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DXD: Table for one - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2025-08-16 11:21:01 +0000 UTC“I’ve been a dumbass… again.”
Merlin muttered under his breath, dragging his tired body through the dimly lit streets of the Frontier City. The uneven cobblestone paths didn’t make walking any easier, especially with how little energy he had left. His steps echoed faintly in the alleyway as he made his way toward the Community Shelter—a place many like him called home.
The shelter wasn’t much. Just a large, run-down building patched together from scraps and reinforced with stubborn hope. But for people at the bottom of society, it was all they had. Those who had lost everything, or never had anything to begin with, gathered there to get by. Barely.
had been living there ever since his parents died.
Their deaths hadn’t just left him homeless—they’d taken away the only warmth he’d found in this world. His life had already been bleak, but losing them turned everything gray. They weren’t his biological parents, but they’d taken him in when no one else would. They’d cared. They mattered. And now they were gone.
Yes, this world… It wasn’t his first.
was a reincarnator. He’d been given a second shot, the kind most people only dreamed about. Not that he really remembered how it happened. One moment, he was dying, and the next, he woke up as a kid in a filthy alley, cold, hungry, and confused out of his mind. That’s when they found him—his new parents. They didn’t ask where he came from. They just helped.
His first life? Nothing to brag about. In fact, it kind of sucked.
He’d been sick most of the time. The kind of sick that kept you home from school for weeks, the kind that made you miss birthdays and field trips. His parents worked a lot—not neglectful or abusive, just distant. They had bills to pay and didn’t know how to handle a kid who was always stuck in bed.
Because of that, I had always felt… apart. Other kids didn’t get it. They asked why he was always missing, why he couldn’t run or play. And by the time he was old enough to explain, it was too late. The gap had grown too wide. No real friends, no one to talk to. Just long, quiet days, stuck in his own head.
Eventually, his body gave out before he even turned twenty.
When he was reborn—or whatever it really was—he thought maybe, just maybe, this life would be different. Better.
It was definitely different. He realized it the moment he opened his eyes—long before he even met his adoptive parents or understood what kind of life was waiting for him.
The first clue?
The sky above him was purple.
Not pinkish-purple. Not violet during sunset. No, just straight-up unnatural, alien, shimmering purple.
Yeah, that was hard to miss.
And if that wasn’t enough to convince him that this wasn’t Earth anymore, then the second clue surely sealed the deal—wings. He could feel them, even before he moved. A strange pressure on his back, like something was folded there unnaturally. Instinctively, he could sense them, even without trying.
When he finally gathered the courage to sit up and reach back, his fingers brushed against skin—not human skin, but the leathery texture of bat-like wings. Pulling them into his vision, he noticed they were black as the night. Cold to the touch.
That should’ve been terrifying.
Most people would probably start freaking out. Wake up under a purple sky, and find out they’ve sprouted demon wings? Yeah, that’s the kind of thing that leads to screaming, panicking, existential dread—the whole package.
But not him.
Instead, his heart was racing for a completely different reason.
He had been excited.
Because those two things alone told him everything he needed to know.
Purple skies. Demon wings. An otherworldly body that still felt mostly human...
There was no doubt about it.
He had been reincarnated into the world of High School DxD as a devil in the Underworld.
A world full of devils, angels, fallen angels, dragons, gods, and all kinds of supernatural madness. A place where anime logic ran wild, where fights could shatter mountains, and where some of the hottest girls in all of fiction existed.
And now, he was here. A Pure-Blood Devil.
Back then, in those first few moments of awakening, he had smiled like a maniac. This was the kind of world he used to daydream about. Fantasy, power, adventure, and fanservice all wrapped into one.
He thought he had hit the jackpot.
If only it had stayed that way.
The excitement didn’t last long. Within days of waking up, something strange started happening.
His memories began to fade.
Not immediately. Not all at once. But little by little, his knowledge of his past life—of Earth, of anime, of manga and other fiction, of Highschool DxD, and of the future of this world—began slipping away. Like grains of sand leaking through his fingers, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.
It was like his new mind was rejecting the past. A quiet erasure.
He still remembered something. He retained a vague sense of his former self—his general personality, the fact that he was reincarnated, his meta-awareness of the world—but the specifics were vanishing fast. Names, timelines, and even critical plot points were turning into fog.
