The soft hum of layered enchantments echoed in the quiet sanctum of Nyvaris' central tower. In a high, domed office lined with starlit crystal panels and velvet banners, Varvatos stood behind a desk of polished obsidian, parchment scattered across its surface. A steaming cup of white tea sat untouched by his hand.
Across from him, Velzard sat in one of the carved chairs near the hearth, legs crossed elegantly, her eyes fixed on him—not just watching, but studying. She had grown curious of this man. More than curious, in truth.
"I've been meaning to ask…" Velzard began, tilting her head, "what do you plan to do with this kingdom you're building?"
Varvatos didn't look up from the papers just yet. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"You're organizing it with frightening precision. Infrastructure, schools, military hierarchy, even international codes. It's not just a kingdom. It's a foundation."
He finally raised his eyes to meet hers. "It has to be."
Velzard's gaze lingered, cool but inquisitive. "You speak like someone preparing for something. Not just governing."
Varvatos gave her a half-smile. "I always prepare."
Before Velzard could press further, he paused.
His eyes sharpened. Fingers hovering over the parchment suddenly closed into a loose fist. The air in the room shifted.
"…Someone's trying to teleport into Nyvaris."
Velzard straightened subtly, her arms uncrossing. "A threat?"
"No." His tone was calm, but focused. "They're knocking against the barrier. It won't let them through unless I allow it."
He closed his eyes briefly, sensing, then smiled faintly. "Ah. Of course."
With a flick of his fingers, the layers of the Nyvaris barrier shifted. A golden pulse rippled silently through the air, and the teleportation circle activated without a word.
Velzard leaned forward slightly. "Who is it?"
"You'll see."
A few seconds later, a black space tore open mid-air like silk being unstitched—its edges lined with ornate demonic script, gleaming crimson against the surrounding light. From it stepped a tall, graceful figure draped in a sleek dress of black and indigo: Rain.
Her crimson eyes scanned the room quickly before she gave a polite bow.
"Lady Velzard," she said with clear respect, then turned to Varvatos. "Lord Varvatos. I've come on behalf of Lord Guy Crimson to escort you to the Walpurgis."
Velzard raised a brow, her interest deepening. "So it's today, then."
Varvatos gave a slight nod. "Very well. Lead the way."
He had already sent messages through thought communication—Benimaru would keep Nyvaris secure. Veldora would remain on alert and continue the watch over their territory.
He stood, straightening his coat, while Velzard moved beside him.
"You're coming too?" he asked, glancing at her.
"I wouldn't miss this for the world," Velzard said with a faint smirk. "I want to see how the others react."
Rain turned gracefully and led them toward the demonic portal still hanging in the air. The three passed through it like slipping beneath the surface of a placid lake.
They emerged in a realm that did not belong to any one world. The skies were an infinite black void peppered with drifting, celestial light. The room was massive, its architecture surreal—shifting angles, impossibly tall walls covered in ever-moving murals of demonic battles and cosmic histories.
In the center of the room, a grand, obsidian table curved in a massive circle. Floating torches cast blue fire that gave off no heat, only illumination. The power in the air was staggering—raw, concentrated, regal.
At the head of the table sat Guy Crimson, throne-like chair carved with rubies and black diamonds. His legs crossed, elbow resting on the arm of the seat, chin on one gloved knuckle, he watched the new arrivals with that ever-casual smirk.
To his right: Milim Nava, swinging her legs, wide-eyed and eager.
Next to her: Ramiris, bouncing slightly in her seat, already whispering something to herself.
Draguel sat next, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Then came Luminous, cool and ethereal, fingers laced under her chin.
Carrion and Frey sat side by side—one stern, one elegant. Dino slouched in his seat, half-asleep but definitely peeking through one cracked eye.
Then Leon Cromwell, pristine and noble, his golden eyes sharp and analytical.
And finally, Clayman, silent but fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face when Varvatos' gaze touched him.
Rain led Varvatos to the one empty seat near the center-left.
"All Lords are now present," she said with ceremonial tone. "The Walpurgis may begin."
She stepped back.
From the shadows near Guy, Misery glided forward in silence, bowed deeply, and her voice rang out across the space.
"This assembly of Demon Lords, the Walpurgis, is now in session."
The room quieted. Magicules pulsed like breath from the walls.
Guy rose slightly, only his upper body moving.
"As you all know," he began, "this gathering was called to address a new variable—this man here, Varvatos. A name that just a few months ago did not exist on any map. And now, he is building a kingdom deep within the Jura Forest."
