In a neat and tidy conference room, a tall man who appeared to be in his late twenties was seated on a plush, black couch.

His hair was black at the top and back, with bangs that gradually transitioned into a golden shade. Nonetheless, his most striking feature was his six pairs of feathered black wings.

“Lord Azazel, welcome to the House of Gremory.”

A handmaiden in an elegant white and blue dress approached the man and formally bowed while greeting him. She had a graceful and dignified demeanor, with her long, brunette hair styled in a neat updo.

Her lips curved into a gentle smile as she eloquently uttered, “Lady Rias will be here soon. Shall I bring you some tea while you wait?”

Azazel brusquely dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand and replied, “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

He carefully stroked his black goatee in deep thought, glancing at a black TV remote that was placed on the coffee table in front of him.

As Azazel lifted the remote and pushed the power button, his face tensed, and he wore a solemn expression. He fast-forwarded through several recordings until he came across the photo of a particular girl with violet irises.

“Over 50 humans went missing in Kuisui Town during the past week. Our investigation has led us to suspect a newly promoted mid-class Fallen Angel named Raynare, who is also believed to have two low-class associates. The House of Gremory has placed a hefty bounty on all three of them, offering a reward to anyone who can capture them alive. Any information on their whereabouts will also be rewarded appropriately.”

Click!

With a quick and agitated motion, Azazel picked up the remote and shut off the television.

“Those bastards are mentally deranged,” he quietly muttered to himself in a dry voice. “Hunting Devils from the House of Gremory and then terrorizing Kuisui Town in broad daylight? That’s akin to suicide; even I wouldn’t be able to save them anymore.”

Creak.

The door opened unexpectedly, and two beautiful figures dressed in Kuoh Academy uniforms entered the room. Their clothes tightly hugged their curves, emphasizing their body shape.

“Hello, Mr. Azazel,” Rias greeted him cordially, but there was a hint of annoyance and vexation in her tone.

She took a seat in front of Azazel, her movements quick and impatient. Akeno orderly followed, standing to the side with her hands clasped together.

“It’s good to see you, Miss Rias,” Azazel replied with a casual smile.

“I’m sure you already know why I requested a meeting, so let’s get straight to the point,” Rias said firmly, placing her cup of water down with a sharp tap. “Would you mind explaining the actions of your former subordinates?”

Azazel took a deep breath as he leaned back on the couch. His expression turned slightly dour, and he seemed to be thinking carefully before he spoke.

“Although Raynare and her associates were once under my direct command,” Azazel explained, letting out a sigh, “I haven’t had any contact with them for months. In fact, I have no idea what their motives or reasoning might be.”

“Mr. Azazel,” Rias soundly declared, her voice taut with frustration. “The Gremory Clan is not to be trifled with. If you possess any knowledge that we are currently unaware of, it’s in your best interest to share it with us now.”

“Hey, hey, please calm down, Miss Rias,” Azazel said, moving his arms out in a placating manner. His dark wings rustled softly as he gestured, and his deep voice had a soothing quality to it. “I don’t have any reason to lie to you and lose my credence with the House of Gremory.”

Rias took a sip of her water and closed her eyes for a moment.

“Maybe I can agree with your credibility to a certain extent,” she stated with a steady voice.

“However,” her eyes flashed with a murderous light, “I won’t be satisfied until Kiba and Koneko’s deaths have been avenged.”

“In that case, there really is no need to get all tensed up,” Azazel calmly replied.

With a confident smile, he stood up from the couch and straightened his maroon jacket. “Numerous factions have already placed warrants for Raynare’s arrest. It’s simply not possible for her to leave the Taiheiyo ecoregion.”

Rias’ eyes narrowed, her expression thoughtful with a frown. “Now that I think about it, you may probably be correct. Anyways, I’ll apologize if I might have overreacted.”

She then leaned forward, crossing both arms along her chest. “But still, there’s one more thing I’d like to discuss. It’s about the Lolita girl that we’ve taken into custody.”

“Mittelt?” Azazel replied, pinching his chin with a pondering look. “You can take full ownership of her. As the Governor General of Grigori, I shall renounce the rights and titles of all Fallen Angels involved in this deplorable operation.”

