CHAPTER 25: CHAPTER NO.25 GRAYFIA IS GOING TO HELL? LITERALLY!

[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]

Sigh~

Sighing, I went to the kitchen. Since I woke up earlier than dissatisfied—

Cough! Cough!

I mean, satisfied Grayfia, I should take responsibility and cook something for her.

It was the least I could do. After all, the woman had practically turned my bedroom into an arena of annihilation disguised as a honeymoon suite for the last week. Grayfia Lucifuge did not "love" in moderation. She conquered. She consumed. She demanded.

Because, you see... I lied.

She squeezed me dry... but she wasn’t satisfied cuz I only lasted five rounds.

Unbelievable.Unforgivable.Un— wait a second.

I rubbed the corner of my temple as I cracked the eggs into the pan, watching them sizzle like miniature suns. Five rounds. Three. In human standards, that’s legendary. In demon standards? Apparently, that’s foreplay.

The yolk popped, and I watched it spread across the pan like molten gold.

Sigh~

"You’d think surviving 1,022 years sealed in a coffin would prepare me for endurance training," I muttered, flicking the spatula with far more force than necessary. The egg flipped, sizzling on the other side. "But nope. Out of all the hells I’ve seen, Grayfia in bed is the worst one. Correction—the best one. No. Wait. The scariest one."

I paused, glaring at the pan like it owed me an apology.

"Five rounds. Five. And she looked at me like I was some rookie who failed his fitness exam."

My eyebrow twitched.

"Woman, please. Do you have any idea how many mortals would build a religion around five rounds? Hell, they’d build empires."

Of course, Grayfia would never be satisfied with anything less than absolute destruction. She wasn’t called the Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation because she liked moderation. She liked obliteration—in everything.

Including me.

I plated the eggs, added some toast, and tried not to think about how my own maid had managed to weaponise affection.

That was when the kitchen door creaked.

Bare feet padded against marble. The air dropped a few degrees—not because of the refrigerator, but because she had arrived.

"...Darling."

Her voice was groggy, husky with sleep, but somehow still sharp enough to slice through steel.

I turned.

And there she was.

Grayfia Lucifuge. My maid. My guardian. My tormentor. My... problem.

Her silver hair was a tangled halo, spilling over her shoulders. A single strap of silk slipped from her nightgown, revealing pale skin still marked faintly from my hands. Her eyes—normally glacial blue—were half-lidded, soft, almost... human.

And yet, I knew. Beneath that sleepy facade was the same woman who could freeze an army mid-charge.

She sniffed the air once, then her lips curved.

"You cooked."

"Don’t sound so surprised," I deadpanned. "I wasn’t completely useless before you turned me into your chew toy."

Her eyes narrowed, amused. She glided closer, the faint frost trailing at her feet melting against the warmth of the kitchen.

Her fingers brushed the plate I’d set down, then my wrist.

"Five rounds," she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. "Unacceptable."

My spatula nearly snapped in half.

"...Eat your breakfast before I reconsider poisoning it."

She laughed... she is laughing... and she will continue to.

It was humiliating how beautiful it was.

"Unacceptable, hm?" she teased again, sliding into the chair across from me, like some goddess descending to accept offerings. "Darling, if you cannot endure my affection, what will you do when Hell itself demands your soul again?"

I set the spatula down with a clink. "Simple. I’ll tell Hell to get in line. You already drain me enough."

Her fork paused above the eggs. She tilted her head, silver hair spilling like a waterfall, and that smile... that smile could dismantle kingdoms. "So, you admit you are already mine."

I froze. Trapped. Outmanoeuvred in my own kitchen.

"...I admit that breakfast is getting cold," I said quickly, shoving toast into her mouth before she could spin more verbal traps.

Grayfia chewed slowly, eyes never leaving me. It wasn’t eating. It was a conquest disguised as breakfast. Every bite was some silent oath, every swallow a claim over me.

And then—she set her fork down.

"Master."

The way she said my name made the hair on my neck rise. It wasn’t teasing now. It wasn’t playful. It was sharp. Precise. Like a dagger sliding free of its sheath.

"Yes?"

"I must return to Hell."

I stared at her, toast halfway to my mouth, not sure if I’d misheard or if the world had finally decided to throw another curveball at me.

