The clubroom was unusually silent.
Not serene. Not peaceful. Just silent—the kind that crawled over your skin like a static charge before a storm.
Reignar Ignidrath sat on the club's cushioned sofa as he owned it. No—like he owned the room, the building, the school, and maybe the world itself, and everyone should feel honored before his presence. One leg crossed over the other, posture casual to the point of mockery, a Cup of tea in his gloved hand that was brewed and offered by Amane.
He tilted it slightly, swirling the liquid like it held answers worth sipping.
"Well," he drawled, his voice warm and arrogant like a velvet flame. I must admit the tea made by my wife's bishop has quite a healing taste, and Aurora is simply the best if I have to say anything.
Amana replied, "Thank you for Your Kind Words, sir Ignidrath." You don't have to be so shy and distant in the future. I will be tasting much more often.
Amanes is a little Awkward after hearing his words
Then he says, "So this little clubroom of yours is headquartered in the human world. I presume I have to say it's a bit underwhelming for a noble-blooded Devil like Ourselves."
Eiji leaned against the wall near the window, arms crossed, watching him with a narrowed eye. He thought, "If you're here to measure furniture and women simultaneously, just leave already."
Reignar smiled at Ayaka and said. "Ah, are you not the infamous Lightning Sword of Falcor? I imagined you to be just as beautiful as the rumors say… but seeing you up close, I realize the rumors were far too modest."
Ayaka blinked. "you praise me too much, lord Ignidrath."
"Ayaka," Seraphina warned softly, her voice tight like she was Telling him not to talk with him.
They were all seated around the club table. Seraphina on one end, Lunethia quietly observing behind her. Ayaka's eyes never left Reignar, though her glare was doing everything short of throwing actual daggers. Amane, fidgeting with her sleeves, sat beside Eiji. Tension thickened the air like smoke.
Their conversation continued. Reignar said, "Why are you cold and distant towards me? It's my first time visiting you in the human world." Mid-conversation, Reignar's hand moved under the table elegantly and confidently. His fingertips brushed Seraphina's leg like it was his birthright.
Snap.
Her hand slapped his away with a sharp crack, loud enough to jolt even the ceiling lights.
Seraphina didn't raise her voice. She didn't even blink.
"We're not even engaged," she said, her tone frosty and poised. "Let alone married. Try to conduct yourself with at least some dignity—like a true noble devil should, reignar Ignidrath."
Reignar leaned back slowly, unfazed, rubbing the back of his hand with a smirk. "How charmingly spirited. The Falcor flame hasn't dulled." His eyes flicked to the side. "Flaria."
A soft giggle chimed across the room as one of his peerage members—a woman who looked like sin draped in silk—stepped forward. Flaria's long crimson hair shimmered like it was dancing with firelight. She didn't walk; she glided.
Without hesitation, she sat on Reignar's lap, looping an arm around his neck. He kissed her—slowly, sincerely, deliberately—like he wanted every second of it burned into Seraphina's vision.
And maybe it was.
She didn't flinch. They didn't look away. Her posture stayed regal, spine straight—but her fingers tightened around the teacup, so much that the porcelain gave a soft creak.
Reignar leaned back with a satisfied hum, licking his lips like a wolf circling a flame.
"A man must sample the fire," he murmured, voice oozing arrogance, "before deciding which one burns just right."
Ayaka's fists clenched under the table, trembling.
Miya turned slightly and whispered, "…That's disgusting."
Riku, as always, said nothing—his eyes unreadable.
On the other hand, Eiji muttered under his breath, "This bastard's got a death wish…"
Seraphina didn't speak. They didn't glare. She set her teacup down—slow, deliberate, the quiet clink echoing louder than a shout.
Then, she rose.
Not in a fury. Not in drama. Just with quiet, poised certainty. Every step she took felt heavier than the last, like the air held its breath.
The room went still—not from fear.
But from anticipation.
Because anyone with sense could feel it.
The Falcor flame wasn't gone.
It was just waiting to ignite.
The tension didn't die down after Flaria left Reignar's lap. If anything, it thickened like smoke pressing against stained glass—cracking the illusion of civility.
Lunethia stepped forward, her silver boots tapping softly across the wooden floor. Her presence was quiet but authoritative, like a noble specter.
"Lord Reignar," she began, tone dipped in ice, "you've already crossed the threshold of decorum once. I advise against testing the patience of those present a second time."
