The agonizing pressure holding the thousands of prominent devils prostrate in the great hall suddenly vanished. Algernon made no outward gesture; he simply retracted the immense, Law-based pressure.
The silence that followed was suffocating, far heavier than the weight of his aura had been. Every demon remained exactly where they had fallen, motionless and gasping, their hearts hammering against their ribs. No one dared to rise, to move, or to question the absolute power that had just been demonstrated.
Rias and Akeno, still standing and now the sole witnesses to the hall's silent terror, were starting to regain comprehension. The sheer impossibility of the situation held them rigid.
After a long, harrowing moment, Sirzechs Lucifer was the first to break the stillness. He pushed himself up from the floor, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes, though radiating authority, were heavy with the weight of the concession.
Sirzechs turned his back on the nobles, facing the dais. He addressed all the demons there, his voice, though amplified by magic, was solemn and heavy with finality.
Sirzechs announced, his voice echoing through the silent hall. "We, the Four Great Satans, were challenged for our right to rule. And we were defeated. We submitted."
A fresh wave of gasps erupted from the nobles who finally pushed themselves up to their feet, their eyes wide with horror. They had feared a power struggle; they were now witnessing a total surrender.
"We have yielded our authority," Sirzechs continued, his gaze sweeping over the conquered assembly. "We have submitted ourselves and our subjects to Algernon Azeroth. From this moment forward, he is the Sole Ruler of the Demon Race."
The shocking confirmation settled upon the nobility like a physical blow. The impossible had happened.
All the while, Algernon remained utterly still on the obsidian throne. He sat lazily, his head rested casually on the back of his hand, his eyes half-lidded, surveying his newly acquired empire with a complete, nonchalant indifference that spoke volumes about his supreme confidence.
Sirzechs's solemn silence had just confirmed the transfer of power when Algernon finally spoke, his voice quiet but amplified throughout the vast hall, carrying an unyielding weight of final judgment that offered no possibility of resistance.
"Now, now," Algernon murmured, his voice lazy. "Don't be shocked yet. The bigger shock is yet to come."
He slowly raised his hand, ticking off his commands with the casualness of someone rearranging furniture.
"Effective immediately," he began, "the capital city will be changed from Lilith to Athelgrad. My seat of power will be the seat of governance."
He continued, laying out the foundation of the new regime. "The Azeroth Clan will be the clan of demon royalty, possessing the highest status and power in the empire named Azeroth I am building upon demon race."
"This royalty will be fo
llowed by the four Duke Clans—Lucifer, Beelzebub, Leviathan, and Asmodeus. The former Demon Kings will retain their respective titles, but under the new hierarchy."
Algernon's eyes then scanned the hundreds of clan heads frozen in fear. "Following them are all other clans in hierarchy, including the extinct clans from the 72 Pillars of the demon clan."
He straightened slightly on his throne, his voice gaining a cold, thrilling edge that promised both opportunity and death. "Cause from now on, everything in the demon clan will be decided by strength—by pure, unadulterated power—including the position of Clan Head of all the clans, from the most minor noble house to the highest Duke."
As he delivered the final, most revolutionary statement, the true nature of his intent became clear. Algernon's smile became more and more exaggerated, growing into a wide, terrifying grin that stretched across his face, a mask of delightful malice.
"Even a common, low-class demon, one born without lineage or a name," he decreed, his voice echoing with terrible finality, "can rise to challenge for the clan head position of every clan, including the Royal Clan, Azeroth—meaning me—for the position of Demon Emperor itself."
Algernon's decree—that lineage and tradition were instantly replaced by individual strength, and that any demon could challenge for any throne—was a direct strike at the very roots of the demon clan, shattering the thousand-year authority of the 72 Pillars. The move shocked everyone; even the defeated Satans momentarily lost their composure, recognizing the sheer scale of the anarchy Algernon had just unleashed.
Before any noble could fully emerge from their stupefied silence, before the seeds of organized dissent could even be mentally sown, Algernon's voice resonated again, now infused with a chilling, palpable murderous aura that pressed down on the assembly like the first Law-based pressure had. It was a clear, unambiguous warning of instant execution.
"Does anyone," he queried, his voice calm yet utterly final, his eyes like pits of frozen fire, "have any objection to the new imperial structure and the principles of meritocratic strength upon which it is founded?"
The hall remained utterly silent. No one dared to raise their voice. Every single person present was keenly aware of the power Algernon had displayed in the war, and the Satans' abject submission served as the final, horrifying confirmation. They were silenced by fear, not loyalty.
Algernon could read the thoughts beneath the surface—the furious calculations, the plans for future resistance, the determination of the ancient bloodlines to reclaim their prestige once they left Athelgrad.
But he wasn't afraid of the consequences of his move. His focus was already on the future. His main quest of conquering the devil race was about to be officially completed. He knew that even as his political enemies began planning their revenge, he would only grow more powerful.
Before they could even consolidate their meager forces, his own personal evolution would launch him far above them. This power gap would widen until they could no longer even see his back. His victory was not temporary; it was a matter of accelerating, inevitable destiny.
In fact, the chaos was the point. The established order, built on lazy, inherited power, was the problem.
Most demons without bloodline traits—the commoners who made up the majority of the population—didn't see any possibility of social rise. They simply buried their potential, living stagnant, unmotivated lives. Not everyone was like Sairaorg Bael, who fought tooth and nail to rise on his own when he was born without a significant trait.
