Chapter 11 : Devil Moon Prison — Tsukiyo Kekkai? (Magic+Chakra)

The next morning came with a quiet mist over the Babyls manor grounds. Opera handed Iruma a black leather bag lined with spell-resistant threads—simple, yet reliable.

"Your sword," Opera said plainly.

"Thank you." Iruma nodded, gripping the strap.

A horse-drawn carriage waited at the gate. Opera gestured toward it. "You'll arrive faster if—"

"I'll run." Iruma cut him off with a faint smile. "I want to warm up."

Opera paused, then asked with unsettling calmness, "Iruma-sama… do you want to return to the Human World?"

Iruma's steps faltered.

Do I...?

He thought of home—no, the place he used to call home. Cold meals, constant fear, betrayal from those he trusted. In contrast, the Netherworld was... strange, but warm. He had friends. A doting, if chaotic, guardian. He wasn't a burden here.

I used to pray every day to escape. Now… I don't even know what I'd go back to.

"I…" he murmured, then looked away. "I'm not sure anymore."

Opera's cat-like eyes softened. "If you gain a high enough rank, you can visit the Human World freely. But if you want to stay here, you must be strong. Prepare yourself to stand among demons."

That struck deep.

To stand among them… to not be left behind.

Iruma nodded. Then bolted down the road, his legs fueled by something heavier than just stamina.

Sullivan showed up shortly after in the unused carriage, flailing a handkerchief.

"Oh dear, he's running again!" he sighed. "Kids these days… But Opera really does give better advice."

Later, in the manor's backyard, Opera faced Iruma like a soldier would face a cadet.

"You Try to grab it well, but why did the ball fall?" he said sharply. "That's a weakness now."

"But—You have threw that ball too fast"

"You're fighting demons. Your grip should be strong enough. You must learn to hit back to."

Iruma swallowed hard. The air tightened around them. The first drill: catching a magical ball that moved like lightning. He failed. Again. Again.

Each dodge came with a disappointed click of Opera's tongue. But Iruma didn't stop. He was bruised. Bleeding at the palms. Yet he persisted.

I need to be strong enough… not just to survive. But to protect.

At one point, Iruma tapped into his chakra—a habit carried over from his inherited instincts. A faint crackle of electricity danced on his fingertips. Fire flickered in his eyes. Not just metaphorically.

Still, Opera outmatched him in every way—but not completely.

In speed, Iruma could push 60%. Strength? Maybe 75% when using chakra flow with magic. And his greatest hope—his Susanoo—was starting to evolve. At best, he could manifest a skeletal arm to block or counter. But the full-body Susanoo, a towering construct of sheer will and chakra, still eluded him.

That night, Sullivan watched from the second-floor balcony.

"You can use magic now, Iruma-kun," he said, waving his cane lazily. "Just… be careful. That ring—it's powerful. But temperamental."

Iruma glanced at his hand. The demonic ring pulsed faintly, resonating with his chakra and demonic energy.

Magic and chakra… How far can I really go?I must defeat that bastard ?

During lunch, Clara and Alice barged in unannounced.

"Iruma~! Let's eat together!"

He smiled weakly, revealing dust-covered hands and reddened fingers.

"Whoa…" Clara blinked. "Did your hands fight a mountain?"

"More like Opera," Iruma said sheepishly.

"You've changed," Alice added, tone serious. "You're stronger. And your eyes—they're… different."

Iruma glanced down.

My Sharingan… I have to be careful. But maybe… it's okay to show a little .

The training resumed that evening. This time, Iruma caught the ball.

And held it.

Opera blinked once. "Hmph. Good. From now on—training continues at home. No forgetting what you've learned."

Iruma smiled, quiet pride bubbling within.

One step closer… not just to strength, but to who I want to become.

---

For the next three days, Iruma pushed himself past limits most would fear to cross.

From dawn until deep into the night, he trained under Opera's strict, silent guidance—his body sore, his soul sharpened. Magic attacks, defensive wards, dodging and countering, precision strikes—Opera held nothing back. And Iruma never once broke.

This world... it's cruel, but not hopeless. I'm done being the one who needs protecting.

He began to fuse what he was learning with what he already had. The ring—Sullivan's gift—let him borrow spells, but Iruma learned to shift their nature. If someone cast a healing spell, he could redirect it through his blade to restore torn muscle. If someone lent him fire magic, he could cloak his Susanoo's arm in flame, turning defense into roaring offense. The chakra he , born of pain and determination, harmonized with the Netherworld's volatile mana.

On the second night, he unlocked something new.

A spell so potent it left even Opera speechless when the smoke cleared.

Devil Moon Prison — Tsukiyo Kekkai.

A massive black moon floated above the training field, like a shadow eclipse made of cursed rock and Iruma's unwavering resolve. Everything within its pull was locked in place, crushed and silenced—stripped of all magic.

Bind them. Seal them. Let them feel the stillness I used to live in.

The fusion of Chibaku Tensei and traditional Binding Magic wasn't just a jutsu—it was Iruma's declaration.

Opera had taught Iruma Binding Magic—a spell requiring minimal mana to restrict an opponent's magic or mana flow, ideal for evasion or setting up counterattacks. Iruma, ever eager to grow stronger, embraced the training fiercely. His obsession with becoming the strongest burned brighter with every lesson, a shadow of Sasuke's relentless drive tempering his usual optimism.

The spell's weakness, however, was its limited surface area. Iruma's mind raced: Could amplifying its scale multiply its power? His first thought was Susanoo, but his incomplete mastery made it unreliable. Frustration flickered—a hint of Iruma impatience—before his creativity surged.

"Chibaku Tensei!" he declared, channeling mana. The ground ruptured as debris fused into a colossal sphere hovering skyward—a makeshift "moon." Before Opera could react, Iruma grinned. Binding Magic… on this.

"Binding Magic" He slammed his palm downward.

The sphere darkened, then erupted in azure light as the spell latched onto its surface. The magic's reach stretched, morphing into an eightfold-larger geometric pattern—a jagged, round-square hybrid. Iruma smirked, a glint of cunning in his eyes, yet his joy was unmistakably his own. Opera nodded, pride cutting through their usual stoicism.

When the third day ended, Iruma collapsed into a cold shower, water washing over bruises he didn't even notice anymore. He later sat on the edge of his bed, the moonlight catching the steam rising off his shoulders. Eyes half-lidded, the ring pulsing faintly on his hand, he whispered to himself:

"Power without purpose is chaos... But I'll create a world where strength is used to protect—not destroy."

Unbeknownst to him, Opera stood just outside the room, having paused mid-step when he heard the words. A rare expression softened the butler's face.

A strong will… and a kind heart. Just like Lord Sullivan hoped for.

He turned and left silently, letting Iruma rest.

And finally, after three brutal days, Iruma was no longer just a gentle boy lost in the Demon World.

He was a warrior with purpose—respected, refined, and rising.