"...You what?"

Grayfia didn’t flinch. Her fork hovered above the eggs, still as her icy gaze locked onto mine. "I said—I must return to Hell."

I set the toast down slowly, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "See, when normal couples talk about honeymoons, they don’t usually follow up with, ’By the way, I’m going to Hell.’"

"Normal couples," she repeated softly, a dangerous lilt curling at the edge of her lips, "do not include you and I."

Touché.

I leaned against the counter, arms folded. "Alright. I’ll bite. Why?"

Her gaze held mine—somewhat reluctant, somewhat needy, and full-blown lust. "I have informants. Spies. They spread all over hell realm, almost in every Satans court... well, maybe except greed."

Her eyes didn’t waver, didn’t blink, didn’t soften. Grayfia Lucifuge didn’t say words she didn’t mean.

"...Informants?" I echoed, trying to keep my tone neutral.

She nodded, as if discussing the weather. "For a thousand years, I cultivated them in silence. Even while you slept, even when the world believed you forsaken, I kept my ears in the dark halls. Spies embedded in each of Satan’s courts. Every whisper of war, every secret pact, every betrayal—I gathered them all. They think me a maid. A loyal blade. A servant. But my true service was always to you."

I didn’t know whether to laugh, sigh, or kneel. "...And now you’re saying something’s stirred in Hell."

"Yes," she said simply, picking up her fork again, cutting into her egg with surgical precision. "Something that makes even my network... hesitate. Silence is spreading, Master. Not natural silence. Choked silence. Messages cut off mid-report. Informants disappearing without a trace."

Her voice dropped, cold and certain. "Only one place dares swallow my eyes and ears without fear of reprisal."

"...The Satans’ inner ring," I finished for her.

Grayfia’s lips curved faintly. Pleased. Always pleased when I kept up with her chessboard.

I exhaled slowly. "And you want to go back there. Into the den of the bastards who locked me away. Alone."

Her gaze sharpened. "I am not fragile."

"I didn’t say you were," I countered. "I said alone. There’s a difference between invincible and reckless."

She tilted her head, that small, dangerous smile dancing across her lips again. "Would you deny me, Master? Would you deny your maid her right to tear out the tongues of those who mock your name in your absence?"

Gods. There it was again. That yandere devotion, wrapped in silk and steel. The kind of loyalty that wasn’t born from duty—it was obsession, weaponised.

And yet... she wasn’t wrong.

If spies were being erased, it wasn’t random. It was deliberate. Coordinated. A move against her... or against me.

Which meant—whether I liked it or not—we couldn’t just ignore it.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Of course, you’d want to go to Hell. Couldn’t settle for a honeymoon in Paris or Rome, could you?"

Grayfia’s smile widened just a fraction. "Hell is my Rome."

"And what about me?"

Her fork paused mid-cut. Blue eyes lifted, cold fire locked on me, like I had just asked the most absurd question in existence.

"You," she said, with the same certainty she used to speak death sentences, "are everything. You are my axis. My reason. My Master. My Lucifer. What about you? You are why I breathe."

Her hand reached across the table, icy fingers brushing the back of my hand, soft enough to make my skin prickle. "I would never abandon you. But you cannot go—not yet. Not where the Satans watch. Not when the scent of your return still lingers in the air."

I narrowed my eyes. "So, I sit here, twiddle my thumbs, and wait while you stroll back into the pit that chained me for a thousand years? Grayfia, do you realise how—"

Her grip tightened, sharp enough to bite bone. Her smile was gone now. What sat across from me wasn’t the sleepy woman I woke up next to, or the teasing predator who mocked my five rounds. This was the Silver-Haired Queen. The blade.

"I do not stroll," she said coldly. "I do not wait. I carve. I rend. I destroy. They called me maid, servant, concubine of power. They forgot what I am. And if I must walk into Hell to remind them that I am yours, then I will do so with blood on my heels."

Silence stretched between us.

My jaw clenched. Every part of me screamed to tell her no. To chain her down. To forbid her. But what right did I have? She wasn’t some fragile flower. She was a storm that had clawed her way through centuries without me. And—she was also right.

The Satans couldn’t know. Not yet. Not until I was ready to tear them apart with my own hands.

