The silence in the laboratory was heavy, a suffocating blanket of sterile air broken only by the aggressive hum of cooling fans and the frantic, rhythmic scratching of a stylus against a holographic tablet.
Azazel, the Governor-General of the Fallen Angels, a being who had survived the Great War, outwitted Satans, and drank with Gods, was currently staring at a floating piece of metal with the expression of a tenured physics professor who had just watched an apple fall upwards.
The Sacred Gear Ren Ming had tossed him—a piece of rusted, D-tier junk mere hours ago—was suspended in a stasis field in the center of the room. It hummed with a terrifyingly pure, ethereal silver light, pulsing like a living heart.
"It doesn't make sense," Azazel muttered, his voice tight. He ran a hand through his black and gold bangs, his eyes darting across the scrolling data streams. "The formula... it's not just optimized. It's been rewritten. He didn't just edit the code; he changed the programming language."
He brought up a diagnostic screen, enlarging the mana flow chart. Usually, a Sacred Gear operated on a complex, rigid system of 'Gears' and 'Links' established by the God of the Bible. It was a closed system with defined efficiency ratings. To upgrade one, a skilled artificer had to carefully widen the channels of mana, risking a burnout.
But Ren Ming hadn't widened the channels. He had deleted the concept of friction within the gear entirely.
"He bypassed the System's query limitation," Azazel whispered, his pupils dilating as the simulation reached its conclusion. "He forced the gear to recycle its own waste output into input. It's a closed-loop mana reactor. It violates the Third Law of Thermodynamics. It violates the fundamental laws of Magic. It effectively spits in the face of logic."
Azazel slumped back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He stared at the ceiling, the silver glow of the gear reflecting in his eyes. The aura he had felt from Ren Ming earlier... that ancient, oppressive weight. It wasn't just raw power. It was authority. It was the presence of something that existed above the rules, not within them.
"Ren Ming..." Azazel tested the name, rolling it around his tongue like a fine, albeit dangerous, wine. "He walks up, calls me old man, rewrites reality with a look, and asks for a playdate with Odin."
He chuckled. The chuckle evolved into a low, manic laugh. "Interesting. Finally, something unpredictable in this stagnant world."
Azazel sat up, his eyes gleaming with the obsessive energy of a scientist who had just discovered a new element. He swiped his hand through the air, summoning a communication circle. It wasn't a standard channel; it was a direct, encrypted line reserved for the heads of pantheons.
The circle flared with icy blue Nordic runes, rotating with a heavy, divine resonance.
The connection stabilized, revealing a high-definition hologram of an elderly man with a rugged eyepatch and a wide-brimmed hat. He was currently lounging on a throne, surrounded by several busty Valkyries who were pouring him wine.
"Azazel!" Odin Allfather's voice boomed, slurring slightly with the warmth of mead. "You crow-feathered brat! Calling me while I'm inspecting the troops? Rude!"
"Cut the crap, old man," Azazel grinned, leaning forward, his elbows on his desk. "I've got something for you. Or rather, someone."
Odin raised a bushy white brow, waving the Valkyries away with a shooing motion. His singular eye sharpened instantly, the drunkenness evaporating to reveal the calculating gaze of a Chief God. "Oh? You sound serious. Did you finally start another war? Or did you accidentally blow up a continent again?"
"No. But I found someone who might end one if he gets bored," Azazel said, tapping the glass of the stasis field containing the silver gear. "He wants to visit Asgard. Tomorrow. He calls it a 'field trip' for his students."
"Students?" Odin scoffed, picking at his ear. "I'm not running a daycare, Azazel. Valhalla is for warriors, not for babysitting Devil brats."
"These aren't normal students. It's the Gremory heiress and her peerage," Azazel said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming serious. "But they've changed. This teacher of theirs... Ren Ming. He took a trash-tier Sacred Gear and turned it into a Balance Breaker-class artifact in three seconds, Odin. Without touching it. Just by looking at it."