Reignar chuckled, tossing a lazy glance her way. "Ah, Lady Lucille. Still so formal." He twirled the last of his wine, amber rippling inside the glass. "Tell me, what's nobility without a little passion to liven the halls of tradition?"
Lunethia didn't move. "Tradition is what binds devils like you and me to civility. You're not noble without it—just wild flame waiting to be extinguished."
That earned a low whistle from Ayaka.
Reignar ignored her. He set the glass down, dusted an invisible speck from his collar, and turned toward Seraphina. "I suppose I should get to the point, then."
He stood casual yet commanding, his voice smooth as molten gold.
"Our houses—Falcor and Ignidrath—once stood at the peak of devil nobility. United by blood and cause during the Great Chaos War. My Father, Falma Ignidrath, the Flamekeeper, saved your father from the brink of extinction. In return," he tilted his head, "An alliance was forged. A betrothal between the future heirs."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed.
"That was just a Verbal promise between the Elders, and Our Engagement isn't official Yet.
Reignar answers, "You know, it's not just for gratitude—but for the revival of our kind. Pureblood devil clans are dying out. You know this as well as I do."
Seraphina's lips parted slightly, but she remained silent.
"I'm merely honoring what was already set in motion long before we were born," Reignar added. "Even your brother—Sir Zephyrion—approved of the arrangement."
A faint tremble touched the edge of Seraphina's teacup as she slowly set it down again. Her voice dropped just above a whisper.
"That doesn't make it convincing."
Everyone stilled.
She stood, fingers gripping the table's edge, not trembling—but grounding herself. Her violet eyes burned not with rage but with something more dangerous: quiet conviction.
"I'll say this once," Seraphina said, her voice clear and unwavering. "And only once."
"I will only marry the one I choose—the one I deem fit to stand by me. Not someone handed to me by some promises and family debts."
Reignar's expression shifted for just a second—curiosity? Amusement? Something darker?
He stepped closer, not quite invading her space, but enough to make Ayaka tense and Eiji straighten.
"It's not about what you think," he said calmly. "Nor your emotions, whims, or rebellion."
"It's about what's owed."
He gestured between them with a slow, open palm. "You're the heir to Falcor. I'm the heir to Ignidrath. We are superior devils, born to restore our kind."
"A union between us isn't a preference. It's inevitable."
Seraphina didn't blink.
"Then prepare to be disappointed," she whispered. "Because I don't plan to be anyone's debt."
The silence that followed Seraphina's declaration wasn't just still—it was charged. Like the room itself was holding its breath.
Reignar's smirk lingered, but there was a faint crack. It's just a hairline fracture. And Eiji, arms still crossed near the back wall, saw it.
He stepped forward.
"One correction," he said, voice calm but cutting. "She doesn't owe you anything. Especially not her hand."
The statement landed like a slap.
Everyone looked at him. Even Flaria turned her head, her crimson hair swaying like living fire.
Reignar blinked slowly. Then stood.
Flames crackled across his shoulder like a cloak unrolling, heat rippling the air around him. "Ah, the pawn dares to speak again?" he said with feigned amusement, tilting his head. "How amusing."
"Call me what you want," Eiji said, unfazed. "But pawns can still knock kings off the board. Especially arrogant ones."
That did it.
Flaria took a graceful step forward, the heels of her obsidian boots clicking against the tile. Her smile was slow, sensual, and razor-edged. "My lord," she purred, eyes never leaving Eiji. He is not worth your effort. Shall I make this lowly thing understand his place?"
Reignar raised an eyebrow. "Flaria…"
She pressed a hand to her heart and gave a slight bow. "As your Queen, it would be my honor."
Eiji rolled his shoulders, sighing. "Great. We're doing the classic 'a Bitch w wants to kill me for talking back to her master'. This Never gets old."
Seraphina stood abruptly. "That's enough. This has gone far beyond reason. I will not allow our clubroom to become a battlefield for your personel ego. My servant may lack polish—but you, at the very least, should know how to carry your demeanor as a nobility."
"Why not?" Reignar cut in, smiling now with a predator's ease. "Let the chess pieces clash. This way, our servants would have a chance to bond with each other. Don't you agree, Seraphina?"
"I do not," she said, cold.
"Ah, but I already gave permission," he said. "Surely the Falcor heir won't show cowardice before a match?"
"Tell me, Seraphina—are your titles the only things that still carry weight?"
