Time is a liar inside the Dimensional Gap. It doesn't flow; it stagnates. It doesn't tick; it throbs. For the Gremory Peerage, the concept of a "day" had dissolved into a blurred cycle of violence, recovery, and the realization that their previous definition of "hard work" was laughable.
Days five through seven weren't training. They were a crucible.
Ren Ming didn't offer mercy. The "Primal Stormlings" from the fourth day? They were indeed the appetizers.
By Day 5, the menu had escalated to main courses that defied the laws of physics. He dragged a nest of Void-Stalkers into their perimeter—insectoid nightmares capable of phasing through solid matter to sever arteries.
By Day 6, the environment itself turned hostile, transforming into a localized gravity storm inhabited by Silicon-based Drakes that didn't just resist magic—they ate it for breakfast.
The routine was brutal in its simplicity: Wake up. Ignite the Myriad Origin Scripture. Fight until mana reserves were scraped raw. Meditate while Ren Ming verbally dismantled their existence. Attempt the Mental Death Trial. Fail. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
But amidst the blood and bruises, a metamorphosis was taking hold.
In the beginning, they fought with the frantic desperation of prey. By the afternoon of Day 6, that panic had crystallized into a cold, terrifying efficiency.
Issei Hyoudou stopped trying to be a hero. He stopped tanking hits with his face. He finally understood the core tenet of the Myriad Origin Scripture: the body is a closed-loop reactor. He stopped venting the excess heat from the Boosted Gear into the atmosphere. Instead, he recycled that waste thermal energy, feeding it back into his leg muscles.
He wasn't just boosting his power anymore; he was boosting his torque. He moved like a pinball ricocheting off the air itself, cracking the diamond-hard carapaces of the Silicon Drakes with precision strikes rather than wild, emotional haymakers.
Kiba Yuuto, usually obsessed with the technical artistry of swordsmanship, began to understand the weight of the blade. He stopped summoning hundreds of Demonic swords to overwhelm opponents.
He summoned one. He condensed the heavy, oppressive aura of the Gap into a single edge. When he swung, he didn't just cut matter; he cleaved through atmospheric pressure, leaving vacuum trails in his wake.
And Rias Gremory... Rias stopped acting like a Princess.
"Left flank, Akeno! Compress, don't blast!" Rias shouted, her voice hoarse, her crimson hair matted with sweat and void-dust.
She stood in the center of a swarm of Void-Stalkers, her hands glowing with the crimson light of Ruin. But there was no hesitation, no aristocratic posturing. She didn't fire a beam. She pulsed her aura, using the Scripture to keep the Power of Destruction hugging her skin like a wetsuit.
When a Stalker lunged, she didn't dodge. She backhanded it. The creature didn't die; it simply unraveled. Its existence was erased by the sheer density of her power, deleted from the timeline of the battle.
Ren Ming watched from a floating chunk of rock, peeling a Gap-apple with a knife made of condensed spiritual energy.
"Better," he muttered, his grey eyes tracking their micro-movements. "Way better. Less hesitation, more flow."
Ren Ming wasn't idle, either. While the kids played in the sandbox, the adult was hunting in the jungle.
Whenever the peerage collapsed into their meditative trances, Ren vanished deeper into the iridescent fog of the Gap. He sought out the apex predators—beasts that had survived in this void for millennia. He found a chaotic amalgamation of spirits that rivaled a Satan-Class Devil in raw output. He found the drifting carcass of a lesser Dragon King that had reanimated through sheer grudge and hatred.
He didn't fight them. He didn't duel them.
He devoured them.
Ren Ming unleashed the terror of the Perfect Ancient Ming Bloodline. He didn't just absorb their energy; he corrupted their very essence, breaking down their complex, chaotic existences and turning them into fuel for his own furnace.
Deep within his dantian, the roar of creation echoed. He felt his Fate Palaces humming—massive, ethereal structures of power. The First, Second, Third, and Fourth Palaces were spinning like turbines, generating a momentum that shook his internal world.
Somewhere between consuming the screaming soul of a void-beast and eating a protein bar, Ren Ming felt the click.
Boom.
A shockwave that only he could hear detonated in his soul.
[Fifth Fate Palace: Formed.]
[Physique Completion: 12% - Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique]
[Current Stage: Fate Destroying Noble.]
Ren Ming flexed his hand. The space around his fingers warped, the light bending not from magic, but because his physical mass and energy density were becoming too heavy for reality to support comfortably. The air screamed as he clenched his fist.
