Three Months After Vali's Recruitment
The training hall was a disaster zone.
Scorch marks covered the walls. The floor was cratered in dozens of places. Training dummies—reinforced with High-Class enchantments—lay in pieces, victims of Algernon's increasingly destructive compression techniques.
He stood at the center of the carnage, breathing heavily, surrounded by twenty compressed orbs that rotated in complex patterns around him. Each orb was no larger than a marble, yet contained enough destructive potential to demolish a building.
This was the result of three months of relentless training. Three months of pushing his limits every single day, driven by the uncomfortable reality that both his peerage members now outclassed him in direct combat.
The system notification appeared, as it had been doing with increasing frequency:
[Skill Progress Update]
Advanced Energy Manipulation: 82% Mastery (+19% over three months)
Physical Conditioning: Peak Mid-Class → High-Class threshold approaching
Algernon dismissed the notification with a thought.
Through the peerage bond, he could sense them both. Kuroka in the human world estate, her spatial manipulation growing more refined by the day. Vali somewhere in Grigori's territory, pushing his new Devil-Dragon hybrid abilities to their limits under Azazel's unwitting tutelage.
Both were thriving. Both were growing stronger.
And Algernon refused to be left behind.
He compressed the twenty orbs further, pushing his control to its absolute limit. The energy density increased until the orbs began to turn from crimson-black to an almost pure black, their gravitational pull starting to affect the air around them.
Then he released them all simultaneously, directing the compressed energy into a single training dummy reinforced specifically for this purpose.
The explosion was contained by the hall's protective barriers, but the dummy was annihilated—not just destroyed, but erased, its molecular structure unable to withstand the concentrated power.
Algernon allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.
'Getting closer,' he thought. 'But not there yet.'
High-Class was tantalizingly close. He could feel it—that barrier between Mid and High, growing thinner with each day of training. But breaking through required more than just practice. It required pushing beyond safe limits, forcing his demon energy core and body to evolve.
Which brought him to his current plan.
That Evening - Branch House Study
Algernon sat at his desk, studying a map of the Underworld with particular focus on one location: Lilith, the capital city.
Lilith was more than just the seat of devil government—it was the heart of underworld culture, commerce, and most importantly for his purposes, combat. The city housed numerous training facilities, arenas, and combat houses where devils could test themselves against opponents of varying strength.
It was exactly what he needed.
"Training alone has brought me this far," he muttered, tracing a route on the map. "But to break through to High-Class, I need real combat experience against opponents who actually challenge me."
The arenas of Lilith were infamous throughout the underworld. Not the official Rating Game coliseums—those were reserved for High-Class devils with established peerages. But the combat houses, where devils of all ranks could fight for glory, prize money, and the sheer thrill of battle.
Dangerous? Absolutely. Fights were often to the death or near-death, and the hierarchy was brutal. But that was exactly what made it perfect.
'No more training dummies,' Algernon decided. 'No more controlled environments. I need unpredictability, real danger, actual consequences.'
He'd wear his mask, use the name Azeroth, and keep his connection to the Gremory house hidden. The last thing he needed was political complications or his family trying to stop him from participating in what they'd consider beneath a noble's dignity.
A knock at the door interrupted his planning.
"Come in."
One of the Branch House servants entered, bowing respectfully. "Young master, Lady Rias and Lady Akeno have arrived for this weekend's training session."
Algernon glanced at the clock. Already that time.
"Thank you. Tell them I'll meet them at the training grounds in fifteen minutes."
As the servant departed, Algernon carefully stored the map and began preparing. His plans for Lilith would have to wait until after this weekend's session. Rias's development was too important to neglect, and truthfully, he enjoyed their training sessions.
Over the past months, both Rias and Akeno had made remarkable progress. Their energy manipulation had improved dramatically, and Rias's Power of Destruction was becoming truly formidable under his guidance.
More than that, their friendship had deepened. What had started as a practical training arrangement had evolved into something genuine—moments of laughter between exercises, serious discussions about their futures, the comfortable silence of people who understood each other.
The side quest progress reflected that growth: currently sitting at 14.2%, a slow but steady increase built on authentic connection rather than manipulation.
'Still a long way to go,' Algernon thought as he headed toward the training grounds. 'But we're building something real here.'
Training Grounds - That Afternoon
"Again!" Algernon called out, his instructor voice firmly in place.
