Chapter 2.7: The Duke's Heir

  The Initiation

  The afternoon was quiet until a sudden, whistling roar tore through the sky, ending in a thunderous crash in the center of the palace garden.

  Vergil, who had been reviewing trade ledgers in his office, was on his feet in an instant.

  He arrived at the garden to find his elite guards already surrounding a strange, metallic sphere that had carved a shallow crater into the manicured grass.

  "Stay back! I’ll check it," Vergil commanded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  "But your highness, this could be a trap!" Ron protested, his aura flaring in defense.

  Vergil offered him an assuring, calm smile.

  "Don’t worry. The world itself selected the Primordial lineage as the strongest; I don't think a piece of metal is going to be my end."

  He stepped toward the object. As he reached out, the machine hissed, and a flickering blue hologram materialized in the air.

  The guards instantly leveled their mana fused spears, but the figure in the light remained still. It was a man, dressed in a sharp, structured uniform that looked far more advanced than anything in the Demon Realm.

  "Is this Duke Vergil of the Demon Territory?" the man in the hologram asked, his voice echoing with a slight metallic distortion.

  "It is," Vergil replied, his eyes narrowing.

  "My apologies, Duke, for interrupting your peace. I am a leader representing the Human Territory. Our intelligence suggests you are remarkably benevolent to the humans under your care. We are also aware that your Duchess is, herself, a human."

  The temperature in the garden seemed to drop as Vergil’s expression turned dangerous. "What of it?"

  "Pardon me, I mean no harm," the man continued, unfazed. "I am here with a proposal. We wish to establish formal trade arrangements and resource sharing between your dukedom and humanity."

  Vergil blinked, the tension in his shoulders shifting to genuine surprise. "Trade? You’re proposing diplomacy?"

  "You don't have to answer now. You may discuss it with your Duchess—or your Demon King," the man said. "If your answer is yes, light a green flare above your territory. We will send our ambassadors to begin the dialogue."

  The machine hummed one last time before the hologram dissolved into nothingness.

  "It’s a trap," Ron spat, looking at the dead machine with deep suspicion. "They’re using the Duchess as leverage."

  Vergil looked at the machine, his mind already weighing the possibilities.

  "Perhaps it is a chance to bridge our worlds for the sake of the next generation... we will think about it.

  The political discourse was flowing smoothly until the heavy oak doors burst open.

  Ron hurried into the room, his face pale.

  "Duke Vergil! Duke Frederick has arrived!"

  The humans snapped into high alert.

  Troy and Ace instinctively reached for their sidearms, their eyes darting to the entrance.

  Vergil raised a hand, his expression apologetic as he signaled for calm.

  "My apologies for the lack of notice," Vergil addressed the human envoy.

  "The Demon King requested that Duke Frederick be included in these negotiations. It was a royal mandate."

  Zayden, the man in the suit, narrowed his eyes.

  The tension in the room remained thick.

  "I see. But this is quite sudden. Why were we not informed earlier?"

  His voice was sharp, probing for a trap.

  "He was scheduled to arrive tomorrow," Vergil explained, his voice steady.

  "He chose to arrive early."

  Zayden signaled his guards to stand down, though their hands remained near their weapons.

  "Very well," he nodded curtly.

  In the palace courtyard, Frederick strode toward the main hall with a dark, suffocating aura.

  A servant hurried to intercept him.

  "Your Excellency, please! You cannot enter the chambers yet—"

  "Shut up," Frederick snapped.

  With a flick of his hand, a wave of force blew her aside, sending her tumbling across the stone floor.

  As he stepped forward, he paused.

  His gaze drifted upward to the terrace, locking onto a pair of eyes watching him.

  It was Mitsuo.

  The boy stared back, and for a fleeting second, Frederick’s heart stopped.

  In those sapphire-blue eyes, he didn't see Hana; he saw his mother.

  The same warmth, the same clarity, trapped in a child with raven hair.

  The resemblance was a stinging insult to Frederick, a reminder of the kindness his family had lost—and the brother he blamed for it.

  Vergil arrived moments later.

  He looked at the injured servant and quietly signaled for others to help her.

  He didn't demand an apology from his brother; he knew it would only spark a fire.

  "Long time no see," Vergil said simply.

  Frederick’s face darkened, pulling his gaze away from the boy.

  "What is the state of the diplomacy?"

  Without further questioning, Vergil briefed him on the progress they had made, walking a fine line between brothers and rivals.

