At Sirzechs' words, Dante felt his heart nearly ignite. It was eerie how in sync they were—how perfectly aligned their thoughts seemed to be. Of course he was nervous. Who wouldn't be? Meeting your adoptive family was already a nerve-wracking experience. But add the words demonic, noble, and eternally powerful into the mix, and it turned into a full-blown anxiety cocktail.
Before stepping out, Sirzechs placed a hand firmly on Dante's shoulder. The gesture was grounding, but the look in his eyes was clear: cautious.
"I'll do the talking," he said with a soft, knowing smirk. "Keep your heritage quiet until I can determine whether or not it's safe to bring up."
Dante nodded, swallowing his tension. "Got it. Zip the lips."
Then they stepped out.
And Dante froze.
His breath caught, his eyes wide with disbelief. Towering before him was a structure that blurred the line between Victorian opulence and regal majesty. It was part mansion, part castle, an edifice that shimmered under the twilight sky. The walls were a pristine, polished white that gleamed like it had been carved from divine marble. Golden accents adorned every edge, every arch, every pillar with artistic precision. Great red flames burned steadily in enchanted sconces that lined the path, casting a warm glow that danced along the mansion's chiseled facade.
It was the kind of place you imagined from fairy tales—just darker, more serious. A palace not of kings and queens, but of lords who had carved out their thrones in hell itself.
Dante let out a low whistle. "Damn."
But before he could gawk further, his attention was pulled to the line of maids and butlers waiting at the entrance. A large formation, symmetrical and disciplined, all bowed deeply the moment Sirzechs and Dante set foot on the path.
"Welcome home, Lord Gremory!" they intoned in unison, voices harmonizing like a practiced choir.
Dante blinked. "Okay, that was mildly terrifying."
As they walked the long stone path toward the mansion's main entrance, Dante kept casting glances around like a wide-eyed tourist.
"This all seems a little..."
"Untouched?" Sirzechs offered, his voice casual.
Dante nodded. "Yeah. For a civil war to be going on, I expected... more ruins. Scars. Not this." He gestured to the pristine architecture and manicured landscape.
Sirzechs hummed thoughtfully. "You're right in your observation. But this mansion is only one of our many residences."
Dante raised a brow, visibly impressed. "Of course it is."
Sirzechs ignored the jab and pointed southeast, past a distant cluster of hills cloaked in mist. "The largest estate we own is tucked away in a valley in the mountains over there. It currently serves as a sanctuary. Many low-class devils and refugees from other war-torn territories are staying there."
Dante turned his head, his mouth parting slightly in surprise.
Sirzechs continued. "Some of the staff you see here—maids, butlers—aren't even from our house. They're from others, ones that were either destroyed or abandoned. I've tried to release them from service, but they insisted on staying."
He offered a small wave to the attendants still standing at perfect attention.
Dante caught it then. In the eyes of those who bowed, there was something he hadn't expected to find. Not fear. Not duty.
Gratitude.
"That's... rather selfless of you," Dante murmured.
Sirzechs released a puff of air through his nose, the closest thing he gave to a laugh.
"The reason this territory remains as untouched as you said is largely due to the Gremory family being one of the four largest contributors to the war effort," Sirzechs explained. "Our supply lines, troops, resources—we've kept the momentum going where it's needed most."
He gestured behind them, to the lands they'd come from.
"The front lines are far from here, on the western borders. This region, for now, is safe."
Dante nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. The grandeur, the calm, the eerie serenity amid chaos—it all made sense now.
Sirzechs turned toward the great double doors at the mansion's front, now wide open and glowing with warm, golden light.
Then he glanced back with a grin and motioned for Dante to follow.
"Come," he said. "Mother and Father are waiting."
Dante took a deep breath.
No turning back now.
Normally, it would have taken a minute at most to walk from the carriage to the grand mansion's entrance, but to Dante, the distance felt colossal. The scale of the Gremory estate was nothing short of mythic. What should have been a leisurely stroll now felt like a journey through a living painting.
The front yard—or more accurately, the estate's sprawling botanical sanctuary—was alive with movement and light. At its center, a towering marble fountain cascaded water in mesmerizing spirals, its design so intricate Dante swore it told a story he didn't yet understand.
To the right, gardens bloomed with plants he didn't recognize—verdant fronds with shimmering edges, blue flowers pulsing softly like breathing lungs, even trees that glistened as if their bark were inlaid with crystal. A few winding paths trailed into a dense grove tucked into the corner, cloaked in mystery and shadow.