Rias launched another compressed sphere of Power of Destruction—the technique he'd taught her based on his own compression methods. The crimson energy, normally wild and difficult to control, had been condensed into a marble-sized orb that shot forward with incredible speed.
It struck the reinforced target and exploded with devastating force.
"Better," Algernon acknowledged. "Your control has improved significantly. But you're still telegraphing your intent before you fire. An experienced opponent would dodge."
Rias nodded, catching her breath. After four months of weekend training, she'd grown noticeably stronger. Her aura was denser, her movements more confident, and her mastery over the Power of Destruction had reached a level that would surprise most adult devils.
Beside her, Akeno was practicing her own exercises—maintaining six spheres of lightning while simultaneously moving through combat forms. Her precision had always been good, but now it was exceptional.
"How am I doing, sensei?" Akeno asked with her characteristic playful tone, though Algernon could hear the genuine desire for feedback underneath.
"Your multitasking is nearly flawless now," he said honestly. "At this rate, you'll be ready for actual combat scenarios soon. Maybe we should start doing team exercises—you and Rias coordinating attacks."
Both girls' faces lit up at the suggestion.
They spent the next hour working on combination techniques, with Algernon calling out scenarios and having them respond on the fly. Rias's destructive power paired well with Akeno's precision strikes, and they were beginning to develop an intuitive understanding of each other's fighting style.
As the session wound down and they took their usual break under the ancient tree, Rias studied him with curious eyes.
"You seem different lately," she observed. "More intense, maybe? Is something bothering you?"
Algernon considered how much to share. "I'm planning to push myself harder. Try some new training methods."
"More training?" Akeno raised an eyebrow. "You already train more than anyone I've ever seen."
"Because I need to." He met their concerned gazes. "I have... ambitions. Goals that require strength beyond what normal training can provide. So I'm going to take some risks to accelerate my growth."
Rias frowned. "What kind of risks?"
"Nothing I can't handle," he assured her, which wasn't technically a lie. "Just pushing my limits in different environments. I might be less available for a few weeks, but we'll continue these sessions when I can."
"Promise you'll be careful?" Rias asked, genuine worry in her voice.
"I promise."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the perpetual twilight of the Underworld sky. Eventually, Akeno excused herself to use the washroom, leaving Algernon and Rias alone.
"Thank you," Rias said quietly. "For all of this. The training, the support, believing in me when I didn't believe in myself."
"You don't need to keep thanking me," Algernon replied. "Your progress is thanks enough. You're going to be strong enough to win that Rating Game, Rias. I'm certain of it."
She smiled—genuine and warm, the kind of expression that made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably. "When you get back from whatever dangerous thing you're planning, we should do something that isn't training. Maybe explore the city, or just talk. I feel like we're always so focused on getting stronger that we forget to actually enjoy things."
"I'd like that," Algernon said, and meant it.
The moment stretched between them, comfortable and charged with something neither was quite ready to name. Then Akeno returned, breaking the spell, and they resumed their usual banter.
But as Algernon watched Rias laugh at one of Akeno's teasing comments, he couldn't help but think about how much had changed over the past year. What had started as a strategic alliance to help her escape an unwanted engagement had become something more complex.
'Focus,' he reminded himself. 'First, survive Lilith's arenas. Then worry about complicated feelings.'
One Week Later - Lilith, Capital of the Underworld
The city was everything Algernon had imagined and more.
Massive spires of black stone reached toward the crimson sky. Devils of all ranks and noble houses filled the streets, their various auras creating a tapestry of power that would have been overwhelming to anyone less experienced. Magic shops, weapon dealers, and more exotic establishments lined every avenue.
And at the city's heart, the arenas.
Algernon had arrived in the early morning, masked and cloaked, using teleportation to avoid any official checkpoints that might track his movements. The mask he wore was the same one from Kuroka and Vali's recruitments—simple, black, effective at concealing his identity.
Here, he was just Azeroth. Not a Gremory, not a noble, just another devil seeking to prove himself through combat.
The arena district was impossible to miss. Multiple coliseums of varying sizes dominated entire blocks, each one advertising different types of combat, different stakes, different levels of danger.
Algernon bypassed the largest, most prestigious arenas—those required registration with the devil government and would draw too much attention. Instead, he found what he was looking for: the Blood Pits.
Less official, more brutal, and perfect for his purposes.
The entrance was guarded by two large devils who looked like they could bench press houses. They barely glanced at him as he approached.
"Registration?" one grunted.
"I'm here to fight."
