"The Patriarch seeks your presence. By his order, you are to follow me to his office."
Azrael nodded as he heard this. He had expected something like this to happen. Considering how strict the clan was, it was either a call for training or a mission he had to complete just a day after awakening.
He got away from the bed and began walking towards the door.
Erebus was about to move away from the door when suddenly, Azrael raised his hand to stop him. "Don't worry," he said.
He walked towards the wall beside the door with calm strides as he activated one of his new skills, phase walking.
His body turned intangible, passing through the wall like it never existed or mattered in the first place.
Erebus was not too surprised by the display, however.
They began walking towards the patriarch's office, Azrael in front, Erebus behind.
As they reached one section, Azrael stopped. "Clara," he called out with a calm tone.
Instantly, Clara exited the midst of the other maids, joining Azrael and Erebus.
She bowed deeply to both of them before walking behind Erebus himself.
"I have chosen her as my maid," Azrael said to Erebus without turning back.
"Okay," Erebus said.
A scroll tied neatly with a red band appeared in his palm.
"This is the contract form; you should both sign to seal it," he said, placing the scroll into Azrael's outstretched hand.
Azrael just collected it without turning still.
He did not even examine it; he tossed it into his spatial ring immediately.
Soon, they reached the office. A huge, imposing crimson door lined with white at the edges.
Beside the doors were two demons, crimson horns with crimson eyes.
They stood rooted in place, not even greeting Azrael.
In their hands were their swords, crimson, glowing with an otherworldly sheen.
Azrael, too, did not greet; he knocked on the door calmly.
"Come in," the voice came from inside the room as if it had been waiting.
With a slight nudge, Azrael pushed the door open, revealing the Patriarch's office.
A regal room decorated with ornate designs of pure red.
To the side was a shelf holding several souvenirs, a testament to the countless battles he had won.
At the far end was a desk, wide enough to be used as a bed. The wood glistened with a bright golden sheen.
The chair was made like a throne, red with gold sheens at the edges.
Sitting on it was a demon that barely looked 20.
His hands were clasped together, resting on the table. His eyes fixated on the door, or rather, the person who came in.
Azrael walked in, stopping a few meters away from the table.
"I greet the patriarch," he said, bowing slightly.
Behind him, the doors slam shut, cutting entrance for both Erebus and Clara.
"I saw your assessment results; they were good," Abaddon said calmly, his expression stoic, his voice cold.
Azrael's brows twitched when he heard this.
'Peak-tier bloodline purity and second-highest core tier, you call that just good?' He wondered. But he dared not voice his opinion, not in the presence of the Patriarch.
"It is because just potential doesn't guarantee strength; you might possess all of those, but it does not translate to strength," Abaddon voiced out again, his aura exploding, crushing on Azrael like a mountain.
Azrael's face shrank as the pressure hit him. His knees buckled, his body lowering till he fell to the ground.
"See, even with all you have, just a mere gesture from me, and you are already dying."
As he said that, his aura retracted like a wave gushing back to its source.
Abaddon gazed down at Azrael as he stood up.
He did not wait for Azrael to get up before he started talking.
"The selection for the demon race's participants for the next Nexus Convergence is in two years," he said calmly, unfolding his palm as he rested his back on the throne-like chair.
"You know nothing about the Nexus Convergence, so let me educate you. The Nexus Convergence is an event held by the coalition of races. It is split into two parts: the prodigy war, which is held every ten years. The demon race is to send a total of 7 of their prodigies, one from each clan. The same goes for the other races, although they are not split into clans like the demons."
He slowed down here, letting Azrael absorb everything he had said.
"You can sit down," he said, pointing at the sofa in a corner of the room.
Azrael nodded. As he sat on it, Abaddon continued.
As he listened to Abaddon, however, his mind was reeling from the fact that Abaddon had heard his thoughts.
Something like that made him shiver, thinking about it.
"All the prodigies will contest in a PVP staged match. The first three are rewarded by the coalition of races. It is a normal one, and none of the top brass in each race cares to attend."
"Such a big thing is considered normal?" He voiced out his question as Abaddon stopped.
"Compared to the main event, it is," Abaddon replied calmly.
"That's all I will tell you now. I will tell you more later. And if you are really curious," Abaddon said, a sly smile playing on his lips. "You can ask around or read about it yourself."
Azrael nodded calmly.
"The main reason I called you was to tell you about the selection stage of the demons, which will take place in the Pride Clan's head planet in the next two years. Each clan is to send seven competitors. The winning seven will be allowed to represent the demons, even if it means only one race's seven won the slots."
As he said this, a fierce glint flashed in his eyes. He let the words sink into Azrael's head so he could comprehend just how severe losing would be.
"After careful consideration, you, alongside six others, have been selected."
Like those words were a trigger, a knock came from the door.