Every pair of eyes turned to him.
Some curious. Some cautious. Some hungry.
Guy smiled wider.
"We know what he is capable of. He defeated Milim in combat—something none of you have done. He also beat Draguel in a test of might. And yes…"
He looked down the table.
"…He beat me."
Whispers and glances stirred across the room.
Leon blinked slowly, intrigued.
Dino sat upright now, very much awake.
Even Clayman's jaw slackened slightly.
Velzard, seated beside Varvatos, remained composed—but her icy eyes observed every reaction with keen interest.
Guy's smile faded into something more neutral.
"I called this Walpurgis not to challenge him. No. I called it to offer him something. A seat."
He leaned in slightly.
"Varvatos. We've had many Demon Lords. Most rise from war, from ambition, from blood and fury. But someone of your power doesn't need to fight for recognition. So I'll ask plainly: what is your purpose?"
All eyes remained locked on Varvatos.
The table—this grand place of monsters, kings, and gods—fell silent.
And then he spoke.
Varvatos leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the obsidian table. His dark crimson eyes calmly met Guy's.
"My purpose," he began, voice low and unwavering, "is not conquest. Nor am I here to disrupt the balance the Demon Lords have maintained."
He allowed the weight of his words to hang.
"I have lived through countless wars. I have watched empires rise and crumble, heard the screams of the innocent and the wicked alike. I came to this world not to repeat the cycle—but to break it."
There was a stir at the far end of the table—Carrion frowned, Frey's brow arched slightly. Even Luminous blinked at that.
Milim, meanwhile, looked impressed—like a child hearing a bedtime story from her favorite warrior. Draguel closed his eyes, nodding once. He understood.
Leon's gaze sharpened. "You speak like someone who has seen too much."
Varvatos looked at him. "Because I have."
Guy, ever the observer, leaned back now, letting the others absorb the meaning.
"I've chosen the Jura Forest because it is untouched by old blood feuds. It's fertile, central, and defensible. I'm building something where strength isn't worshipped, but protected. Where the innocent aren't used as pawns."
He paused, and then looked directly at Guy.
"And if the Demon Lords feel threatened by that… you're free to test me."
The moment stretched like taut string.
Then Milim's laugh burst out.
"Haha! That's what I like about you, Varvatos!" she grinned, resting her elbows on the table, "You're so serious, but not boring. It's like... like you're carrying the world and still not sinking."
Ramiris nodded enthusiastically, though she clearly hadn't grasped all of it. "Yeah! He doesn't seem evil at all!"
Leon, fingers steepled under his chin, added coolly, "Your rhetoric is admirable. But noble intentions often fall short. We've all seen that."
Varvatos nodded. "Then judge me by action, not ambition."
Velzard, seated to his right, finally spoke—her voice like frost breaking in sunlight.
"He speaks with the calm of someone who has no need to posture. And if any of you had seen him move as I have, you'd know—there's no falsehood in what he says."
That drew a few glances her way. It was rare for Velzard to vouch for anyone. Even Guy tilted his head, eyebrows lifting slightly.
Clayman shifted uncomfortably. "Still… we don't know where he came from. He just appeared. Isn't that suspicious?"
Varvatos turned his gaze to Clayman. Not aggressive—just... ancient.
"Your suspicion is natural," he said. "But I'm not hiding. If you need to know what I've done to earn my strength, you'll have to find a way to grasp it. But I promise—it won't be pleasant."
Clayman looked away quickly.
Guy finally stood up, drawing all attention again.
"Well said." He looked around the table. "No one here doubts his power. And frankly, we need fewer unpredictable fools and more stability."
He spread his arms slightly.
"So, let's make it official. Varvatos. Will you accept a seat among us—The Demon Lords?"
The room held its breath once more.
Varvatos didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he stood.
The moment he did, the air seemed to quiver. A soundless vibration echoed through the chamber like a heartbeat—boom-boom… boom-boom…—slow, primal, and heavy.
He let his eyes scan the room, meeting each gaze in turn. There was no malice in his expression. But there was a chilling stillness in his eyes. Something ancient, something untouchable.
Then he spoke.
"Don't get me wrong… Demon Lords of this world."
His voice rolled like thunder across an empty sky.
"If conquest or destruction had been my path… none of you could have stopped me."
