Part I:
Lord Zeoticus's private study was grand in the way only old devil nobility could achieve—ancient tapestries, floating magical lights, furniture carved from materials that no longer existed in the world. The kind of room designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure.
Tonight, it felt like a war room.
The entire Gremory family sat in a rough circle: Zeoticus in his high-backed chair, Venelana beside him, Sirzechs on the ornate sofa with perfect Maou posture, Rias perched on the armrest looking curious and concerned, and Lucien sprawled in another chair with his fiancée Seekvaira sitting primly beside him.
And Grayfia.
Standing. Always standing. Hands clasped behind her back, perfect maid posture, face an unreadable mask.
She'd been giving her report for the past twenty minutes.
"—the infrastructure is exceptional," she continued, her voice clinical. "Water systems, magical wards, economic stability. The territory rivals some of the mid-tier Pillar holdings in terms of prosperity. The residents are genuinely content, not coerced."
"And Marchosias?" Zeoticus prompted.
"A proxy. Lord Aldric Marchosias provides the public face and his Sacred Gear as needed, but he is not the primary decision-maker. All major business moves, all territorial policies, all economic strategies—" She paused. "They originate from Caelan."
Silence.
Rias leaned forward. "So, he really is running everything?"
"Yes."
"How much money are we talking about?" Lucien asked, disinterested.
Grayfia's expression didn't change. "Difficult to quantify precisely, but based on territorial assets alone, conservatively estimated at forty thousand Phenex Tears equivalent in the Underworld. His human-world holdings are—" She paused. "—substantial."
Venelana's eyebrows rose. "Substantial?"
"Billions. In human currency."
Someone whistled. Zeoticus's face went through several interesting expressions.
"How the hell—" Lucien started surprised.
"Cryptocurrency. Early investments. Tech sector positioning. Entertainment industry holdings. Sports sponsorships." Grayfia's tone remained flat. "He built a financial empire while you were —" She stopped herself.
But the implication hung in the air anyway.
While you were getting tied up.
"And his power?" Sirzechs asked quietly. "You said his cold differ from yours."
"Yes." The admission clearly cost her. "His field is fundamentally different from Lucifuge ice magic. More absolute. More—" She searched for the word. "—final. And there's an entity bonded to him. Ancient. I couldn't identify it, but the power signature predates the Underworld's current pantheons."
"Dangerous?" Zeoticus demanded.
"Potentially. But—" Grayfia's mask cracked, just slightly. "He has complete control. The entity obeys him, not the reverse."
Rias was watching her aunt with sharp eyes. "You sound almost... proud."
Grayfia said nothing.
Sirzechs stood, pacing. "Alright. So, we have a situation. Caelan has built significant power and wealth independently. The question is: what do we do about it?"
"Nothing," Rias said immediately. "It's his life. He's not hurting anyone—"
"He's operating on Gremory territory," Zeoticus interrupted. "Using resources that technically—"
"He built from nothing!" Rias's voice rose. "You gave him a wasteland and he turned it into a city! That's his accomplishment, not ours!"
"Rias—"
"No! This is insane! You're talking about him like he's a threat when he's family—"
"Family who's been spying on us," Lucien cut in, his voice cold.
Everyone turned to stare.
Grayfia's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
She'd kept the CCTV revelation to herself, but clearly Lucien had picked up on something, well he is called the prodigy of generation for a reason.
Lucien leaned forward. "He knew things. About our operations. Our plans. Information that should be private. How does a hermit in the Eastern Marches know insider details about Underworld politics unless he's been watching?"
Grayfia remained silent, neither confirming nor denying.
Seekvaira spoke up, her voice calm and measured. "From a legal standpoint, there's a simple solution."
All eyes turned to her.
"He's still family," she continued. "A direct descendant of House Gremory through Sirzechs. By Underworld law, assets accumulated by direct family members operating on family territory can be claimed under the family name. What he owns technically belongs to the Gremory estate."
A beat of silence.
Then Rias exploded. "Are you kidding me?! You want to just—just take everything he built?!"
