The corridor of the mansion was shrouded in darkness. Magical torches cast red flashes across the stone walls, and the steady sound of Sirzechs' footsteps echoed through the silent hall. The Maou walked slowly, but his eyes reflected something rarely seen on his face: surprise.
What he had witnessed in Gasper's room was not common. Nor expected.
Ajuka Beelzebub had been categorical in stating that vampires should never drink the blood of their own kind. A taboo, he had said—something forbidden and potentially fatal. Yet, before his very eyes, the dhampir had drunk every drop, resisted the nausea, endured the pain. He hadn't merely survived—he had remained conscious.
'So it was all a lie…'
The thought weighed on Sirzechs' mind. The taboo had not been created to protect vampires, but to preserve hierarchy. A political weapon, not a biological truth. If the younger generations learned that they could strengthen themselves by consuming the blood of their ancestors, the entire old order would collapse in an instant.
A cold breeze swept through the hallway, lightly stirring his cloak. Sirzechs took a deep breath. For the first time in a long while, he felt he was standing before something even the Maou had not foreseen.
Clack.
The door opened slowly.
The main hall was lit by magical orbs floating in the air. The crimson hue of the curtains reflected the soft glow, and the central table was covered with scrolls and crystal goblets. Rias stood beside it, her red hair catching every shimmer of light. Grayfia stood one step behind her, straight as ever, hands folded in front of her.
Both turned their eyes toward Sirzechs at once. The weight of expectation filled the room.
He entered silently, closing the door behind him.
Rias was the first to speak.
"Sirzechs-nii-sama, how is he?"
The Maou's brows arched slightly, as if the words had stung him. His crimson gaze fell on his sister, laced with a touch of theatrics.
"Rias, do you think I would harm a member of your peerage?"
His tone was deep but not harsh. The intent was clear—to unsettle her. The redhead's cheeks flushed slightly, and her posture faltered.
She looked away for a moment, breathing deeply. When her gaze returned to him, her voice was calmer, but firmer.
"That's not what I meant. What I want to know is… what did you think of him?"
The silence that followed was dense. Sirzechs let the question linger for several seconds before answering.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Gasper surprised me. He has strength. He has discipline. More than anyone would expect."
The words echoed through the room like hammer against steel. Rias' heart raced, but not from worry. Relief filled her chest like an unexpected warmth. First Grayfia had acknowledged Gasper's worth. Now, her brother—the Maou himself—approved. For the first time in weeks, she felt she was no longer fighting alone.
Her expression softened. The tension in her shoulders eased. The weight she'd carried since the announcement of her marriage felt less suffocating. Gasper was no longer a burden. He was someone she could rely on.
Grayfia remained still, but her silver eyes captured every nuance. She wasn't one to display emotion, yet she noticed what few others would. Sirzechs was genuinely intrigued. Not merely surprised or curious—excited. To the maid, that detail was more valuable than any speech.
Silence held the room for a few more moments. The wind slipped through the half-open window, gently stirring the crimson curtains. The faint sound of the fabric swaying filled the space, breaking the lingering tension.
Sirzechs adjusted his cloak, stepping back. The brief smile remained, but leadership had already returned to his posture.
"I've seen what I needed to. It's time to return."
Rias didn't try to stop him. She simply nodded, her gaze full of renewed confidence.
Grayfia stepped forward, bowing lightly to the young heiress before moving to her husband's side.
Fwooooshhh.
The magic circle spread across the floor, drawing glowing blue lines that pulsed in harmony. The wind roared through the hall, lifting curtains and scattering papers from the table.
Sirzechs' body was engulfed in light. Grayfia followed, her expression neutral to the very end.
Within seconds, both vanished, leaving only the fading echo of the spell.
Shhhht.
The hall fell silent once more.
Without hesitation, the heiress turned on her heels. Her body moved almost on instinct, driven by impulse.
Clack.
The door closed behind her, and her footsteps echoed down the long corridors of the mansion. Her destination was clear: Gasper's room.
In the Underworld, Sirzechs' office remained quiet. The soft light of magical globes reflected off the document-covered desk, but the atmosphere held something heavier than politics.
Grayfia stood before her husband. Her silver eyes were cold, but her tone carried an uncommon sharpness.
"Why did you offer vampire blood to Gasper? The risk was greater than mine. If he had failed, there would've been nothing left but ashes."
