At his words, confused whispers arose once again from the crowd and even Sirzechs was wearing a confused expression on his face. It seemed that all he expected to be asked was not this.
"Of course you do" Sairaorg continued before Sirzechs had a chance to respond, "You were born strong. Talent, intelligence, and even the greatest of the seventy-two bloodlines, the [Power of Destruction], you had it all. You were destined to become strong from birth, a born genius, a completely different existence than someone like me."
Sairaorg closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "But me, I was born with none of that. No talent, no lineage, not even a Sacred Gear. I had none of that. I ... was weak" Sairaorg sneered: "Weak. How many times have I heard that, been called that? Weak, weak, weak, weak again and again until it haunted my dreams. People have been calling me that for as long as I can remember, since my first recollection."
He paused to breathe again, his eyes still closed, "When I was a child, I thought it was unfair. Why were they born strong while I was not? Why were some blessed with talent or abilities, while others like me had nothing. Why even ordinary human beings, who have never trained a day in their entire lives nor fought in a single battle, can suddenly become infinitely stronger with almost no effort of their own, just by finding out they were born with a Sacred Gear" Sairaorg scoffed and looked away, his eyes opening slightly, "Back then, I started to envy them. No, I still do."
"Yes, I envy the strong. The powerful, those who are above others, I envy them all" Sairaorg looked up to the sky, "But I was not counted among the powerful. Although their words were cruel, they were not lies, for they spoke only the truth" He lowered his gaze to look at Sirzechs again and nodded once, "I was weak. I was the weak, the trampled, the despised. Untalented, discarded, unwanted, broken, the crippled. All this and more. I was weak ... but ..."
"But no more" Sairaorg held up his open hand before him and looked at her, "I trained Lord Lucifer. I trained harder than anyone else, for longer than anyone else, more than a dozen times harder than anyone else I knew. Week after week, month after month, year after year, and now decade after decade. I shed my blood until the very sands of the training ground were dyed crimson. When others slept, I broke my open fist on the stone surface, fracturing my bones, turning them to near dust. I suffered, I cried and I bled, but I didn't stop, I endured all the pain so I could satiate the hunger called envy that burned inside me."
"And after all that" he clenched his fist, "I finally got what I desired. I turned my weakness into strength, I turned my envy into ambition, and I turned my own body into a weapon. And finally I, the weak one, became strong."
"My dream?" Sairaorg lowered his fist and looked at Sirzechs, "You, Lucifer, strongest of all Maous, Lord of all Demons, ask me what is my dream? Then allow me to tell you. My dream, my goal, my life's ambition, is only one thing.
"To redefine the meaning of strength."
Sairaorg's voice began to steadily increase, "What does it mean to be strong? Is it being born with power, a lineage, or Sacred Gear? Is it your birth what defines your strength? Or is it your race. If you are neither devil, nor god, nor dragon, does that mean you are weak? Or maybe it is your upbringing, that is the secret of strength? A pure devil must always be superior to a half-breed? In the end, is strength simply defined by your birth?"
"No! I refuse to accept that! If that is the world's current definition of strength, then I must change it!" Sairaorg raged, his voice steadily increasing until he finally ended up shouting those last words. He took another deep breath before continuing, speaking once again in a normal tone of voice.
"Lineages, natural talent, Sacred Gears - I will prove that such things are meaningless, that they are not what makes someone truly strong, that true strength can still be achieved without them" Sairaorg's eyes did not waver as they locked onto Lucifer's, "I will prove that they are not necessary to be strong. As one of the many born without, without talent, lineage or Sacred Gear, I will prove that I can still become strong. The strongest."
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"Sirzechs Lucifer. Listen to my ambition" the future Great King gave Sirzechs a broad smile as he pointed his fist in his direction.
"I will become Maou."
The entire hall exploded at the sound of that declaration. From the startled clamor of the crowd to the shouts of approval or contestation from the Elders, the once peaceful hall became a cacophony of noise. And the source of the chaos ignored it all, allowing the noise to fall upon him like rain, but sparing no attention in giving his focus to the Lord of all Demons.
Unlike the rest of the room, the Maous whose positions had been defiant had an entirely different reaction. Serafall was laughing as he watched the chaos, Ajuka was clapping his hands politely from where he sat on his thrones, while Sirzechs gave the Heir Bael a smile that was a mixture of amused and proud.
After letting the noise continue for a minute, Sirzechs raised his hand asking for silence while at the same time increasing his power a little. Needless to say, the hall quieted down almost immediately after that.
"Do you wish to become a Maou?" Sirzechs began with the smile still on his lips, "Then you also wish to challenge us one day?"
It was an unusual event, but not unprecedented, for one of the four Satan's to be challenged. A Maou, by definition, was the strongest of all the demons, which was the only qualification needed to be one. Each of the current Maous earned their position through the absolute power they demonstrated during the Civil War. Even afterwards, they did not autocratically receive their positions, but had to fight for them by ousting any of the other candidates. Serafall herself had to fight Grayfia to become Leviathan, and if she had lost that day, it would have been Grayfia sitting on that throne.
Even today, demons were still allowed to challenge the Maous for their thrones. After all, if a Maou is the strongest Devil, then it was natural for him to step down and be replaced by the one who surpassed them. Power was the only true measure of worth in the Underworld, everything else simply didn't matter when compared to it.
However, someone issuing a challenge was a relatively rare event, since all the Maous' current strength was legendary. It only happened once every one or two decades, usually by an older, more experienced devil. There had not been a challenger anywhere as young as Sairaorg before.
"And may I ask, whose throne do you seek?" Sirzechs waved his hand toward Serafall on his right, "Is it the title of Leviathan you desire?"
Serafall smiled and nodded happily to Sairaorg, not in the least bit threatened.