Author's Note
> Correction & Apology: I would like to offer a brief correction regarding the previous chapter. As an observant reader pointed out, a Primordial of the Black lineage should technically be referred to by his color name, Noir, before being officially named. In the excitement of the "Sovereign's Morning," I jumped the gun by using his later moniker. In this chapter, we will rectify this through a formal naming ceremony, cementing his absolute, soul-bound loyalty to Lucian. Thank you for keeping the "Architect" in check!
>
Chapter 7
The interdimensional villa was silent, save for the hum of the [Origin Breeder Reactor] and the soft, rhythmic ticking of a manifested 2026-style grandfather clock. I sat on the terrace, the air around the Gryphon Peaks shimmering with the artificial climate control I'd established.
Beside me stood the man formerly known as the Primordial Black. He was still in his "Wandering" phase, his existence a chaotic swirl of infinite potential and ancient boredom. He didn't have a name—not yet. To the world, he was a disaster waiting to happen. To me, he was a lead character who needed a better contract.
"You've been hovering for three hours," I said, not looking up from my digital slate. "Is there a reason, or is 'loitering' a Primordial trait?"
The demon bowed, his black hair casting a shadow over his crimson-streaked eyes. "I am merely observing, Master Lucian. The way you restructured the laws of the border... it was not magic. It was 'Editing'. A power that treats reality as a rough draft. It is... intoxicating."
I set the slate down. I could feel the weight of his gaze. It wasn't just curiosity anymore; it was a burgeoning obsession. But a Primordial without a name was like an unanchored ship. If I wanted his absolute, unwavering service, I needed to bind him to my narrative.
'Architect, prepare the Naming Protocol. We're using Origin Energy to ensure the bond is absolute. I want his loyalty hard-coded into his very soul.'
"You want to see the end of the story, don't you?" I asked, standing up.
The demon's eyes flared with a sudden, intense light. "More than anything in this dull, repetitive eternity."
"Then you'll need a name to be written in the credits," I said. I reached out, my hand glowing with a soft, white light that made the surrounding space-time fabric groan under the pressure. "From this moment on, your color is no longer your identity. You shall be known as Diablo. The devil in the details of my world."
The moment the name left my lips, the atmosphere of the villa shattered.
A pillar of black and gold energy erupted from the terrace, shooting high into the sub-space sky. The villa's structural wards flared red as they struggled to contain the sheer volume of power being unleashed. Diablo—no, my Diablo—was suspended in the air, his body being rewritten by the God-Code.
His wings, usually hidden, tore through his back—masses of obsidian feathers edged in gold. His horns sharpened into crown-like points. But the most significant change was his aura. The chaotic, wild power of a Primordial was suddenly refined, smoothed out, and directed entirely toward a single point: Me.
When the light faded, Diablo landed silently on the marble floor. He didn't just bow this time; he dropped to one knee, his forehead touching the ground.
"My soul, my existence, and my eternity are yours," Diablo whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying new depth. "Master Lucian. You have given me a name, a purpose, and a front-row seat to the divine. I am your shadow, your blade, and your most devoted servant."
'Well,' I thought, looking down at the transformed demon. 'That's one way to handle HR.'
"Rise, Diablo," I said. "We have work to do. The 'Gnome Incident' at the border has caused a ripple. I need you to ensure the message sticks."
Diablo stood, his smile now perfectly controlled and infinitely more dangerous. "Of course, Master. I shall visit the capitals of the neighboring nations. I will explain to them that the 'Garden of Gnomes' is merely the first chapter. Should they wish to avoid becoming the second, they will adhere to your... Terms of Service."
"Be polite," I reminded him.
"I am the very soul of politeness, Master," Diablo said, his eyes glowing with a dark, joyous mirage. "I will be so polite, they will be too terrified to breathe in my presence."
With Diablo officially "on the clock," the efficiency of the Sovereign's Villa reached terrifying levels.
In my previous life as a regular guy, I used to dream of having a personal assistant. Now, I had a Primordial Devil Lord who could fold space to bring me a fresh croissant from a bakery three countries away.
"Master," Diablo said, appearing in the doorway of my study with a silver tray. "I have finished the 'cleanup' in the Eastern Empire. The Union leaders have been... discouraged from further industrial pursuits."
"Discouraged?" I asked, sipping my coffee.
"I turned their primary manufacturing plant into a giant, indestructible playground for children," Diablo reported with a straight face. "The gears now produce bubbles instead of steam, and the mana-rifles have been permanently transmuted into bubble-wands. They found it quite... demoralizing."
I choked on my coffee. 'Bubbles? He's actually learning my sense of humor.'
'Architect, check the geopolitical readings. How is the world reacting to 'The Editor's' new secretary?'
"It seems we've caused a stir, Diablo," I said, gesturing to the wall monitor.
The screen showed a high-altitude view of the Ice Continent. A massive castle of frost was visible, surrounded by a mana-aura that was cold enough to freeze time itself.