He was close. Just a hair's breadth away from the Sixth Palace—the Supreme Noble stage.
"Interesting," Ren mused, sensing the changes. "Usually, the transition from Royal Noble to Enlightened Being starts to trigger some signs of Fate Calamity. The Villainous Heaven usually throws a tantrum."
But here?
There was seemingly silence.
He was in a different reality. The Old Villainous Heaven of the Nine Worlds couldn't reach him here. There was no Heavenly Dao looking down on him, no Heavenly Will trying to crush his ascent. The High School DxD universe operated on different laws, laws that were currently terrified of him.
At the very least, that's what Ren Ming assumed. But he could also be in for a surprise. The way of cultivation in Emperor's Domination is far more broken than already insane cultivation worlds with absurd powers.
Whether they came or not, Ren Ming didn't have any fear of them.
By the time he hit Enlightened Being with six Fate Palaces, in DxD terms, he would be walking around with enough firepower to scoff at God-Class beings.
By Day 7, the transformation was undeniable.
The group moved differently. The frantic, desperate energy of the first few days was gone, replaced by a predatory economy of motion. They didn't waste energy anymore. The Myriad Origin Scripture had turned them into efficiency monsters. Every breath they took siphoned ambient mana from the Gap; every step recycled their own kinetic energy back into their cores.
In the center of the clearing, a massive, multi-headed Hydra made of corrosive sludge—a beast radiating a mid-tier Ultimate Class aura—lunged at Asia Argento. Its maw dripped with venom that could melt divine steel.
In the past, Asia would have frozen. She would have screamed for Issei.
Now, Asia didn't even flinch. She stood her ground, her nun's habit fluttering in the toxic wind. She raised her hand, her Twilight Healing rings glowing not with their usual soft, passive green, but a dense, verdant gold.
"Rejection," she whispered.
She didn't heal the Hydra. She 'healed' the space it occupied, rejecting the corruption of its existence.
Flash.
The sludge evaporated upon touching her barrier, sizzling away as if it had never existed.
"Koneko, Issei, switch!" Rias commanded. Her voice was no longer a shout of panic; it was a calm statement of fact, the voice of a King moving pieces on a board.
Issei, his Balance Breaker fully engaged but glowing with a strange, dark-red runic layer from his cultivation, blurred forward.
[BOOST!]
He didn't punch the Hydra blindly. He grabbed two of its regenerating heads, his gauntlets digging into the sludge.
"Get wrecked!" Issei shouted, but his focus was laser-sharp. He slammed the two heads together with a sonic boom that cleared the fog for a mile.
Koneko was already in the air above him, positioned perfectly in his blind spot. She dropped like a meteor. Her Touki were perfectly fused with the chaotic energy of the Gap, refined by Ren's teaching.
She delivered a heel drop that didn't just crush the Hydra's central skull; it sent a vibration frequency through the ground that liquefied the monster's remaining body structure.
THOOM.
The impact was dry, heavy, and final. The Hydra collapsed into a puddle of inert slime.
Silence fell over the clearing.
Ren Ming stood on a cliff overlooking them, his arms crossed. He nodded, a genuine sense of satisfaction settling in his chest. They weren't just Devils anymore. They were cultivators.
By the evening of Day 7, the atmosphere in the camp had shifted entirely.
It was vastly different from the first night of terror. The fear and uncertainty were gone, replaced by the warm, exhausted camaraderie of soldiers who had survived the trenches together.
A large magical fire crackled in the center, casting dancing shadows against the purple void of the Gap. Grayfia had outdone herself, preparing a feast that replenished both stamina and spirit. The scent of roasted meat and spices filled the air.
Ren Ming sat at the head of the makeshift table. What was notable, however, was the seating arrangement.
It wasn't formal anymore. It was gravitational.
Rias sat to his immediate right, her thigh pressing firmly against his. She wasn't shy about it. After facing death a thousand times in her mind and body, sitting close to the man who gave her the power to defy fate felt like the most natural thing in the world. It was a claim.
Akeno was on his left, leaning into him, her head resting near his shoulder as she delicately picked at a skewer of meat. The sadistic glint in her eyes had mellowed into a contented, sultry warmth. She looked less like a priestess of thunder and more like a cat that had found the warmest spot in the house.
Koneko sat cross-legged near his knee, eating in silence, but every time Ren Ming reached down to pat her white hair, she leaned into his touch, eyes closing in pure bliss.
Even Asia had scooted her log seat closer, beaming at him with unadulterated adoration.
