wasting her energy to keep her technique active when she would be needing it quite soon. The air seemed to shift as she allowed her presence to exist again, and she could feel four sets of attention lock onto her with immediate satisfaction.

“Who are you?” she asked, quietly gathering her demonic energy for an attack, forcing the power to pool within her despite the ache and fatigue, despite the sense that her reserves were already strained.

“Hello there princess,” the fourth voice cooed, and now she could see him more clearly through the trees. “Man, you’re far hotter in real life than in your picture… I’m being quite rude, my name is Batu and I’m a great fan of yours.”

“My fan?”

“Yes of course,” he said. “It was you after all who helped bring the great revolutionary to his full glory.”

“Shit up, Batu!” The woman of the bunch spoke with derision, stepping into clearer view with a posture that made contempt look effortless. “This little bitch did nothing to help lord lucifer. She just happened to be at the right place at the right time and reincarnated him into a devil. Lord Haruki needs no one to come to his full glory.”

Figured, everyone seemed to be obsessed with him, she thought irritably, and the irritation surprised her because it flared even here, even now, as though her emotions were clinging to any scrap of normal reaction as a way to keep her from drowning entirely.

“Luck is a skill on its own. Your jealousy will not change the fact that she played a crucial role in lord Haruki’s rebirth,” Batu retorted, and the pride in his voice carried a strange reverence, as if he were speaking of a deity.

“Didn’t you tell us not to bicker? But you’re doing it yourself. What a hypocrite!” The first and second guys spoke, and Rias saw the shapes of them shifting in the darkness, eager and restless.

“I’m your leader, I can do whatever the fuck I want!” Batu shouted back, his grin widening. “But you are right, I’m getting distracted. Please forgive me my lady, but I will have to politely ask you to come with us. Lord Zaorama is very interested in meeting you. He even set up soldiers surrounding the city in secret all waiting for you to come out. We got lucky you chose this direction.”

Of course, he wouldn’t just leave, she cursed, the certainty settling in her chest like a stone. A man like Zaorama did not allow loose ends to wander free, and she had become one of them the moment she saw what she had seen.

“And if I refuse?” she said, now preparing to attack, her stance shifting lower, her fingers flexing as she gathered power into a shape she could release quickly.

Suddenly a huge pressure of demonic energy fell upon her, heavy enough that the leaves at her feet seemed to flatten, heavy enough that the air itself felt denser in her lungs.

“Then we will cut your arms and legs and drag you there. We were only told to bring you, nothing about your state,” Batu said with a huge grin, and the grin made the threat feel almost conversational.

He is a high class, she realized with horror, and judging by the looks of things, the others are most likely at a high class level as well, and the realization rearranged the forest in her mind from a space of possible escape into a space of inevitability.

Dammit.

She had no way of escaping here.

She is only a high class, had it only been one high class here she may have had a chance though she was still injured, but four high class meant the odds collapsed into decimals.

she could either wave the white flag and let them take her or die fighting.

“The multiplying villains of nature do swarm upon him…” a new voice suddenly said, a terrifying, seductive, and deep voice that cut cleanly through the bickering and made the forest feel abruptly quieter.

“Who the hell was..?” Batu turned sharply toward the source of the sound, eyes scanning the treeline.

Leaning casually against a thick tree trunk stood a man dressed in clothing that consisted of a tight dark purple suit traced with elegant golden stripes, the sleeves long and neatly wrapped around his arms, a frilled white cravat resting against his chest. Over it all hung a sweeping black cape that stirred faintly in the wind. 

The most noticeable part about him, however, was his face, or rather the lack of it. A spiky black and indigo mask concealed him entirely, a strange bird shaped sigil stretched across its lower half, leaving not a single inch of skin visible.

“…And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, showed like a rebel’s whore.”

A realization set on their faces as the identity of the figure registered, their bodies stiffening in the same instant their voices caught.

“Y-you are..are the rebell..”

The masked figure continued as if he had not heard them. “…But all’s too weak; for brave Macbeth - well he deserves that name…”

“Zero!” 

They all shouted in unison at the masked figure whose visage had become one of the most terrifying for any order-abiding citizen of pure blooded devils. The man whose existence had come to represent resistance and revolution, and whose sudden appearances had slowly turned him into a symbol of the coming end of the old order.

Zero had become something like a phantom, operating from the shadows, eliminating subordinates of Rizevim and rescuing reincarnated devils who were being transported to the labor camps. 

Through these actions he had firmly established himself as the face of the revolutionary forces. This was the first time any of them, including Rias, were seeing him face to face and his presence was overwhelming in a way that was difficult to describe.

“Disdain fortune, with brandish’d steel,” Zero said, and he disappeared from their perception only to suddenly reappear before Batu, so close their foreheads nearly touched. His fist drove forward with brutal precision, punching a clean hole through Batu’s skull. “..which smoked with bloody execution..”

Batu’s body collapsed before the others could even scream.

“You fucker!” shouted the woman as she lunged at him in blind rage, demonic power flaring around her hands.

Zero vanished again. He reappeared behind her, his arm thrusting forward through her back. His hand emerged from her chest clutching her still beating heart. With a sharp motion he tore it free, letting her body drop lifelessly to the ground.

The other two leapt away for distance, too terrified and shocked to make counter attacks, their eyes wide, their breathing uneven, their bodies moving in panic.

