The Beelzebub research estate didn’t seem like the sort of place where the laws of magical physics were quietly shattered.
It looked more like a country house—a very large one—nestled into the red-stone hills marking the edge of Beelzebub territory.
The surrounding gardens had that artful kind of untamed beauty, the kind that actually demands more work to keep than rigid order ever would.
There were towers, but the modest kind—workshop towers, not ones meant to impress.
The whole place carried a calm, confident air, like it had nothing to prove.
I paused at the gate, taking a moment to sense the wards.
They were remarkable.
Not like walls or barriers—the defensive structure was there, solid and reliable, as everything Ajuka made always was—but that wasn’t the main impression they left.
Observation was the defining feature.
The estate seemed alive with information.
Every inch of the grounds was outfitted with unseen means, no physical devices in sight, only a patient, intricate weave of magical awareness that tracked everything passing through and stored it away for future scrutiny.
I had expected this.
I had prepared for this.
I hadn’t expected it to be so elegant.
The instrumentation was so precise it barely felt like pressure against my shields.
Another Devil—even one far more powerful—could stroll through these wards without ever realizing they were being measured down to six decimal places.
I noticed, quietly appreciating it, before walking through the gate with my power projecting exactly as I intended: a young Devil of moderate strength and an unusual magical signature, a bit nervous, trying hard not to let it show.
The nervousness wasn’t entirely an act.
Just two days ago, I was holed up in my crumbling library, jotting down lists of people to save.
Now, I was strolling straight into the lair of one of the Four Great Satans—a man who’d actually created the system that turned devils into peerages, a genius who could probably take my soul apart and figure out how it worked if the mood struck him.
The Hallows thrummed beneath my skin, silent and observant.
Annihilation Maker rested in my chest like a coiled serpent, patient yet ravenous.
I’d spent the past two days practicing—small steps, little trials—but I still couldn’t quite trust myself to keep them concealed.
You’re just a weird magic guy with a weird family mutation, I reminded myself.
Totally normal.
Nothing to see here.
The servant who greeted me at the door was polite, efficient, and wore the gaze of someone who’d been running threat assessments since before I was born.
I gave him a smile that politely translated to “I know exactly what you are, and frankly, I’m comforted,” because that’s precisely how a harmless young Devil meeting a Satan-class researcher for the first time should feel—like stepping into danger wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket.
I was led through a hall lined with bookshelves, then into a corridor adorned with what seemed to be magical circuit diagrams framed under glass—real diagrams, packed with notation I recognized from the technical literature on the Evil Piece system that had slipped into broader academic circles.
Pieces of the machine.
Ajuka’s working notes displayed like art, which they absolutely were if you knew how to read them.
I let my gaze drift over them with the vaguely glazed look of someone aware they were seeing something important, but without the full context to truly understand it.
The door at the end of the corridor was plain wood.
Ajuka Beelzebub opened it himself.
He was younger-looking than I’d expected, or perhaps just less aged than the weight of his title implied.
Tall and lean, he had that certain stillness powerful beings either perfected over time or were born with—a quiet efficiency that radiated danger without a single move.
His eyes, deep-water blue, caught everything.
He wore plain clothes, the kind that said, I was busy and didn’t bother to change—probably true, and somehow, that alone made its own statement.
“Lucian Marbas,” he said.
Not a question.
He was confirming the data against the observation, filing the result.
“Lord Beelzebub.” I inclined my head at the appropriate angle.
“Thank you for the invitation.
I apologise again for the delay in responding.”
“Don’t.” He stepped back to admit me.
“I sent it to a house I suspected had no functioning mail wards.
I’m more surprised it arrived at all.” A pause, as he led me through the door into a workspace that looked like the aftermath of several distinct research projects conducted simultaneously and with great enthusiasm.
“How are the estate’s wards, while we’re on the subject?”
“Mostly non-functional,” I said honestly.
“The outer layer holds.
The monitoring arrays are down.
I’ve been meaning to address it.”
“I can send someone, if you’d like.”
“I think I’d rather do it myself.” I let that sit for half a beat—the implication being pride, which was both true and useful as a character note.
“When I understand them better.”
Ajuka fixed me with that particular kind of focus I figured he reserved for truly intriguing problems.
“Yes,” he said, as if I’d just proven a point.
“Have a seat.
Now, tell me about the magical fluctuation from three weeks ago.”
Three weeks ago.
I ran through the original Lucian’s memories; I had already researched this when I found out about the letter and Ajuka’s interest.
The original Lucian, alone in the estate, had been experimenting.
Trying to activate the family magic.
He’d pushed too hard, and something had surged.
A burst of energy that had probably been Annihilation Maker, responding to his desperation, flaring bright enough to be detected by anyone paying attention.
And Ajuka Beelzebub was always paying attention.
“I was…
testing the family magic,” I said carefully.
“The Marbas mutation.
I’d never tried to access it before, and I pushed harder than I should have.
It got away from me.”
Ajuka’s expression didn’t change, but I had the sense that he was turning my words over, examining them from all angles.
“The Marbas magic is known for its affinity with creation.
A fascinating branch of demonic energy—rare and poorly documented.
Your family’s records were never fully recovered after the…
incident.”