Issei and Kiba sat opposite, tearing into the food. Issei paused, looking at the girls swarming Ren.
Surprisingly, the Red Dragon Emperor wasn't jealous. There was no anime-style screaming or crying blood. He looked at Rias and Akeno clinging to Ren, and he felt... calm. He respected strength. And after seven days of hell, he knew he wasn't in Ren's league. Not yet.
"Man, this meat is insane," Issei mumbled, mouth full, sauce on his cheek. "Ren-sensei, what is this? It hits different."
"Gap-Shark steak," Ren Ming replied, swirling a cup of wine. "High in protein, zero carbs. Good for the gains. Gotta feed the machine if you wanna run the engine."
"You have... a very strange way of speaking, Ren-sama," Akeno giggled, tracing a finger along the fabric of his sleeve. "But I like it. It's refreshing. Less... stuffy than the Underworld."
"Just how I roll, my dear," Ren said, draping his arm casually over the back of Rias's seat. His fingers brushed Rias's bare shoulder, and she leaned into the touch, humming softly. "No matter where I go, I feel like people are way too stiff. Too 'respectable.' Everyone talks like they're reading from a Shakespeare play or a corporate handbook. It's boring. You gotta loosen up to let the Dao flow."
"Dao..." Kiba tested the word, staring into the fire. "The Way?"
"The flow," Ren corrected, taking a sip of wine. "The vibe. Whatever you want to call it. If you're too rigid, you snap. If you're water, you flow."
He looked around at them. They had all hit the equivalent of the Heaven's Primal bottleneck. They were strong. Stronger than any High-Class Devil had a right to be in such a short time. Rias—hell, even Asia—could probably vaporize Riser Phenex instantly now.
But they needed to solidify it. And he needed to stretch his legs.
Ren Ming set his cup down. The thud was soft, but everyone stopped eating instantly. They were attuned to his moods now; the shift in his aura was palpable.
"So," Ren Ming started, leaning back, the firelight reflecting in his grey eyes. "You guys did good. Like, legitimately good. You stopped being distinct pieces and started acting like a unit. But you're hitting a wall."
"We felt it today," Rias admitted, her expression turning serious. "My Power of Destruction... it feels like I'm trying to push an ocean through a straw. I can't refine it any further just by meditating."
"Exactly," Ren nodded. "You need a catalyst. You need to see the world. And I need to stretch my legs. Beating up mindless beasts is getting stale. It's like farming XP in a starter zone."
"What do you propose?" Grayfia asked from the edge of the firelight. She was observing the intimate proximity between her sister-in-law, Rias, and Ren Ming with a calculated, neutral expression, though her pen was moving furiously in her notepad.
Ren grinned. It was that wolfish grin that usually meant the world was about to get turned upside down.
"Field trip."
"A field trip?" Asia tilted her head, confused.
"Yeah. We're going to crash a party," Ren said, standing up. "I'm thinking we go say hi to the Norse Pantheon. I hear Odin is an old pervert, but he knows his magic. And they got some monsters there that'll be good for us. Plus, those dudes love to flaunt strength, so it'll be straightforward for us. We walk in, we flex, we learn."
Tiamat, who had been leaning against a rock nearby, choked on her drink. "The Norse? You want to take a group of Devils into the territory of the Aesir? Are you trying to start a diplomatic incident, or just a war?"
"War, diplomacy, same thing, different font," Ren waved his hand dismissively. "Besides, we aren't invading. We're... visiting. Cultural exchange. Tourism. Maybe buy some souvenirs."
"Ren," Rias said, looking up at him with wide, concerned eyes. "The Norse faction is one of the strongest in the world. Odin is a Chief God. He's ancient."
"And?" Ren Ming looked down at her, his grey eyes piercing through her worry. "Rias, look at me."
She locked eyes with him. The fire crackled.
"Do I look like a guy who cares about titles?" Ren Ming asked softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was tender, intimate, but his voice was iron. "Chief God, Maou, Dragon God. They're just labels for people who haven't been punched hard enough yet. You're with me now. We don't ask for permission. We take up space."
Rias blushed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The arrogance was breathtaking, bordering on insanity, but it was the promise of absolute protection behind it that made her melt.
"Okay," she whispered, breathless.
"But," Ren Ming turned to the darkness of the Gap, "we need an invite. I'm not gonna just kick the door down without a visitor's pass. It's rude. I have manners."
"And how do you intend to get an invite to Asgard?" Grayfia asked, her brow furrowed.
