The playful atmosphere in the room instantly fractured. At the sound of the name, all traces of the cheerful "Magical Girl" vanished from Serafall's expression. The vibrant pink of her outfit seemed to dim as her face became grave, replaced by the serious, focused demeanor of the Duke Leviathan.
She crossed the room to stand before Algernon, her posture rigid.
"Ingvild Leviathan," Serafall confirmed, her voice low and tight. "Yes, Your Majesty, I know the name. She is indeed a member of the original Leviathan clan—one of the last descendants to carry that true, ancient bloodline."
Serafall hesitated, the weight of the clan's history evident in her eyes. "However, she cannot be currently accounted for. She suffers from a severe, magical sleep disease—a profound malady tied to her unique blood. She has been in a state of deep magical sleep for nearly one hundred years."
The information hung heavy in the air. Algernon remained seated, his expression calm.
"Understood," he said. "Meet me at the Sitri Hospital tomorrow"
Serafall, having delivered her information and received the command, offered one final, sharp salute before dissolving in a flash of pink magical light, departing the room to prepare for the meeting at Sitri Hospital.
Algernon then shifted his gaze, his attention settling fully on the sole remaining person: Grayfia Lucifuge. The moment they were truly alone, a distinct, playful smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Though she was the epitome of discipline, her senses immediately registered the change in his demeanor. A small blush instantly appeared on her cheek, as she once again thought of the powerful kiss and the possessive claim he had staked on her in the throne room, overriding her attempts at absolute neutrality.
In a motion too swift for even her to entirely process, Alister reached out, his hand firmly grasping her waist. Before she could react, he effortlessly pulled her from her chair, settling her directly onto his lap. Grayfia froze in utter shock, her mind reeling from the blatant disregard for their professional setting.
As she struggled for a coherent word, Alister paid her no mind. With practiced ease, he untied the ribbon binding her tightly arranged hair. Her magnificent, shimmering long silver hair were set free, cascading down her shoulders and across the dark armor of his chest like a river of moonlight.
Alister gently gathered a thick strand, letting it slide through his fingers as he gazed at the unbound tresses.
"Your silver cascade, free and unbound... it is the very soul of winter's beauty made manifest, and I find it utterly magnificent."
Alister's gaze moved from her hair to her eyes, his smile deepening.
"Our finance minister is truly working hard," he murmured, his thumb stroking her jawline. "She definitely needs a reward."
Without waiting for consent or reaction, he lifted her chin gently but firmly and captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss. The kiss was absolute, a powerful physical testament to his dominion, overwhelming her senses and momentarily shattering the walls of her rigorous control.
After a deliberate moment, Alister pulled back. He effortlessly lifted her from his lap and placed her gently on the edge of the obsidian table. He then stood up, turned, and without a backward glance or further word, left the meeting room.
Grayfia remained perched on the table's edge, utterly still. Her eyes were wide, tracking the space where he had stood. Slowly, she lifted a trembling hand and placed it over her lips, her mind struggling to process the rapid succession of command, intimacy, and abandonment.
She whispered, the words barely audible in the sudden silence of the large room, her voice clouded with shock and daze:
"This is second time...."
____________________________________________________________
The next morning dawned clear and crisp over the central administrative district of the Underworld.
The Sitri Hospital, a sleek, towering structure of polished white and blue marble, stood as a testament to the Sitri Clan's administrative excellence and advanced medical technology. Today, however, its usual calm, sterile atmosphere was shattered.
The entire perimeter was filled with guards—uniformed devils of the newly formed Azeroth Imperial Army, their black and crimson armor creating an intimidating presence. Barriers had been erected, holding back a volatile crowd.
A mass of people, many of them press and eager political observers, stood beyond the barricades, their faces strained and illuminated by the flashes of cameras. Every dimensional news outlet was present, angling for a glimpse of the man who had overthrown the world.
This was no ordinary visit. The first sole Emperor of the demon race since its founding was about to appear publicly. The entire Underworld held its breath, awaiting the arrival of Algernon Azeroth.
Every camera lens was focused on the precise point where the Emperor was expected to appear. For three days, the Underworld had only heard of the new regime's brutality; now, they were about to see its face.
A low, resonant hum—a sound more felt in the core than heard with the ear—signaled the imminent dimensional shift. The ambient magic in the atmosphere coalesced, and then, without the dramatic flare or excessive noise associated with lesser beings, Algernon Azeroth stepped into existence.
He stood in his dark, crimson-laced armor, a figure of impossible physical perfection and staggering, restrained power. He carried no sword, but the space around him seemed to warp subtly, oppressed by the sheer gravity of his presence. His eyes, cold and assessing, swept over the organized chaos of the media and the silent ranks of his guards.
The collective gasp of the crowd and the frantic, soundless clicking of the cameras were the only sounds of greeting. Even the most hardened journalists lowered their lenses slightly, momentarily paralyzed.
Algernon paused for only a fraction of a second. He then began to walk, directly toward the hospital's entrance. The guards nearest the doors snapped into formation, creating a path, and the Emperor of the new Azeroth Empire disappeared inside the immaculate, sterile confines of the Sitri medical facility, leaving behind a world holding its collective breath.