"It's not taking," Seekvaira said smoothly. "It's consolidation. Bringing him back into the family fold. Proper oversight—"
She is not cruel, neither was her approach. The fact that this reconciliation would be in favour of her king and be to husband, that's more important for her.
"It's theft!"
"It's politics," Zeoticus said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "And it's not without precedent. The boy operated without official sanction. Technically, we'd be within our rights—"
"This is disgusting," Rias stood. "He's your grandson. Your son." She looked at Sirzechs and Grayfia. "How can you even consider this?"
Grayfia's mask was perfect. But inside, something was screaming.
He might not consider me his mother. But I am. And I am certain of one thing.
He won't fall for this. He's too smart. Too careful.
And if we try... we'll lose him forever.
If they hadn't already.
"We need to be strategic," Sirzechs said finally. "Approach this carefully. Perhaps offer him a formal position within the family structure. Legitimize his operations under our banner. Everyone benefits—"
A knock on the door interrupted him.
A guard entered, bowing. "My apologies, Lord Lucifer. Urgent news from the Devil Council."
"What is it?"
"Someone has purchased the ancestral domains of the fallen Houses Lucifuge. All of them. The transaction was finalized an hour ago."
The room went dead silent.
"What?!" Venelana stood. "That's impossible! The cost—those lands have been on the market for centuries! The price is—"
"Off the charts," the guard finished. "Yes, my lady. The Council confirmed payment in full. Transferred directly to the Devil Treasury."
Zeoticus grabbed the report from the guard's hands, scanning it rapidly. His face went pale.
"Who?" Sirzechs demanded. "Who purchased them?"
The guard hesitated. "The transaction was made through a proxy, but—turn on the television, my lord. There's a press conference happening now."
Part II:
The magical television flickered to life, showing a massive crowd gathered outside the ancient gates of House Lucifuge's ancestral estate.
The camera panned across the gathered nobility—representatives from dozens of Pillar houses, Devil Council members, even a few familiar faces from other factions.
And standing at the center, flanked by guards bearing the Lucifuge crest—
The Great King.
Lord Zekram Bael.
Venelana gasped. "Father?!"
Zeoticus's eyes went wide. "What is he—"
On screen, the ancient devil—Venelana's father, one of the most powerful beings in the Underworld, the real power behind the Devil Council—stepped to the podium.
Cameras flashed. The crowd went silent.
"Citizens of the Underworld," Zekram's voice boomed, amplified by magic. "Today marks the restoration of one of our oldest and most noble houses. House Lucifuge, which has served the Underworld with distinction for millennia, has been without a proper heir since the current generation married into other clans."
Grayfia's hands clenched behind her back.
"But bloodlines do not end so easily. And today, I am proud to announce that House Lucifuge has found its rightful lord."
The camera shifted.
And there, stepping out from behind the pillars, was Caelan.
He looked like a king.
Gone was the casual attire from the Eastern Marches. He wore formal devil nobility garb—deep blue and silver, the Lucifuge colors, tailored to perfection. His silver-blue hair was styled back, revealing that impossibly beautiful face. His expression was cold, distant, regal.
He looked nothing like the forgotten boy.
He looked like power.
"I present to you," Zekram continued, "Caelan Lucifuge. Son of Grayfia Lucifuge. Bearer of the Lucifuge bloodline. And as of this moment—Lord of House Lucifuge."
The crowd erupted.
In the Gremory study, chaos.
"WHAT?!" Zeoticus roared.
Venelana was already reaching for her phone. "Father! What have you—"
"He can't do that!" Lucien shot to his feet. "The Gremory claim—"
"There is no Gremory claim," Seekvaira said quietly, her tactical mind already processing. "Caelan bears the Lucifuge name. He was given to that house, not Gremory. If Lord Zekram is backing him—"
"But the money! How did he—"
On screen, Zekram was still speaking. "House Lucifuge stands once more. And with it, all ancestral rights, territories, and privileges are restored. The Council has voted. It is done."
The camera zoomed in on Caelan.