Zero suddenly appeared before Rias.

“Like valour’s minion carved out his passage…” he said, and he took her by the arm with a grip that was firm without being painful, and he met her eyes through the mask as if the mask did not matter. “…Till he faced the slave…”

He covered them both with his sweeping cape so that she could not see the other two. The fabric blocked her view completely, and the sudden darkness beneath it made her senses focus on sound and vibration. 

She heard a loud explosion sound that rolled through the forest and she could feel the threat from it in her skin, and she could not decide if what she felt was the aftershock of the blast or if it was simply the heat that clung to Zero’s presence.

As the explosion died down, he pulled down the cape from both.

“…Which ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him…” he finished his quote.

Rias looked at the place where the two guys had stood.

All that remained was fire and ashes in their place, the ground scorched, the air carrying the harsh smell of something burned too completely.

She looked back at the figure responsible for it and he bowed to her like a musician presenting his masterpiece, the gesture smooth and almost playful despite what he had just done.

He gave her his hands to take, palms open, and she hesitated for a brief moment because her body was still catching up to the sudden safety, then she took his hands.

In the next instant they appeared on what seemed to be the top of a mountain, far away from the Agares territory where they had just been a moment ago. The air was colder here, the ground uneven beneath her boots, and the horizon looked unfamiliar, and the quiet was so abrupt after the forest that her ears rang with it.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, and he sounded genuinely concerned, though that might have been her tiredness playing tricks upon her senses.

“No, I’m fine,” she answered, looking around the wilderness as if checking that the change of location was real. “Thanks to you.”

“Oh, I merely fulfilled my duty, my fair lady,” he said playfully, his voice taking on a dramatic tone that seemed effortless for him.

“And what duty is that?” she asked, a bite still lingering in her voice.

“Why of course, saving damsels in distress,” he declared with theatrical grandeur, spreading his arms wide as if addressing an invisible audience. “There exists no greater calling for a man than to arrive at the very edge of catastrophe and snatch a princess from its jaws. Empires may rise and fall, legends may fade, but the image of a knight standing before danger so that a lady need not face it alone is eternal. To rescue a princess is to challenge fate itself and declare that beauty and grace shall not be trampled while one still draws breath. That, my lady, is the pinnacle of masculine achievement, the summit upon which all gallantry stands, and I would be remiss were I to neglect such sacred work.”

Rias laughed despite herself, the sound carried away by the wind. “Is that why you are always so busy to the point you won’t even let your people see you?” she asked, curiosity slipping into her tone.

“My people?” he repeated, and though his face was hidden she could feel the lift of an eyebrow behind the mask.

“Yes, your people.” She met him directly. “Are you not the founder and leader of the resistance group? Doesn’t that make them your people?”

“That is certainly a perspective, my lady,” he said thoughtfully, resting his fingers against his chin. “But I prefer to see myself as a shepherd. I guide those who choose to follow me of their own volition. I am neither their master nor their owner. Each person walks beside me by choice, and that choice is what gives our cause meaning.”

There was theatrics and an almost musical rhythm to his voice, a performer’s cadence that made it easy to listen to him, and it made his movements interesting to observe even when he was doing something simple. He was quite magnetic, a true performer, and Rias found herself tracking him even when she tried not to.

“Every being is free and responsible for their own self. That may not be violated under zero circumstance,” she recited, repeating one of the ground rules of the rebel armies.

“Under my circumstances?” he tilted his head, the gesture strangely cat-like.

It took her embarrassingly too long to realize he was making a pun with his name. “…Very creative, aren’t you?” she said dryly.

She did not know what to say for a moment, and the silence felt awkward enough that she said the first thing that came to mind. Her gaze drifted to his purple suit, where small embroidered patterns caught the light.

“Zero one. Zero two. Zero three. Zero four,” she read out.

“Rias one. Rias two. Rias three. Rias four,” he repeated after her.

She realized what he was doing, and she firmly decided within seconds of meeting him that he was the second most infuriating man she had ever met.

“Are you going to continue making a pun with your name? ‘01020304’ is the inscription on your suit. You know it is.”

“Perhaps,” he replied lightly. “Or not.”

Yep, definitely infuriating.

“Why Zero?” she asked, deciding that if he was going to be like this, she would at least get straightforward answers while she could.

“Because it’s the number of new beginnings, limitless potential, and a fresh start,” he explained. “It is a blank slate and could become anything it chooses to be. Don’t you think so?”

“I suppose it is,” she admitted, because the reasoning made sense to her. Symbolism like that mattered in revolutions, and the rebels needed symbols that could be carried by anyone.

“And why the mask? Is it a symbol that you are not constrained by things like identity and can become anything you want to be?” she asked again, and she wondered why she was asking him questions that sounded naive even to her.

“That is one way of viewing it,” he muttered thoughtfully.

“Why not let your people see you? Many are dying to know who you are, you know,” she said.

She found herself wondering why she cared, why she was pushing at this, and why he was entertaining it at all. While she spoke, he moved with casual ease and then landed in a nearby tree as if the height was more comfortable for him, settling there without any strain.

“And I’m sure just as many don’t want to see what’s beneath this mask. It gives the allure of the unknown, I heard it said,” he replied calmly.

“And what is beneath the mask? Who is the person who has become infamous in the underworld?” she heard herself say, and once the words were out she could not pull them back.