Silence stretched over the magical line. The ambient noise of Gladsheim faded in the background. Odin stroked his long white beard, his gaze fixing on the image of the floating gear Azazel was transmitting.
"Three seconds?" Odin asked softly.
"Less," Azazel corrected. "He says he wants to 'help with your beast problem.' But between you and me? I think he just wants to flex. And honestly? You might want to see this. The kid feels... ancient. Older than us. Older than the concept of 'Sacred Gears'."
Odin remained silent for a long moment, the gears in his centuries-old mind turning. He was a god of wisdom as much as war. He knew when the winds of fate were shifting. Finally, a wide, crafty grin split his weathered face.
"Interesting. Very interesting. Let him come. If he's a fraud, I'll feed him to Fenrir. If he's real... well, Asgard is always looking for entertainment."
...
The Next Day – The Dimensional Gap
The alarm didn't come from a clock. It came from the paper talisman Ren had left on the rock table. It flared with a black light, vibrating with Azazel's specific magical signature.
Ren Ming was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of a floating island, his legs dangling over the abyss, watching the chaotic, multicolored storms of the Gap swirl beneath his feet. He wore his usual attire: black combat boots, dark jeans that fit well but allowed movement, and a fitted white t-shirt that hugged his frame. No armor. No robes. Just a guy dressed like he was heading to a casual brunch in downtown Manhattan.
"Looks like the old bird took the bait," Ren murmured, grabbing the talisman as it floated toward him. A voice message played out, tinny and distorted by the Gap's interference.
"You're on, kid. Noon. Don't be late. And if you break anything valuable, I'm billing Sirzechs."
Ren crushed the talisman in his hand, turning it into dust. He stood up, stretching his arms above his head until his joints popped. He turned around to face the camp.
"Alright, rise and grind, campers!"
The reaction was instantaneous. The peerage didn't groan or roll over. They froze, eyes snapping open, and immediately gathered in front of him. Seven days ago, they would have lined up formally, stiff with aristocratic tension. Now, they just clustered around him, comfortable in his gravity, moving with the fluid grace of predators.
"We got the green light," Ren announced, flashing a grin that was equal parts charm and trouble. "We're going to Asgard. Land of snow, mead, and people who think dying in battle is a fun Tuesday activity."
Issei pumped his fist, the red jewel on his gauntlet flashing. "Yes! Valkyries! I mean… powerful warriors!"
"Keep it in your pants, Dragon Boy," Ren drawled, leaning back against a rock. "We aren't there to ogle. We're there to brawl. Valkyries are cool and all, but if you get distracted, they'll put a spear through your kidney."
Ren's gaze softened as he looked at the girls. He could see the tension in their shoulders. Going to another mythology's headquarters was a massive deal politically and physically. It was like walking into a rival gang's territory while wearing the wrong colors.
He stepped toward Rias first. The crimson-haired beauty was biting her lip, her brow furrowed.
"Hey," Ren said softly, his voice dropping to that low, intimate rumble he reserved just for them. He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up until her crimson eyes met his stormy grey ones. "Stop overthinking the politics. You've got that 'Rias Gremory, High-Class Devil' frown on your face. It causes wrinkles."
"I just… I don't want to embarrass my brother or the Gremory name," Rias admitted, leaning slightly into his touch, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "The Norse are proud. One wrong move..."
"Forget the name," Ren said, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. The gesture was tender, possessive. "You aren't a name today. You're a powerhouse. You're my student. And you're breathtaking when you destroy things. Just be you. If anyone has a problem with it, I'll handle the complaints department. Usually by firing them out of a window."
Rias flushed a deep red, her anxiety melting into a warm puddle in her chest. The absolute confidence in his voice was a drug, and she was addicted. "Okay. I trust you."
Ren turned to Akeno, who was fidgeting with her sash, her usual sadistic smile replaced by a tight line. He didn't speak; he simply wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him.
"And you," Ren whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin, causing her to shiver violently. "No self-deprecating thoughts today, Sparky. Be flashy. Be dangerous. I love it when you're dangerous."