He stood there, absolutely still, and for just a moment—just a fraction of a second—his eyes seemed to look directly through the screen.
Directly at them.
Then he turned and walked back into the manor.
The broadcast cut to analysis. Talking heads debating the political implications. The restoration of a fallen Pillar house. The power dynamics shifting.
Sirzechs turned off the TV with a wave of his hand.
"We need to talk to Zekram. Now."
Part III:
Venelana's call to her father went... poorly.
"Father, please explain what just—"
"What needs explaining?" Zekram's voice was sharp through the communication crystal. "A Lucifuge heir has restored his house. This is cause for celebration."
"He's our—he's Sirzechs's son! This should have been discussed with the family—"
"He bears the Lucifuge name. Given to him by your daughter-in-law. Or did you forget that part?"
Venelana flinched. "Father, that's not—"
"Not what? Not relevant? The boy was exiled to Lucifuge lands at age fiften. Given the Lucifuge name. Ignored by the Gremory family for over a decade. And you think you have a claim to him now?"
"We didn't exile—"
"Semantics." Zekram's voice was cutting. "You neglected him. Abandoned him. And now that he's proven his worth, you want to bring him back into the fold? Claim his assets as Gremory property?"
Silence.
How does he know?
"Yes," Zekram continued, "I know about your little family meeting. Did you think I wouldn't have spies in the Gremory estate? You're not the only ones who play politics, Venelana."
More silence.
Then, colder: "You should be ashamed. All of you."
"Father—"
"That boy—my great-grandson—was thrown away like garbage. Treated like a failure because his magic didn't manifest the way you wanted. And despite that—despite everything you did to him—he built something extraordinary."
Venelana's voice was small. "We didn't mean—"
"Didn't you?" Zekram's laugh was bitter. "I watched. For years, I watched. Waited to see if you would come to your senses. Acknowledge him. Welcome him back. You never did."
"So, you're punishing us?"
"I'm protecting him. From you."
The crystal went dark.
Venelana stood there, shaking slightly, tears threatening to break through her composure.
Zeoticus put a hand on her shoulder, his own face troubled.
"He's right," Grayfia said quietly.
Everyone turned to stare at her.
"He's right," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "We failed him. And now we're paying the price."
Then the second call came.
Grayfia's personal crystal flared. She answered.
Zekram's face appeared, but this time his expression was different. Not angry. Just... tired.
And ashamed.
"Grayfia."
"Lord Zekram."
"I need to speak with the family. In person. Now."
Twenty minutes later, Lord Zekram Bael materialized in the Gremory study via teleportation.
The ancient devil looked every one of his thousands of years. White hair. Weathered face. Eyes that had seen empires rise and fall.
He looked at his daughter. His son-in-law. His grandchildren.
And then he did something that shocked them all.
He slapped Venelana.
Not hard. Not violently. But with enough force to make a point.
She staggered back, hand flying to her cheek, eyes wide with shock and hurt.
"Father?!"
"That," Zekram said coldly, "is for failing your grandson."
Silence.
Then he turned to Sirzechs and Grayfia.
"And you two." His voice was ice. "You're worse than all of them."
Sirzechs's jaw tightened. "Lord Zekram—"
"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare try to justify this. You are the Crimson Satan. The strongest devil alive. A leader of our people. And you abandoned your own son because he didn't fit your vision of perfection."
"It wasn't—"
"It was exactly that. You favored Lucien. Showered him with attention, training, love. And Caelan? You erased him. Made him invisible. Do you know—" His voice broke slightly. "—do you know what that does to a child?"
Grayfia's mask was cracking. "We provided—"
"Resources. An estate. Money." Zekram's laugh was hollow. "Everything but what he actually needed. A family."
He turned to Lucien.
"And you. His twin brother. You don't even remember him, do you?"
Lucien shifted uncomfortably. "I was a child—"
"So was he! He was your twin! And you forgot he existed!"
Lucien had no answer.
Zekram looked at all of them with something like disgust. Then his expression softened, just slightly, as he turned to Rias.
