One day before Satria's scheduled meeting in the Underworld of the DxD world…
Inside a sleek research facility in Tempest, the air buzzed with holographic displays and the hum of reactors. Satria stood with Norman Osborn, Fatalis, and a team of scientists, all gathered around a containment tank filled with glowing green solution.
"Incredible…" Norman muttered, almost breathless. His eyes glittered as he gestured to the display. "This isn't just a breakthrough—it's one of the greatest discoveries in history! With these engineered microbes, plastic, oil, toxins—gone. If we bring this tech to the world, we can solve the entire global waste problem."
To demonstrate, he pointed at a street-view projection nearby: a family finishing a meal at an outdoor plaza. The children crumpled their wrappers and tossed them into a glowing grate set into the pavement.
The waste vanished instantly with a faint hum. Above the grate, a hologram appeared, tracing the process in real time:
– The wrapper disassembled at the molecular level, plastics broken down into raw carbon and hydrogen.
– Organic scraps were funneled into a bioreactor, devoured by engineered microbes, then converted into clean water, fertilizer, and energy.
Within seconds, the trash no longer existed—it had become fuel for the city.
Norman's grin widened. "Do you see this? Streets without garbage. Cities without landfills. Entire nations are freed from pollution. We'll change the world, My Lord!"
Fatalis, leaning lazily against a console, gave a slow, sharp smile. "Change the world? Hmph. I see something else." Her eyes narrowed, hungry and calculating. "I see rivers of gold. This tech could turn waste into treasure. Imagine the profit we could bleed from this~."
Satria chuckled, his arms folded, gaze calm but proud. "Money doesn't interest me, Fatalis. Not anymore."
The mood was broken by the heavy sound of armored boots. The lab doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a group of outsiders. At the front strode Kaijin, the dwarf craftsman, alongside the imposing figure of King Gazel Dwargo himself, flanked by loyal knights.
Every scientist froze. Fatalis immediately pushed away from the console, her eyes glowing faintly like a dragon ready to burn intruders to ash.
Her voice dropped, sharp and dangerous. "Kaijin… have you forgotten the rules? Outsiders are restricted to designated districts. Sensitive zones—research labs, military hubs, energy cores—are forbidden. Why did you bring them here?"
Kaijin stiffened, sweat glistening on his forehead. He bowed low, his voice rough with desperation. "I–I know the rules, Fatalis-sama. But please! Grant my friend an audience with Satria-sama. Just this once. I beg of you!"
"Kaijin…" Gazel muttered, visibly shaken by his companion's boldness. "You… you'd go this far?"
The tension grew, but before Fatalis could act, Satria lifted his hand, silencing the room with a simple gesture.
His eyes fixed on the guest. His voice was calm, but carried the weight of command. "Speak. Who are you, and what do you want from me? Make it simple—I don't have time for distractions."
The lab went still, all eyes on the dwarf and the king, as the future of their request balanced on the next words.
The dwarf king introduced himself with calm dignity, bowing his head just enough to show respect without surrender.
"I am Gazel Dwargo, ruler of the Armed Nation. I have long wished for this meeting, Satria-dono. Your nation grows at a pace that defies reason. I would be honored to hear your counsel… and to speak of trade."
Satria leaned back, eyes narrowing with faint amusement. "So you're the King of Dwargon—the one who once sat across from my wife."
He snapped his fingers.
The sterile glow of the research lab dissolved in an instant. Warm lantern-light flickered to life, the scent of sea breeze and spices replacing steel and stone. They now sat inside Tempest's newest jewel: Javana, a five-star seafood palace in the cultural district.
Polished teakwood pillars rose toward a sweeping joglo roof. Batik-patterned drapery swayed gently, while the distant rhythm of gamelan music hummed through the air.
The restaurant manager nearly stumbled as he rushed forward, bowing low. "Y-Your Majesty! What may we serve you today?"
Fatalis's lips curved in a sly smile. "Prepare the best room, food, and drink. For our lord… and his guest."
"At once!" The staff scattered like well-trained soldiers, setting the grandest table with silver and carved wood. Soon, steaming platters of grilled fish, fragrant rice, and spiced shellfish filled the air with temptation.
Gazel looked around, taking in every detail. "This is… remarkable architecture. Unlike anything I have seen. Unique, yet warm." His eyes flicked to Fatalis. "And who is this beautiful lady by your side, Satria-dono? You seem… close?"