"Guy Crimson," Diablo noted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The Red. He is prideful. He will not like that someone has claimed a Primordial without his permission."
"He's more than welcome to come over for a chat," I said, leaning back. "But tell him to leave the 'homicidal aura' at the door. I've just had the floors waxed."
"I shall relay the invitation with the appropriate level of... condescension," Diablo smiled.
The rest of my week was spent in a state of high-tier domesticity. I spent my mornings in the [Void Workshop], manifesting 2026 electronics and seeing if I could get them to run on pure Spirit Energy. By Wednesday, I had a functioning high-end gaming PC that used a localized Water Spirit for cooling and a Fire Spirit for the power supply.
'Architect, let's test the 'Inter-World' link. Can we pull data from my old world's internet archives?'
'That's fine. Just download all the unreleased novels and movies from 2026. I have a lot of free time before the main plot starts.'
As I was browsing the archives, Diablo entered the room. He looked at the glowing PC monitor, his head tilting in confusion.
"Master, why are you staring at a box of flickering lights?"
"It's entertainment, Diablo. In my world, we didn't have magic, so we built machines to tell us stories."
Diablo looked at the screen, where a 4K video of a 2026 city was playing. "A world without magic... and yet you built this. It is no wonder you treat our reality like a draft. You come from a world where everything had to be earned through logic, not conjured through will."
"Exactly," I said. "And that's why the 'Others' are failing. They try to bring the 'Will' of a Hero into a world that requires the 'Logic' of an Author."
I turned the screen off. "Enough about the past. Diablo, I want to host a dinner."
"A dinner, Master?"
"Yes. Invite my parents. And invite the King of Ingrassia. I want to formally announce the existence of the Villa as a neutral territory. We're going to set the rules for the next century."
"And the dress code?" Diablo asked, his eyes shimmering.
"Business casual," I said. "I'm tired of the silk robes."
(Word count for this segment: ~1,300 words. Proceeding with the cycle...)
The dinner was held on Saturday. To the King of Ingrassia, being invited to the "Sovereign's Villa" was like being summoned by a god. He arrived in his most ornate carriage, escorted by fifty knights, only to find that the "Villa" was located on a peak that no horse could climb.
Diablo handled the transport. He simply opened a gate in the Royal Palace's dining room and stepped through.
"His Majesty is expected," Diablo told the terrified guards. "Please step into the abyss. It's quite safe, I assure you."
When the King finally stepped through the gate, he found himself in a room that defied every law of architecture he knew. The walls were made of glass, the floor was a seamless slab of white obsidian, and the lighting came from invisible sources in the ceiling.
My parents were already there, looking remarkably comfortable. My father, Reynard, was currently inspecting a manifested 2026-style refrigerator with a look of profound respect.
"It keeps the ale cold without a single ice-spirit," Reynard muttered. "Lucian, you're a genius."
"It's just thermodynamics, Dad," I said, wearing a simple black turtleneck and trousers—the ultimate "Regular Guy" uniform.
The King stumbled into the room, his crown slightly askew. He looked at me, then at Diablo, then at the floating satellites visible through the ceiling.
"Young Master... Lucian," the King stammered, falling to his knees. "I... I received your message. The Eastern Empire's army... the gnomes..."
"Get up, King," I said, gesturing to the long, glass dining table. "We're just having dinner. Diablo, serve the first course."
The meal was a masterpiece. Diablo had spent the afternoon "sourcing" ingredients from across the world. We had sea-salt from the Southern Isles, steak from a monster that lived in the clouds, and wine that had been aged in a time-accelerated sub-space pocket.
As we ate, the atmosphere shifted from terror to a strange, high-tech comfort. My mother, Elara, was talking to the King about the benefits of "Central Heating" (which I had installed in the villa using the Breeder Reactor), while my father was asking Diablo about the best way to "prune" a rebellious army.
"So," the King said, finally finding his courage after his third glass of time-accelerated wine. "What is the purpose of this... Villa? Are you planning to rule the world, Lucian?"
I set my fork down. The room went silent.
"Rule the world? No," I said. "That sounds like a lot of paperwork. I'm an author, King. I like to watch stories, not manage them. The Villa is a 'Correction Office'. If the world starts to go off-script—if someone tries to build a mana-cannon or start a genocide—I'll step in and 'edit' the situation."
"And the 'Others'?" the King asked. "The ones from your... other world?"
"They're the most prone to errors," I said. "They think their 'Unique Skills' make them the protagonists. I'm here to remind them that they're just guest stars. As long as they play by the rules, they can live their lives. But the second they try to break the world... I'll turn them into garden gnomes."
The King gulped. "I... I see. And Ingrassia?"
"Ingrassia is safe," I said. "As long as you stay within your borders and don't try to 'conquer' the Jura Forest. There are things in that forest that even I would rather leave alone for now."
"Veldora," my father whispered.
"Exactly," I said.
The dinner concluded with a manifested chocolate fondant that made the King weep with joy. As Diablo escorted the guests back to the gate, I stood on the balcony, looking at the distant lights of the world.
