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The Crimson Keep's throne room was a fortress of solitude, the only sound the faint hum of magic woven into its obsidian walls. Algernon sat upon his throne, his crimson eyes fixed on the holographic map that shimmered before him. His mind, honed by two lives, sifted through possibilities, strategies, and future threats.
His previous triumph had carved him a place among the Pillars, yet the true challenge remained: uniting the demon race. He had no illusions about Sirzechs Lucifer. The Crimson Satan was a Super Devil, an unmovable force.
Algernon had no desire for a destructive war with him, not just because of Sirzechs's power, but because of his connection to Rias, the woman destined to become his wife. To destroy Sirzechs would be to burn bridges he intended to build.
His strength alone wouldn't work. He needed a different kind of leverage. He needed to make Sirzechs and the other Satans see the necessity of his vision, to recognize that a united front under a new, decisive leadership was not an option, but an imperative for survival. And Algernon, the transmigrator, held the ultimate information advantage.
He zoomed on a specific part of his memory, associated with the Khaos Brigade. He knew their motives, their future actions, and the true extent of the threats they posed – threats the current Underworld leadership was either unaware of or underestimating.
Ophis, the Dragon God of Infinity, sought quietude. Although she's just a pure girl (loli) according to original work but other doesn't know that.
Algernon smiled faintly. He wouldn't provoke a full-scale war. He would use his foreknowledge to create a sense of imminent crisis, a series of carefully orchestrated events that would expose the vulnerabilities of the current demon regime to the rising power of the Khaos Brigade.
"It's not about fighting Sirzechs," Algernon murmured to the empty room. "It's about making him understand. Making them all understand the true dangers lurking in the shadows, dangers that only a united demon race, led by someone with foresight, can withstand."
He would use his agents to subtly leak information, to manipulate small-scale encounters, and to highlight the Khaos Brigade's growing power in ways that made the Satans and the Council feel exposed and vulnerable. He wouldn't fabricate attacks, but he would ensure that legitimate threats were amplified and presented as symptoms of a larger, systemic problem—a problem that the Old Devil Council, with its focus on internal squabbles, was ill-equipped to handle.
He knew of future plans of the Khaos Brigade, their attempts to steal Sacred Gears, their recruitment of dangerous individuals, and their eventual alliance with other hostile forces. He would strategically reveal fragments of this knowledge, not as a direct warning, but as a series of disturbing coincidences that painted a clear picture of impending doom.
He would show them that the very stability Sirzechs protected was a fragile illusion, constantly at risk from forces far greater than any internal demon dispute. He would force Sirzechs to the negotiating table, not with a challenge of strength, but with the undeniable pressure of foresight and a shared enemy.
"They will need me," Algernon stated, his voice firm with conviction. "They will see that my ambition is not to overthrow, but to preserve and strengthen. They will see that a unified demon race under my leadership is the only way to navigate the coming storms."
His eyes, burning with both ambition and a peculiar kind of responsibility, swept across the holographic map. "Let the whispers begin. Let the fear of the unknown take root. The game is not about destruction, but about influence. And I hold the cards no one else even knows exist."
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The hum of the teleportation circle faded, replaced by the familiar, yet long-forgotten, sounds of the human world. A cool autumn breeze carried the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and distant street food. Algernon, no longer the sovereign of Aethelgard but just a young man in casual clothes, stood in a secluded alley behind a unassuming apartment complex different from the one he kept kuroka in after taking her in.
His crimson eyes took in the chipped brickwork, the recycling bins, and the faded graffiti. This was his starting point, the portal he had created from his throne room directly to his home he brought in Kouh Town as it reminded him of his home in his previous life.
He had left Kuroka in charge, her genius for magical infrastructure and her calm, commanding presence ensuring the new city would continue to thrive in his absence. He trusted her completely.
He had put Vali and Issei in charge of training the new recruits and securing the surrounding territory, their raw power and competitive rivalry ensuring that no threat, no matter how great, would be left unchallenged.
The Underworld was in a state of flux, and the chess pieces were in their starting positions. But the game had not yet begun. This brief respite was a final moment of peace before he set the world on fire.
The first stop was his apartment. It was a simple, two-story building that had been his home in human world. He took the old, rickety stairs two at a time, the faint smell of instant ramen and old paper clinging to the air. The door was the same—a scuffed, off-white slab with a deadbolt he knew would be locked. He didn't use a key.