To the left, a flat black tarmac stretched like a wound across the beauty. The contrast was striking. It was bare, clinical, but unmistakably a training ground. The lingering scorch marks and faint magical sigils told Dante all he needed to know.
This place was made for both growth and war.
A splash of red caught his eye near a shed—a single ball, forgotten or perhaps deliberately left behind. It was the only hint of conventional recreation in the entire estate.
"Not much for sports around here, is there?" Dante mused aloud.
Sirzechs offered a low hum of disagreement. "Oh, there are some. The most popular is a little game called Corpse Party."
Dante raised a brow. "Charming."
A nostalgic smile tugged at Sirzechs' lips. "Simple rules. Dodge the ball, stay in the game. Get hit, you're out. Branded a 'corpse'."
Dante chuckled, a dry sound. "So... dodgeball with a death metal aesthetic. Got it."
He paused, curiosity prickling. "Let me guess. That name wasn't always a metaphor, was it?"
Sirzechs turned, eyes wide with mock horror. "You would be correct. But... we don't talk about that."
"Say no more," Dante replied, holding up a hand. "I appreciate the mystery."
"There were other games too," Sirzechs said after a beat, voice lowering. "But war has a way of stifling joy. We were so divided, so bitter. It's said the civil war began because one team took their rivalry too far... and killed someone."
Dante frowned. "Yikes. So no fun, just battlefields with shifting rules."
Sirzechs nodded. "Exactly that."
Dante was about to remark further when a brown blur collided with Sirzechs, the force enough to make the older devil grunt.
"Oh, my baby boy is home!" came the singsong wail of a woman whose presence was somehow both stunning and overwhelming.
Sirzechs was immediately smothered in a bear hug, limbs splayed like a ragdoll as he gasped for air. From where Dante stood, the only clear view he had was of the woman's shapely rear end, which took up the majority of the view as she tackled her son into the estate's polished stone.
Dante snorted. "One battlefield to another. I stand corrected."
"Y-yes..." Sirzechs wheezed. "Mother... it's good... to be home..."
Dante made a mental note to avoid any unsolicited hugs from this woman.
Then another figure approached from the entrance.
This one moved with deliberate precision. He was clearly noble, but not ornamental. A crimson silk undershirt fit beneath a tailored white overcoat, the kind with coattails that whispered royalty. Black trousers and polished boots completed the look, though the devil's build spoke more to a soldier than a statesman.
Straps and buckles adorned his frame with function, not flair. Two swords dangled at his hips, their scabbards worn but meticulously cared for. Dante's trained eyes noticed the subtle creases and padded layering under the man's coat—tactical armor, cleverly disguised.
Efficient... military noble, Dante assessed. Roman inspiration. Mobility over bulk.
Their eyes met. The man had Sirzechs' same crimson hair and piercing turquoise gaze, though age had narrowed his jaw and added a full, dignified beard. The resemblance was uncanny.
And behind the whirlwind that was Sirzechs' mother, Dante now saw her full form. Her outfit mirrored her husband's in theme—combat-ready, beautifully tailored. A crimson bodysuit clung to her athletic frame, lined with golden trim and reinforced by light armor plates. Her pauldrons rested elegantly over her shoulders, gauntlets slid over her arms like a second skin, and golden greaves climbed her legs with both strength and grace. A waist cape flowed behind her like a banner.
Together, they looked less like aristocrats and more like war-forged royalty.
The man stepped forward, offering a kind but firm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Zeoticus Gremory, Lord of the House of Gremory."
Dante bowed in reply, reflexive and respectful. "The honor is mine, Lord Gremory. My name is Dante Vale Gremory."
He regretted it instantly.
The air shifted. Zeoticus' eyes, now sharp and unblinking, flicked to Sirzechs with military precision.
Damn it, Dante thought. Should've just said Dante.
"Explain," Zeoticus said, voice a calm command.
Even the joyous matron froze slightly, her curiosity piqued. But rather than anger, her expression became one of interest.
"So, who's the lucky lady dear?" she cooed, a teasing lilt in her voice.
Sirzechs flushed crimson.
"Mother!"
And in that one word, Dante learned something important...
Sirzechs Gremory, heir of hellfire and noble blood... was still very much a virgin.