One Year After Unification
One year has passed since the unification, and the landscape of the Underworld is unrecognizable. Algernon stands atop his castle, surveying a realm that has shed its stagnant aristocracy for a meritocracy forged in steel and strategy.
The primary engine of this societal shift has been the complete overhaul of the Ranking Games. By prioritizing strength and ensuring absolute fairness, Algernon transformed the games from a high-society pastime into the ultimate ladder for social mobility.
This new era of transparency and merit was solidified when Sairaorg Bael rose through the ranks with terrifying speed. His public reveal of the Longinus Regulus Nemea served as a turning point, proving to every low-class devil that even with no trait to back them up they can stand on high ground.
Parallel to this martial evolution, the Demon Academy became the intellectual heart of the empire. Algernon granted Ajuka Beelzebub total authority over research, effectively unleashing a "madman" of genius who viewed the entire demonic population as a canvas for optimization.
Ajuka has spent the last year constantly modifying and refining the training systems, using data-driven analysis to push the physical and magical limits of every student. The modern demon soldier is now faster, more magically efficient, and tactically superior to any generation that came before.
At the political level, the restructuring is total. All 72 Demon Pillar houses have been revived, but their foundations are new. The original clan heads—those who relied on ancient titles rather than current capability—were systematically eliminated through formal challenges sanctioned by the throne.
Each house is now led by a master of their craft, and Algernon has assigned every pillar a specific task according to their unique ancestral traits. Whether it be logistics, research, or frontline combat, every house now operates as a specialized organ of the state, ensuring that the Underworld functions with the precision of a clockwork masterpiece.
Beyond the honing of martial strength, Algernon's vision for the Underworld extended into the realm of technological supremacy. He initiated a sweeping recruitment drive to find and promote the most brilliant minds within the demon race, ensuring these geniuses were admitted to the Demon Academy regardless of their social standing.
It was through this initiative that Seekvaira Agares emerged as a truly unpolished gem. While Ajuka Beelzebub is recognized as the pinnacle of demonic intellect, Seekvaira proved to be his superior in specialized fields that the "mad researcher" often overlooked in favor of pure magical theory.
Seekvaira's brilliance flourished in the practical application of high-level sorcery to physical structures. She revolutionized the concept of Construction, treating every building project as a living circuit. Her mastery over Fortress and city-scale engineering allowed the Underworld's architecture to become an extension of its military might.
Under her guidance, cities were no longer just dwellings but massive, interconnected defensive hubs. She designed fortifications that could shift their geometry to confuse invaders and walls that could absorb and redistribute atmospheric mana to reinforce their structural integrity.
The true cornerstone of her work, however, was the development of a standardized Magical infrastructure. Seekvaira designed a subterranean network of mana conduits that stabilized the volatile energies of the Underworld, providing a constant and clean source of power for both civilian life and military research.
This grid allowed for the rapid deployment of magical weapons and the instantaneous communication between the 72 Pillar houses. While Ajuka modified the demons themselves, Seekvaira was the one who rebuilt the cities they lived in, turning the Underworld into a seamless, impenetrable fortress-state.
Three months after the unification, Algernon summoned both Ajuka and Seekvaira to the newly constructed Imperial War College, a massive facility dedicated to military research and development.
"The Underworld is secure," Algernon had stated, his golden eyes sweeping across the holographic displays showing their territory. "But security is not supremacy. If we are to dominate the supernatural world, we need force projection capabilities that no other faction can match."
He gestured to the displays, which shifted to show images of various faction territories—the Grigori headquarters, Heaven's floating citadels, the various pantheon strongholds.
"Every major faction has defensive positions that would require years of siege warfare to crack using conventional forces which we don't have." His gaze fixed on Seekvaira. "I want you to give me the ability to conquer any fortress in the supernatural world."
Seekvaira's eyes had lit up with the kind of fervor only true genius could possess when presented with an impossible problem.
"A fleet," she breathed, her mind already racing ahead. "Not just ships, but mobile fortresses. Platforms that can carry armies through dimensional space and deliver overwhelming firepower anywhere in the world."
"Precisely," Algernon confirmed. "And I want it ready within the year."
The project consumed the next nine months of Seekvaira's life.
Working alongside Ajuka—who contributed his expertise in dimensional theory and magical propulsion—and with unlimited resources from the Imperial Treasury, Seekvaira threw herself into the most ambitious engineering project in demonic history.
The fundamental challenge was energy. A vessel large enough to serve as a flying fortress would require power sources beyond anything currently available. Traditional demonic magic simply couldn't generate and sustain the output needed for sustained flight, weapons systems, defensive wards, and dimensional travel all simultaneously.
Seekvaira designed the Mana Reactors—a revolutionary power system that combined crystallized deposits of Underworld minerals with harmonic amplification arrays modeled after demons' energy signature.
Each reactor core could generate enough sustained power to maintain a capital ship indefinitely. More importantly, the reactors could be networked together, allowing multiple ships to share power reserves during combat operations.
With the power problem solved.