"I know a guy," Ren Ming smirked. "Or rather, I know a guy who knows a guy. The Governor of the Fallen Angels is lurking around Kuoh, playing hooky from his job. I'm gonna go have a chat with him."
"Azazel?" Issei shouted, standing up. "The leader of the Fallen Angels is in our town?!"
"Yeah, probably fishing or looking at dirty magazines," Ren Ming rolled his eyes. "Typical lazy behavior."
Ren Ming stretched his arms, hearing his joints pop. "I'm heading out. Tiamat, Grayfia, keep the kids safe. Don't let them slack off. I'll be back tomorrow with the tickets."
"Wait, you are going alone?" Akeno stood up, concern flashing in her violet eyes. "To meet Azazel? He is a General class..."
Ren Ming stepped closer to her. He placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin. Akeno leaned into it immediately, her eyes fluttering shut, seeking his warmth.
"Don't worry, Sparky," Ren said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Azazel isn't a threat. He's a resource. I'm just going to... negotiate. You keep training. I want that lightning tighter when I get back."
He kissed her forehead, then Rias's. He gave Koneko a final head pat and winked at Asia.
"Be right back. Don't burn the place down."
Ren Ming turned and stepped forward. He didn't fly. He simply stepped through the space. The air rippled like water, and he vanished from the Dimensional Gap, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
"He..." Issei stared at the empty space where Ren Ming had been. "He really just called the Norse Gods a 'field trip.'"
"That is our teacher," Kiba said, a small, admiring smile on his face. "He defies common sense."
Rias touched her forehead where he had kissed her. She felt hot. "Well," she said, her voice steadying as she regained her composure. "You heard him. Back to the grind. We need to be ready for Asgard."
...
Location: Kuoh Town – Riverbank
The air in the human world tasted stale compared to the dense, chaotic mana of the Gap, but the sunlight was nice. It was a Tuesday. People were working. Cars were honking. The mundane world spun on, oblivious to the monsters living in its shadows.
Ren Ming stood on the concrete embankment of the river that ran through Kuoh. He closed his eyes and extended his senses. He wasn't looking for a magical signature; he was looking for a specific vibe. A lazy, powerful, slightly perverted vibe.
'Found you,' Ren Ming thought.
He didn't teleport. He walked. He took his time, enjoying the feeling of pavement under his boots. He stopped at a vending machine, bought a hot black coffee, and strolled down the river path, hands in his pockets.
About a mile down, sitting on a folding chair with a fishing rod in hand, was a man who looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He had messy black hair with blonde bangs, wore a rugged kimono, and had an aura that screamed "I don't get paid enough for this."
Azazel. The Governor-General of the Fallen Angels.
Ren Ming didn't hide his presence. In fact, he did the opposite. As he approached, he let a sliver of his true aura leak out. Just a sliver. A tiny fraction of the Ancient Ming Bloodline mixed with the Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique.
To a normal human, it felt like a sudden drop in temperature. To Azazel, it felt like a predator the size of a mountain had just walked into the room.
The fishing rod jerked violently. Azazel didn't turn around immediately. He stiffened, his knuckles turning white on the handle. The birds in the nearby trees went silent.
"You know," Azazel said, his voice casual but tight, distinct tension lining his jaw. "I usually come here to avoid headaches. But that pressure... that's a migraine waiting to happen."
Ren stopped ten feet away. He took a sip of his coffee. "Sup, Governor. Catch anything?"
Azazel slowly turned his head. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, swept over Ren. He was analyzing him, dissecting him. Trying to categorize him. Devil? Fallen? Human? Dragon?
"Nothing biting today," Azazel said, finally turning his body fully. He reeled in his line slowly. "Who are you? You don't smell like a Devil, but you're definitely not human. At least, not entirely. You smell... old."
"Name's Ren. Ren Ming," Ren introduced himself, walking closer. He didn't bow. He didn't show deference. He spoke like he was talking to a neighbor about the weather. "I'm the guy currently turning the Gremory peerage into a hit squad in the Dimensional Gap."
Azazel's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? So you're the anomaly Sirzechs is curious about. I heard reports. Thought they were exaggerated."
Azazel chuckled, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. "They weren't."
"I'm not here to fight, old man," Ren said, leaning against the railing, looking out at the water. "I'm here to trade."
"Trade?" Azazel leaned back, intrigued. "I have everything I want. Money, women, research."
"Research," Ren Ming latched onto the word. "You like Sacred Gears. You like tinkering. You like trying to figure out how God's system works. You're a nerd with wings."