That got their attention. They looked him over—young, relatively small despite his training, seemingly unremarkable except for the quality of his concealment magic.
"Kid, this isn't a playground," the second guard said. "Devils die in there. We don't allow—"
Algernon released a pulse of his aura. Just enough to make his point.
Both guards stepped back, eyes widening as they felt the pressure of Peak Mid-Class power barely restrained.
"My apologies," the first guard said, considerably more respectful. "Right this way."
Inside, the Blood Pits lived up to their name. The registration hall was full of scarred, battle-hardened devils, most of them Mid-Class with a few Low-High-Class fighters mixed in. The air smelled of blood, sweat, and barely contained violence.
Algernon approached the registration desk where a bored-looking devil was processing fighters.
"Name for the roster?" she asked without looking up.
"Azeroth."
That got her attention. She looked up, studying him with interest. "Power level?"
"Peak Mid-Class, approaching High."
She made a note. "Entry fee is five thousand dark coins. First match is against whoever's available in your tier. Win, and you take a percentage of the betting pool. Lose, and... well, try not to die. We charge cleaning fees."
Algernon paid the fee from his carefully saved allowance and signed the waiver that absolved the arena of all responsibility for his death or dismemberment.
"You're up in twenty minutes," she said, handing him a token. "Gate Seven. Try to make it interesting—the crowd's been bored lately."
As Algernon made his way to the preparation area, he could feel eyes on him. The other fighters were sizing him up, evaluating, calculating. Most dismissed him as just another upstart about to learn a hard lesson.
Let them think that.
He was here for one purpose: to push himself to the absolute limit, to force his breakthrough to High-Class through trial by fire.
The Blood Pits would either forge him into something stronger...
Or break him trying.
Gate Seven - First Match
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Algernon stepped through the gate into the arena proper. The Blood Pits were smaller than the grand coliseums he'd seen from outside, but that only made the atmosphere more intense. The audience pressed close to the barriers, their bloodthirsty cheers echoing off stone walls stained with centuries of violence.
Across the sand-covered battlefield stood his opponent: Theron the Ravager, a towering devil armed with a massive war axe. His aura marked him as solidly Mid-Class, his scarred body testament to countless victories in this very arena.
He looked at Algernon and laughed—a deep, mocking sound. "They're sending children now? I'll try to make it quick, kid. Wouldn't want you crying for your mother."
Algernon didn't respond. He simply took his stance, hands relaxed at his sides, his compressed energy ready to deploy at a moment's notice.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena. "Theron the Ravager versus the newcomer Azeroth! Fight to submission or death! Begin!"
Theron charged immediately, his axe crackling with dark energy as he swung it in a devastating arc. The attack was powerful, straightforward, predictable.
Algernon sidestepped smoothly, the massive blade slamming into the ground where he'd stood a moment before. Stone cracked and scattered.
Before Theron could recover, Algernon struck. A compressed orb of demonic energy, barely visible in its density, shot into Theron's exposed ribs. The impact sent the larger devil skidding backward, armor dented, surprise replacing his confident sneer.
"What—"
Algernon didn't give him time to think. This was real combat, not a training exercise. No holding back, no safety measures, no second chances.
He moved like water, flowing around Theron's increasingly desperate attacks. Each swing of that massive axe found only empty air while Algernon's compressed energy strikes landed with surgical precision—ribs, joints, pressure points.
Theron tried to gain space, unfurling his wings and launching himself skyward. From above, he rained down attacks—fire, lightning, raw demonic energy.
But Algernon had trained for this. His energy manipulation allowed him to create barriers with minimal power expenditure, deflecting attacks while he analyzed patterns. Three months of relentless compression training had refined his control to an art form.
He waited for his moment. When Theron descended for a finishing blow, Algernon was ready.
A perfectly timed spatial displacement—short range, just a few feet, but enough. He appeared behind Theron, hand wreathed in compressed energy so dense it looked almost black.
The strike penetrated armor, flesh, bone. Theron's eyes went wide as Algernon's energy-clad hand pierced through his chest.
"Power without control is wasted potential," Algernon said quietly, withdrawing his hand.
Theron collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
The arena fell silent for a heartbeat. Then erupted into thunderous cheers.
"Azeroth! Azeroth! Azeroth!"
Algernon turned and walked toward the exit gate, his aura calm and controlled. Behind his mask, he was analyzing every moment of the fight, cataloging what had worked and what needed improvement.
As Algernon exited the arena floor, he was immediately approached by the registration devil from earlier.