“I am no one and everyone,” he said. “I can be anybody and anybody can be me. That’s the point, my lady. Beneath this mask is an idea and it can be embodied by anyone.”

He would have loved you, she thought, and she hated the thought immediately because it made her chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. It was exactly the sort of statement that would have pleased him, and she had learned to despise how her mind kept dragging him into moments where he did not belong, making her see similarities when there were none.

She forced herself to focus on what mattered.

 “How did you find me?” she asked curiously.

“You did not return with your companion from the mission,” he explained. “I-we were worried for you and thus I sought out to seek you, and voila! Here we are. Though I do have a question on how things escalated to this extent.”

She was technically under Falbium’s command, yet Zero was the leader and the symbol of the revolutionary army, and it would not hurt to inform him of what she learned, especially when the information was something that could decide their fate. She had only been in the revolutionary army for one week, and she could feel how little she understood about the larger picture.

So she told him.

She explained how she separated from her teammates to work as a diversion and how she decided to infiltrate Rizevim’s fortress, and how she eavesdropped on dangerous information, and how she was found out, and how she fled, and how the chase had forced her into Insania Urbs and into Seekvaira’s office.

She told him as clearly as she could without omitting anything.

She told him about what she had learned, about the tone of the voices she overheard, about their plans.

He listened without interrupting, his posture steady, his masked face turned toward her the entire time.

“Hmm, and what are they planning?” he asked calmly when she finished.

“I don’t know,” she said, and she hated that she still did not fully understand it. “But they were talking about the awakening of ancient weapons.”

She took a breath and forced herself to stay precise. “Something created by the previous Satans, they called it the Malebranche. The twelve mausoleums that are being built across the underworld under Rizevim’s order have something to do with that. They apparently correspond to the twelve Malebranche and are meant as an altar for sacrifices.”

She watched for his reaction, and even without seeing his face she could sense the shift in his attention, the way the information settled into his mind as something he could place.

The war effort the reincarnated devils were supposed to contribute was meant to be constructing twelve massive mausoleums that put the Great Pyramids of Giza to shame in size manually. The work was done by hand, stone hauled and shaped without rest, and the working conditions were terrible. 

Reincarnated devils were forced to labor day and night to the point that their demonic energy dropped below critical levels, bodies pushed past exhaustion until collapse, then pushed again. It was slavery rivaling the pharaohs of Egypt and much worse, and the cruelty lay in how ordinary it had become to those who enforced it, because to Rizevim and his ilk the life of a reincarnated devil meant less than nothing.

They were marked with the mark of the beast, a mark composed of three sixes on their forehead, so that if they ever tried to escape, the mark would kill them. This had been one of the great frustrations of the rebel army, the issue being that even if they rescued the prisoners, once they were marked they would simply die as soon as they touched freedom. 

It was the reason why they were spending a great deal of their time studying the mark to undo it, chasing a solution that always seemed to stay one step ahead.

If only Ajuka was here, he would have easily figured it out. Well then again, if he was here, none of it would have happened.

“Hmm, I see. So that’s what he’s planning …” Zero said, talking to himself, putting his hands on his chin thoughtfully.

“Planning what?” she asked.

“Nothing you should be concerning yourself for now,” he replied calmly. “We should return to the camp and get you healed. Your family will be delighted to see you safe.”

She did not protest. It likely meant she did not have enough clearance to know about it, which she did not take personally. She had only been in the revolutionary army for one week, and she understood how information had to be controlled when betrayal and surveillance were constant risks.

She could not help thinking there was something familiar about this Zero persona, perhaps something in his mannerisms or personality. Talking to him, she felt a strange sense of deja vu, and she could not decide whether it was because she was exhausted or because her mind was trying to connect threads that did not belong together.

…

POV: Hikaru

“What do you want from me?”

Hikaru studied the girl standing across from them. She was beautiful in a sharp, almost feral way, with long hair that blended black and dark pink into a striking cascade down her back, and dark pink eyes that never stopped moving. She did not look older than fourteen, yet her body was far more developed than any girl her apparent age had the right to be, especially her chest, which was disproportionately full in a way that suggested outside influence. Magic, or more likely a Sacred Gear, Hikaru concluded.

She briefly glanced at the companions assigned to this mission, each representing one of the Seven. Zhuge Liang stood quietly to her left, a descendant of the famed strategist and far too young in Hikaru’s opinion to be involved in something like the Hero Faction. Perseus, spirit inheritor of the legendary demigod, was present on Georg’s behalf, his posture relaxed but his eyes observant. Momono Kibitsuhiko, inheritor of Momotarou’s soul, represented Leonardo. The Orders of Samson, Daedalus, and Arthur had sent no one. That made sense. This was not meant to be dangerous, only a recruitment effort for someone with a potentially powerful Sacred Gear.

“Let me ask you a question, Zekka Miyamoto. What is it that you truly desire?”

The voice was intense, deliberate.

Charlemagne stood at the front of their group, platinum hair gleaming under the streetlights, porcelain skin flawless, her presence commanding. She bore her ancestor’s name as an alias and served as second in command to Cao Cao within the Order of the Eternal Flame. To Hikaru, she was undeniably beautiful and deeply unsettling. There was something rigid in her devotion to Cao Cao that bordered on fanaticism.