During those early days, he had managed to scribble down a few things—important events, notable characters, and survival tips. Even a list with all the Longinus, their users, and rough locations.
That notebook became his lifeline.
But even then, the notes were vague. Rushed. Barely helpful.
And with each passing day, they made less and less sense.
It was like being handed a cheat sheet in a language you couldn’t quite remember.
Still, losing his memories wasn’t the worst part. It was just the first hit. The first crack in the illusion.
Because in the following years after a nice Devil couple adopted him, reality came crashing down—and it wasn’t pretty.
Being a pure-blood devil sounded cool. In what is known of Highschool DxD, that usually meant noble bloodlines with a ton of wealth, an inherited power, and maybe some ancient family magic or hidden techniques.
But the truth?
Not all pure-blood devils were created equal.
In fact, the majority of them weren’t noble at all. The 72 Pillar Houses were the true aristocracy. Beyond them, there were a few extra demon houses—clans with minor influence and the occasional unique bloodline ability.
And then… there was everyone else.
Pretty much the rest of the Extra Demons. The Soldiers were created by the Original Satans to fight their wars. The nameless. The forgotten.
The low-class devils with some mid-class ones.
That’s where Merlin ended up.
Yes, Merlin. He had chosen that name himself, in a haze of excitement before his memories faded when the couple who found him asked if he remembered anything. Inspired by the legendary wizard, thinking he’d become some badass magic user in this world.
But real life had other plans.
He was born—well, reborn—as a low-class devil in a backwater territory on the fringes of underworld society.
His adoptive parents? Also low-class. No noble blood. No money. No magic. Just regular folk trying to survive in one of the worst places imaginable.
The territory was ruled by House Naberius, one of the old noble families amongst the Extra Devil Houses and a vassal of the Nebiros Clan.
They were terrible rulers.
The land was stuck in the past, like a medieval dictatorship that never ended. Infrastructure? Barely existed. Technology? Lagging centuries behind. The people were overtaxed, underprotected, and ignored by their so-called lords. There wasn’t even plumbing…
To make things worse, their region bordered the Fallen Angel territory, separated only by a wilderness crawling with dangerous demonic beasts. Attacks were frequent. Skirmishes were common. Life was hard—and it wasn’t getting better.
Considering that the Wilderness formed around one of the Pits of Hell—leading down into the true depths of the Underworld, the Abyss, a place where even powerful devils dared not venture—it is no surprise how dangerous this outer territory is.
Leaving? Technically possible.
In practice? Not really.
The Naberius made it intentionally difficult. Permits were expensive, travel was restricted, and there were plenty of rumors about people who tried to leave… only to “accidentally” vanish.
It was an open secret.
Even if he could leave, where would he go? What would he do?
He had no bloodline power. No connections. No strength.
And Devil society was brutally hierarchical.
To climb the ranks, you technically have three different possibilities open to you:
First, you could perform contracts—deals with humans to gather power, experience, and influence.
But there was a catch.
A law dating back to the Devil Civil War banned low-class devils from visiting the human world unless sponsored by a high-class devil.
It was meant to protect weaker Devils back when their numbers were low. A safety net. But now? It was a shackle.
Without noble backing, he had zero chance of entering the human world to gather contracts.
Second, you could participate in rating games. Strategic battles between Devils, with influence and promotion rewards for victory.
But to enter a rating game, you needed to be part of a peerage. And only high-class devils could create peerages.
Once again: no noble or high-class sponsor, no entry.
Third, promotion through military merit—fighting in wars and earning recognition.
But the three factions were in a stalemate. Aside from the occasional skirmish or rogue element, there was no full-scale conflict. And if his fading memory was right, peace would solidify within a few years.
In other words?
No contracts. No Rating Games. No wars.
No path forward. The nobility created a pretty solid system to keep everyone else under their control.
Worse still, this world valued strength above all else. If you weren’t strong, you were nothing.
And he was very much nothing.
Despite being a reincarnator, he hadn’t received any special cheat.
No OP bloodline. No system interface. No secret inheritance. Not even some bottom-tier harem starter kit.
Just... wings. And a few scribbled notes.
One of them read, ‘Train body for Touki.’
Gee, thanks.
He did train. 100 push-ups, 100 squats, 100 sit-ups, and 10 km of running every day, just as the brackets behind his body training notes said. But he didn’t get particularly strong. Not really.