The murders, I thought.
The political disagreement that left a twelve-year-old boy alone in a crumbling house.
“I’ve been trying to reconstruct them,” I said.
“The library has some texts, but they’re fragmented.”
“Yes.” Ajuka walked to a table covered in papers and picked up a thin folder.
“I took the liberty of compiling what I could from the Beelzebub archives.
Your family’s research was of considerable interest to my predecessor.
I suspect you’ll find it useful.”
He handed me the folder.
I opened it, scanned a few pages, and felt my eyes widen.
This wasn’t just genealogical data—this was theory.
The Marbas magic, broken down into principles, formulas, applications.
Things the original Lucian had never known existed.
“I—” I stopped, swallowed.
“Thank you, Lord Beelzebub.
This is…
more than I expected.”
“Consider it an investment.” Ajuka’s voice was mild, but his eyes were sharp.
“The Evil Piece system is my greatest creation.
But it’s not static—it evolves, adapts, learns from the beings who use it.
Every new Peerage contributes data.
Every King’s magical signature expands the system’s understanding.”
I blinked.
“You’re saying you want my data.”
“I’m saying I want to know what happens when a Marbas—a true Marbas—finally takes up the mantle.
Your family magic is notorious and inherited by very few, and died before they could achieve their potential.
You are the first in a few generations to have a chance to test the limits of your bloodline.”
He paused, and something in his expression shifted—a flicker of genuine curiosity, barely contained.
“Also, the fluctuation three weeks ago was interesting.
It didn’t match any known Marbas signature.
It was something else.
Something I’ve never seen before.”
I felt my heart rate spike, so I tapped into my innate occlumency inherited from The Boy Who Lived at full strength.
Keep it together.
Keep it together.
“The family magic is…
unpredictable,” I said, which was technically true.
“I don’t fully understand it myself.
I’m still learning.”
Ajuka watched me for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It was a small smile, but it reached his eyes.
“Good,” he said.
“That’s the most honest thing you’ve said since you walked in.”
I opened my mouth, closed it, and decided that silence was the better part of valour.
He handed me the Evil Pieces in a polished wooden box.
Fifteen pieces.
Eight Pawns, two Knights, two Bishops, two Rooks, one Queen.
The standard allotment for a new High-Class Devil.
I held the box in my hands, feeling not its physical weight, but its potential.
Inside were lives, futures—people I could pull back from the edge and offer a second chance.
I hesitated.
There was one thing—something that had been nagging at me since I’d read the invitation.
“The Marbas name doesn’t currently hold any territory in the human world,” I said carefully.
“Without a foothold, recruitment will be…
difficult.
Most of the potential candidates I can start with are human.
I’d need access to travel freely.”
Ajuka’s eyebrow rose a fraction.
“You’ve given recruitment that much thought already?”
“I’ve had time,” I said, which was true.
“A lot of time.
Alone.
In a crumbling house.”
Something flickered in his expression—not quite sympathy, but something adjacent to it.
He turned to his desk, pulled out a thin sheaf of parchment, and began writing in a flowing script that seemed to glow faintly as the ink settled.
“The Beelzebub territory in the human world is extensive,” he said, not looking up.
“I have holdings in Japan, England, and a few scattered locations elsewhere.
I don’t visit them often—humans are so brief, and their politics bore me.
I have no particular interest in the mortal world beyond the occasional research opportunity.”
He signed the document with a flourish and handed it to me.
“This grants you travel rights through any Beelzebub-controlled gateways.
Consider it a temporary arrangement until the Marbas estate is restored to full functionality.”
I took the parchment and read it twice, just to be sure I wasn’t imagining it.
Full travel privileges.
Exactly what I needed.
“Why?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
“Why go to such lengths for someone you’ve never met?”
Ajuka shrugged, a gesture that managed to convey both indifference and deliberate calculation.
At the door, Ajuka’s voice stopped me.
“One more thing, Lucian.”
I turned.
“Your mutation—the strange energy I detected.
If it’s a mutation, you might want to be careful.
The world has a way of noticing things that don’t fit.
And not everyone finds such things as…
interesting as I do.”
He smiled again, and this time there was something almost like warmth in it.
“Try not to break anything too important in the first week.”
I left the Beelzebub research estate carrying a box of Evil Pieces in my hands, a folder of forbidden knowledge tucked under my arm, and a crystal-clear realization that Ajuka Beelzebub was far more dangerous than anyone in the original DxD storyline had ever acknowledged.
He didn’t threaten or intimidate—he simply observed, waited, and let you come to your own conclusions.
The conclusion was clear: he knew something.
Not everything—nothing about the Hallows, the transmigration, or Annihilation Maker—but enough.
Enough to be intrigued.
Enough to wait.
Enough to become a problem if I wasn’t careful.
I settled into the carriage provided for me, leaning back against the cushions, the weight of the Evil Pieces resting heavily in my lap.
Three and a half years.
Three and a half years to build an army of misfits, to master powers that could rewrite reality, to become strong enough that even a Satan would think twice before meddling.
I looked out the window at the red-stone hills sliding past and allowed myself a small, sharp smile.
“Challenge accepted.”
See you next chapter.