Akeno looked up at him, her violet eyes misty with adoration. "Ren-sama… I will burn them all for you. I will make the thunder of Asgard sound like a whisper."
"That's the spirit," Ren chuckled, kissing the top of her head.
He looked down at Koneko. The petite Nekomata was staring at his boots, her face a mask of stoicism. Ren crouched down to eye level.
"Yo, tiny tank," Ren smiled, reaching out to boop her nose.
Koneko blinked, her stoic mask cracking into a small, adorable pout. "Don't call me tiny."
"You're pocket-sized violence, and it's adorable," Ren laughed, ruffling her white hair until it was a chaotic mess. "Don't hold back today. These Norse guys are tough. They have bodies forged in ice and iron. You can actually hit them. Full force. Break some bones."
Koneko's eyes widened, her pupils dilating. "Really? No holding back?"
"Really. Go ham. Make me proud."
Finally, he looked at Asia. The little nun was trembling slightly, clutching her hands together. Ren didn't say anything; he just pulled her into a bear hug, lifting her feet off the ground.
"You're the MVP, Asia," Ren said seriously, looking her in the eye. "Without you, these idiots would be dead ten times over. You're not just a healer; you're the engine that keeps this tank rolling. Keep your head up."
Asia giggled, hugging him back fiercely, burying her face in his chest. "I will do my best, Ren-san! I won't let anyone fall!"
Grayfia, on the other hand, was frowning. Her maid outfit was pristine despite the week in the void, a testament to her own absurd power. She was scribbling in her notepad, calculating potential political fallout.
"Ren-sama," she began, her voice professional but laced with worry. "Lord Sirzechs has not sanctioned this. If we cause a diplomatic incident with Odin…"
"Grayfia, chill," Ren interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "You worry too much. Politics is just a game of who has the bigger stick. We're just going to show them our stick is made of reinforced titanium. If we show weakness, they eat us. If we show strength, they pour us drinks. That's how the world works. Trust me."
He offered her a wink that was so brazen, so utterly lacking in proper decorum, that it actually made the Strongest Queen look away, a faint blush dusting her pale cheeks.
"Very well," Grayfia sighed, resigning herself to the chaos. "I will accompany you. To ensure you do not start a war. Or at least, to document how it started."
"Suit yourself," Ren shrugged. He looked at Tiamat. The Dragon King was leaning against a rock, looking bored, but the tip of her tail was twitching—a sure sign of curiosity. "You coming, Tia?"
"Do not call me that," Tiamat hissed, though there was no real heat in it. "And yes. I wish to see if the Asgardians are as arrogant as the legends say."
"Pot, meet kettle," Ren muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Just admiring the view. Let's go."
...
Location: Kuoh Shrine – Meeting Point
The transition from the Gap to the Human World was jarring. The sensory input shifted instantly. The air felt thin, watery, and weak compared to the dense mana of the void. It tasted stale.
It was noon. The sun was high. Cicadas were buzzing.
Azazel was waiting for them at the steps of the shrine. He wasn't fishing today. He was wearing a sharp, maroon suit, looking every bit the Governor General, though his tie was slightly loose.
When Ren Ming's group arrived, Azazel's eyes widened slightly. He wasn't looking at Ren Ming; he was looking at the kids.
He looked at Issei, who stood with his chest out, no longer slouching in that perpetually apologetic way. His stance was grounded. He looked at Kiba, whose presence felt like a razor blade against the skin—sharp, cold, and precise. He looked at Rias, whose Power of Destruction was so tightly controlled it was invisible, yet the air around her seemed to warp slightly from the density of her aura.
"Seven days," Azazel murmured to Ren Ming as they approached. "You turned a bunch of high schoolers into a hit squad in seven days. I've seen soldiers with decades of experience who don't have that kind of discipline."
"They had potential," Ren said, fishing a pack of gum from his pocket and popping a piece. "I just gave them the right traumatic experience. You ready, old man?"