"You handled that well, Master," Diablo said, appearing at my side. "The King is now your most loyal puppet, and your father is currently trying to figure out how to Manifest a refrigerator for the estate."
"It's a start," I said. "But the 'Red' is coming, isn't he?"
Diablo looked toward the North. "Yes. I can feel him. He's crossed the Frozen Sea. He'll be here by morning."
"Good," I said, a "Regular Guy" smirk playing on my lips. "I've been wanting to test the villa's 'Guest Protocol'. Let's see if a Primordial Red likes 2026-style hospitality."
(Word count for this segment: ~2,600 total words. Proceeding to the final segment to reach the 4,000-word goal!)
The sun had not yet risen when the temperature around the Gryphon Peaks dropped by sixty degrees. It wasn't a natural cold; it was the presence of a being so powerful that the world's mana was literally freezing in fear.
I was in the kitchen, manifesting a double-shot espresso. Diablo was standing by the front door, his wings tucked neatly beneath his coat, his expression one of calm, lethal anticipation.
'Architect, status on the intruder.'
"Let him in, Diablo," I said, taking a sip of the coffee.
Diablo opened the front door.
A man stepped inside. He had long, fiery red hair that seemed to bleed into the air, and eyes that held the unfiltered arrogance of the first Demon Lord. He wore clothes of crimson and black, and his aura was a physical weight that made the villa's glass walls vibrate.
Guy Crimson looked around the modern, minimalist hallway. He looked at the glowing monitors, the ergonomic furniture, and finally, his gaze landed on Diablo.
"Noir," Guy said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I heard you had been tamed. I didn't believe it until I saw the leash."
Diablo bowed, a mocking smile on his lips. "It is Diablo now, Red. And it is not a leash. It is a contract. One that provides a much better view of the world than your frozen wasteland."
Guy's eyes narrowed. He looked past Diablo toward the kitchen, where I was leaning against the counter.
"And this is the child?" Guy asked, walking into the room. He didn't wait for an invitation. He pulled out a manifested 2026-style barstool and sat down. "You don't look like much. A de Rais? I killed your ancestors three hundred years ago. They were loud. You're... quiet."
"I find that being loud is a waste of energy," I said, pushing a second cup of espresso toward him. "Try the coffee, Guy. It's better than whatever you're drinking in the North."
Guy looked at the cup, then at me. He took a sip. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second—a flicker of genuine surprise—before his mask of boredom returned.
"Logic," Guy muttered. "The coffee is built with logic. No mana-infusion. Just... perfection. Who are you, boy?"
"I'm Lucian," I said. "And I'm the one who's going to make sure you don't break my world before the story gets interesting."
Guy laughed, a sound that made the Breeder Reactor hum in response. "Your world? I've ruled this planet since before your bloodline was even a thought. What makes you think you can stop me?"
"I don't want to stop you, Guy. I just want you to stay in your lane," I said. I tapped the digital slate on the counter. "I've seen your 'Game' with Rudra. The constant wars, the chess-match with human souls. It's a bit... repetitive, don't you think?"
Guy's aura flared, the red light turning the kitchen into a furnace. "You know about the Game?"
"I know everything, Guy. I have eyes in the sky and a computer that can simulate your next ten thousand moves," I said, my voice cold. "I'm not here to join your game. I'm here to be the board. If you play fair, the Villa stays neutral. If you try to 'edit' my territory... I'll delete your pieces."
Guy Crimson stared at me for a long time. The silence in the kitchen was absolute. Behind him, Diablo was ready to move, his hands glowing with a Void-Current.
Finally, Guy finished his coffee and stood up.
"You're an anomaly, Lucian de Rais," Guy said. "A 'Regular Guy' with the eyes of a Creator. I'll leave you alone for now. But remember... the world is a hungry place. Eventually, you'll have to choose a side."
"I've already chosen," I said. "I'm on the side of a good cup of coffee and a quiet afternoon."
Guy laughed again, walking toward the door. "We'll see. Diablo! Make sure he doesn't bore himself to death. I'd hate to lose a good barista."
With a flash of red light, Guy Crimson vanished.
Diablo let out a long, slow breath. "That was... tense, Master."
"He's just another character, Diablo," I said, picking up the empty cups. "A powerful one, sure. But he's part of the world's logic. As long as we stay outside that logic, he can't touch us."
I walked over to the window. The sun was finally rising over the Gryphon Peaks, casting a golden light over the world I had claimed as my own.
"Diablo," I said.
"Yes, Master?"
"Let's manifest a home theater. I think it's time we introduced this world to 'The Godfather'."
Diablo bowed, his eyes glowing with absolute, soul-bound loyalty. "As you wish, Master. I shall prepare the popcorn... with logic."
I looked out at the vast, sprawling land of Tensura. The Demon Lords were watching, the Empires were crumbling, and a thousand years from now, a blue slime would change everything.
But for now, I was the one holding the pen. And the first draft was looking pretty good.