“Excellent,” Rias announced, standing up gracefully and extending her hand. “Thank you very much, Mr. Azazel, for your wholehearted cooperation.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Azazel’s lips returned into a handsome smile.

They both shook hands formally, and Azazel left the conference room, giving a final farewell before departing through the balcony.

As Azazel disappeared out of sight, Rias sat back on the couch and remained there with a serious and gloomy expression.

Eventually, she turned towards Akeno and observed, “Akeno, you appear to be in a cheerful state today.”

“Yeah, I finally made up with Chekhov,” Akeno let out a chuckle and replied. “As long as we have good intentions, it seems like he’ll eventually join the peerage on his own.”

Rias curiously looked up with slight surprise. “Well, that’s certainly the first piece of good news I’ve heard all day.”

“What about Mittelt?” Akeno tilted her head and asked.

“I’m not expecting much from her — she’s probably just going to be a useless crumb. It appears as if she doesn’t know anything, but then again, she could also just have a hard shell to crack.”

Rias continued with a cold and hard gaze. “I’ll leave it to you to extract every bit of information from her.”

Ever since the deaths of Koneko and Kiba, a very subtle spark of bitter selfishness and burning hatred had slowly been developing within Rias’ soul.

“Oh me, oh my,” Akeno innocently placed a palm on her cheek as she responded, “how wonderful. I’ll have a good time playing with her sumptuous, doll-like body.”

Her face then twisted into a seductive and sinister smile. She licked her lower lips and uttered, “Maybe I should insert—”

“I don't care about what happens to her,” Rias promptly cut her off, “so please just spare me the details.”

She wrinkled her nose, continuing with a repulsed expression. “Especially if it’s about one of your fetishes.”

“Sorry,” Akeno embarrassedly giggled as her face returned to a serious look.

Rias then raised one of her legs and placed it over the other. Her crew-length white socks could be seen resting on her opposite knee.

“Anyways, Akeno, I want you to listen carefully,” she announced with a slightly shrewd gaze.

“Here is my next set of plans. First, we’ll start by intentionally provoking...”

. . . . .

The evening sunlight shone through the windows of an old and expansive library. It had towering shelves and numerous isles that were filled with an abundance of books. One could vaguely discern the scent of musty pages, fresh ink, and wood polish.

At this time, the library was fairly empty — only the quiet footsteps of a young man could be heard.

Thud!

Chekhov gently dropped a pile of books on a lonely, wooden table, before taking a seat and immersing himself in the pages before him.

‘Mechanisms of Demonic Power… Beginner’s Almanac to Familiar Beasts… International Relations…’

Skimming through multiple books, Chekhov mentally noted down the names of the topics that he was unfamiliar with and the ones that may come in handy.

He continued quickly flipping through pages, until a particular table suddenly caught his attention.

‘Power gaps between the higher realms are exponentially larger than gaps between the lower realms. For this reason, they require an increasing number of transitional stages.

Low Class Realm — Initial Stage, Peak Stage

Mid Class Realm — Initial Stage, Intermediate Stage, Peak Stage

High Class Realm — Initial Stage, Intermediate Stage, Advance Stage, Peak Stage

Ultimate Class Realm — Initial Stage, Intermediate Stage, Advance Stage, Elite Stage, Peak Stage’

Chekhov tilted his head and gazed out the sunny window, deep in thought.

After the Fallen Angel raid, his combat ability had drastically increased. In particular, Koneko's rare bloodline had given him an unexpected boost in soul strength.

‘From my inherited memories, the red-haired squirrel should be at the Initial Stage of the High Class realm. For the time being, I’m weaker than her. My head-on battle strength is only at the peak of the Mid Class Realm.’

Time swiftly began to pass, and Chekhov descended his nose back into the pile of books once again. The view from the window displayed a symphony of orange, pink, and purple hues as the sunlight danced across the horizon.

“Sir Chekhov, it is getting late,” the old and elegant voice of a butler spoke up beside him. “Shall I escort you to the dining hall?”