Sirzechs sat straight in his chair, hands clasped on the desk. His reply came calm, but weighted.
"Even if he survived your blood, Grayfia, that wouldn't guarantee victory against a Phenex. Their regeneration is absolute. But the vampire from whom I took this blood was different. If Gasper can assimilate even a fragment of that ability, he'll have a path to neutralize Riser."
Silence fell heavy. The Maou's words echoed through the room with the clarity of a verdict. Grayfia didn't avert her gaze.
"You're talking about him… the vampire you couldn't add to your peerage."
The memory cast an old shadow over the Maou's expression. He neither confirmed nor denied. He simply let the recollection speak for itself.
"The bearer of the Twilight Flame."
The name alone was enough to slice through the quiet.
Grayfia straightened, eyes narrowing.
"The one who became infamous for killing other vampires. His flames were different. They didn't just burn—they erased immortality. Against him, not even the Phenex lineage would endure."
Wind slipped through the cracks in the window, rustling the papers on the desk.
Sirzechs closed his eyes for a moment, his voice deep.
"This power cannot be wasted. If Gasper has even the slightest chance of inheriting remnants of the Twilight Flame, then Riser will finally have an enemy capable of truly wounding him."
Grayfia stood still. Her face remained unchanged, but her mind calculated the consequences. If this were true, Gasper would cease to be a mere uncertain piece on the board. He would become the only flame capable of extinguishing the immortal fire of the unwanted fiancé.
Fwoooosh.
The candle on the desk flickered, scattering shadows across the office. The weight of the decision had already been set. The taboo was broken—and with it, a new weapon had been born in the silence of the Underworld.
Gasper sat upright, his body still heavy. A faint ache throbbed in his head, but it wasn't only from the blood he had drunk. A flood of strange memories poured into his mind—fragments of something not his own. Words, gestures, symbols. The description of a power that shouldn't exist: the Twilight Flame.
The sound of a turning doorknob brought him back to the present.
Clack.
The door opened slowly, and Rias entered. The red gleam of her hair contrasted with her calm demeanor. A faint smile revealed a rare relief beneath the weight she carried.
She stepped closer, eyes fixed on him.
"How are you feeling?"
Gasper's gaze stayed steady. His answer came low, controlled.
"I'm fine. It was good to talk with the Maou."
Rias' smile widened, her eyes glinting with warmth.
"Of course. He's my brother."
A pang struck Gasper's chest. His face stayed neutral, but inside, the feeling was different.
'I wish I'd been reborn as the Maou's brother too… not as his sister's servant.'
His breathing steadied. The boy raised his eyes again, shifting the topic with measured ease.
"Any news?"
Rias blinked slowly, surprised by the direct question. Her smile softened, her stance relaxing slightly.
"A few. Nothing you need to worry about for now. Just stay strong. I'll handle the rest."
Gasper lay back on the bed. The mattress creaked lightly under his frail body, and the white ceiling stared back in silence. The moonlight spilled through the window, tracing silver lines that cut through the shadows of the room.
His red eyes stayed fixed on the dancing silhouettes above, though his mind spun in absolute stillness.
'Tomorrow will be tough. I need to learn to control this new thing—this strange flame pulsing inside me. I can't let it rule me. If I fail, I might die before even facing Riser.'
The thought pressed against his chest. His breath faltered, then steadied again. His gaze drifted for a moment to the bag resting on the chair.
'After training… the church. If the fallen angels follow the same pattern I remember, that's where they'll be. But what if my presence has already changed that too? I need to confirm it. I need to see it myself.'
A cold breeze passed through the window, rustling the curtains. The fabric whispered against the silence, matching the rhythm of his thoughts.
Rias stood by the bedside, watching quietly. The red shimmer of her hair reflected the moonlight, and her crimson eyes traced every detail of his expression.
There was no need for words. She saw the seriousness in his gaze, the silent resolve, the weight he carried without speaking. For the first time, he didn't seem like the timid, withdrawn boy she once knew.
She sighed softly, barely audible. A discreet smile returned—gentle, filled with quiet affection.
Without interrupting his thoughts, she turned slowly.
Clack.
The door closed behind her, leaving Gasper alone with the moon, the ceiling, and the plans he carried for tomorrow.
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