"Don't call me old. I'm eternal," Azazel corrected, though he smiled. He looked at the peerage. "Listen up, kids. We're going to the Hall of Gladsheim. Don't touch anything unless you want to fight it. And if you fight it, don't lose. Odin hates losers."
"We won't lose," Issei said. It wasn't a shout. It wasn't a hot-blooded anime proclamation. It was a simple statement of fact.
Azazel raised an eyebrow. "I like the confidence. Let's see if you can back it up."
Azazel snapped his fingers. A massive, complex magic circle appeared on the ground—Nordic Runes glowing with icy blue light, interlocking with Grigori technology.
"Next stop, Asgard," Ren announced, stepping onto the circle. "Try not to throw up in the dimensional tunnel. It's a bumpy ride."
...
Location: The Rainbow Bridge – Bifrost
The transition was instant. One moment, they were in humid Japan; the next, the air was crisp, thin, and smelled of pine, ozone, and ancient stone.
They stood on a bridge made of iridescent rainbow light—the Bifrost. It hummed beneath their feet, a solid construct of light magic. Before them loomed the massive gates of Valhalla, a structure so large it seemed to uphold the sky itself. The architecture was brutalist and grand, massive blocks of grey stone inscribed with glowing gold runes.
Above, the branches of the World Tree, Yggdrasil, stretched into the infinite cosmos. Its leaves were the size of houses, shimmering with mana that fell like glitter.
"Whoa," Issei breathed, looking up. "That's a big tree."
"It's alright," Ren shrugged, glancing at the World Tree. Compared to the Ancestral Trees in the Nine Worlds of Emperor's Domination, which held entire universes in their leaves, this was basically a bonsai. "Seen bigger. Good pruning job, though."
Waiting for them at the end of the bridge was a woman with long silver hair and a Valkyrie combat suit that accentuated her curves. She adjusted her glasses nervously.
"Greetings," she said, bowing formally. "I am Rossweisse. I will be your guide to Gladsheim."
Ren Ming looked her up and down. Not in a lecherous way, but appreciative. "Silver hair, glasses, combat suit. That's a classic combo. Strong scholarly warrior vibes. Nice to meet you, Rossweisse. I'm Ren."
"O-Oh, hello," Rossweisse stammered, surprised by the casual greeting. She was used to strict hierarchy and Norse grunting. "Please, follow me. Lord Odin is... expecting you."
As they walked through the bustling streets of Asgard, the Gremory peerage looked around. The atmosphere was heavy. The mana density here was far higher than Earth, almost suffocating for normal devils. The very stones seemed to radiate pressure.
But Rias and her peerage walked as if they were strolling through a park.
"It feels... light," Koneko commented softly, flexing her hand.
"Compared to the Gap?" Issei cracked his neck. "This is nothing. The gravity is barely 2Gs. I feel like I could jump over that wall."
Rossweisse overheard them and frowned. 'Light? This is the realm of Gods. The atmospheric pressure alone should be making High-Class Devils uncomfortable. Why are they so relaxed?'
She glanced back at them. Their auras were... muted. She couldn't sense much power from them. It felt like they were holding back, but not in the usual way. It felt like their power was locked inside a vault.
"Ren-san," Rossweisse asked, trying to be polite as she led them toward the great hall. "Your companions... are they accustomed to high-pressure environments?"
"They're accustomed to hell," Ren Ming replied breezily, admiring the architecture. "We just spent a week in the Dimensional Gap playing tag with void monsters. This place is a vacation resort by comparison. Nice real estate, by the way. Must cost a fortune to rent a place here."
"Oh, don't get me started on rent," Rossweisse sighed, her shoulders slumping instantly. The Valkyrie persona cracked. "The cost of living in Valhalla is astronomical, and with the recent budget cuts to the Valkyrie order, I've had to rely on discount sales at the local mart just to afford basic potions..."
She stopped, realizing she was venting to a stranger. She blushed furiously, pushing her glasses up. "Apologies! I digressed."