"You're the only one with sense," he said quietly. "Remember that."
Then he straightened, becoming the ancient political force once more.
"Caelan Lucifuge is now Lord of his house. You will treat him with the respect that station deserves. You will not attempt to claim his assets. You will not pressure him to rejoin the Gremory family. Is that clear?"
"And if we—" Zeoticus started.
"Then you will find yourself at war with House Bael. And House Lucifuge. And likely several other Pillar houses who are very interested in supporting a talented young lord over a family that treats blood like garbage."
The threat hung in the air.
"Now," Zekram continued, "you have all been invited to the official establishment gala at the Lucifuge estate tomorrow evening. You will attend. You will be civil. And you will not make a scene."
He vanished in a flash of light.
Leaving the Gremory family in stunned silence.
Part IV:
The Lucifuge ancestral estate had been transformed.
What had been ruins—abandoned for decades after the Civil War nearly wiped out the bloodline—was now restored to its former glory. Grand halls. Crystalline pillars. Gardens of eternal frost that somehow didn't kill the flowering plants within them.
It was beautiful.
And it was packed.
Every major Pillar house had sent representatives. Devil Council members. Business leaders. Even a few representatives from other factions—Azazel had shown up looking amused, and there were whispers that some Angels had sent envoys.
The party was in full swing. Music. Dancing. Elaborate ice sculptures that moved. Food from across the Underworld and human world.
And presiding over it all, from a balcony overlooking the main ballroom—
Caelan.
He stood alone, one hand on the railing, watching the crowd below with those cold silver eyes.
He looked... bored.
Hoarfrost—the Fenris Pup, now the size of a small car—lay at his feet, occasionally growling when someone got too close to the stairs.
The official ceremony had already happened. The Devil Council's formal recognition. The crowning by Sirzechs himself (which had been deliciously uncomfortable for both of them).
The speeches. The toasts.
All of it political theater.
Now the vultures were circling. Noble houses trying to curry favor. Merchants seeking business deals. Young noble women and their families eyeing him as potential marriage material.
He'd ignored all of them.
Finally, the crowd began to thin. Guests leaving via teleportation circles.
All except one group.
The Gremory family remained.
Caelan sighed, tossed a piece of meat to Hoarfrost, and turned.
His face was a mask of absolute neutrality.
"What?" His voice carried down to the main floor.
Zeoticus stepped forward. "We need to talk. About your... operations. The territory. The businesses."
"No, you don't."
"As your grandfather—"
"You're not."
The words were flat. Final.
Zeoticus flinched.
Seekvaira spoke up, her voice smooth. "Lord Lucifuge, perhaps we can discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement. You're still young. Inexperienced in some areas of—"
"Don't."
She stopped.
Caelan descended the stairs slowly, Hoarfrost padding beside him.
"Let me be very clear," he said, his voice carrying that absolute-zero cold. "I know what you want. I know what you planned. And the answer is no."
"We're family—" Venelana started.
"You're strangers who share some DNA."
"Caelan, please—" Grayfia began.
He didn't even look at her.
Seekvaira, perhaps emboldened by Lucien's presence, stepped forward. "You should at least consider working with your brother. As the heir to House Gremory, Lucien could—"
The temperature dropped.
Instantly. Catastrophically.
Khione's mist erupted from Caelan like a living thing, wrapping around Seekvaira's throat. Not tight enough to choke. Just enough to threaten.
Her eyes went wide with terror.
"Seekvaira!" Lucien moved.
Sirzechs was faster.
The Power of Destruction flared—orbs of crimson-black energy forming around him, the air itself beginning to disintegrate.
Caelan stepped directly into it.
The Power of Destruction froze.
Not dispersed. Not blocked. Frozen.
The orbs of destructive energy crystallized, falling to the ground like glass ornaments and shattering.
Sirzechs's eyes widened.
Not by panic, not by fear. He could erase this whole estate in mere thoughts…. Yet.