"She is my wife. Fatalis Tempest. Any problem with that?" Satria replied flatly, slipping an arm over her chair.
Gazel chuckled, not rattled. "No, no. Hah. Spirited, indeed." He eyed the feast, his tone shifting to something more formal. "But what I truly wish to taste now is your wine. A nation's spirit can often be tasted in its drink."
"Hehe~ prepared to be surprised," Fatalis teased, scarlet eyes glinting. She swirled her glass of deep red. "How about you, dear? A toast?"
"No thanks. Jumbo iced tea forever." Satria leaned back with a grin.
"Shame," Gazel muttered, though his lips twitched in amusement before hardening once again. He leaned forward. "Our kingdoms could accomplish much together. Tempest's technology and Dwargon's craftsmanship—hand in hand. If we share knowledge and resources as equals, both our peoples will prosper."
Fatalis chuckled low, setting her glass down with a soft clink. Her gaze sharpened, predator's eyes narrowing. "Equal?" Her voice slid across the table like steel drawn from a sheath. "I am not as kind as our Empress. Do you truly believe that, Gazel Dwargo? You speak as though Tempest and Dwargon stand on the same ground. We possess power, knowledge beyond your reach, miracles you cannot fathom." Her nails tapped the wood softly, each click deliberate. "What, exactly, can you offer us that could possibly match what we hold?"
The air grew heavy. The spices and warmth of the feast seemed distant now, the weight of her challenge pressing harder than stone.
All eyes turned to Gazel.
The king did not flinch. Though a bead of sweat traced down his temple, his voice remained steady, his tone resolute. "…Perhaps not raw power. Perhaps not alien science. But I bring what you do not: centuries of governance, stability carved into stone, the loyalty of my people, and a name that carries weight across nations. You are meteors—brilliant, unstoppable, but young. We are the mountain—enduring, immovable, trusted. Tempest may break walls… but Dwargon builds bridges. That is my worth."
For a moment, silence ruled. Fatalis's scarlet eyes narrowed… then slowly, a smile tugged at her lips. Not mocking this time, but intrigued.
Satria chuckled, lifting his glass of tea in salute. "Well said, King Dwargo. A mountain and a meteor, hm? Then let's see what kind of world we can carve together."
The clinking of glasses echoed softly—more than a toast. A pact, tentative but real.
Suddenly, The grand doors of the restaurant slammed open with a thunderous BANG.
"SATRIA!!! I came here to play!!!" Milim's voice pierced the air as she barreled inside, eyes sparkling with manic excitement.
Right on her heels came Veldora, fists pumping like a prizefighter. "Boss! You have to see this—I finally mastered a new technique after binge-watching Dragon Ball!"
Satria's hand slid down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. "…Veldora. Milim. Do you not see I'm in the middle of something important? And—" His gaze shifted to the third figure in the doorway, his tone going flat. "Velzard. Didn't you leave three days ago? Weren't you supposed to be watching a certain disaster-prone idiot so he doesn't plunge the world into chaos?"
Velzard's smile was dazzling, cold as moonlit frost. "What do you mean, Satria-kun? I am watching him. He's right here." Her eyes narrowed, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "So really, what does it matter what the other weirdo does? When you're here."
Satria blinked at her, deadpan. "…Did you just dump your responsibility on me?"
"Obviously not~." Velzard's tone was sugar over steel. Which only made it worse.
Milim puffed her cheeks, stamping her foot. "Why are you here, Aunty? You're just gonna ruin our fun again, aren't you?!"
"She totally is!" Veldora agreed, jabbing a finger dramatically. "Boss! Let's join forces and defeat this noisy old woman! Together, victory is ours!"
The temperature plummeted. Velzard's smile vanished as her aura surged—an avalanche of killing intent slamming into the room. Gazel's knights staggered, gasping for air as the weight of her presence pressed down like a mountain.
Velzard's voice rang sharp and merciless. "Did you children ever once think about the consequences of your idiocy? Do you realize who is cleaning up the balance you constantly shatter?" Her eyes blazed with frostfire as her tone spiked dangerously. "And Aunty? Do I look that old to you?!"
Milim and Veldora froze like kids caught stealing sweets, sweat beading on their foreheads.
Satria raised both hands in surrender, scooting his chair back. "For the record, I have zero involvement in this. Take your family drama outside, not in here."
The next instant, the entire building shook as Velzard grabbed the two troublemakers by the scruff and dragged them outside. Their screams of protest echoed through the city as a blizzard of punishment began.