There was a reason he was called a low-class devil.
Later he even realized what the note was referencing—Sairaorg Bael, the strongest young Devil who overcame his lack of bloodline ability through raw physical power.
Inspirational stuff.
But Sairaorg had access to elite tutors, training grounds, potions, nutrition, and centuries of Bael wealth backing him.
Merlin? He had dirt floors, stale bread, and attack alarms going off every week.
Doing 100 push-ups a day wasn’t cutting it. Especially since he felt like this was some kind of anime meme, he just couldn’t remember it.
Honestly, he kind of wanted to punch his past self.
At least… he still had magic. Right?
Devils used imagination-based magic. It should’ve been his strength. He had always loved magic systems in games and fiction. And with a name like Merlin, he felt destined to become a legendary sorcerer.
But reality slapped him again.
Magic was hard.
Not just mentally challenging—it was expensive.
To use magic properly, you needed a focus—a magic circle. They came in tiers, with higher quality ones allowing faster and more efficient casting.
Naturally, the noble houses hoarded the best.
Mid-tier circles cost a fortune. Low-tier ones were barely functional and still expensive enough to make a grown man cry.
His parents hadn’t even managed to buy one book on basic magic circles after decades of saving.
Merlin also had another problem.
His demonic power reserves were pitiful. Low even by low-class standards. His bad health had somehow followed him into his new life, because his demonic power reserves were so low that they barely managed to keep him alive.
No matter how much he meditated, trained, or studied, his reserves just wouldn’t grow. It was like trying to fill a lake with a spoon.
Sure, he could technically learn magic the hard way—manually shaping energy without a focus—but the complexity made it almost impossible for someone with his level of talent. Not to mention that casting magic pretty much would be bad for his health.
No matter how you looked at it, he was trapped.
Merlin had entered this world thinking he’d live out a fantasy.
But instead, he’d been dropped at the very bottom of a cruel society, with no cheat, no system, and no clear path forward.
Just his name… and a stubborn refusal to give up.
And then came the final blow—the one that shattered what was left of him.
Merlin had been fourteen when it happened.
His parents died.
There was no grand conspiracy behind it. No secret assassination. No villain pulling strings from the shadows. Just... bad luck. Cold, senseless, everyday bad luck during a dangerous job.
They had worked as Demonic Beast Hunters, one of the few professions in this territory that actually paid a living wage. It was dangerous, yes, but it was one of the only jobs where even a low-class devil could earn enough to feed a family. His adoptive parents were part of a hunting group, experienced and cautious.
But it only took one mistake.
One wrong turn. One misjudged threat. One predator too strong for their party to handle.
That was all it took to end their lives.
Merlin never even got a message. No warning, no last words. Just silence.
At first, he thought they were late. Delayed by a storm or a difficult hunt. But the days dragged on, and no one came. Eventually, it became clear there would be no one coming home.
That was life in Naberius territory.
No funerals. No compensation. No safety nets.
Just death.
And so, at fourteen, Merlin became a weak, sickly orphan in a society where only the strong had the right to exist.
He couldn’t even keep his parents' house.
With no inheritance, no support, and no connections, the home was reclaimed by the territory’s landlords. Within days, he was forced out, left with nothing but the clothes on his back and a few old notes from his fading past life.
He had no choice but to survive.
Somehow, he pulled through.
He scraped by, taking whatever menial, low-paying jobs were available. Most of them involved hard labor, dirty work, or thankless service—tasks nobody else wanted. He swept alleys, carried crates, cleaned monster guts, or did whatever job he could find to make ends meet.
It wasn’t enough for a real life.
He lived in a community shelter, which was more like a broken-down shack packed with other outcasts. Crumbling walls, a leaky roof, and barely enough heat in winter. It was less “shelter” and more “abandoned barn someone had thrown blankets into.”
The world around him had turned gray and lifeless.
Merlin moved through the days like a ghost, waking up, working, eating the bare minimum, and going to sleep. Rinse and repeat. He was depressed—he knew that. The weight in his chest, the constant fatigue, the hollow look in his own eyes when he saw his reflection in dirty window glass.
Maybe that’s why, recently, he started doing something stupid.
He became a Demonic Beast Hunter.
Just like his adoptive parents.