The moment the words left his lips, the torches lining the chamber walls flared, the flames turning a deep violet—a sickly hue laced with golden threads and inky shadow. The dimensional walls groaned, as though something far greater had pressed against the fabric of reality.
And then, he snapped his fingers.
Silence.
No visible chains. No grand incantation.
But the world seemed to crack.
The ground under their feet twisted subtly, the patterns on the marble floor realigning into arcane glyphs no one had seen before. A low hum—not of magicules, but of authority, of something beyond—resonated in the chamber.
And then it hit them.
Chains.
Not of steel, not of light, but of existence itself.
Ramiris screamed first. "W-What is this!?"
Her wings fluttered uselessly, pinned in place. She couldn't move.
Milim's body locked up mid-shift, a surge of chaotic power crushed before it could form. "I… I can't…!"
Dino slumped forward in his seat, breathing heavily as if drowning. "What the hell is this pressure!?"
Leon's expression twisted—not in pain, but in confusion. His fingers refused to curl into a fist. His magicules—his very will—had been stilled.
Frey stood with wide eyes, trembling.
Even Draguel, winced as if the bones in his ancient body remembered a predator from eons past.
And then there was Guy.
The Crimson King's red eyes narrowed, jaw tensing as he tried to resist. But it was like struggling against the hands of a god. He couldn't move. Couldn't use his magicules.
Couldn't even blink on his own.
Every single one of them was held.
Bound.
A divine-sealed spell of dominion, chaos, and demonic law, all layered into one absolute reality. It was not just power—it was a law of existence—a silent declaration that Varvatos stood above the very concept of resistance.
Varvatos remained still, letting the moment stretch.
"This," he said, voice deep and calm, "is what true authority feels like."
He stepped forward slowly, the very steps altering the air, bending space as though reality itself bent toward him.
"I did not come here to boast. But you must understand—my restraint is not weakness. It is mercy. I did not build Nyvaris to conquer. I did not rise to this plane to play politics."
His voice turned colder, more piercing.
"I came here… because the world needs balance."
His eyes flicked toward Clayman, who looked pale, his usual arrogance crushed by the weight of the spell.
Then to Carrion, who didn't dare meet his gaze.
To Frey, who looked frozen between awe and horror.
Then he looked to Guy.
And with a simple wave of his hand—the bindings shattered.
The room inhaled collectively, the air rushing back like a dam had broken.
Magicules flowed again.
Ramiris dropped to the floor, gasping. Milim flexed her fingers, shaking. Leon didn't speak but clenched his jaw, sweat trickling down his temple. Dino leaned back in his chair, visibly shaken.
Guy's expression remained unreadable for a long, silent moment.
Then, finally, he exhaled and gave a crooked smile.
"Well… that was dramatic."
Varvatos offered a slight smile. "You asked what I intended. I gave you a demonstration instead of a speech."
Guy nodded slowly, rubbing the side of his chin. "And here I thought I was being generous by inviting you."
He gave a faint chuckle, though it lacked his usual amusement.
"Let me ask again—Varvatos, will you join the Demon Lord Council?"
There was no smirk. No hesitation.
Just quiet resolve as Varvatos answered:
"No."
The room stilled again—but this time, not from fear.
From understanding.
"I have no interest in titles, no desire to sit among equals I do not recognize. I respect your strength, Crimson King. I respect your legacy. But I walk my own path."
Guy's eyes narrowed slightly, then he relaxed.
"…You remind me of myself. Before I wore this crown."
Varvatos inclined his head. "That's why you invited me."
Milim leaned over the table with a wide grin. "That was so cool! I haven't felt that powerless in years! You're weird. I like you!"
Ramiris peeked from behind the chair. "Can you not do that again, please…?"
Velzard, who had remained quiet through the entire storm, now looked at Varvatos not with fear—but fascination. She had felt his power, and yet… the most terrifying part was not what he had done.
It was what he had held back.
Guy exhaled, turning to Misery. "Let it be recorded then. Varvatos of Nyvaris has declined the invitation."
Misery nodded, her cold expression returning to calm neutrality.
Guy looked to Varvatos once more.
"You don't need a title to shake the world, I see. Just try not to burn it down while you're at it."
Varvatos smiled faintly. "Only if someone gives me a reason."
And with that, the meeting continued—though every Demon Lord present now saw the man from Nyvaris not as a guest… but as a force of nature.
And Velzard, watching him in silence, made a quiet decision in her heart:
She would stay at his side—and see for herself just how far this man could go.