Chekhov stood up and stretched his arms, replying, “Yes, that would be very appreciated. Can you also have these books sent to my room?”

The butler reassured him, “There’s no need to worry, I will send a message for someone to take care of it.”

“Thank you,” Chekhov said with a smile.

Shortly after, he was led into a grand dining hall where three people were already seated at a long, rectangular table.

‘It must be a grand occasion for these squirrels to have changed into their new fur suits.’

Rias and Akeno were attired in magnificent silk gowns, adorned with delicate paisley and damask designs. They appeared as graceful flowers in a spectrum of rich and vibrant colors, bathing in deep reds, pristine whites, and royal blues.

In addition to the girls, there was a man in his mid 40s with a clean-shaven face, dressed in a polished tuxedo, white shirt, and tie.

Rias welcomed Chekhov with a smile, “Hey, Chekhov, we’re glad you’re here. Feel free to join us at any time.”

Chekhov thanked Rias and looked around the room in amazement.

The table was covered in a lavish white cotton tablecloth, adorned with delicate golden embroidery, indicating that this banquet was for a grand and special occasion. However, Chekov’s attention was focused on the mysterious man. Although he appeared to be an ordinary servant, Chekhov could sense that the man was not a trivial figure.

‘His barrier is vaguely stronger than Rias’. It’s safe to assume that he’s at least a High Class Devil of the Initial Stage.’

“I can see you’re curious about this gentleman,” Rias said, indicating the man. “Allow me to introduce you to Ramon, our household manager.”

Upon hearing this, Chekhov inwardly became skeptical and alert.

‘The Gremory Household is certainly very deep-rooted. High Class Devils can be thrown around wantonly as the manager of a side branch.’

From the original timeline, Chekhov knew that the Gremory Household was one of the pillars of the entire Devil species. Their forces contained an extensive array of High Class experts, and some even reached the Ultimate Class. Hence, it wasn’t exactly uncommon to see a High Class Devil positioned as a head housekeeper.

However, the primary source of the Gremory clan’s formidable reputation was Rias’ older brother, Sirzechs Lucifer. He was one of the very few beings that transcended the Ultimate Class realm — in fact, his peerage was publicly believed to be the strongest group in the Underworld.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chekhov,” the head housekeeper greeted him with a friendly smile.

Chekhov politely returned the greeting and shook his hand before taking a seat at the table.

“You may not be aware yet,” Rias said. “But Ramon is an excellent chef. There are many cooking materials in the supernatural world that are not available to regular humans.”

“Interesting,” Chekhov said, turning to Ramon. “Then may I try one of your special dishes tonight?”

“Of course,” Ramon replied with a hearty laugh. “I didn’t spend all evening preparing a grand banquet for nothing.”

With a sudden snap of his fingers, a throng of diligent servants came forth, pushing various carts loaded with a plethora of delicious foods. A collection of large and expensive plates was set upon the dining table, each plate adorned with intricate embellishments and gleaming silver lids.

With a smile, Ramon leaned forward and opened one of the lids, filling the air with a delicious savory and smoky aroma that carried a hint of sweetness.

The meat on the plate was cooked to perfection, with a deep, rich color and seared to a crisp golden brown. The edges were slightly caramelized, and the interior was juicy and pink with a tender, marbled texture. It was garnished with a dark brown sauce and accompanied by a side of colorful vegetables for an elevated presentation.

As Chekhov took a bite, a subtle spark of electricity ran through his mouth, with a lively and thrilling sensation. The aftertaste was tender and juicy, with a savory flavor that was slightly gamey yet sweet.

Seeing Chekhov’s impressed and excited expression, Ramon chuckled with light wrinkles on the corners of his eyes.

“I can see that you enjoyed my cooking very much,” he remarked in delight.

Chekhov’s mouth was full, so he didn’t respond. Nevertheless, his eyes seemed to light up with curiosity, full of unasked questions.

Ramon smiled calmly as if he knew what Chekhov was thinking. “If you’re wondering what type of meat this is, it’s from a Thunder Spirit Wolf.”

Akeno looked at Chekhov with an adoring gaze and added, “I had the same reaction when I tried Spirit Wolf meat for the first time.”