  That night, the palace was transformed for a grand diplomatic ball.

  Frederick was seen interacting with Zayden, offering a stiff, rehearsed apology for his earlier "commotion" to keep the King's peace.

  Far from the music and the dancing, Rose stood alone once more.

  A group of children from the dukedom, emboldened by the festive atmosphere, approached her.

  "Hey, you! What’s your name?" one boy asked, puffing out his chest.

  "Me?" Rose replied.

  Her voice was flat, perfectly disciplined.

  "You may call me Rose."

  "Heh, that’s so weird," the boy laughed, looking back at his friends.

  "What is weird?" Rose asked, her head tilting slightly.

  "You! You’re super weird! You give me the chills!"

  "Oh. My apologies," Rose replied instantly.

  Her immediate, emotionless apology made the children feel even more uncomfortable.

  They shared a look of unease and quickly hurried away, leaving her in the shadows.

  Hana, watching from across the room, felt a tug at her heart.

  Vergil stepped up beside her.

  "Do you see it too?" she whispered.

  "You mean the girl?" Vergil asked, his eyes following his wife’s gaze.

  "Yes," Hana replied, her brow furrowed.

  "She feels... eerie. But look at her eyes, Vergil. It’s as if she has never seen warmth in her entire life."

  Vergil studied the girl.

  Dressed in a vibrant red dress, she stood perfectly still, like an expensive doll placed on a shelf.

  "You’re right," he admitted.

  "I think I’ll go talk to her," Hana said, smoothing her dress.

  Vergil nodded, though his hand briefly touched her arm.

  "Be careful, Hana."

  On the opposite side of the ballroom, hidden behind a pillar, Mitsuo continued to watch her, his young mind filled with a curiosity he couldn't quite explain.

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  As Hana approached, Rose turned toward her with the precision of a soldier.

  Hana didn’t offer a stiff, formal greeting; she simply smiled with a warmth that seemed to radiate through the cold ballroom.

  Rose tilted her head, her expression blank but her eyes searching.

  "Um... I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are,"

  she said, her tone devoid of the usual social playfulness of a child.

  "Hm... well, you can call me Hana for now," the Duchess replied easily.

  Rose’s cold eyes flickered with a brief spark of confusion.

  The sudden familiarity, the lack of titles, and the genuine kindness in Hana’s voice were things her disciplined mind couldn't immediately categorize.

  "So, Rose," Hana said, leaning in slightly.

  "Do you like this place?"

  "It is... nice," Rose replied, though she looked as if she were reporting a mission status.

  "Hey, do you want to eat ice cream?" Hana asked.

  "What is... ice cream?"

  Hana was taken aback for a split second, a pang of sadness hitting her heart.

  She didn't falter, though.

  Her smile only grew wider.

  "I’ll show you," she said softly.

  She reached out and took Rose’s small, pale hand, leading her away from the stiff atmosphere of the ball and toward the vibrant food stalls outside.

  From the shadows of the terrace, Mitsuo watched them, stunned.

  He had never seen anyone—let alone his mother—interact with the "weird creature" with such ease.

  Far from the palace lights, the atmosphere shifted to one of suffocating darkness.

  In a hidden chamber, a single candle flickered, casting long, jagged shadows against the walls.

  Four cloaked figures sat around a table, their voices low and venomous.

  "Tch! Did you see that Duke?" one of the figures hissed, his voice thick with resentment.

  "He isn't just forcing us to treat humans as equals; he is bringing them into our very halls for diplomacy!"

  "I have loathed him for a long time," a female voice added, her words dripping with spite.

  "He even has a human wife. A stain on the Primordial name."

  The third voice, cold and mocking, let out a dark chuckle.

  "Well, it won’t last much longer. His 'paradise' is built on sand."

  He smirked, the candlelight glinting off a hidden blade.

  "The collapse is already in motion."

  Back at the festival stalls, Hana returned with a bowl of ice cream.

  As the servants spotted her, they moved to bow, but Hana pressed a finger to her lips, signaling them to remain silent.

  They nodded, retreating back into the crowd.

  Rose held out her arms to take the bowl, but Hana playfully pulled it away.

  Rose blinked, looking at her in total confusion.

  "Well, ice cream is a very mysterious food," Hana said with a conspiratorial wink.

  "It’s very delicate. I can’t let you hold it just yet."

  Rose, completely falling for the story, nodded solemnly.

  "Close your eyes," Hana commanded.