The Imperium-class Capital Ship became the backbone of the fleet. Each one measured over two miles in length—massive fortresses of reinforced demonic steel and enchanted crystal that could withstand direct hits from god-tier attacks.
The hull design incorporated geometric manipulation, allowing sections to reconfigure mid-battle to adapt to different combat scenarios. Weapon platforms could retract into protective housings, then deploy in seconds when needed.
The main armament consisted of Annihilation Cannons—massive magical artillery pieces that channeled raw demonic energy into concentrated beams capable of punching through even the strongest defensive wards. Each capital ship mounted twelve of these weapons, positioned to provide overlapping fields of fire.
Secondary armaments included point-defense arrays designed to intercept incoming attacks, missile batteries loaded with various magical warheads, and close-range plasma projectors for engaging smaller targets.
For troop deployment, the Valkyrie-class Transport was designed—smaller, faster vessels optimized for carrying soldiers and equipment. Each one could hold five hundred fully equipped troops and deploy them via magical teleportation or direct landing operations.
The transports were lightly armed but heavily shielded, designed to survive long enough to deliver their cargo even under fire.
The true masterpiece, however, was the flagship: The Imperator.
At nearly four miles in length, the Imperator was less a ship and more a flying city. Its construction alone consumed a third of the project's resources and required Seekvaira to personally oversee every stage of assembly.
The flagship's power core was unique giving the Imperator energy reserves that exceeded the combined output of ten standard capital ships.
Its weapons were equally impressive. In addition to the standard Annihilation Cannons, the Imperator mounted a single Genesis Array—a weapon of such devastating power that its firing sequence required the combined output of the entire power core.
Nine months after the project began, Algernon stood in the newly constructed Imperial Orbital Shipyard—a massive facility in dimensional space where the fleet had been assembled in absolute secrecy.
Before him stretched a sight that would have been impossible just a year ago: seven hundred and fifty capital ships, three thousand transports, and at the center of it all, the magnificent Imperator.
Seekvaira stood beside him, looking exhausted but triumphant. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her usually immaculate appearance was disheveled from months of constant work.
"The Imperial Armada," she stated simply. "Ready for deployment."
Algernon walked along the observation deck, his eyes tracking across the assembled fleet. Each ship gleamed with fresh enchantments, their hulls inscribed with thousands of protective runes. The sheer scale of what had been accomplished in less than a year was staggering.
"Weapons are fully tested and calibrated. The Annihilation Cannons have an effective range of thirty miles with pinpoint accuracy. The Genesis Array..." She paused, a slight smile touching her lips. "I recommend using that one sparingly. The dimensional damage it causes takes weeks to repair."
Algernon turned to face her fully. "You've exceeded every expectation, Seekvaira. This fleet is a masterpiece."
Pride flickered across her exhausted features.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. Though I should note that Ajuka's dimensional drive systems were crucial. Without his work on stable interdimensional travel, these ships would be limited to realspace combat."
"I'll be sure to acknowledge his contribution," Algernon replied. "But the vision was yours. You saw what needed to be created and made it reality."
He turned back to the fleet, his expression hardening into something cold and calculating.
The Great Hall - War Council
The scene shifted to the Great Hall of Aethelgard. Algernon sat upon the central throne, elevated above the sprawling chamber.
Below him, rows of obsidian seats were arranged with mathematical precision, occupied by the newly appointed Dukes and the heads of the 72 Pillar families. The atmosphere was heavy with the collective aura of a race that had been reborn through conflict and training.
The demographic of demonic power had shifted radically over the last year. Through Ajuka's brutal optimization and the constant crucible of the Ranking Games, the number of Tier 2 devils—those capable of challenging high-tier gods—had more than doubled to twenty-five.
Among this elite group stood Issei, Valerie, and Ingvild, each a cornerstone of his own personal peerage. Kuroka had also pushed her limits, reaching the very peak of the mid-Tier 2 category.
Even more staggering was the ascent of the realm's strongest women; both Grayfia and Serafall had successfully broken through their previous limits to achieve the rank Tier 2 Peak. This brought the total number of Peak tier 2 within the faction to five, including Sirzechs, Zekram and Ajuka.
With Algernon standing at the apex as their leader, the Demon Faction had officially become the most formidable power in existence. They were no longer merely a participant in the Three-Way Deadlock; they were a singular force capable of crushing any other faction in a direct, head-on collision.
The assembled nobles and military commanders had been summoned for what they assumed would be a routine strategic briefing. They were wrong.
Algernon sat before the assembled power of the Underworld and cut through the air with a single, blunt command.
"The Empire is to prepare for an immediate and total war against the Grigori."
Silence crashed across the hall like a physical force.
Then chaos erupted—dozens of voices all speaking at once, some in shock, others in excitement, a few in concern.
Zekram Bael rose from his seat, his ancient presence commanding attention. The room fell silent again.
"Your Majesty," Zekram began carefully, "while our military strength is unquestionable, a direct invasion of the Grigori would be perceived as unprovoked aggression by every other faction. We would face unified opposition from Heaven, the various pantheons—"
"You speak as if I intend to give them the choice to attack, Zekram," Algernon interrupted, a playful, predatory smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You fear being a target? Let them look, because we won't be the ones taking the initiative."