"Or is this your idea of charity—dragging the helpless around like accessories to your pride?"
"Insult them again, Reignar, and I'll remind you why titles mean nothing when you're kneeling. They may not shine as brightly as your polished puppets… but stars don't need applause to burn.
Reignar is Amused to see her retaliate.
Lunethia moved subtly in front of Seraphina as if instinctively shielding her. Ayaka had already risen, hands on her hips, lips pressed in a hard line.
Seraphina turned to Eiji, eyes wide—not with anger, but with quiet urgency.
"You don't have to do this," she said softly, her voice laced with worry rather than protest.
Eiji gave a soft exhale. "I do."
He looked at Seraphina—not for approval or guidance—just a glance.
And she, after a long second, gave the faintest shake of her head.
"Don't let her provoke you," she said softly.
"I'm not doing this because of her," Eiji said, his voice steady. "I'm doing it because someone in this room thinks people are possessions, like loyalty can be bought, and respect is demanded."
He glanced around, eyes sharp.
"He insulted my friends. You insulted me. And someone needs to remind him… we are not his possessions to belittle."
Flaria licked her lips.
"Oh, I like him," she murmured, summoning a long, fiery chain from the air that coiled like a serpent around her arm. "Let's see how long your mouth survives in a real fight."
Eiji cracked his neck.
"Well," we see after we fight.
The garden behind the clubroom wasn't meant for battle.
Sunlight filtered gently through ivy-covered trellises. Blossoms swayed in the wind, and a fountain burbled peacefully in the center.
But that peace didn't last.
Flaria stood at one end, poised like a dancer on stage. Her long crimson hair fluttered behind her like a cape of fire. Her eyes shimmered with challenge, lips curled in a smirk that promised nothing short of dominance.
Eiji stood opposite her—coat half-unbuttoned, fists clenched—no formal stance. No flourish. Just him, stubborn and glaring.
"This duel," Lunethia announced, standing at the edge as the neutral observer, "is non-lethal. No dismemberment. No irreversible injuries. Stop the moment a combatant is unable to continue."
"Aw," Flaria cooed, drawing a fiery chain from the air again, its links glowing like molten steel. "Where's the fun in that?"
Lunethia nodded once. "Begin."
The world exploded in heat.
Flaria vanished from sight—then reappeared behind him, her chain slashing down in a wide arc. Eiji barely ducked in time, rolling to the side as the pavement he'd stood melted from the impact.
She's fast—
A follow-up whip cracked across his back before he could recover, flames singing through his shirt. He stumbled, then raised a weak barrier spell as another wave of fire surged toward him.
The flames hit and scattered like a wall of hot knives. He skidded back, boots grinding against the dirt, hands trembling.
Flaria didn't rush. She advanced like a queen, moving across a battlefield she already owned. Every movement was choreographed—graceful, deadly.
Eiji tried casting a binding spell, his magic circle flickering to life—
She snapped her fingers. A flame dagger burst through his shield, slicing the circle in half mid-cast.
"You're adorable," she said sweetly, "thinking that'll work on me."
Then came the combo.
A chain to the ribs. A sweep that knocked his legs out. A fire-enhanced palm to his gut that sent him flying.
He crashed into the garden wall, the stone cracking behind him.
He didn't get up.
"Pathetic," Flaria said, walking toward him slowly. "You talk big but don't belong on a stage like this. You're not even a knight."
She raised her chain again—
"Enough!"
A blur of violet and silver interposed itself between them.
Seraphina.
She knelt beside Eiji, one hand on his shoulder, the other raised to block.
Flaria paused, blinking. "…Lady Seraphina?"
Seraphina didn't look at her. Her gaze was on Eiji—bruised, blood on his lip, teeth gritted as he tried to sit up.
"You idiot," she whispered. "Why do you always throw yourself into flames that weren't meant for you?"
Eiji smirked weakly. "Because someone's gotta remind them… even pawns can bleed."
She held him tighter. Her voice is low but clear.
Eiji collapsed.
His breath came in ragged bursts as he tried to lift himself, only for his arms to tremble and give out. The fire in his muscles had nothing to do with magic—just raw, bone-deep pain.
The garden was silent.
Even the wind held its breath.
And then… footsteps.
He looked up, barely, as a pair of polished black boots stepped in front of him. The scent of lavender and moonsteel filled his lungs. Familiar. Calming. Fierce.