  "I’m going to cast a spell."

  Rose complied, her silver lashes resting against her cheeks.

  "Rose," Hana whispered,

  "do you know what I just—"

  As Rose opened her mouth to answer, Hana deftly slipped a spoonful of the cold, sweet dessert into her mouth.

  Rose’s cheeks instantly flushed, her eyes snapping open in shock at the sudden burst of flavor and the freezing temperature.

  She stood frozen, experiencing a sensation that had no place in her military training.

  "Open your eyes now," Hana laughed, watching the "doll" finally show a flicker of life.

  The diplomatic discussion between the Primordial brothers and Zayden’s team was cut short by a bone-chilling scream that echoed from the main gala.

  A thunderous explosion ripped through the palace, and the ornate ceiling of the ballroom collapsed in a rain of marble and fire.

  Masked assassins flooded the room, their movements too coordinated for a mere riot.

  Mitsuo, who had been watching his mother and Rose from a distance, felt his heart hammer against his ribs.

  Ignoring the debris, he sprinted toward Hana and Rose.

  But he wasn't fast enough.

  Two elite assassins materialized from the smoke, surrounding the trio.

  "Territory Deployment!" one of them hissed.

  A ripple of distorted space swallowed Hana, Rose, and Mitsuo, dragging them into a separate dimension before the palace guards could intervene.

  In the ruins of the conference room, Vergil and Frederick stood back-to-back.

  Despite being surrounded by dozens of cloaked figures, the brothers looked more like predators than prey.

  Troy and Ace had their weapons leveled, but they quickly realized the assassins weren't lunging to kill.

  The assassins were chanting.

  A massive ritual circle ignited on the floor, and instead of an attack, a spatial rift dragged the Primordials and the diplomats miles away from the palace.

  They reappeared in a desolate wasteland, standing before a creature that froze the air in their lungs.

  It was Special Organism 3: The Witch of Destruction.

  Her aura was a physical weight, a crushing pressure that made the ground beneath them crack.

  Vergil stepped forward, his cape snapping in the wind, his eyes glowing with a fierce green light.

  "Stay behind us," Vergil commanded the diplomats, his voice an unshakable pillar.

  "You are under my protection. We will end this quickly."

  Beside him, Frederick’s face was a mask of cold fury.

  This wasn't just a monster; it was a distraction to keep them away from the palace.

  Meanwhile, inside the assassins' trapped dimension, the air was cold and stagnant.

  Young Mitsuo stood in a defensive stance, but his hands were shaking.

  He had the lineage, but he hadn't yet learned how to manifest his own Territory to counter the enemy’s space.

  Hana stood in front of the children, her eyes darting around.

  She was a master of many things, but she was not gifted in the Space Core; she was as trapped as her son.

  Amidst the panic, only Rose remained eerily still.

  She looked at the ice cream bowl, now shattered on the ground, and then at the assassins closing in.

  Her eyes, which had briefly shown a spark of life under Hana's care, turned back into cold, emotionless glass.

  There were only two ways out:

  break the territory from the inside, or kill the masters of this domain.

  Inside the Witch’s distorted domain, the air screamed as three catastrophic powers collided.

  Vergil and Frederick stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes burning with a synchronized Primordial light.

  As they unleashed their aura, the pressure of the Witch’s presence was met with an equal, crushing force.

  For a moment, the years of hatred and distance vanished, replaced by the lethal rhythm of two brothers who were once the world’s ultimate protectors.

  Miles away, trapped within the assassins' pocket dimension, Mitsuo felt the atmosphere turn razor-sharp.

  He was a natural-born prodigy, possessing the dense cores of the Primordial line, but he was still a child who hadn't yet unlocked the true depths of his potential.

  "Get down!" Mitsuo roared.

  A barrage of invisible aura slashes tore through the air.

  Mitsuo lunged in front of Hana and Rose, channeling his Aura Core to create a shimmering, golden barrier.

  The slashes hammered against his shield, the impact rattling his bones, but his raw, gifted power held firm against the onslaught.

  Hana, far from a helpless bystander, didn't waste a second.

  Her hands moved in a blur, materializing Mana Voids—dark spheres of anti-magic—and hurling them into the empty space.

  The voids imploded, forcing the invisible space-elemental assassins to flicker into sight.

  One of the assassins, realizing Hana was the catalyst for their exposure, slipped through a fold in space and lunged at her from behind, his blade coated in lethal poison.