“How do you know my name?” Zekka Miyamoto asked, her body tensing as though she might strike at any moment. There was caution in her stance, yet also lazy confidence, as if she believed she could cut them down if necessary.

“You did not answer my question,” Charlemagne replied coolly, frowning faintly. She was accustomed to obedience.

“Neither did you,” Miyamoto shot back. “Now give me an answer. How do you know my name and what do you want from me?”

“We know everything about you, Zekka Miyamato,” Charlemagne replied with a strange smile. “We know of your gift and of your exploits, of your desire to become the strongest swordsman there ever was and will ever be.”

“So stalkers. Got it.”

A sword materialized in Miyamoto’s hand without warning. “If you are not going to answer my question, then we are done here. I have a strict policy against stalkers.”

Hikaru suppressed a sigh. Charlemagne’s habit of speaking in riddles and ignoring whatever others said in favor of delivering her own lines clearly had not impressed Miyamoto. Which, in hindsight, should not have been surprising. 

Who could have guessed that appearing aloof and evasive would not inspire trust in a potential recruit.

Still, Hikaru had no intention of arguing with Charlemagne’s methods. It would be pointless. Charlemagne outranked her within the small elite team created by Cao Cao, and if Hikaru tried to voice her opinion, the woman would simply ignore it.

Hikaru had no interest in arguing with a wall.

Normally she would remain silent in situations like this. For reasons that remained a mystery to her, Charlemagne seemed to genuinely despise her. The hostility had only grown worse after Cao Cao himself selected Hikaru to join his elite squad. Sometimes Hikaru wondered what exactly she had done to deserve such animosity.

Ultimately, she did not care.

Whether Charlemagne liked her or not was irrelevant. Hikaru had far more important matters to worry about than trying to decipher whatever nonsensical grievance the woman held against her. Most of the time, she simply allowed Charlemagne to take the lead and do as she pleased.

But there was a limit.

And driving away a potentially valuable ally crossed it.

Before the situation could deteriorate any further, Hikaru decided to step in.

“Please excuse my friend Charlemagne,” Hikaru said with a gentle smile. She noticed the subtle twitch in the other woman’s expression. “She has a fondness for dramatics, even in serious situations. Allow us to introduce ourselves properly. I am Hikaru Yamashiro. This is Charlemagne, Zhuge Liang, Perseus, and Momono Kibitsuhiko. We mean you no harm. On the contrary, we come as potential allies and bearing gifts.”

The gift had not been planned, but Hikaru would improvise.

“So what are you?” Miyamoto asked with a smirk. “A bunch of nerds cosplaying historical figures? Some kind of circus act? And what gift?”

“As my companion mentioned,” Hikaru continued calmly, gesturing lightly, “we are aware of your ambition to become the greatest swordsman. We can help make that goal a reality. As a token of goodwill and an apology for our approach, please accept this.”

She summoned a tall rectangular box from one of her storage rings and tossed it toward Miyamoto. The case was crafted from polished dark wood reinforced with silver bands, long enough to house a full length blade. Subtle runes were etched along its surface for preservation and protection.

Miyamoto caught it easily, her gaze shifting between the box and Hikaru’s composed expression. After a moment, she opened it.

Inside lay a European style longsword resting upon deep red velvet. Its blade was pristine, double edged and perfectly balanced, with a faint silver sheen that hinted at enchantment. Golden insignia adorned the crossguard and pommel, intricate designs that spoke of noble craftsmanship rather than mass production.

“You want to become the greatest swordsman, correct?” Hikaru asked gently.

Miyamoto nodded, eyes still fixed on the weapon.

“Then mastering only one style would limit you. A true master understands every tradition of the blade. You cannot rely solely on a katana and claim absolute supremacy.”

Miyamoto’s expression shifted, interest warring with suspicion. “And what do you want in return? I am not naïve enough to accept gifts from strangers without conditions.”

Hikaru doubted that. The girl didn’t seem like she interacted with other people much often, judging by how guarded and wary she was of them.

“All I ask from you is to listen to our offer. Whether you reject us or accept our offer afterwards, the sword is yours, deal?” Hikaru said calmly.

“First tell me how you found me?” Miyamoto asked, eyes narrowing again.

“Our organization has developed a system to detect sacred gear users worldwide and yours was giving a bright flare in our systems,” Hikaru answered truthfully.

That was how they had found her so quickly back when she awakened her sacred gear. It had not taken them long to teleport to her location as soon as they detected the awakening, and Hikaru remembered being amazed when she learned the system had been created by the greatest engineer of human history, Daedalus, father of Icarus. 

The tale of Icarus and Daedalus was a story her brother used to tell her often to help her sleep back when she had nightmares, and the idea that Daedalus had truly existed had stayed with her ever since as something hard to fully accept.

The system was ingenious, yet it was not omniscient. It could only detect the frequencies of non-Longinus level sacred gears, though the researchers were working on overcoming that limitation, and Hikaru suspected that whatever Miyamoto carried was precisely the kind of power the faction wanted before someone else claimed it first.

Miyamoto was starting to calm down and sighed a deep breath. “Go on, make your offer. I will refuse it if I don't like it!” she said finally defensively.

“Thank you,” Hikaru said. “But before I make my offer, how much do you know about the supernatural?”

“I know all myths are real and things like yokai and devils exist. What does that have to do with anything?”

Before Hikaru could continue, Charlemagne stepped forward.