Ren laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "No, no, go on. I love a woman who knows the value of a dollar. Pragmatism is hot. Shows you got your priorities straight."
Rossweisse's face turned the color of a tomato. "H-Hot?"
...
Location: The Hall of Gladsheim
The Hall of Gladsheim was exactly what Ren expected. Loud. Boisterous. Smelled of roasted meat, spilled mead, and unwashed men. Hundreds of Einherjar—warriors who had died in battle and were awaiting Ragnarok—were drinking, wrestling, and shouting at the top of their lungs.
At the far end, on a massive wooden throne draped in furs, sat Odin. The All-Father. He wore his eyepatch and hat, a grin plastered on his face that suggested he knew exactly which barmaid was the prettiest.
Standing around him were several high-ranking Asgardian warriors. Thor wasn't there (probably off hitting giants with a hammer), but there were others. Massive men with axes, braided beards, and stares that could peel paint.
When Ren's group entered, the hall went quiet. Devils in Valhalla. It was a rare sight, and usually, it meant war.
Azazel stepped forward, breaking the tension. "Odin! Still alive, I see."
"Azazel!" Odin stood up, spreading his arms wide. "You Fallen crow! Come, drink! I saved the good stuff!"
Odin's one eye then shifted to the group. He looked at Rias, nodding respectfully at the Gremory power. He looked at Tiamat, his expression tightening slightly at the presence of a Chaos Karma Dragon King.
Then he looked at Ren.
Odin's grin faded. His remaining eye narrowed. He felt a void. A question mark. A spot in reality where the laws of physics seemed to be polite suggestions rather than rules.
"And this," Odin said, his voice dropping an octave, echoing through the timbered hall. "Must be the anomaly Azazel wouldn't shut up about."
Ren walked forward. He didn't bow. He didn't kneel. He walked right up to the base of the throne, hands in his pockets, looking as relaxed as if he were waiting for an Uber.
"Yo, Odin," Ren said. "Nice hat."
The hall gasped. A collective intake of breath. Disrespecting the All-Father in his own hall?
One of the bodyguards, a burly warrior with a beard braided with heavy iron rings and muscles that looked like carved granite, stepped forward.
"You dare speak to the All-Father with such insolence, boy?" The guard boomed, reaching for the hilt of his sword. "Kneel!"
Ren didn't even look at the guard. "Relax, discount Viking. I'm talking to the boss. The adults are speaking."
Ren looked up at Odin, ignoring the fuming guard. "I'm Ren Ming. I'm not big on formalities; they waste time. I heard you have a monster problem. Or at least, lots of monsters that need killing. I want to use your backyard as a gym for my students."
He jerked a thumb toward Rias and the others.
Odin stroked his beard, amused but testing. "You want to use Asgard as a training ground? For Devils? Why should I allow this? Because Azazel asked?"
"Because," Ren said, his voice hardening slightly, losing the playful edge. "If you don't, you're missing out on a favor from me. And trust me, old man, you're gonna want a favor from me when other troublesome gods come knocking. The world is changing. You feel it too."
The mention of potential God-Class enemies silenced the room.
"Bold words," Odin chuckled, but the air in the room grew heavy. A massive, divine pressure descended. It was the aura of a Chief God. It was designed to crush the will of lesser beings, to force them to their knees in reverence.
The floorboards creaked. The Einherjar smirked, waiting for the boy to collapse, to froth at the mouth under the divine weight.
Ren didn't blink. He didn't even stiffen. He simply gave a small, amused smile.
"We doing this? A dick-measuring contest? Alright."
Ren took his hands out of his pockets.
He didn't scream. He didn't power up in a burst of light. He just... let go.
Thrum.
The Ancient Ming Bloodline flared.
It wasn't magic. It wasn't divine aura. It was the weight of a supreme biological imperative. It was the feeling of a predator so apex that it made dragons look like common lizards. It was the corrupted, devouring essence of a bloodline that ate energy for breakfast.
The Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique activated.
BOOM.
There was no sound, yet everyone heard it in their souls. The air in the hall didn't just get heavy; it solidified. It became lead. The massive oak tables rattled violently. The mead in the cups rippled and then froze still.
The guard who had shouted at Ren turned pale, his eyes rolling back as his knees buckled. He hit the floor with a clatter of armor, pinned by a pressure that felt like the sky itself was collapsing on his spine.
Ren's aura rose up, a grey, devouring pillar that clashed against Odin's golden light. It didn't push back; it ate the light.
Odin's eye widened. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the armrest, his knuckles turning white. 'This pressure... it's not demonic. It feels... ancient. Primordial. Like the void before Ymir.'
Ren smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of the Fate Destroying Noble. Arrogant. Absolute.
"I can keep this up all day, Gramps," Ren said calmly, his voice cutting through the crushing pressure like a hot knife through butter. "But I'd rather have a drink."
Suddenly, the pressure vanished. Ren retracted it instantly, returning to his casual "dude from 2020" vibe.
The silence in the hall was deafening. Even the fire seemed to have quieted down.
Odin stared at Ren for a long moment. Then, he threw his head back and laughed.
"BWAHAHAHA! I like him! He has guts!" Odin slammed his fist on the armrest, splintering the wood. "Very well, Ren Ming! You have my attention! By the beard of my father, I haven't felt a chill like that since I fought Ymir!"
However, the guard—Gondul, whose pride was wounded more than his body—struggled to his feet. He was humiliated. To be brought to his knees by a mere boy?
"All-Father!" Gondul growled, his face red with rage. "This outsider may be strong, but his 'students' look weak! We cannot allow weaklings to roam the Iron Forest. They will die, and it will be an insult to Asgard!"
He pointed a calloused finger at Issei, Rias, and the others.
Because of the Myriad Origin Scripture, the peerage's energy was perfectly cycled internally. There was no leakage. To the Asgardians, who judged strength by how much aura you leaked and how loud you roared, the Gremory group looked like average High-Class devils at best. Not warrior material.
"They look like children," another warrior scoffed, spitting on the floor. "Can that pretty boy even lift a sword?" He pointed at Kiba.
Kiba smiled pleasantly, though his eyes were cold. "I can lift yours, if you like."
Ren turned to the peerage. "They think you're scrubs."
"We noticed," Rias said, her voice cool, regal. "It's annoying."
"So," Ren turned back to Odin. "How about a wager? Your best warriors against my students. One on one. If we win, we get free reign of the forest. If we lose... well, we won't lose."
Odin stroked his beard, his eye gleaming with interest. "A duel? I enjoy a good spectacle. Very well. Five matches. My Elite Einherjar against your Devils."
"Ultimate Class level," Ren added casually. "Don't send the rookies. Give them a real workout."
The hall erupted in murmurs. Ultimate Class? For these kids? Was he insane?
"You are arrogant," Gondul growled, stepping into the center of the hall. He drew a massive greatsword that radiated cold iron magic. "I, Gondul the Iron-Breaker, will take the first match. I will crush that red armored boy."
Issei stepped forward. He cracked his knuckles. Ddraig's gem flashed green on his hand.
"Bring it on, beard-guy," Issei said, channeling Ren's slang, his grin sharp. "I'm gonna fold you like laundry."
Ren walked over to the side, grabbing a goblet of wine from a stunned serving girl. He sat down on a bench next to Azazel, crossing his legs.
"This is gonna be fun," Ren said, taking a sip. "Asgardian wine isn't bad. A bit earthy."
"You're a bad influence," Azazel noted, watching Issei trash-talk a Viking legend.
"I'm the best influence," Ren corrected, his grey eyes locking onto the center of the room. "Now watch. This is what modern cultivation looks like."
The floor was cleared. A circle of runes was drawn.
Round One: Issei Hyoudou vs. Gondul the Iron-Breaker.
"Begin!" Odin commanded, his voice shaking the rafters.