DXD SI : Chapter 5 : The Prelude to the Knock. (Patreon)

Mag’s Garden, Bael Territory, Underworld

–Magdaran Bael–

Flicking his hands, “You were saying?”

He hadn’t wanted to do this. He did not interfere in Sairaorg’s humiliating ouster from the Heirship position simply because that would have been a public affair, and by the end of it, before the guests had even cleared the space, the entire DevilNet would be discussing about the previously unknown Bael Devil who was capable of defeating the current Clan Head, because that was the only way he could have stopped the whole charade.

Hell, he hadn’t even received his Evil Pieces, despite fulfilling every criterion to become a High Class Devil, not that anyone knew what his power levels were.

He could tolerate that event because the fallout would be too big, and there was a road to recovery, a path that Sairaorg could take, that would lead him to heights the current Clan Head could only dream of.

But this? The Mother Tree? His years of work put in the garden? His research? All the data he had painstakingly gathered and executed in this very space? 

No. He refused to let that be destroyed. He might not be as powerful as he wanted to be, but he was not helpless. He could not just sit still and watch Zekram destroy—

His thoughts stuttered to a halt as he looked at Zekram and his deeply satisfied and, dare he say, smug expression, as if he had finally confirmed something.

“So it is true, then,” Zekram remarked, and he slumped on the spot, his PoD sputtering out of his hand as he realised he had been baited. He cursed himself. He should have seen this coming. The earlier spell was obviously a way to get information out of him. When that didn’t work, when magical spells did not work, Zekram resorted to good old fashioned mental tactics, something he was unfortunately an expert at.

There was very little chance that he was going to destroy his garden, but he could never predict what went into the thought of Zekram here, and, panicking, acted on the spot. This was bad, not as bad as revealing himself to the world at large, but bad enough. Now, he had to deal with Zekram’s bullshit here.

He really had to get ahead with his training, but the bottleneck was his demonic reserves, and aside from waiting for his body to mature properly, there was very little he could do in terms of that.

“Show me your Power of Destruction,” Zekram ordered coldly. He raised an eyebrow at the commanding tone, but created a ball on top of his hand.

Zekram peered at the ball, leaning closer, uncaring of the proximity to the ball and what it could do to him. Even if he was on the same level as him, an attack at such point blank rage could deal enough damage. 

“Visually the same, and yet, I can feel a slight change in it. It is a mutation, is it not? What can it do?” Zekram asked him, straightening up.

“A lot of things.” He answered vaguely. He was in no mood to answer properly.

“I see.” Zekram nodded then continued as if the answer had satisfied him, “There is a meeting tomorrow. You will be formally declared the Heir of the Bael Clan. I expect you to be there.”

Before he could say anything, he continued, “You will get a 10 times increase in funding and space in exchange. Staff, if you wish, though something tells me you like to work alone.”

Wow. Carrot and Stick, huh?

Zekram then turned around, uncaring of his answer, and walked away, making him feel as if he had lost the entire round of conversation here, despite becoming the heir of arguably the most powerful Clan in the Underworld, getting a massive increase in funding and space for his experiments.

……Damned Old Monsters.

___xx___

It was an interesting thing. To modulate the output of his Demonic Energy so that people can sense him coming. It was kind of like movie spy characters making sure that their steps created noise, to make sure that the people ahead knew they were coming. Knocking on people’s doors, but more elaborate and fantasy themed.

He was used to suppressing his Demonic Energy, and his footsteps were anyway silent, but he needed the people he was visiting to know he was coming. Devils, atleast powerful ones anyway, always knew when someone was suppressing their Demonic Energy. There were very few people who could suppress their Demonic Energy so perfectly that no one could tell if it was their real energy level or just suppressed, because suppressing energy created a unique signature that could be identified by others.

Mostly, no one called people out for it, because at this point, it was a personal choice, especially for nobility. It was considered normal for some people to just always have their Demonic Energy suppressed, mainly people who thought it could give them an advantage in battle later on or if they wanted to hide their growth. 

Like, getting a sudden boost in basically every attribute along with their Demonic Energy exploding as if they had been reincarnated using Evil Pieces, despite them possessing a Peerage of their own.

Yes, the King Piece users. He had only met Bedeze Abaddon so far, and the man had done a wonderful job of keeping his Demonic Energy suppressed. It was expected, to be honest. He had just entered the top five of the Rating Game List and had shot up in performance just a few years ago. He had specifically sought him out, and just being around him had confirmed it for him.