“Everything,” she said, her voice sharpening. “It has everything to do with it.”

Her composure fractured, and something raw surfaced beneath. Hikaru groaned internally at the approaching ‘woe is humanity’ speech.

“You know they exist,” Charlemagne continued, “but do you understand what that truly means? It means humanity shares this world with beings who see us as resources. Vampires treat our kind as livestock. Devils manipulate, tempt, and enslave our brightest minds for their own agendas. Angels and fallen alike wage their wars while we bleed in the shadows. Yokai hunt the weak, gods demand worship under threat of annihilation. And we are expected to accept it. To coexist. To bow our heads and call it balance.”

Her eyes burned with fury. “Humans built civilizations from nothing. We carved meaning into a world that offered us none. Yet every legend, every so-called higher being, stands above us as though we are insects. When a dragon grows bored, a city burns. When a vampire hungers, a family disappears. And we are told this is simply the way of things.”

She stepped closer to Miyamoto. “Tell me, Zekka Miyamoto, when you sharpen your blade and dream of surpassing every swordsman in history, do you intend to measure yourself only against other humans? Or do you wish to prove that humanity does not kneel? That we are not prey. That we are not tools. That we are not stepping stones for immortal tyrants who treat our world as their playground.”

Her voice grew colder. “We seek a future where humans decide the fate of this world. Not devils. Not gods. Not ancient monsters who believe their power entitles them to rule. You possess strength. The potential to cut down beings who believe themselves untouchable. The question is whether you will use that power for yourself alone, or for the species that stands perpetually beneath the heel of the supernatural.”

“So you’re some kind of supernatural border patrol?” Miyamoto asked with an eyebrow raised.

“We are the champions of humanity,” Charlemagne proclaimed, her voice ringing out across the clearing with unwavering conviction. “Protectors of the defenseless and saviors of the innocent. We are the shield that stands between mankind and the horrors that stalk it from the shadows. We swear upon our names and the legacies we carry that no monster shall prey upon our people without facing our blades. 

“We vow to answer blood with steel, tyranny with defiance, and terror with righteous wrath. So long as we draw breath, humanity will not kneel before devils, nor be hunted by vampires, nor be toyed with by so-called gods who see us as lesser beings. We stand as the sword of mankind, and we will carve out a future where humans rule their own fate.”

Charlemagne stepped forward, her posture straight and confident.

“We are the heroes of humanity,” she declared. “And we ask you, Zekka Miyamoto, to raise your blade beside ours and join our cause. Stand with us and use your strength for something greater. Help us protect those who cannot protect themselves, just as someone with your talent was always meant to.”

Miyamoto listened in silence, her expression thoughtful as she considered the offer.

“You want to become the strongest, right?” Perseus added with an easy grin. “Well, you won’t be bored with us. Our group is full of swordsmen chasing the same goal. If you join, you’ll have more sparring partners than you know what to do with and plenty of monsters to test your blade against. You’ll be surrounded by people who understand what you’re striving for. People who won’t look at you strangely for it.”

He gestured casually toward the rest of the group. “You’ll be among your own kind. Equals. Friends.”

That last word seemed to catch Miyamoto’s attention.

“Friends?” she murmured quietly. “…I would like that.”

The girl’s loneliness was easy to see once one looked past her confident exterior. She carried herself with strength, but there was a distance in her eyes that suggested she had spent most of her life standing alone. Charlemagne seemed to notice it as well and moved immediately to press the advantage.

“Then join us, Zekka,” Charlemagne said firmly. “With us, you will find comrades who will not fear your strength. You will find people who will stand beside you without hesitation and accept you exactly as you are.”

[This is everything you’ve ever wanted, Zekka. Friends. And the chance to become the strongest swordsman while fighting powerful opponents.]

The deep voice appeared suddenly, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Hikaru immediately realized it had come from the girl herself. Her Sacred Gear, most likely.

After that, it did not take long to convince the already lonely girl. Miyamoto eventually agreed to join the Hero Faction. She asked them to wait while she packed her belongings and prepared to leave with them, and Charlemagne assured her that the matter of a middle school student suddenly disappearing would be handled.

Once everything was ready, they gathered together again. Miyamoto stood with two large suitcases at her side. Hikaru made a mental note to get her one of the storage rings developed by the research team later, since carrying luggage around like that would quickly become inconvenient.

When everyone was ready, they moved closer together as Charlemagne began casting her teleportation magic.

It would seem this is yet another mission fulfilled with flying colors.

…

They stepped out of the magic circle and Hikaru looked confused at her surroundings, the faint shimmer of teleportation fading from the air around them as the circle’s light died away. She had expected stone walls, wards, a guarded compound, some sign of their headquarters. 

Instead there was damp ground beneath their boots, the smell of trees and salt on the wind, and a canopy of leaves that filtered the light in broken patches.

“I didn’t expect your headquarters to be…..” Zekka said, searching for a specific word to describe it, her sword still half raised as she scanned the treeline. “…a forest.”

“It’s not.” Charlemagne said curtly, high alert, her body already angled as if she were preparing to move. “The teleportation spell was hijacked. Be ready for battle, we’re dealing with a high level entity.”

Of course we are, Hikaru thought with quiet irritation. And here I thought this mission would actually be simple.