Inside, silence lingered.
Gazel finally leaned closer, voice low and grim, though his face had gone pale. "…You… you have ties to Demon Lords and two True Dragons? How is that even possible?" His knights whispered nervously, some outright trembling.
Satria took a long, slow sip of his jumbo iced tea, expression unreadable. "The story's long. And honestly, I don't feel like explaining." He set the glass down with a sigh. "Right now, I just need to make sure Velzard doesn't level half the city, have Fatalis sign off on this alliance, and…" His eyes flicked upward in weary resignation. "…come to terms with the fact that the real rulers of Tempest are my wives. Not me."
Gazel blinked at him, then let out a long, heavy exhale. "…Ah. Yes. I see."
•
The restaurant trembled from the aftershocks of Velzard dragging Milim and Veldora outside. Their indignant wails echoed faintly, like children punished for sneaking cookies.
Minutes later, Satria returned, dusting off his hands. The two "kids" were already pacified, their moods flipped instantly by the universal cure for tantrums—pocket money. Now, Distracted and grinning, they'd scampered off to spend it, leaving Satria and Velzard alone at a quiet café table nearby.
He dropped into his chair, exhaled, and finally turned his gaze on her. "Alright, girl. Let's talk."
Velzard arched a perfect brow, ice-blue eyes gleaming. "About what?"
"About the fact you nearly turned this entire city into a frozen wasteland… because somebody called you 'Aunty.'" He leaned forward, tone flat, therapist mask on. "You're the eldest of your siblings. Supposed to be the responsible one. And yet every time I watch you interact with them, I get the sense your family tree was pruned with a rusty hacksaw."
Velzard's lips curled into a faint smirk, but her eyes glinted dangerously. "…Are you insulting my family, Satria-kun?"
"I'm diagnosing them," he said evenly, steepling his fingers. "And the results? Catastrophic. Veldora and Milim—older than most civilizations—yet mentally stuck at about ten years old. That doesn't happen naturally." His tone shifted, colder, analytical. "So I have to ask: what the hell went wrong in their upbringing? And were you… raising them properly?"
Velzard tilted her head, smile widening like a crack in glacier ice. "Of course. I raised them perfectly."
"And by perfectly, you mean…?"
Her answer was chillingly casual. "Whenever they acted up, I froze them solid for a century or two. When they thawed, they always behaved—at least for a little while."
Satria stared at her in silence. Slowly, he blinked. Then, with the gravitas of a man pronouncing last rites, he said: "Forget I asked you. In fact, forget this entire line of questioning ever happened. You don't need to explain further—I think you need therapy too."
Velzard's expression twitched. The Dragon Empress, who could freeze time itself, actually pouted—her perfect face scrunching like a scolded child. "Therapy? Me? How rude."
Satria leaned back, utterly unimpressed. "Yes, therapy. Weekly sessions. Maybe group therapy too. Preferably with reinforced walls." He raised his glass, took a long sip of his iced tea, and sighed. "…Good grief. The mental health of this family is a multiversal hazard."
Velzard crossed her arms, cheeks puffed faintly, glaring at him with frosty indignation. But the pout only made her look less like a terrifying dragon and more like an offended aristocrat who'd just been told her shoes were last season.
"Well… feel free to get mad all you want. Facts don't give a damn about your feelings. I'm just reminding you. Don't take it to heart, okay?"
The words struck like a slap. Velzard's breath hitched—not out of offense alone, but something stranger, hotter, coiling deep in her chest. No one—not even her siblings—had ever dared speak to her like that. This man wasn't cowed by her aura, wasn't tiptoeing around her pride. He simply said what he thought… and it stirred something she couldn't quite name. Something dangerous.
Satria, oblivious or pretending to be, glanced at his wristwatch. "Sorry, time's up. I need to head home and pack for tomorrow's event."
He stood, slipping out of the café. A few steps later, he frowned—because Velzard was still behind him, trailing like a silent shadow.
"You serious? Why are you following me?"
Velzard's lips curved in a serene smile. "Hm? Didn't I say it already? My duty is to watch over you, Satria-kun."
"Oh, the joy…" He sighed. Then narrowed his eyes. "Wait. Where are you staying? I don't recall you having private property in my land."
"Duh," she answered smugly. "Of course I'm staying with you. That way, you won't slip out of my sight—or cause trouble."