The polished marble corridors of the Sitri Hospital were eerily quiet. The chaotic energy left outside was replaced by the serene hum of advanced medical diagnostics and life support systems. The hospital staff, though clearly terrified, maintained their rigid professional bearing, flattening themselves against the walls as the Emperor passed.
Algernon followed the directional markers for the specialized medical wing. He did not need to ask directions; the overwhelming aura of focused power led him to his waiting cabinet members.
Waiting for him at the entrance to a restricted sector were Grayfia and Serafall. Grayfia was again in her professional uniform, but her silver hair let loose, every line of her posture precise and controlled. Serafall, though no longer in her magical girl outfit, retained the serious demeanor from the previous night, her concern about her ancient clan member overriding her usual levity.
They both offered deep, synchronized bows.
"Your Majesty," Grayfia greeted, her voice perfectly steady. "Welcome to the Sitri facility. Lady Serafall has secured the records and arranged access to the patient's private observation room."
Algernon offered a curt nod "Good. Lead the way. Serafall, brief me on the medical condition as we proceed."
Serafall stepped forward instantly, walking beside him as they moved deeper into the shielded wing of the hospital. "Yes, Your Majesty. Ingvild is in a state of suspended animation—a deep, magical coma. The medical staff here can only maintain her condition; they cannot diagnose the source of the sleep disease, only that it's linked to an uncontrollable surge of her own unique powers."
They stopped before a door marked with arcane wards and heavy thermal shielding. Algernon paused, his hand lifting to rest on the handle.
"Let's see what we have here."
Grayfia activated the security panel beside the door. The wards flickered, the heavy steel door hissed, and then slid open, revealing a room bathed in cool, soft light.
The air inside was markedly colder, meticulously controlled by advanced magical and scientific apparatus. At the center of the room, encased in a shimmering, circular life-support field that pulsed faintly with stabilizing demonic energy, lay the patient.
Ingvild Leviathan.
She was stunningly beautiful, possessing the Long purple hair, which spread out across the specialized medical bedding. Her face was perfectly serene, but pale, and utterly devoid of movement. She looked less like a sick person and more like an exquisite sculpture of ice, perpetually suspended between life and death.
Serafall walked forward first, her serious demeanor breaking slightly as a wave of genuine pity and sadness washed over her face. She stopped near the shield, her eyes soft.
"One hundred years, Your Majesty," Serafall whispered. "Lost to the world, maintained by pure technology."
Algernon extended a hand toward the field, and a subtle energy—the enhanced, stabilizing structure of his Law of Space—reached out, probing the protective barriers and Ingvild herself.
He immediately confirmed Serafall's report. The sleep was not merely biological; it was a profound magical stasis caused by an internal conflict. He sensed an ancient, immense power—the true, original power of the Leviathan clan—clashing violently with an unknown factor, resulting in a self-induced temporal lock.
"The medical staff here are treating the symptom, not the cause," Algernon stated, pulling his hand back. "Her power is trying to rewrite her existence, and the disease is a defense mechanism against self-destruction. This requires a solution that transcends medicine."
He turned to Grayfia and Serafall. "I need an hour with her. Alone."
Grayfia and Serafall bowed instantly and exited the room, the heavy door hissing shut behind them, leaving the him alone with the sleeping Leviathan.
Algernon wasted no time. He approached the life-support field and effortlessly deactivated it with a pulse of his Destruction Law, which severed the binding energy without harming the patient. He looked down at Ingvild, recalling her history: she was not a pure devil, but a human/devil hybrid, a descendant of the original Satan.
Algernon placed his hands over her chest, directly above her heart. He called upon his most contradictory powers. From his cores, two distinct streams of energy flowed: the cold, structural power of the Demonic Law and the pure, radiant light of his nascent Holy Law.
He meticulously fused the energies, creating a perfectly balanced stream of light and darkness. He pushed this synthesized power into Ingvild's core, not to fight the disease, but to stabilize the fundamental clashing energies that caused it.
As the balanced power entered her core, the internal conflict—the century-long magical storm—began to immediately subside. The ice-like pallor left Ingvild's face.
But as the instability vanished, a powerful, foreign energy source flared to life within her being. Instead of a physical object, a soft, ethereal blue light pulsed from her chest, accompanied by a soundless, resonant chord that seemed to vibrate the very water molecules in the air. Algernon watched, transfixed, as the energy signature of the Sacred Gear stabilized.
Seeing the reaction, a wild smile appeared on Algernon's face. This was Nereid Kyrie: a Sacred Gear possessing the absolute ability to control dragons, manifesting as a power tied to voice and song.
It was precisely at this moment, that Ingvild Leviathan woke up.
Her eyes, a vibrant, startled orange, opened slowly, taking in the alien environment, the specialized medical devices, and the overwhelming presence of the figure leaning over her.
The atmosphere in the small room froze. Algernon whose very presence oppressed the air—stared down at her with a wide, possessive smile, his armored hand still resting firmly over her chest.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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