Seraphina.
She stood tall, the hem of her uniform rippling around her legs as she placed herself between him and Flaria. The air around her shimmered faintly with magic she hadn't yet released.
Lunethia's eyes widened, Ayaka straightened, and Amane's hand flew to her mouth.
Seraphina didn't look at them. She didn't look at Flaria.
Her eyes locked on Reignar.
Not with restraint. Not with etiquette.
With fury.
"I hereby invoke an Arcane Game," she said, voice ringing like a bell in a cathedral gone cold. "You, Reignar Ignidrath, will face my wrath—not only for disrespecting my servents… but for daring to injure them."
Gasps echoed across the garden. Even the flowers seemed to recoil.
Reignar blinked once. Then chuckled.
"An Arcane Game?" he repeated, his tone a touch too amused. "My dear Seraphina… is this a declaration of love or war? Because they're starting to blur."
She didn't answer.
Reignar raised an eyebrow, voice dropping with mock gravity. "You would stake your honor against me over a servant?"
She stepped forward.
"He is my servant," she said. "And I will not stand idly by while you trample on loyalty, kindness, or my dignity."
Her gaze didn't waver. "You want a queen who bows? Find one in your harem of chained flames. I am not a prize. And I am not afraid of you."
The flame devil tilted his head, grin growing wider. "A game for your hand? How poetic. You do realize what you're saying, don't you?"
He swept his hand to the side theatrically. "Do your cute little puppies even have the strength to stand against me?"
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "We won't know until we try."
Silence again.
But this time, it boiled.
Reignar let out a soft laugh. "I like this version of you, Seraphina. Fiery. Proud. Almost worthy of the name Falcor."
He stepped forward, just once, and leaned slightly toward her. "Very well. I accept your challenge."
Lunethia immediately raised a hand. "By the mutual consent of both parties, this challenge is now recognized under the authority of the Underworld Elder Council. The date, location, and terms shall be determined later."
Seraphina didn't take her eyes off Reignar.
"I'll be waiting," she said.
He gave a half-bow. "So will I."
And as the flames in his eyes flickered… so did something deeper.
Because for the first time—
The Falcor flame challenged the Ignidrath inferno.
And the war had just begun.
Once echoing with fire and declarations, the garden had grown quiet again. But it wasn't peaceful—just heavy.
Lunethia stood at the edge of the dueling ground, her silver gaze fixed on Seraphina. She hadn't moved since the challenge was issued. The wind tugged at her frosted hair, but she remained a statue carved of steel and worry.
Finally, she stepped forward.
Her voice was low, calm—too calm. "My lady… I have always respected your decisions. Never once questioned them in public."
Seraphina didn't turn.
Lunethia continued. "But this time, you were… impulsive. Reckless. As far as I am concerned…" Her eyes softened ever so slightly. "I don't believe you can defeat Lord Reignar."
A long pause.
The kind that clings to silence like a wound refusing to clot.
Seraphina's voice came at last—quiet, almost fragile. "I know."
Lunethia blinked.
"But I have to try," Seraphina added, this time stronger. "For my servant's honor… and myself as well."
Lunethia looked at her for a long moment. Then bowed, not as a maid—but as an equal. "Then I wish you good luck."
A few steps away, Amane knelt beside Eiji, dabbing a damp cloth against his cheek with slow, trembling hands. His breaths were shallow but steady. The bruises along his side darkened like storm clouds blooming under his skin.
She bit her lip. "You always do this… rushing in without thinking…"
But even as she scolded him under her breath, she didn't stop. She brushed the hair from his forehead, a rare tenderness in her touch, even for her.
Inside the clubroom, the air was cooler.
Seraphina stood alone near the tall window, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the slowly sinking sun. The light bathed her in soft gold but couldn't warm her.
She whispered to her reflection in the glass, not for anyone to hear—just herself.
"I won't be a doll."
No more strings. No more silent compliance.
She closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her chest as if steadying something unruly inside.
Outside, near the academy's gates, Reignar strolled away with his peerage in tow—Flaria close behind, still smirking.
He didn't look back.
But his voice carried on the wind, smooth as ever.
"The flames of this engagement will be glorious," he declared with a low chuckle. "Prepare your heart, Seraphina Falcor."
And with that, the Ignidrath fire vanished into the dusk—
Leaving behind scorched pride, quiet courage, and the lingering scent of war.
End of The Chapter