Satria stopped dead, groaning. "…Wonderful. In other words, you want to freeload at my house? Nope. Denied. Go stay with Veldora. Rimuru already gave him free housing and royalty as Tempest's guardian beast."
"I refuse~." Velzard sang, shaking her head. "Sharing space with that loud idiot? No thank you. I'd rather turn to snowman."
"What coincidence! I also refuse you staying in my house!" Satria shot back, exasperated.
Velzard's frosty composure cracked into something cuter—her cheeks puffed, eyes flashing. "Why?! You stupid playboy! Am I not attractive enough for you? Most men would weep in joy if a gorgeous woman like me wanted to stay at their side!"
"Are you stupid?!" Satria snapped. "I thought you had Thought Acceleration or whatever, but apparently you can't figure out the reason? Really?"
"Then enlighten me, Mr. Smart Guy." Velzard leaned close, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. 'What is he hiding? What could possibly be so private he refuses me?'
Satria stared at her, then sighed deeply. That face. He knew it too well—the look of a pure maiden tangled in her own overthinking.
"…This girl is hopeless," he muttered under his breath, already dreading what blizzard he had just invited into his life.
The sound of boots on stone broke the tension. Rimuru arrived with Shuna, Gobta, Hakurou, and a squad of Tempest's patrol officers.
"Report said there was a fight here," Rimuru called, voice firm but calm. "What happened?"
Satria raised a hand lazily. "Relax. Situation's under control. No need to worry."
The officers exchanged relieved glances. One even gave a crisp salute before leading the squad back on patrol.
Rimuru turned toward Velzard, her tone carefully polite. "Velzard-san… forgive me for asking, but why do you look so… irritated?"
Velzard folded her arms, lips twitching. "Hmph. Hear me, little slime! Your husband is a mean person! Do you know it?!"
Rimuru sweatdropped, giving her husband a side-eye. "…Yeah. I know. Honestly, sometimes I wonder where his bravery comes from. He talks like he's invincible."
"Hahahaha!" Hakurou suddenly chuckled. "You've got it hard, Satria-sama. Still, to be emperor at such a young age, while managing such a… spirited family—truly admirable."
"Speaking of youth…" Satria's gaze slid toward Hakurou. "The cultivation pill worked, didn't it? How does it feel—being back in your prime?"
The old swordsman—no, the young swordsman now—straightened, his black hair falling like a warrior in his twenties. His fist clenched tightly. "You have no idea, my lord. My blade feels reborn. My spirit burns brighter than ever. I swear on this strength… I will serve you with all I have. Even if it costs my soul."
Rimuru smiled softly at that, but Velzard's attention hadn't strayed. She jabbed a finger toward Satria. "Back to the main point. I'm staying with him. End of discussion."
Rimuru blinked. "Eh? Staying… with us? But…"
Velzard cut her off with an icy glare. "No more delays. My answer is final."
Shuna tilted her head, confused. "Velzard-sama wants to live… under the same roof as Rimuru-sama and Satria-sama?" Her cheeks suddenly turned pink, her hands fidgeting with her sleeves. 'If that's the case… would it feel like… a shared household?'
Her mind betrayed her, painting wild, domestic images she shouldn't be thinking. Satria and Rimuru at the dinner table… Velzard seated nearby… herself pouring tea… A family living together…
Shuna's blush deepened to crimson. "W-what am I thinking…?" she muttered under her breath, covering her face with her hands.
Gobta leaned over to Hakurou, whispering. "Uh… did Shuna-sama just—?"
"Silence, boy." Hakurou muttered, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.
Meanwhile, Rimuru rubbed her temple. "…Great. Another problem. As if Milim and Veldora weren't enough…"
The air in the café thickened as Satria's expression hardened into something rare, almost alien to those around him. His playful ease vanished, replaced by the weight of a sovereign who tolerated no defiance.
When he spoke, his voice was calm—yet sharp as a blade drawn in silence.
"Velzard," he said, every syllable ringing with command. "You must learn to behave. Not everything in this world will bend to your whims. Authority is not license for indulgence—it demands restraint. If you continue like this…" His eyes narrowed, cold steel meeting ice. "…I will sever the bond between us."
The words struck deeper than any sword.
Velzard's body jolted as if impaled. Tears welled unbidden, spilling hot down her pale cheeks. She shook her head violently, her voice cracking.
"No… don't say that. Please—don't…" Her sobs trembled in the air, fragile and pitiful, but the Emperor did not flinch. His sternness held. His gaze remained unyielding.