"Impressive debut," she said, eyeing him with new interest. "The betting pool for your next match just tripled. You've got the crowd's attention. Want to fight again today?"
"Tomorrow," Algernon replied. "Same time."
She grinned. "Smart. Give them time to build anticipation. You're going to be popular here, Azeroth."
Three Weeks Later
The arena had become Algernon's proving ground.
Every day, he returned to fight. Each opponent was stronger than the last, forcing him to adapt, to innovate, to push his limits further. His win streak grew, and with it, his reputation.
The mysterious masked fighter called Azeroth became the talk of the Blood Pits. His fighting style—precise, efficient, almost clinical in its brutality—was unlike anything the regular audience had seen. He didn't showboat or draw fights out for entertainment. He analyzed, adapted, and ended matches with devastating finality.
By the end of the third week, he'd claimed seventeen consecutive victories. His energy manipulation had reached 87%, his combat instincts honed to a razor's edge.
But more importantly, he could feel it. That barrier between Mid-Class and High-Class, growing thinner with each fight. The breakthrough was close, tantalizingly close.
Which brought him to tonight's match—his most challenging yet.
The crowd was larger than ever as Algernon stepped into the arena. His opponent had been announced with great fanfare: Drakon Malphas, a Peak High-Class devil with a fearsome reputation.
This wasn't just another match. This was a test of whether he was truly ready to ascend.
Drakon stood across the arena, massive in his spiked black armor, his dark red aura flickering like flames. "So you're the upstart making waves. Let's see if you're as good as the rumors claim."
Algernon said nothing, simply taking his stance.
The battle began explosively.
Drakon launched a wave of flames that turned the arena into an inferno. The heat was oppressive, the power behind the attack worthy of a Peak High-Class devil.
But Algernon had fought too many battles to be intimidated. He compressed his energy into a barrier, not trying to overpower the flames but deflecting them, redirecting their force away from him.
As the fire cleared, he was already moving.
The fight became a deadly dance. Drakon's overwhelming power versus Algernon's superior control and technique. The older devil had the advantage in raw strength, but Algernon had something Drakon lacked—three months of constant life-or-death combat honing his every instinct.
At one point, Drakon cornered him, unleashing flames at point-blank range. But instead of retreating, Algernon did something that made the crowd gasp—he compressed the fire itself, pulling the energy into a dense sphere in his palm before extinguishing it entirely.
"Control," Algernon said, his voice cutting through the arena's noise. "That's the difference between us."
Drakon's eyes widened in shock, then fury. He summoned his full strength, a massive flaming sword forming in his hands. "I'll show you the difference in our power!"
The blade came down with enough force to split the arena itself.
Algernon met it head-on.
His hands glowed with compressed energy as he caught the attack, not trying to block it but to redirect and dissipate its force. For a moment, the two forces struggled against each other—overwhelming power versus perfect control.
Then Algernon pushed back.
With a roar that surprised even himself, his energy erupted. The compressed force shattered the flaming sword and sent Drakon flying across the arena.
In that moment, something fundamental shifted inside Algernon. His demon energy core pulsed, expanding, transforming. The barrier he'd been pushing against for months finally shattered.
[BREAKTHROUGH ACHIEVED]
Class Advancement: Mid-Class (Peak) → High-Class (Low)
Demon Energy Core has undergone evolution. Capacity increased by 300%. Efficiency enhanced significantly.
Physical capabilities elevated to High-Class standard.
Power flooded through Algernon's body as the transformation completed. His aura, once restrained and controlled, now radiated with the unmistakable pressure of a High-Class devil.
Drakon struggled to his feet, staring in disbelief. "You... you broke through mid-battle?"
Algernon looked at his hands, feeling the new depth of power flowing through him. "It seems I did."
The crowd had gone completely silent, sensing the shift in energy.
Then Algernon moved.
With his newly enhanced speed and power, the fight was over in seconds. A single, devastating strike—enhanced by High-Class strength and three months of refined compression technique—and Drakon was down, unconscious but alive.
Algernon stood in the center of the arena, his aura calm once more but carrying a weight it hadn't possessed before.
Then the crowd erupted. Not just cheering, but roaring their approval. A breakthrough during combat was rare, proof of extraordinary talent and potential.
"AZEROTH! AZEROTH! AZEROTH!"
As Algernon walked toward the exit, he allowed himself a small smile beneath the mask.
High-Class. Finally.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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