Even devils blessed with powerful, ancient traits were fundamentally lazy and weak-willed due to all the luxury and unquestioned status they received. They allowed their power to grow passively with time instead of actively training and forging their strength, because their comfortable, inherited status was never challenged.
The demon race, the first race he had conquered, was a vast, rusted legion—powerful in innate potential, but brittle and complacent in reality. Algernon wanted the demon race to shed its rust, to rise and be a sharp, lethal sword in his hand, instead of remaining the dull, complacent force it was now.
His decree was not an act of capricious chaos; it was a necessary, brutal engine of evolutionary pressure. He had just set the entire Underworld on fire, forcing every devil to either become strong or be annihilated. The selection process had begun.
Algernon, still seated on the obsidian throne, his lips curved into a chilling, absolute smile, delivered his final clarification.
"Also, the title of Duke, which is just below me, isn't only limited to those four clans. It can be received by any Satan-class demon who has shown his merits," he announced, his gaze sweeping over the horrified nobles. He paused, letting the scope of the meritocracy sink in. "Which means you don't need the backing of a clan to rise under my rule."
The declaration was complete. Algernon leaned back, the massive Super Devil aura receding slightly, allowing the nobles just enough reprieve to breathe and fully comprehend the irreversible changes.
He made a sharp, simple motion with his hand, dismissing the assembly.
"The introduction is over," Algernon stated, his voice ringing with final authority. "All those not named Lucifer, Beelzebub, Leviathan, or Asmodeus are dismissed. You have your Emperor's decree. Go, and begin earning your worth."
The tension instantly broke into a terrified scramble. The nobles, clan heads, and ministers did not wait for formal goodbyes; they rushed toward the exit portals, desperate to escape the suffocating presence of the new ruler and begin planning their survival, or perhaps, their revolution.
Within moments, the vast hall emptied, leaving behind only Algernon on his throne, the silent sentinels Issei and Kuroka, and the four subdued figures of the former Great Satans standing below the dais, awaiting their next command.
Algernon leaned forward from the obsidian seat, his gaze cold and absolute, moving immediately into the structuring of his empire. He spoke with the precision of an architect drawing a final blueprint.
"The time for governance by tradition is over. You are no longer Satans; you are Dukes of the Azeroth Empire. Your power is now subservient, but your skills are necessary."
Algernon looked directly at Sirzechs, whose mastery of the Power of Destruction made him the obvious choice for defense.
"The Lucifer Clan, under your command, will be in charge of the Imperial Army. You will lead the vast demon clans, integrate the forces, and ensure the absolute superiority of our military structure. Furthermore, you will be constantly vigilant against the threat of the Fallen Angels and Hell, whose territories border our own. I expect no failures on the external defense."
He shifted his gaze to Ajuka, the devil prodigy. Algernon had a massive, personalized task for him—the engine of his evolutionary pressure.
"The Beelzebub Clan, under your direction, will revolutionize the growth of the demon race. You will open demon academies all across the Underworld. Training will be compulsory for every young demon for at least ten years. I want a new standard of power."
Algernon leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You will personally research how to make this training more effective. I will provide you with the concept of the Demon Core. You will devise methods to teach the young to replicate and control power more effectively"
Next was the quiet, imposing figure of Falbium.
"The Asmodeus Clan will be in charge of Internal Affairs. Your duty is to maintain absolute order and stability from within. You will have the necessary authority to accuse, prosecute, and dispense justice upon anyone who threatens the stability of the Empire. I expect silence and compliance across all territories."
Finally, he looked at Serafall, whose skills would be used to manage the new geopolitical reality.
"The Leviathan Clan will be in charge of External Relations. You will manage all communication, diplomacy, exports, and imports with other dimensional factions. The Empire needs resources, and you will ensure the trade routes are open, profitable, and subservient to Athelgrad."
Algernon surveyed the four figures who had been the rulers of the devil race, now fully compliant with their new, specialized roles. The immense strategic planning was over; the execution phase had begun.
"You have your orders," Algernon stated, his voice sharp and definitive. "You can leave now. I need your actions to be fast and absolutely uncompromising. The political vacuum created by the Old Council's demise demands immediate, visible authority. Do not fail."
The four Dukes bowed. Without a word, Sirzechs, Ajuka, Serafall, and Falbium turned and left the dais, their silence indicating their grim determination to execute the complex tasks they had been assigned.
Algernon watched them go, his expression momentarily relaxing from command to contemplation. He was about to rise from the obsidian throne—the final, public meeting of the night concluded—when a flash of light near the entrance signaled an unexpected arrival.
A guard, trembling slightly but professionally disciplined, rushed into the great hall and dropped to one knee below the dais.
"Your Majesty! Forgive the intrusion, but a visitor has arrived," the guard reported, his voice hushed. "They insist on a private audience."
A slow, fascinating smile spread across his lips—a look of pure, intellectual delight. He probably knew what this visitor intend to do, and the timing was impeccable.
"Allow it," Algernon commanded, waving a dismissive hand. He settled deeper into the cold obsidian.
He lowered his voice, murmuring to himself, loud enough only for his two silent attendants, Issei and Kuroka, to hear: "Good news one after another today. This revolution is proving far more entertaining than I anticipated."
(End of chapter)
(Guys try to guess who this visitor is, it's a queen piece for Algernon)
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