Yet within her storm of sorrow… something twisted.
The scolding burned her pride raw, yet carried with it a heat she could not deny. His dominance, the audacity to chastise her, Velzard—the White Ice Dragon, feared by many—stripped her composure bare. No one dared treat her as anything less than untouchable. No one but him.
'How dare he…? As if I were a child to be disciplined. I am Velzard, eldest of True Dragons. I should crush him for such insolence… And yet—why? Why does my heart race when he speaks like this? Why does shame feel like… fire? Why does his refusal to yield make me feel... Aroused?'
"Oi, Satria!" Rimuru's voice snapped through, sharp as a whip. Her glare landed on him, protective as she drew close to comfort the weeping dragoness. "What the hell are you thinking—making a poor girl cry like that?!"
Satria exhaled, running a hand through his hair. His voice was calm, but not apologetic.
"I'm not trying to make her cry. I'm trying to install some common sense into this stubborn girl. My house isn't a public hub—it's where I have peace. Without strangers barging in." His gaze dropped slightly, quieter now. '…And truthfully, I already have enough mouths to feed, enough hearts to care for. If I let her in, I am afraid I can't be fair to the family I already have.' A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. He muttered inwardly, 'I feel bad for her… but this is for the best. She wouldn't be happy with an asshole like me. Especially if she takes her brother as her model of family. And… it's bad, isn't it? A man and a woman, not bound, living together under one roof… It'd only end in disaster. Sorry, girl.'
Rimuru's brows knitted, about to scold him harder—
—when suddenly, a thought intruded. A voice neither hers nor Velzard's. A whisper laced with mocking amusement.
[Darkest: Don't worry… I got you dumbasses.]
Both Rimuru and Velzard stiffened, glancing around in shock.
Satria's face instantly soured. 'You… since when are you here? I thought you were busy having fun in Honkai World!'
From the shadowed edge of the café, his other self—Darkest—was there for a heartbeat. Leaning casually against the wall, smirk sharp, eyes gleaming with mischief. He lifted two fingers in a lazy salute.
Then he was gone.
Rimuru's eyes widened faintly as the whisper of his thoughts brushed across her mind. Her lips parted, then closed again.
'So that's what you really think, huh…?' She had expected her husband to be reckless, shameless, even arrogant—but underneath, he was… fragile. Afraid of failing his family, afraid of being unfair, afraid of hurting someone who cared. Rimuru's chest tightened. For all his swagger, Satria was carrying more weight than he ever admitted aloud.
Beside her, Velzard stiffened. His inner voice struck her harder than the scolding had.
Wouldn't be happy with… an asshole like me?
The words cut through her pride. Rejection, laid bare. He wasn't mocking her. He wasn't belittling her. He genuinely believed she'd be miserable with him.
For Velzard—who had never once been denied, never once been told "no"—it was like ice cracking under her own feet.
Her fingers curled tightly against her dress, her heart pounding. She should have felt anger. Outrage. But instead… she trembled.
'Why… does it hurt like this? Why do I want to scream at him—shake him—make him see I'm not some fragile maiden to be 'protected from himself'? Why do I want him to look at me, not as a burden, but as… someone he can trust?'
Her eyes burned, not with tears this time, but with a dangerous, unfamiliar fire.
Rimuru noticed it instantly, glancing sideways. 'Oh no. That look… that's not just anger. That's… something else. Crap. This is going to get complicated.'
Velzard wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, then turned sharply to Rimuru, her voice still trembling. "Rimuru. Lend me your husband. Just for a moment."
Rimuru blinked, caught off guard. "Eh? 'Lend'? What do you mean lend?"
Velzard grabbed Satria by the wrist and dragged him down a quiet street, far from curious eyes. Rimuru blinked, torn between worry and amusement.
When they stopped, Velzard whirled around, pressing Satria back against a wall with surprising urgency. Her eyes gleamed like frozen sapphires.
"How dare you," she hissed, her breath trembling, "how dare you decide my happiness for me? Who gave you the right to make that choice?"
Satria blinked at her, utterly unbothered. "…Calm down, lady. Curse that Duck-Head… he really stirred the pot, huh? Look, we should take this step by step—"
Velzard stamped her foot, cutting him off, her cheeks flushed scarlet. "D-Don't treat me like a child! You think I can't decide what I want? You think I'm so fragile that being near you will break me?!" She crossed her arms, glaring fiercely, though her voice betrayed her. "I-it's not like I want to stay with you or anything… I just—just don't want you wandering out of my sight, stupid!"