The man was using the King Piece and was well on his way to reaching the top three. Ofcourse, the top position was still held by the Diehauser Belial, a proper Satan Class Devil with an appropriate Peerage to match. People continued to speculate why the government did not give him an active role, being the strongest Devil of his generation, capable of maintaining his top spot even without the King Piece.

Zekram must have had a reason to keep him at the top.

Shaking his head a bit, he banished the thoughts of the King Piece from his mind and focused on the task at hand. It was only hours after his and Zekram’s meeting, but by the time he came back to the Main Castle, Zephyr Bael, the Clan Head, had already banished them to the fringes of the Main Compound.

Sure, this still being the Main Compound of the Bael Clan meant that even this area was bigger and more luxurious than some Clan’s Main compounds, but the point remains. Within hours of Sairaorg losing his heirship, he had to move along with his mother to the edge of their territory, with very little in terms of house help.

If he was not wrong, whoever came with them only came because of loyalty and not because they were ordered by the House of Bael. Not to mention Misla came from a wealthy Clan as well, so comfort was not an issue, but reputation was, and we devils loved reputation, even if some Devils obsessed over it a little more than others.

The Phenexes seemed to preen over their reputation far more than others, but then again, they deserved it partially, since their healing was currently unmatched, hence the expensive price tag. He had planned to reveal his healing when he felt he was strong enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about being press ganged by someone, but at this point, he felt like revealing his healing ability to gain protection, which was just an absurd reversal for him.

Exhaling, he straightened up, making sure he was dressed appropriately, feeling oddly nervous about meeting Misla, the guilt from not doing anything about their situation kind of heavy on his mind, as he raised his hand and knocked on the door twice in what he hoped was a polite manner.

He realised that he was fussing over the minute details, uselessly, since any decorum in the Devil Society could be foregone without any issue as long as you had the power to do it.

He felt one of the energy signatures move inside the house, which was already pretty close to the door, probably having heard him coming since he made an extra effort to make sure they heard him coming.

The door opened up, and someone who was not Misla, Sairaorg or even her elder brother, Duke Vapula, an Ultimate Class Devil and head of his Clan, opened the door. No, it was someone entirely unrecognisable to him.

What he did recognise, however, was the stereotypical butler wear and demeanour on the person, as the man with the sick goatee on his face, put his hand on his chest and bowed lightly, “Yes, how may I help you?”

He replied with a confidence that he did not feel inside, “I am here to meet Misla Bael. I am Magdaran Bael,” He felt like a dead pretty good job there, but then he lamely added, “if that helps.”

“I am terribly sorry, sir, but Mistress is currently asleep, and on heavy medication. I can pass on a message if you want?” He must not have known that he was the next heir of the Bael Clan, which was fair since it was not yet officially declared. It was supposed to happen tomorrow. He just wanted to talk to Sairaorg to have some sort of impression, to not be the villain in his story, but before that, he had to talk to Misla and—-

His thoughts halted, a chill running down his spine as he remembered just what happened to her in Canon. What had been done to her.

Picture this, Misla Bael is the wife of the Clan Head, the younger and only sister of Duke Vapula, head of his own clan, and had given birth to only one son who had turned out to be defective in the eyes of most of the nobility and, more importantly, her husband, who was the Lord of the Clan. Her husband, sidelines her and her son and then takes a bastard as the Heir of the Clan, something that was bound to rile up her brother, a Duke of considerable political standing.

As Zephyr Bael, a man of considerable and an insignificant amount of intellect, what do you do to minimise any political fallout? You run to the old Ancestory, who will cook up a decent plan. Following that, you make sure that the sister of the Duke is in no position to defend her position. No position to even speak, at all. 

A death in all but name.

He numbly refused to give a message and just asked him to inform the Main House when she woke up before getting out of there, almost as if he was running away from something. 

Zephyr Bael sure did work fast. He was late, even if by mere hours, but he was late. She was probably already afflicted with the Sleeping Disease, probably.

The probably was doing a lot of heavy lifting there because it was still day out, she must have been exhausted and angry, yes, but ideally, she would take care of Sairaorg even now.

Something was wrong here, and it was probably her getting the Sleeping Sickness, an unexplained disease that has no cure, whatsoever. The victims were random; they never woke up, just wasted away, and the number was small enough that it never warranted the kind of extensive research that the Sitri were known for.

Fuck! Zekram probably spent that hour or so with him for this purpose as well. He was willing to bet his left nut on the fact that all of this could not be done without Zekram’s express approval. The Sleeping Sickness was not a weapon you handed to idiots like Zephyr. 

No, Zekram came to him to get a measure of him, and stall him long enough for Misla to get incapacitated.

That old fuck!