Soft and humble laughter filled the room before it was eventually interrupted by Rias’ refined voice.

“Shall we begin our meal?” she suggested with a smile.

Akeno and Ramon nodded, and a light-hearted conversation arose for the next thirty minutes.

As Ramon finished his plate, he dabbed his lips with a handkerchief and asked, “Mr. Chekhov, do you have any final thoughts or questions about my cooking?”

“It was truly exemplary,” Chekhov fervently replied, “I enjoyed it so much that I want to learn about these Thunder Spirit Wolves.”

Ramon laughed, “I knew a curious boy like you wouldn’t be satisfied until you got your answers. I’ve heard from Miss Rias that you are especially interested in nature.”

As Ramon explained, his face changed from a cheerful smile to one of deep contemplation. He delved into the unique characteristics of the Thunder Spirit Wolf, providing detailed information about its behavior, habits, and locations.

“—and most importantly, Spirit Wolves can’t naturally be found on Earth. They are usually hunted in the Familiar World.”

“The Familiar World?” Chekhov abruptly asked, his voice filled with excitement.

Ramon responded, “Yes, that’s correct. Earth isn’t the only world out there. There are various sub-dimensions that can range from the size of a bedroom to 100 times larger than the surface area of the Earth. The Familiar World is one of these sub-dimensions, and it is roughly three quarters of the Earth’s size. Although it boasts a variety of biomes and wildlife, the Spirit Wolf species is somewhat uncommon.”

Chekhov’s eyes widened in amazement, and he eagerly asked, “Can you tell me more about how you acquired this Spirit Wolf meat?”

Ramon turned to Rias, with a hesitant look, unsure if he was allowed to answer Chekhov’s question.

“There’s no need to hide anything,” Rias reassured him with a gentle smile, “Chekhov is one of mine, and I consider him as family.”

Ramon cleared his throat and continued, his expression apologetic.

“In that case, I would be delighted to provide more information. Recently, there had been a beast tide in the Familiar World, and as a result, we’ve received a large shipment of Spirit Wolves. Notably, the spiritual meat from these wolves loses its magical properties quickly, making it difficult to store. So, we must keep the Spirit Wolves alive in a rather special area — our basement dungeon.”

He then turned to Rias and asked, “Is it alright if I bring Chekhov to see the dungeon?”

“Of course,” Rias responded, nudging her head toward Chekhov, “as long as Chekhov is interested in coming.”

“Definitely,” Chekhov displayed a brilliant smile and enthusiastically declared, “I’m always excited to learn more about nature.”

“In that case,” Ramon stood up and folded his sleeves, “please follow after me.”

Saying farewell to the two girls, Chekhov accompanied Ramon and left the dining area. They walked through a series of corridors and staircases, taking various turns and twists until they arrived at a solitary, arched wooden door.

Creak.

Ramon nudged open the door and walked into a small security room. It contained multiple large computer monitors, which were linked with magical formations.

“Henrik, I will be accompanying a visitor to the basement dungeon. We will be back in an hour or two.”

In front of the monitors, a moderately plump man could be seen lounging around. His hands were behind his head, and he was leading back in an office chair.

The plump man, Henrik, quickly sat upright and saluted, “Yes, sir! I will activate the teleportation formation right away.”

Whirr, whirr.

A red circle appeared around Chekhov and Ramon, and they vanished in an instant.

When the red light faded, Chekhov could discern a cold and damp, stone floor underneath him. He could sense that some areas were uneven and rough, with moss growing in between the cracks.

As the two of them tread forward, a musty, dank odor infiltrated their senses. Strangely, the surrounding region was peaceful and quiet.

Venturing for a couple minutes, Chekhov sensed a large array of giant box-shaped structures in front him.

“Up front, you’ll see the various Familiars that we currently hold captive. Around 90% of our cells are filled up by Spirit Wolves because of the recent beast tide. As a side note, I will warn you in advance — the wolves may seem a bit scary at first, but this area is perfectly safe,” commented Ramon in a casual tone.

Chekhov nodded, but his expression grew increasingly tense. Once they approached the cells, Chekhov’s eyes opened wide in bewilderment.