Caelan walked through the field of the Crimson Satan's power like it was nothing. The Destruction tried to erase him, but his absolute zero was more absolute. The cessation of energy itself. The end of motion, of heat, of existence.
He stopped directly in front of Sirzechs.
Father and son.
Or what should have been.
Their eyes met.
Silver and crimson.
Ice and fire.
Sirzechs reached out, as if to touch his son's shoulder.
His hand froze mid-air. Literally. Ice spreading up his fingers, his wrist—
"Get. Lost."
Two words.
Spoken with absolute finality.
Lucien grabbed Seekvaira and teleported immediately.
Venelana and Zeoticus followed.
Only three remained.
Rias. Sirzechs. Grayfia.
"Get lost," Caelan repeated.
Rias's eyes were bright with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I didn't—"
"You didn't need to know. Now leave."
She hesitated, then vanished.
Just Sirzechs and Grayfia now.
Caelan turned his back on them, heading toward the stairs.
"Get lost."
The teleportation circles flared.
And then he was alone.
Part V:
The Gremory family materialized in their living room in various states of shock.
Lucien immediately exploded. "That bastard! Who does he think he is?! Threatening Seekvaira! Walking through Father's Destruction like it's nothing! I'll—"
Don't judge him, between an unknow brother with whom you shared womb and the know girl with whom you share bed. He's right being angry. Even more when he has the power to do so.
"You'll do nothing," Sirzechs said, his voice flat.
"But—"
"Nothing."
Lucien's jaw worked. Then: "This is her fault." He pointed at Grayfia. "If you'd actually raised him properly instead of—"
"Lucien," Sirzechs's voice carried warning.
"—playing maid for the Gremory house, maybe he wouldn't be such a—"
Again, between a womb you come from or the womb you hope your future with.
"ENOUGH!"
Grayfia's scream cut through the room like a blade.
Everyone froze.
Grayfia Lucifuge—the Strongest Queen, the woman who never broke, never cracked, never showed anything but perfect composure—was shaking.
"Enough," she repeated, her voice breaking. "Just... enough."
Lucien wasn't done. "You useless bitch. All you had to do was—" Now it was anger, Seekarvia tried to calm him… tried.
The slap echoed through the room.
Sirzechs's hand moved so fast it was almost invisible. The impact spun Lucien halfway around, leaving a red mark on his face.
His eyes—normally warm, playful—were burning.
Not literally. But the fury in them was palpable.
"To. Your. Room." Each word was punctuated. Final. The voice of the Crimson Satan, not the doting father.
Lucien opened his mouth.
"NOW."
Silence.
Seekvaira had already excused herself dragging him. Zeoticus and Venelana sat on the sofa, looking shell-shocked.
Rias stood by the window, staring out at nothing.
Grayfia had sunk into a chair, her perfect posture finally broken, her face in her hands.
"We need a plan," Zeoticus said finally. "A way to salvage this. To bring him back—"
"Stop." Rias's voice was quiet but firm. "Just... stop."
"Rias—"
"You saw him. You felt his power. You heard what Grandfather said." She turned, and there were tears on her face. "He doesn't want to be brought back. He doesn't want our help. He doesn't want us."
"He's family—"
"We stopped being his family the day we stopped seeing him."
Venelana made a soft sound of protest.
Rias shook her head. "Grandfather is right. We failed him. Abandoned him. And now... now we have to live with that."
"So, what do we do?" Zeoticus demanded.
Rias wiped her eyes. "We start over. If he'll let us."
"How?"
"I don't know. But—" She looked at Grayfia, who was still sitting there, broken. "Maybe we start by actually trying. Really trying. Not with politics or manipulation or family obligations. Just... being there. If he'll let us."
"And if he won't?"
Rias's smile was sad. "Then we accept that. And live with what we've done."
The room fell silent.
Outside, the Underworld's crimson sky continued its eternal twilight.
And in the Lucifuge estate, Caelan Lucifuge stood on his balcony, Hoarfrost at his side, staring at nothing.
Feeling nothing.
The King of Winter.
Alone.
Always alone.
[To be continued...]