Her eyes moved quickly across the landscape, taking in the uneven ground and the way the terrain dipped toward what looked like a shoreline. From what she could see, they had been transported onto a small island somewhere in the middle of the ocean.

Each of her companions drew out their weapons and formed a wall around her. Zekka followed their suit with a quick adjustment of stance, positioning herself near them, and Hikaru noted the decision with quiet relief because it meant the girl had not decided to treat them as immediate enemies. 

Hikaru was the summoner type, and while she was not terrible by herself, she was not a physical powerhouse and relied on her sacred gear: Tetrakleaver, the Butcher Saint, which allowed her to summon three powerful figures who wielded chainsaws. 

As a result, her teammates made it a priority to protect her while she summoned them, because the moments between initiating the summon and the figures appearing were moments where she was most vulnerable.

“At ease, I’m not an enemy,” a soft voice said, and they all turned toward the source at once.

There stood a beautiful girl with a slim body, shoulder length blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in witch-like attire with a huge blue hat adorned with a black bow and yellow stars, and a matching cape patterned with pink flowers and a white interior. 

The outfit looked whimsical at first glance, and Hikaru knew better than to let that deceive her, because in this world presentation was often an intentional misdirection.

Hikaru recognized the girl at once, the second in command of the once and future king, Le Fay Pendragon. Hikaru did not know her personally and had not interacted with her much, yet she knew Le Fay was highly respected in the Hero Faction and highly influential.

“Le Fay, what’s the meaning of this?” Charlemagne asked with narrowed eyes, her voice sharp and distrustful.

“I am here to fulfill my end of the deal,” Le Fay answered, and strangely enough she was looking directly at Hikaru, her gaze steady and tired in a way that made Hikaru’s stomach tighten.

“What are you talking about?”

“I made a deal with a devil and he will have his due,” Le Fay spoke, sounding tired, as if the words themselves weighed on her tongue.

“That better be metaphorical, Le Fay.” Charlemagne spoke harshly. “You know more than anyone that we don’t make deals with…devil or their kind.”

“I’m afraid I am being as literal as can be.” Le Fay said, sounding remorseful. “I have made a mistake of catastrophic proportions and I need…” Le Fay pointed her finger at Hikaru. “..her to have any hope of making this right.”

“Me?” Hikaru said bewildered, wondering what she would have to do with a deal with the devil gone wrong, and why Le Fay, of all people, would be speaking to her as though she were a key.

“Ah..you mean that.” Charlemagne said in realization, her expression hardening. “..I see, you’re still attempting to play the savior. But you already know the stance of my master Cao Cao on that and I will give you the same answer he gave you. We don’t trade with human lives. You should have listened to him back then, none of this would have happened if you had.”

Hikaru did not know what they were talking about and she was positive that the others did not as well, which was almost absurd given how confidently the conversation was being conducted as if everyone were already informed. 

It was funny in a bitter way, because it seemed to heavily involve her, and yet she was standing there with no context, expected to react to something she did not understand.

“I’m trying to right my wrongs.” Le Fay snapped. “I’m trying to save you idiots from incurring his wrath which you are all so determined to earn. Let me take Hikaru and all will be well.”

“Hey,” Hikaru said sharply, finally losing patience. “What the hell are you talking about? Stop speaking about me like I’m not standing right here.”

Her voice came out sharper than she intended, and she felt Zhuge Liang shift slightly nearer to her, a protective reflex.

“Your brother,” Le Fay answered curtly.

…What?

Hikaru froze.

Her mind went completely blank.

“My brother?” she repeated slowly.

For a moment she could not even process the words.

Le Fay continued calmly. “Your brother is aware of the supernatural. And he is waiting for me to bring you to him.”

Hikaru stared at her.

Her brother… knew?

That was impossible.

How could he know?

And why was Le Fay speaking about him with that strange tension in her voice?

How did Le Fay and Charlemagne even know about him in the first place?

More importantly… how could someone like her brother inspire terror in Le Fay? A witch far more powerful than Hikaru herself?

Did this mean Cao Cao knew as well?

No. That could not be right.

Cao Cao had told her personally that her brother was a normal human. A talented one, yes, but still human. Someone without the potential for a Sacred Gear and without the ability to use magic. 

Hikaru had insisted on seeing him one last time before leaving, and Cao Cao had taken her there personally.

She had seen him with her own eyes.

Haruki had been living his normal life.

So how could he suddenly be spoken of like some kind of boogeyman?

None of it made sense.

An ordinary human could not frighten someone like Le Fay. 

Which meant only two possibilities.

Either her brother had never been ordinary and Cao Cao had deliberately hidden the truth from her.

Or her brother had somehow learned magic after she left.

Hikaru dismissed the second option almost immediately.

If Haruki had truly been an ordinary human before she left, there was no realistic way he could become powerful enough to intimidate someone like Le Fay in such a short time.

That left the first possibility.

And that possibility was… had unsettling implications.

You should have listened to him back then. None of this would have happened if you had.

Charlemagne’s words echoed in her mind.

That meant this situation, her brother coming after them, could have been avoided if Le Fay had acted differently in the past.

Meaning they had dealt with him before.

Or at least tried to.

And judging by Le Fay’s tone… whatever option they had once possessed was no longer possible.

But that only made sense if Le Fay had interacted with Haruki before.

But when would that have happened?

The only time that made sense was when they came to recruit her.

Except that should have been impossible.