  "Mom!" Mitsuo screamed, too far away to bridge the gap.

  "Skill Reinforcement: Strike of the Master," a quiet, chilling voice whispered.

  Before the blade could reach Hana, Rose was there.

  Her movements were unnervingly precise, her small hand blocking the assassin's wrist with a strike that felt heavy and practiced—as if she had spent decades training, despite her young age.

  Mitsuo stared, his eyes wide.

  He didn't recognize the form; it was a perfect, cold execution of a martial art he had never seen.

  Rose wasn't just fighting—she was reflecting.

  "Aura Slash: Shadow of the Assassin," Rose whispered again.

  She didn't just block; she countered.

  She moved with the exact same lethal grace as the man who had just attacked them.

  Though her strikes were physically weaker because of her young core, her precision was absolute.

  She was a biological mirror, dissecting the enemy’s movements and throwing them back with surgical efficiency.

  Mitsuo watched her, a cold realization washing over him.

  He was a gifted heir to the strongest bloodline, but Rose was something else entirely.

  She didn't just learn; she absorbed the very essence of combat itself.

  On the front lines against the Witch of Destruction, the air hummed with the absolute authority of the Primordial brothers.

  Their synergy was terrifying; Frederick’s calculated strikes and Vergil’s overwhelming force had turned a desperate struggle into a one-sided display of dominance.

  The human diplomats watched in stunned silence, realizing that no amount of technology could replicate the sheer biological perfection of the men before them.

  "It is useless to try and kill her," Vergil shouted over the roar of the Witch’s screams.

  "World organisms are immortal. Even if we tear her apart, she will either regenerate or be replaced by the world itself."

  "You’re right," Frederick replied, his eyes glowing with a cold, analytical light.

  "I have a plan."

  "Speak," Vergil commanded.

  "Once we’ve suppressed her aura, we won't stay to fight.

  We will force a spatial bridge and use Space Teleportation to return to the palace immediately."

  Vergil gave a short, sharp nod.

  "Understood. Let’s finish this."

  Inside the pocket dimension, the air was growing thinner.

  Rose stood with her eyes narrowed, her mind working like a high-speed processor.

  She had analyzed the enemy’s spatial movements, the way they warped the air, and the specific frequency of their energy.

  She raised her hand, her voice a hollow whisper.

  "Territory Deployment: Void Cage."

  A ripple of space erupted from her fingertips, perfectly mimicking the assassins' technique.

  But the walls of the dimension didn't crack.

  The exit didn't open.

  "You’re an interesting one," the lead assassin chuckled, appearing from the shadows.

  He looked at Rose with a mixture of mockery and genuine curiosity.

  "You copied the process perfectly—the hand signs, the flow, the incantation.

  But you don't know the basics, do you?"

  Rose’s doll-like mask finally cracked, a flicker of genuine fear and confusion crossing her face as her "copied" attack failed to manifest.

  "Space Core techniques don't just come from the outside," the assassin explained, his voice dripping with malice.

  "They open your inner territory.

  You can mimic my shell, little girl, but your inner core is not mine.

  You are trying to use a key on a door that doesn't exist."

  Stunned by the logic of the world she had only just begun to learn, Rose stood frozen.

  But Mitsuo, having seen enough, stepped forward.

  He was tired of the talking.

  He was tired of being trapped.

  He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, and then his Aura Core exploded.

  It wasn't a technique he had copied; it was a birthright.

  The Primordial Aura was so dense and heavy that it physically crushed the air in the pocket dimension.

  The enemy’s spatial stability began to buckle under the sheer weight of Mitsuo’s presence.

  "You Primordials!" the other assassin screamed, lunging from the debris with his blade raised.

  Mitsuo didn't flinch.

  His Skill Core acted instinctively.

  With a move as fluid as water and as heavy as a mountain, he delivered a crushing kick to the assassin’s chest.

  The sound of ribs shattering echoed through the void as the man was sent flying, his body slamming into the dimensional wall with enough force to cause a shockwave.

  Suddenly, a telepathic message pulsed through the assassins' minds:

  The Duke is returning. Abort. Get out now.

  "Tch. I’ll see you next time, brat," the lead assassin spat.

  With a violent wrench of space, the dimension dissolved.

  Mitsuo, Hana, and Rose were thrown back onto the blood-stained marble of the palace gala just as the first streaks of teleportation light signaled the return of the brothers.

  To be continued…

  ? MYukH. All rights reserved.