Seven Sins System Chapter 773. Aesthetics First, Survival Second

Seven Sins System Chapter 773. Aesthetics First, Survival Second

My father tapped one clawed finger against the desk.

“Azrael,” Diablo said calmly.

I straightened slightly. Instinct. Respect. And… something heavier. Expectation.

“I assume your preparations in the mortal realm are complete?”

I glanced at Luci, then Algan, then back to him.

“They’re… progressing.”

Luci leaned back further in his chair. “Translation. He’s already entangled himself in local emotional affairs.”

I didn’t look at him.

“Your intelligence is irrelevant.”

He smirked wider. “You wound me.”

Algan finally spoke, voice low and rough like stone grinding against steel.

“When do we leave?”

I met his eyes.

“Now.”

He nodded once.

Ivy slipped her arm around mine, leaning into me possessively. “Sounds exciting.”

Luci groaned again. “This mission is going to be unbearable.”

“Did you make the preparations already?” I asked, tone level.

Luci perked up immediately, sitting straighter like someone had just asked him about his favorite subject.

“I already prepared my wine collection,” he said proudly.

I blinked once.

Slowly.

“We don’t need that.”

He gasped like I had personally stabbed him.

“You mentioned dorms,” Luci said, placing a hand over his chest like a betrayed noble in a tragedy play. “Academy dorms. And when I reviewed the pictures you sent…”

He shuddered dramatically.

“What I saw was a cramped room filled with… things. Books. A desk. A chair that looked like it had emotional trauma. I almost thought it was a prison.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Luci—”

“No. Let me finish.” He raised a finger, deadly serious now. “Hell, even royal prisons are bigger than that. Even the Demon Royal Academy dormitories are larger than that. My bathroom is larger than that.”

Ivy snorted quietly beside me.

That was the problem with Pride. Logistics to him meant aesthetics first, survival second. Meanwhile I had spent my war years living in war camps, barracks, tents built from fallen banners and broken shields. Luxury to me was a mattress that didn’t stab me back.

I straightened, staring at him flatly.

“It’s a normal dorm. Standard.”

He winced like the word standard personally insulted his lineage.

“I disagree with your definition of normal,” he said gravely.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I already packed my wine collection,” he repeated stubbornly.

He raised his hand, turning the heavy black and gold ring on his finger so the sigils flared faintly. Inside the gemstone, I could feel the dimensional inventory space humming with sealed luxury bottles, enchanted corks, and probably glasses that cost more than most kingdoms.

“I received permission from your father.”

I slowly turned my head.

And stared.

At Diablo.

It was not a respectful stare. It was the kind of stare that said ‘You sent me to the mortal realm with nothing but your goddamn boxer and nerfed my entire power set, but Pride gets a mobile vineyard’.

Diablo didn’t even flinch.

“I sent you in private,” he said calmly, fingers laced together atop the desk. “The Light Realm could not know about your presence at the time.”

I continued staring.

“They know now,” he continued smoothly. “And they have agreed to cooperation. Therefore… accommodations can be made.”

I felt my jaw twitch.

Behind me, Luci smirked like a peacock who had just been declared legally superior.

Jealousy was a stupid emotion.

Petty.

Pointless.

And I was feeling it anyway.

I dragged a hand down my face.

“You are insufferable,” I muttered toward Luci.

“Correct,” he replied brightly.

I exhaled slowly before turning my attention to the far side of the room.

“Algan.”

He straightened instantly.

“What about you? Are you ready?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” he said without hesitation. “I am ready. I only brought a few infernal potions.”

Relief flickered through me.

Good. Sensible. Minimal. Practical.

Then I looked down.

And noticed the massive military duffel strapped across his back.

I narrowed my eyes.

“…What’s in the bag, Lieutenant?”

“Potions,” he said confidently.

I gestured. “Open it.”

He knelt immediately, placing the heavy bag on the floor. The buckles snapped open with that familiar military precision. The zipper slid back slowly.

Inside…

Weapons.

Infernal weapons.

So many infernal weapons.

A cursed glaive folded into three segments. A pair of chain blades still faintly humming with soul-binding runes. Throwing daggers carved from obsidian bone. A compact hellfire launcher disguised as a potion canister. At least six grenades that looked suspiciously like they screamed when thrown. And somewhere buried at the bottom…

Yes.

There were potions.

Three.

I stared.

I physically felt my eye twitch.

“You said potions.”

“They enhance combat survivability,” he replied seriously.

“You are not bringing weapons.”

He froze.

“No weapon?” he repeated, like I had just told him gravity was optional.

“No weapon.”

“You will be fine with your claws,” I said, gesturing toward his hands, which flexed instinctively, infernal talons glinting under the office lighting.

He hesitated.

For a long moment.

Then he began carefully unpacking the weapons like someone being asked to surrender their emotional support arsenal.

I watched in pained silence as item after item emerged from the bag. Each one more destructive than the last.

Luci leaned over to watch, clearly entertained.

“Oh, that one vaporizes mountain ranges,” Luci commented casually as Algan set down a sleek obsidian spear.

“That one turns souls inside out,” Ivy added helpfully, pointing to the chain blades.

“I am aware,” I muttered.

Algan finally looked up at me, holding a small cursed pistol between two fingers.

“…This one is compact.”

“No.”

He nodded once, resigned, and placed it beside the growing pile of apocalyptic contraband.

I crossed my arms, trying to maintain authority while internally screaming.

“Lieutenant,” I said slowly, “you are attending an academy. As a nurse. My assistant. Not invading one.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Algan stared at me like I had just explained ritual sacrifice in reverse.

“…Understood.”

He reached into the bag again.

Pulled out one last infernal claymore.

I pointed at it.

“No.”

“…It folds,” he offered weakly.

“No.”

He sighed and set it down.

Ivy leaned closer to me, whispering, “He’s weird.”

“He is a Wrath. This is normal.”