Haruki had been hundreds of kilometers away at the time.

Unless…

Unless he had already known about the supernatural back then.

Unless he had already been capable of using magic.

If that were true, he could have reached her easily.

And if he had arrived then, he would have met Cao Cao and the others.

Which meant Cao Cao absolutely should have known about him.

Yet Cao Cao had looked her straight in the eyes and told her Haruki was just a normal human.

He had even taken her to see him.

A quiet voice whispered in the back of her mind.

He lied to you.

For someone of Cao Cao’s caliber, placing her under an illusion—or something similar—would be trivial. He could easily have made her believe Haruki was just an ordinary person.

Which raised an even more troubling question.

Why?

Why would Cao Cao go to such lengths to deceive her?

Her mind raced.

If Haruki truly had magical ability… if he had somehow arrived in time to find her after she killed their parents…

Then there was no way, absolutely no way, he would have allowed anyone to take her away.

She knew her brother.

Haruki would let the world burn before letting anyone take her from him.

He would never have let her leave with Cao Cao without speaking to her first, without making absolutely certain that it was what she truly wanted.

Unless…

Unless he hadn’t been able to stop them.

Unless Cao Cao had taken her by force.

Kidnapped her.

That would also explain the fear in Le Fay and Charlemagne’s voices when they spoke about him.

Their mistake must have been either taking her… or failing to kill Haruki when they had the chance, when he had still been weak.

And now…

Now he was powerful.

Powerful enough that they were afraid.

Powerful enough that Le Fay was trying to appease him by bringing Hikaru back.

No.

Hikaru forced herself to stop.

That line of thinking was becoming ridiculous. She was stacking assumptions on top of assumptions.

She needed answers.

Her summoned guardians moved closer around her protectively as she stepped forward.

“Le Fay,” Hikaru said carefully. “Explain this clearly. What does my brother have to do with any of this? And where is he?”

“I can explain it to you on the way.” Le Fay said. “We don’t have much time right now, there is only a small window of time before Cao Cao notices your delay. Come with me, Hikaru.”

Nothing was making sense, yet Hikaru’s instinct told her to go with Le Fay, and that frightened her because her instincts were usually tied to survival, not trust, and she could not tell which one was guiding her now.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Le Fay.” A new commanding voice spoke, belonging to a man. Hikaru recognized it instantly, and she saw Cao Cao descend from the heavens.

Le Fay’s face twisted as though she had tasted something sour, the expression brief yet intense enough to break the calm she had maintained until that moment. Her shoulders stiffened and her fingers curled slightly at her sides, a reaction that Hikaru had never seen from her before.

“C-Cao Cao, you’re here,” Le Fay said, her voice strained with fear.

“Why so surprised, little bird?” Cao Cao smiled deceptively softly as he descended, his figure lowering from the sky with controlled ease until his boots touched the ground. His presence carried authority in a way that was almost physical, the air around him seeming to tighten the moment he arrived. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you interfering with my subordinate magic circle? I designed it.”

“Look, Cao Cao, I can explain. You have to listen to me,” Le Fay pleaded, trembling.

“What is there to explain?” Cao Cao spoke calmly. “You have by your own mouth just admitted to attempting to trade a human life to appease a monster. You have sided with the wolves, Le Fay, and judgement has come.”

Le Fay laughed suddenly, the sound sharp and unstable.

“Sometimes I wonder if you even believe the shit that comes out of your mouth,” she said madly. “You are so focused on playing your role that you would even turn friends into foes? You and your damned pride will be the death of us all. Why can’t you understand that? Do you think the girl will accept staying with us knowing we took her from her brother forcibly and have been keeping her away from him through lies and deceptions?”

I see, so it’s as I suspected, Hikaru thought. She had hoped it wasn’t, yet Le Fay’s words confirmed what her instincts had already begun to assemble.

“Is it true, Cao Cao?” she asked coldly, meeting his eyes.

For the first time since arriving, he looked ashamed.

“I’m sorry, Hikaru,” he said quietly. “I did everything I have done for the sake of humanity… For your sake.”

“For my sake? How?” she asked, frowning.

“Your brother is a monster,” Cao Cao said. “He had sold his soul to a devil and traded his human dignity for power. He is not who you think he is. He is an opportunistic psychopath and a murderer with no qualms about human lives.”

“Have care on how you speak about my brother!” she shouted. “He’s not to be slandered by the likes of you.”

“Oh but it is the truth,” Cao Cao said softly. “It pains me to tell you this and I wanted to spare you the pain. Your brother is a devil and was a devil before your accident with your parents. If you don’t believe me, ask her.” He gestured toward Le Fay. “Go on. Tell her how wrong I am and make yourself a liar, Le Fay.”

Hikaru turned toward Le Fay.

The witch said nothing.

Her silence carried more weight than any spoken answer, and Hikaru felt it settle inside her chest like a stone.

“He had joined the peerage of Rias Gremory and made himself a slave,” Cao Cao continued. “You once told me that you had called your brother about the nightmares back then, did you not?”

Hikaru remained silent.

“Yet despite being aware of the supernatural,” Cao Cao continued, “despite being aware of humanity’s potential to awaken a sacred gear, he did not even come to check on you. He was too busy licking his master’s feet to do so.”

Cao Cao met her eyes and his expression softened into something resembling sympathy.