He stood then, the sheer weight of his presence forcing the room to go still.
"The Grigori will provide us with justification. They will attack first, and when they do, our response will be so swift and overwhelming that the other factions won't have time to organize opposition."
Sirzechs stepped forward. "You have a plan."
"I always have a plan," Algernon replied. He gestured, and a holographic display materialized showing the Grigori organizational structure. At the top sat Azazel, and below him, the various Cadre-class Fallen Angels.
One name was highlighted in red: Kokabiel.
Meanwhile - Grigori Headquarters
In the high-altitude silence of the Grigori headquarters, the atmosphere was a sharp contrast to the Underworld's industrial fury. Fallen Angels moved through sterile hallways, discussing research and minor border skirmishes as they always did.
Vali Lucifer strolled through the central plaza, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. He wore a rare, unsettling grin that made the lower-ranked Fallen Angels give him a wide berth.
"Vali? You're back early," a researcher called out, glancing up from a tablet. "Is the scouting report finished?"
Vali didn't slow down, his eyes fixed on the Great Tower ahead. "The report is irrelevant now," he murmured, his smile widening as he felt the faint vibration of a demonic circle activating in the distance. 'It's time to start the plan.'
The sterile, white corridors of the Grigori headquarters echoed with the rhythmic click of Vali's boots. He rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a tall, ominous figure draped in six pairs of coal-black wings. Kokabiel stood like a statue of ancient malice, his eyes narrowed as he watched the White Dragon Emperor approach with a look of casual indifference.
"Vali," Kokabiel spat, his voice like grinding stones. "You've been spending too much time playing in the human world. Have you forgotten the scent of a real battlefield?"
Vali stopped a few feet away, leaning casually against a sleek, metallic wall. He let out a short, mocking laugh, his eyes dancing with a cruel light. "Oh, look at this. Here comes a warmonger fallen recorded in the Bible who's still stuck in the past. Are you still rereading the scriptures, Kokabiel? Hoping for a rewrite of a war that ended centuries ago?"
Kokabiel's face contorted, his killing intent flaring so sharply it cracked the floor tiles beneath him. "Watch your tongue, you arrogant devil brat," he hissed. "While Azazel wastes our potential on 'research' and peace treaties, I am the one keeping the edge of the Grigori sharp. You half-breeds have no idea what it means to truly spill blood for a cause."
The air between them grew heavy, the static of their conflicting auras causing the overhead lights to flicker. Vali didn't flinch; instead, his smile widened, becoming something sharper and more predatory. He pushed off the wall and stepped into Kokabiel's personal space, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"If you're so hungry for a spark to light your little fire, I'll give you something to chew on," Vali said, his eyes burning with a hidden agenda. "I heard the owner of the Boosted Gear is in Kuoh Town." He lingered on the name, emphasizing it with a slow, deliberate drawl. "You know... the town where the Gremory and Sitri heiresses are playing house? It would be a shame if someone went there and caused a scene."
Kokabiel froze, his eyes widening as the implication took root in his obsessed mind.
Vali didn't wait for a reply. He turned his back on the senior Fallen Angel, his expression shifting into a hidden, triumphant smirk. As he kept walking down the corridor, he felt Kokabiel's gaze burning into his back—the gaze of a man who had just been given exactly enough rope to hang himself.
Algernon sat back in his throne, his fingers steepled as he watched the communication circle fade. The pieces were moving exactly as he had calculated. He turned his gaze toward Issei Hyoudou, who stood at the edge of the dais.
The Red Dragon Emperor had matured significantly over the past year, his aura now dense and stabilized under the intense training of the Demon Academy and Tannin, the former Dragon King.
"The bait is set," Algernon stated, his voice echoing with a calm authority that commanded absolute focus.
Algernon leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Issei's. "Your mission is specific. You are not just there to defend your home. You need to capture the fallen who will be attacking Kuoh alive. I want them as living proof of the Grigori's 'aggression' against the peace and their audacity to attack women of the Demon Emperor."
Issei nodded, his expression grim and determined.
"Once you have them," Algernon continued, a subtle, cold smile touching his lips, "you will confront Vali, who will arrive to retrieve them on Azazel's order. He will play the part of the neutral mediator, but you are to hold your ground. We will use this 'rescue attempt' as the final justification to launch our full-scale counter-offensive."
Issei slammed a fist against his chest in a salute. "Understood. I won't let a single one of them slip through my fingers."
Algernon watched him leave, then turned his attention back to the holographic displays surrounding his throne.
One showed the Imperial Armada, hidden in dimensional space, ready to deploy at a moment's notice.
Another showed Kuoh Town, peaceful and unaware of the storm about to break over it.
A third showed the Grigori headquarters, where Azazel and his Cadres continued their research, completely oblivious to the noose tightening around their necks.
Algernon smiled, a cold, predatory expression that promised devastation.
"Let the game begin."
(END OF CHAPTER)
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