They didn't go anywhere far.

Just the two of them—Akira and Kiba Yuuto—stood atop the rooftop of Kuoh Academy, where the wind carried a faint chill, even in daylight.

Akira stood near the edge, gazing out across the school grounds with his usual sharp, composed eyes. The world below looked peaceful, quiet. But he knew that peace was fragile—always one heartbeat away from crumbling.

Behind him, Kiba remained silent.

"…You're one of the few survivors of the Church's Holy Sword Project, aren't you?"

"…Yeah."

There was no surprise in Kiba's voice. He didn't ask how Akira knew. If someone like Akira had taken the trouble to come looking for him personally, then knowing his past wasn't all that strange.

"I don't know what exactly happened last night… but seeing the way you've changed overnight, I'm guessing it stirred up the hatred you've been suppressing all this time."

"…You're not wrong."

Kiba's answer was low. Tightly controlled.

"Because of that project, your past turned into a nightmare. And now you carry that hatred for Holy Swords deep in your soul… but honestly?"

Akira turned to look at him, calm as ever.

"I think that hatred's kind of… foolish."

"…What did you say?"

Kiba's eyes widened.

Those words—it wasn't just what Akira said, but the tone. Cold. Dismissive. Almost like mocking.

It felt like a slap in the face.

For Kiba, that hatred was more than just emotion—it was the foundation of his resolve. The source of his vengeance. Something sacred, in its own twisted way.

"You do know what happened to me, don't you?" Kiba's voice grew sharper. "That project… it was hell. They turned us into test subjects. Children."

"I know," Akira replied flatly. "The Holy Sword Project was originally created to select and refine candidates compatible with wielding Holy Swords. But because of the greed and ambition of a few people… it turned into a massacre."

Akira's eyes met his.

"So yes—it's tragic. I understand why you'd hate it. But what I don't get is why you direct that hatred… at the swords themselves."

"…They're the reason it all happened. It's because of those swords—!"

"No," Akira cut him off calmly. "It's because of the people who abused them. You're blaming a weapon… instead of the ones who wielded it. That's what makes it foolish."

Kiba's breath hitched.

It wasn't that he didn't understand.

It was that… he didn't want to understand.

Because once he did, he'd have to confront things he'd buried long ago.

"…I…"

"Tell me, Kiba. If you hate Holy Swords so much you want to destroy them… then why not aim your hatred at the ones who created the project? The ones who turned you into a lab rat? Why blame the swords, not the people?"

"…Whether it's the creators or the swords… I won't forgive either of them."

His voice was quiet—but absolute.

That wasn't just talk. It was a conviction forged through suffering.

Kiba had survived hell. He had escaped, barely alive, from that twisted experiment. And by pure chance—or perhaps fate—he was found by Rias Gremory.

She gave him a second chance at life. Reincarnated him as a Devil. Made him her [Knight].

But back then, he was just a child.

He didn't have the power to get revenge.

He didn't even know who to blame.

So he did the only thing he could—he hated. He hated the symbol of everything he lost: the Holy Swords.

"They say three Holy Swords were recently stolen from the Vatican," Akira said suddenly.

Kiba looked up. "Stolen…?"

"Yeah. The thief was one of the top brass of the Grigori. A 'Watcher of the Children of God.'"

"…The Fallen Angels… stole Holy Swords?"

"If my guess is right, the Excommunicated Priest you fought last night—he was wielding one of them."

Kiba's eyes darkened.

"…That makes sense."

That sword—that cursed, blinding light—had pulled something dark from his heart. Memories. Pain. Rage.

"Also, two Holy Sword wielders from the Church have arrived in Kuoh City."

"…More sword users?"

Akira gave a half-smile. "So then, take a guess—who did the sword you saw last night originally belong to?"

Kiba's expression stiffened.

"…Wait… you mean…"

"Yeah. It wasn't his."

Akira turned back toward the edge of the rooftop, arms crossed casually.

"One of the top cadres of the Fallen Angels is in this city. His name is Kokabiel. In the scriptures, he's known as a former Archangel—one obsessed with war and domination."

Kiba's eyes narrowed. "And what does that have to do with me?"

He sounded detached, almost cold. Whatever this Kokabiel guy wanted—it wasn't Kiba's concern. Not compared to his own vendetta.

But Akira didn't flinch.

"Kokabiel didn't come alone. There's someone with him. Someone you probably know. Valper Galilei."

"——!"

Kiba froze.

The color drained from his face, only to return moments later—burning red with rage.

The ground trembled slightly. Several demonic swords erupted from the floor around him, humming with unstable energy.

The killing intent he gave off was suffocating.

If Valper Galilei had stood before him right now—he'd already be dead.

"That name… It's not one I could ever forget," Kiba growled.

"Valper Galilei," Akira confirmed. "The architect behind the Holy Sword Project. The man who turned children into corpses."

"Where is he?! I'll kill him—right now!!"

Kiba's voice exploded with fury, and the magical energy around him surged violently.

Akira narrowed his eyes.

The air trembled. Kiba's demonic power was spinning out of control. If left unchecked, he would lose himself—and become a full-blown Stray Devil.

"Calm down!" Akira commanded.

And then, pressure—a wave of raw, suffocating force crashed down from Akira's body.

It was the aura of a Devil King-class being. The kind of presence that could crush most devils with sheer will alone.

Kiba collapsed to one knee, gasping.

The swords shattered around him.

To someone like Akira, suppressing a Low-Class Devil was no harder than snapping a twig.

"If you want revenge, I'll give you the chance," Akira said, voice low and unyielding. "But if you let yourself be consumed by rage—if you lose control and fall into darkness—I'll end you myself. In Rias Gremory's name."

His words weren't a threat.

They were a promise.

Kiba's aura slowly stabilized. His breaths came slower. His heartbeat calmed.

No matter how much hatred he held, he couldn't get revenge if he lost his mind.

"…Where is he?"

"He's already in Kuoh City. The Excommunicated Priest you fought—he was just a pawn. One of Valper's subordinates."

"…Anderson," Kiba muttered, his voice laced with loathing.

The man who'd reopened old wounds.

"One more thing," Akira added. "Kokabiel didn't just come for sightseeing. With stolen Holy Swords, two Church warriors, Valper Galilei, and Fallen Angel support… they're planning something big."

Kiba said nothing.

He knew it too.

The calm before the storm was over. A battle was coming.

So Akira turned to him one last time.

"Don't rush. The time will come. When it does—you'll get your revenge. But until then, the most important thing is you. Keep control of yourself. Don't let your hatred rule you."

"…It won't," Kiba said, steadying his breath. "I swear. I won't fall."

"I believe you," Akira said with a small nod. "But until I say otherwise… you're not allowed to leave Kuoh Academy."

"…But—"

"Hm?"

"…Fine."

Like it or not, he understood the truth.

Right now, the best thing he could do… was wait.

A sword is only useful if the hand that wields it is steady.

And Kiba Yuuto was sharpening his edge for the war to come.

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