“Yes, I took you away from him by force. He came to you after you had killed your parents and came to take you with him. Where did you think he wanted to take you? Why do you think he ignored all signs of danger and did not even come once to check on you to make sure you were safe? Why did he only come after you had killed your parents and had no one else to rely on?”

Cao Cao had a special talent for striking where it hurt most. He was a gifted and eloquent speaker, someone capable of stirring emotion in those around him with careful precision.

“He wanted to take you to his master and turn you into his fellow slave and worship devils. So yes, I refused him. I could not in good conscience allow an innocent human to be enslaved and made to serve filthy devils. Even if I had to separate you from the brother you love. He is nothing but a lying race traitor. You may hate me for this and I wouldn’t blame you, but I don’t regret my actions. I will not apologize for helping an innocent human in danger.”

Hikaru listened in silence.

His argument had structure. His reasoning carried enough logic that someone unfamiliar with the situation could easily accept it. Cao Cao spoke with the confidence of a man used to persuading others.

Yet Hikaru knew something he did not.

She knew her brother.

She had known him since she could barely string together sentences. His name had been the first word she ever spoke, a moment that had made their parents laugh as he awkwardly tried to pretend it did not embarrass him.

She knew the brother who played with her until she fell asleep on the living room floor, who carried her to bed when she refused to wake up, who read bedtime stories with exaggerated voices that made her laugh even when she was supposed to be quiet. She knew the boy who sat beside her with patience while she struggled to learn how to write her first letters, guiding her hand until the shapes finally made sense.

She remembered how he taught her to draw, how he held her hand when crossing the street, how he stayed awake when she woke from nightmares so he could sing soft lullabies until her breathing calmed. She remembered the times he stood between her and school bullies without hesitation, the way he would glare until they backed away. 

She remembered him walking her home from school every day, carrying her bag when she complained it was heavy, pretending to complain about it while secretly making sure she never had to struggle.

He had always been there, a steady presence beside her, someone who never failed her even in small things. When she was sad he would notice before she spoke. When she was afraid he would quietly stay nearby until the fear passed.

Knowing all of that, knowing her brother as well as she did, how could she believe the words coming out of Cao Cao’s mouth?

He did not know him. Not as she did.

Her brother would never do anything that would ever put her in danger or hurt her.

“You’re wrong, Cao Cao,” she said at last. “You know nothing about my brother. He would never do anything like that.”

“Oh? Do you think your brother wouldn’t let an entire race be genocided for his own agenda as well?” Cao Cao sneered.

“No, he would not,” she answered firmly.

“Oh, but he would. It was he who broke the vampire barrier from within and orchestrated their extinction,” Cao Cao roared.

Hikaru felt the words strike her, yet she refused to accept them.

She could not believe her brother would ever do something like that. There had to be something else that explained it. Her brother would never do something like this.

“It was he who orchestrated the unprecedented chaos in the Underworld and helped the son of Lucifer, the great serpent, come to power,” Cao Cao continued. “Did you think he didn’t know that the Old Satan faction would seize the opportunity to take power and destroy countless innocent reincarnated devils? Of course he did. And he did it anyway, all to gain more power. Ask Le Fay if you wish. Ask her if any of what I said was a lie.”

Hikaru felt the certainty inside her falter.

Her faith in her brother remained strong, yet Cao Cao’s words introduced doubt she could not immediately dismiss. If any of it were true, then the image she carried of Haruki might be incomplete.

But she refused to accept another person’s account as the final truth.

She would find her brother and hear the explanation from him directly.

“So now they’re innocent reincarnated devils, eh?”

A new voice spoke.

The voice was alluring and playful in a way that no ordinary human voice could achieve. It carried a natural clarity that made it pleasant to hear, the tone gentle yet confident, the kind of voice that reminded Hikaru of peaceful mornings at home when the world was quiet and familiar.

She turned toward the source.

A purple portal had opened nearby and tall silhouettes emerged from it.

“Funny,” the voice continued calmly, “I remember you calling them worthless people who sold their souls to the devil.”

Hikaru recognized him instantly.

He looked different from how she remembered him. He was taller now and his handsome features had sharpened with age, giving his face a refined beauty that drew attention without effort. His raven black hair remained unchanged, falling in the same familiar way, and his brown eyes still carried that intense gaze she remembered so clearly. She used to say that if someone stared into those eyes for too long it felt as if they would begin to hurt.

There was something else about him now, something difficult to define. His presence felt heavier, more composed, as if the years had layered experience over the person she remembered.

Somehow her brother had become more beautiful, more ethereal. She had never seen a god before, yet she imagined they must look something like him.

“Who are you?” Miyamoto asked, the only one present who lacked the knowledge or familiarity to recognize him.

“Please allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a theatrical bow. “I’m a man of wealth and taste. Haruki Yamashiro at your service.”

Miyamoto looked confused and glanced toward Hikaru for clarification, yet Hikaru did not notice.

Her entire attention was fixed on the figure standing before her.

Here he was.

Her brother.

“So you’ve come just as I expected,” Cao Cao said with a faint smile. “This makes things easier.”

“Hello there, Cao Cao,” Haruki replied calmly. “You look well. I aim to change that.”

AN: Fuck, 14 thousand words. This is by far the longest chapter I have ever written, which is the reason it came later than usual. I also noticed while writing it that there are a lot of references to acting and theatrics. Enjoy.