He simply extended a hand, and with a faint flicker of Power of Destruction, the lock clicked open without a sound. He didn't need to break it; he needed to understand its function, and the Power of Destruction, in his hands, was not just for annihilation but for analysis.
Inside, the small apartment was exactly as he remembered it. A single, unmade bed, a desk cluttered with old textbooks and half-finished assignments, and a small kitchen counter with a stack of dirty dishes. It was a time capsule of a life he had left behind, a life of simple struggles and small joys. He walked to the window and looked out over the street below.
He saw a group of high school students laughing as they walked by, their youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the weight of his own immortal existence. He allowed himself a small, genuine smile. For the first time in months, he wasn't a king. He wasn't a planner. He was just a ghost, walking through the memories of a life that was and never would be again.
He changed into a simple black hoodie and a pair of jeans, clothes that had been a staple in his previous life. The fabrics were ordinary, the colors dull, yet he felt a sense of comfort in them. He left the apartment and walked down the street, his hands in his pockets, his mind open to the sights and sounds of the human world.
The first place he decided to visit was the local arcade. He had spent countless hours in arcade in his past life, losing track of time and money on a variety of fighting and rhythm games. The arcade was a sensory assault of flashing lights, synthesized music, and the clatter of coins. He walked to his favorite machine, an old fighting game with worn-out buttons.
He dropped a single 100-yen coin into the slot. The game loaded, and he chose his character, a nimble ninja he had mastered years ago. He played a few rounds, his hands moving with muscle memory he hadn't known he still possessed. He effortlessly pulled off complex combos, his fingers a blur over the joystick and buttons. The old machine creaked and groaned under his relentless attack, and he left with a high score that would likely remain unbeaten for years.
He didn't bother with the other games. The thrill wasn't in the victory; it was in the memory. He was no longer a kid trying to get a high score. He was a being of unimaginable power, and the game's challenge was a quaint, comforting distraction. He was not here to conquer, but to remember.
Leaving the arcade, he found himself drawn to the local food stalls. The aroma of freshly grilled takoyaki and savory okonomiyaki filled the air. He remembered the simple joy of buying a small snack after a long day of school, the warmth of the food in his hands a small comfort against the worries of homework and grades.
He bought a small tray of takoyaki and ate it as he walked, his senses fully engaged with the experience. The soft, doughy texture, the savory sauce, the delicate slivers of octopus—it was a simple pleasure, but a profound one. He had the ability to conjure any delicacy he desired in his throne room, but it would not taste the same. It would not carry the same weight of memory.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over the city, Algernon's wanderings took him through the Kouh shopping district. He observed the couples and families going about their daily lives. Teenagers browsing for the latest trends, parents haggling over prices, and children laughing as they chased pigeons in a nearby park.
He saw the mundane beauty in it all. He saw a sense of peace that he had given up to claim his place in the world. He felt no regret. This was a life he had lived and a world he had saved. His purpose was to ensure this peace, this simple, beautiful human life, could continue without threat from the supernatural.
His path eventually led him to a small, secluded shrine he used to frequent. It was a quiet place, with ancient stone lanterns and a few gnarled cherry blossom trees. He sat on a worn stone bench, listening to the rustling of the leaves in the wind. The shrine was a place of contemplation, a sanctuary from the noise of the city.
He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander. He thought of his past life, his triumphs and failures. He thought of the endless training, the brutal fights, and the countless hours spent planning his rise to power.
He thought of Kuroka, Vali, and Issei—his peerage, his family. They were no longer just pieces in a game; they were beings he cared for, beings who had placed their trust in him. He knew that the choices he was about to make would affect their lives forever. He had to be sure. He had to be ready.
He opened his eyes and stood up. The sun was now a brilliant orange, casting a warm light over the shrine's torii gate. It was time. His final stop was at the gate of Kouh Academy. He stood there, a silent observer, watching as the last of the students left for the day. He saw a few familiar faces—the girls of the Occult Research Club, Issei's friends, and even a few of Rias's peerage. He watched them from a distance, a phantom in the twilight.
He knew their futures, their struggles, and their destinies. He knew the threats they would soon face and the enemies they would soon have to fight and here would be the beginning of his plan to conquer demon race.
He smiled, a quiet, resolved smile. The nostalgia had served its purpose. His connection to this world, to these people, was now re-established. He had walked among them, an immortal among mortals, and he had been reminded of what he was fighting for. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky turned a deep, bruised purple. Algernon went through the gate, his hands no longer in his pockets. His posture was no longer relaxed; it was firm, purposeful. The time for reflection was over. The time for action had begun.