Still...

"You’re asking me to stay behind like some clueless husband while his wife ’goes shopping.’ Except your ’shopping trip’ is a goddamn suicide mission."

Her lips curved faintly again. "Then worry for me. Stay restless. Rage in silence. But let me do this, Master. Because the only thing more dangerous than me going to Hell... is you going before your time."

I stared at her, searching for cracks, hesitation, anything I could use to pin her down. Nothing. Just that frightening devotion, burning in her eyes like an eternal vow.

"...Tch." I exhaled harshly, leaning back. "You really are a demon."

"I am your

demon," she corrected smoothly, reclaiming her fork, cutting another piece of egg with delicate precision. "And I will return to you. Always."

She pressed. "And I’m not going to fight satans, I’m going as a distraction. Keep their attention on me, and I will attack a few cities near theirs. Nothing head-on, if they catch up, I will just retreat. It’s not like they could keep me there if I want to leave."

ChatGPT said:

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly, letting my mind run through the implications. Grayfia wasn’t bluffing. Not even close. Every word she spoke carried the weight of centuries, of battles fought in silence, of blood spilled for my name while I slept in stasis. She wasn’t just loyal—she was a force of nature, and she expected me to accept it.

"...And you expect me to just let you go?" I asked, voice low, more a warning than a question.

She lifted her gaze, meeting mine with absolute certainty. "I am not asking. I am telling. And you will prepare."

I blinked. "Prepare... for what?"

"For Hell to remember that Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar is not lost," she said simply, cutting through her eggs with ruthless efficiency. "I will remind them. I will draw their attention. I will unmake those who dare whisper your name in my absence. But I will survive. And I will return. Stronger, closer, ready to reclaim what belongs to you... to us."

Her eyes flicked toward mine for the briefest moment—soft, almost tender. And then they hardened again. The sharp, glacial steel of the Silver-Haired Queen was back. There was no compromise in her tone. No pleading. No hesitation. Only certainty.

"...And if something happens? If they—" I began, but the words died on my tongue.

Grayfia leaned forward, her hand settling over mine. The warmth of her touch was deceptively subtle; it was not comforting, it was claiming. Possessing. Absolute. "Nothing will happen to me that I do not allow. Everything I do is for you. For us. You stay here, regain your strength, and focus your Haki. When I return... You will not recognise the limits you thought you had. And neither will Hell."

I felt a shiver run down my spine—not fear, not awe, but the same reckless excitement that always surged whenever Grayfia acted. She was going to Hell. Literally. And she was doing it for me.

I closed my eyes for a moment, drawing a slow breath. "Fine. Go then. But—" I paused, letting my words sharpen like a blade. "...If you so much as scratch a single wall of Hell without first telling me, I swear—"

"I will not need your swearing," she interrupted smoothly, her gaze unwavering. "I already know the truth of your power, Dominic. And I already know my own. Trust that neither will be squandered."

I opened my eyes and studied her again. Every movement, every subtle curl of her lips, every shift in posture screamed readiness. She was calm, precise, lethal—but beneath it all, she was still my Grayfia. The one who had waited, bled, and fought silently while I slept for over a millennium. The one who had claimed me long before anyone else even dared to glance in my direction.

I exhaled again, this time more slowly. "Alright... go then. Just... bring back more than just your body. Bring back your head attached to it, intact and preferably without annihilating the entire underworld on the way."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile flickered across her lips. "As you command, Master."

She pushed back her chair, standing with effortless grace. The kitchen seemed colder in her wake, the faint frost lingering in the air as though the manor itself recognised her presence. Then, without another word, Grayfia Lucifuge—my Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation—turned and walked toward the door.

I didn’t follow. I didn’t need to. She didn’t need an escort. She never did.

Instead, I stayed in the kitchen, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. The eggs I’d cooked for her were long forgotten, forgotten like so many other trivialities in my life. My mind raced instead, calculating, analysing.

And then it clicked—for why I was completing daily quests and training like crazy.

I willed to take it out of the system inventory.

[Item: Dungeon Key]

[Level of Difficulty: E]

[Type: Key]

[Description: This key enables you to enter an instant dungeon. It can be used at the Basement No.5, Morningstar Manor.]

"Holy grind is so on."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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