Ren Ming reached into his pocket. He didn't pull out a weapon. He pulled out a small, metallic object. It was a rusted, dormant Sacred Gear he had picked up from a Stray Devil he killed days ago—a simple Blade Blacksmith variant. It was useless junk, mostly.
"Catch," Ren tossed it.
Azazel caught it with one hand. He looked at it, unimpressed. "A broken Blade Blacksmith variant? The magical circuits are fried. This is trash."
"Look closer," Ren Ming said.
Ren Ming's eyes flashed grey. He activated the Immortal Soul Bone.
The Immortal Soul Bone had a specific ability: it could turn complexity into simplicity. It could analyze the fundamental Dao Laws of an object and restructure them. It didn't need tools; it needed will.
Ren Ming didn't touch the object. He projected his will onto it while it was in Azazel's hand.
Analyze. Deconstruct. Optimize.
The rusty metal in Azazel's hand began to glow. The complex, tangled magical circuits inside the gear were forcefully straightened. The inefficiencies were burned away. The connection to the Sacred Gear system was widened, forcibly ripped open by Ren's command.
ZING.
In three seconds, the rust flaked off like dead skin. The metal turned a gleaming, ethereal silver. The faint, dying hum of the gear turned into a roar of power.
Azazel dropped it, startled. The gear floated in mid-air, radiating a Balance Breaker-level aura despite being in its base form.
"What the hell..." Azazel breathed. He grabbed the gear again, his eyes wide with manic scientific curiosity. "You... you rewrote the formula. Instantly. You bypassed the restriction code. How? This is impossible. It takes me months to adjust a gear by 5% efficiency. You just boosted this thing by 300% in a blink."
"I see the code, I rewrite the code," Ren Ming shrugged, sipping his coffee. "Let's just say, I'm good at math."
Azazel looked up from the gear, his expression completely changed. The laziness was gone. He was looking at Ren like he was the Holy Grail of Artificial Sacred Gears.
"You can do this to other gears?" Azazel asked, his voice greedy.
"I can do it to any gear," Ren Ming lied—well, mostly truth. "I can even tweak the Longinus class if I get my hands on them."
Ren Ming stepped forward, dropping the casual demeanor for a second. The aura of the Fate Destroying Noble flared again, heavy and suffocating. The air around them twisted, shadows stretching toward Ren.
"Here's the deal, Azazel. I want a meeting with Odin. Tomorrow. I want to take my students on a field trip to Valhalla to train with the Valkyries and maybe punch a few Asgardian beasts. I know you and the Old Man are drinking buddies. Set it up."
Azazel stared at him, clutching the upgraded gear. "You want to use the Norse Pantheon as a training ground? Odin won't like that. He's stubborn."
"Odin likes strong warriors and interesting things," Ren countered. "Tell him I'm bringing the Red Dragon Emperor. Tell him I'm bringing a sword user who's rewriting the Holy Sword project. And tell him..." Ren grinned, pointing at the silver gear in Azazel's hand. "...tell him I can fix Gungnir if it ever gets dull."
Azazel looked at the gear, then at Ren. He started laughing. A loud, boisterous belly laugh that scared away the few remaining ducks in the river.
"You're crazy. You're actually crazy," Azazel wiped a tear from his eye. "You scare me, kid. That aura of yours... it's not Devil or Angel. It feels... ancient. Older than me."
Azazel stood up, pocketing the silver gear.
"Alright. You got my attention. I'll call the old geezer. But I need a day to test this thing. If it holds up, I'll get you your meeting."
"It'll hold up," Ren Ming turned around, waving his hand over his shoulder. "I don't make cheap knockoffs."
"One question," Azazel called out as Ren prepared to tear space again. "Why ask me? You could probably kick Odin's door down with that power."
Ren Ming paused. He looked back, his grey eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Because kicking doors down is messy. And I'm trying to teach my kids that sometimes, having connections is more streamlined than having nukes. Besides..." Ren winked, a smirk playing on his lips. "I figured you'd want to be on the winning side when the world starts changing. Oh, and to contact me, just use this. Later."
Ren tossed a paper talisman backward without looking. He slashed his hand through the air, tearing a rift in reality, and stepped into the void.
Azazel caught the talisman and stood alone on the riverbank. The wind blew cold, carrying the scent of impending chaos. He looked down at the upgraded Sacred Gear in his hand, his expression serious.
"The world starts changing, huh?" Azazel muttered, looking at the ripples in the water. "I think it just did."