The boy wasn’t sure if it was a cry for help, a subconscious death wish, or something else. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was defiance.
Maybe he just refused to die quietly as a nobody in a world where low-class devils were treated like disposable tools.
Hunting was dangerous. In fact, today’s hunt had almost killed him.
His group had encountered a Peak Mid-Class Demonic Beast—far stronger than anything they were used to. It had taken everything they had to bring the beast down. Sweat, blood, and sheer desperation.
Nobody died, but several were badly injured.
Merlin included.
He’d taken a hit to the ribs, got thrown into a tree, and had several gashes down his side. The healing treatment cost him most of his pay for the day. A cruel reality: the more injured you got, the less you took home. If you died, you got nothing at all.
Still, hunting paid better than anything else available to him. And Merlin needed every coin—every lilum he could save.
Every copper was going toward a single goal:
To one day buy a good quality magic circle and a training manual for his demonic power reserves. With those, he could start properly developing his demonic power. Not dreams of greatness. Just survival. Just something better.
Sometimes, though… he wished he had a cheat.
A system. A secret bloodline. A grimoire that whispered forbidden spells in his ear.
Hell, even just a way to leave this damned territory without ending up as a slave or a corpse.
Sure, he knew where the Boosted Gear was, but he had no way to extract it or even get to the human world.
Merlin had nothing.
Just his stubborn will.
It was already dusk when he returned.
Merlin limped slightly as he walked through the winding, cracked streets of the slums, bandages hidden beneath his worn-out coat. His body ached with every step, and the air stank of old blood, smoke, and the faint scent of demonic residue.
The sky above was a dull violet—standard for this region of the Underworld.
He was just one street away from the shelter when he noticed something.
A flicker. A detail out of place. Something he’d never seen before.
His eyes narrowed.
Across the street stood a building that absolutely did not belong here.
It was clean. Modern. Sleek.
A small entrance with polished wooden panels, a glass door, and a lit sign above it written in strange, runic-looking symbols. Something about these letters seemed familiar, but he couldn’t understand the writing. And that wasn’t surprising—Devils could understand any spoken language, but that didn’t translate into being able to read or write every one.
While he couldn’t read the sign, judging by the shape of the building, the door, and the small menu hanging beside the entrance—it looked like a restaurant.
Or maybe a bar.
Merlin frowned.
It didn’t fit at all. The streets around it were medieval, dirty, and crumbling. But this place looked like it had been ripped straight out of the human world and dropped here by mistake.
And even weirder?
No one else seemed to notice it.
People walked past it without even glancing its way. In fact, they were naturally avoiding it—making unconscious circles around it, like their brains simply refused to acknowledge its presence.
That wasn’t normal.
There was definitely something special about it.
A powerful concealment or perception-altering spell, one that kept the building hidden from the average Devil.
But somehow… Merlin could see it.
He stared at the door for a moment, his heart beginning to beat faster.
Why him?
Was it a trap? Was someone targeting him specifically?
But what would be the point? He had nothing. No power. No money. No secrets beside the little fact that he was a reincarnator. Was it that?
After a few moments of hesitation, he approached carefully, glancing through the front windows—only to see pure blackness.
Not darkness. Black. Like the windows were painted over with ink. Opaque and void-like.
All of them.
It didn’t look like anything was covering the windows either. It was like they simply... refused to let light pass.
At this point, Merlin knew he had two options.
Ignore it and walk away… or open the door and find out what was inside.
He exhaled, slow and steady.
“Nothing to lose, right?” He muttered to himself.
With a hand still sore from today’s hunt, he reached for the door handle and pushed.
A soft chime rang out.
Cool air washed over him—air-conditioned, crisp, and fresh, like something from a five-star human hotel. His eyes widened as Merlin stepped inside.
It really was a restaurant.
Small but cozy. Clean wooden flooring, warm ambient lighting, and neatly arranged tables. Some booths lined the sides, each equipped with sliding doors for privacy. The atmosphere was relaxed, almost luxurious. A complete contrast to the world outside.
Behind a long, sleek counter that opened into a visible kitchen, a person stood and stared directly at him.
Merlin froze.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
‘…Is that a human?’
The figure behind the counter was clearly not a devil. No wings, no horns, no aura of demonic energy. Pretty much looking… ordinary. Or rather out of place considering where he was.
Merlin stared.