Satria raised an eyebrow, watching her flail between indignation and embarrassment. A small grin tugged at his lips. "That noise just now… wait, was that a tsundere moment?"
Velzard's face turned crimson as she sputtered, "S-shut up!! It's not—don't you dare call it that!"
•
Satria Mansion
The blizzard inside Satria's residence had finally settled. Against all reason, Velzard's stubbornness had been rewarded with reluctant approval, though not without the entire household gleefully poking fun at her until her frosty pride cracked like thin ice.
Fran, like Kurumi before her, had already departed to chase her own destiny in her original world. For now, those who remained gathered before the Grey Portal Gate—a monolithic structure Satria had declared strictly forbidden. Only he held its key. None of them knew what lay beyond: treasures, horrors, or something worse.
Satria claimed he went there to train. But what kind of training demanded such secrecy?
Their answer came when the gate stirred.
And a figure stepped out.
Satria.
But not the man they knew.
His grin stretched unnaturally wide, veins pulsing like rivers of molten light. His entire body radiated golden brilliance—violent, searing, like a sun on the verge of exploding. The aura wasn't just heavy—it was suffocating. Intoxicating. It pressed down on them like the weight of countless wars.
The girls trembled. One whispered, voice thin with awe:
"Do you feel it…? His aura… it's not just strength. It's every battlefield he's crawled out of. You can smell the blood… hear the screams inside it."
Even Crom's face hardened. For the first time in centuries, fear flickered in her eyes. Whatever Satria had faced, it was not of this world.
"Master! Are you alright?" Jeanne rushing to him. Her hands glowed with healing light, frantic as if she could cleanse something no magic could touch.
Velzard froze mid-step, eyes wide, her face betraying a blush so hot it betrayed her icy pride. "W-Wow… I-I've never seen a man like this before. This… this is bad. Very bad… I think I'm—ahhh! Stop it, stop it, stop it!" She shook her head violently, as if the very sight of him had carved a brand into her heart.
Rimuru, meanwhile, could only stare. "…Damn it. The me of the past had no chance against this. Is that why? Is that why I ended up as his wife instead of having a normal isekai life?!" She groaned, clutching her head. "Ughhh… don't tell me it's HIS fault I never had girlfriends back then…"
"Such a delicious specimen, wouldn't you agree, Master~?" Raphael whispered teasingly in Rimuru's ear, wrapping her arms around the slime-turned-empress as if savoring Satria's overwhelming manliness.
Kiyohime, ever composed, approached with a warm towel folded neatly in her hands. Her eyes softened, lips curving into that serene smile only she could give. "My, my… danna-sama, what kind of adventure did you walk into, to return like this?"
Valiana grinned, eyes glittering with battle-hunger. "Tch. What did you face in there, huh? Next time, bring me with you. I want in."
Satria's golden aura spiked, cracks splitting the floor beneath his feet. His voice was calm, but each word shook the air. "Just a little tag game with a mad dog who calls himself the living embodiment of War and Violence… deep in the Warp. You're not ready to step into such chaos—not yet."
Great Red leaned forward, eyes gleaming, lips curled into a feral grin. "Heh. Sounds fun!"
Ophis tilted her head, her voice flat but her gaze burning faintly. "…Not boring. I want to see it too."
Koneko clung tighter to Morgan's arm, muttering nervously. "If Senpai says it's scary… then I definitely don't want to know what's inside."
Satria exhaled slowly. With a wave of his hand, the blood, dirt, and sweat evaporated from his body. In the blink of an eye, he stood fresh, clad in the clean garments Kiyohime had readied for him.
He looked down at Koneko. "So. You sure you want to come along, kitten?"
Her ears twitched, but her eyes were steady. "Yes. If my sister's there—even as an enemy—I want to meet her. I've already let go of my grudge… but this version of her doesn't know that yet."
Valiana crossed her arms with a sly grin. "Spoiler: she'll be looking for you. But don't expect a happy reunion."
"Alright," he said lightly, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder. "Now my training is complete, I'm perfectly ready to visit the Underworld."
Great Red blinked, sweatdropping. "…You're kidding me. All that—just for a diplomatic visit? What can those weaklings even do to you?"
The others exchanged uneasy glances.
Satria only smiled.
The story was far from over.
To be continued...