To his right, there was a giant wolf, standing 1.6 meters tall. Its coat was a fiery red color, and its eyes were a piercing golden hue. The wolf had a lean, muscular build and its fur shimmered with an ethereal glow, as if it was made of embers.

Noticing Chekhov's edible figure, drool could be seen dripping from its sharp teeth. The wolf let out a deafening roar and bared its fangs, its expression one of wrath and aggression.

It unhesitatingly lunged forward, leaping ferociously into the air with the intent to kill.

Seeing this, Chekhov recoiled in shock with a startled expression.

Bam!

The wolf collided mid-air with an invisible barrier and slowly slid to the ground, red seals appearing in the air where it made contact.

Remarkably, the dungeon was seemingly silent. None of the sound reached Chekhov's ears.

“You have quite the heart of steel,” Ramon glanced at Chekhov and heartily chucked. “I’ve seen many grown men nearly soil themselves during their first experience here.”

Lightly trembling, Chekhov nervously wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. He then anxiously stared at the wolf writhing in pain on the ground.

“Don’t worry,” Ramon reassured, patting Chekhov’s shoulder, “these Spirit Wolves can never break through the invisible barrier. All of their abilities are sealed, and nothing can pass through this wall, not even sound waves.”

After a moment of hesitation, Chekhov turned and asked, “Mr. Ramon, why this one have a red coat?”

Continuing along the walkway, Ramon explained, “Spirit Wolves can be classified into different sub-species based on their element. This one is bestowed with an Ember Spirit.”

“Truly fascinating…” Chekhov muttered, following behind Ramon. “I wish to visit this Familiar World someday.”

For the next thirty minutes, as they both ventured throughout the dungeon, Chekhov was able to spot a vast amount of Spirit Wolves in all sorts of colors and sizes. A majority of the wolves were bestowed with Ember Spirits or Thunder Spirits, but a few of them were different.

One such wolf stood out in particular; it was nearly 5 meters tall, had sleek silver-black fur, piercing blue eyes, and an elongated snout. Unlike the other wolves, it seemed calm at first glance, resting on the ground, seemingly aware that it was futile to attack the invisible barrier.

Ramon told Chekhov, “This is a Twilight Spirit Wolf. It’s a rare breed and it’s very powerful, easily able to rival the power of a High Class Devil. We’re hoping to eventually tame this one into a familiar.”

Chekhov’s eyes sparkled as he was seemingly mesmerized by the wolf.

“An incredible creation of nature,” he uttered with a joyous smile.

Eventually, Chekhov turned around and advanced with Ramon. While he appeared to have innocently moved on to the other wolves, the inner workings of a complex scheme had begun to form in his mind.

Step, step, step.

Their footsteps started to faintly echo as they entered a narrower path.

Chekhov and Ramon eventually stopped in front of a small cell that was different from the others. Inside, instead of a beast, there was a young lady with blonde hair seated on the cold ground, hugging her knees.

She was very short, only about 145 cm in height, and was wearing a dirty, black dress with white frills. Her ankle was chained to the wall with a rusty iron anklet, and her neck was adorned with a silver collar that vigorously emanated Demonic Power.

“A-a girl?” Chekhov stuttered, seemingly in shock with his eyes wide open.

“Oh,” Ramon rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I forgot to tell you about her. This is Mittelt, one of our Fallen Angel prisoners.”

He then added in a cold tone, “She was one of the people who had conspired to ruthlessly murder Mr. Kiba and Ms. Koneko.”

The blonde girl looked up at Chekhov with a blank expression. Her cold, blue eyes showed a flicker of surprise before they narrowed, filling with traces of anger and hostility.

Chekhov swiftly took a step back; his eyes were at a loss as he peered at the girl with a staggered expression.

Yet, truthfully, he was as calm as a meadow in spring. Multiple gears had already started to click and turn in his head.

‘Earlier, I was lucky enough to stumble across a bitter piece of dark chocolate. Now if you’re also offering me this fierce, blonde tangerine, then there’s no reason to deny shamelessly swiping them both.’