The atmosphere inside the Hall of Gladsheim shifted. It was a tangible change, heavy and suffocating. The jovial scent of roasted boar, spilled mead, and unwashed revelry was instantaneously scrubbed away, replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of high-grade ozone and the oppressive static of anticipated violence.
The Einherjar—warriors chosen by the Valkyries, souls who had bathed in blood and died with swords in their hands—formed a colossal ring. Their raucous laughter had died out. In its place was a silence filled with critical, predatory judgment. They were veterans of a thousand wars, waiting to see if these pampered devils would break under the weight of Valhalla.
In the center of the circle stood Issei Hyoudou.
Seven days ago, he would have been hunched over, his eyes darting around nervously, apologizing for his existence. Now, he stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, rooted to the stone floor like an ancient oak that had weathered hurricanes. His posture was relaxed, yet entirely grounded.
Opposite him towered Gondul, the Iron-Breaker. The Asgardian champion was a mountain of corded muscle and runic steel, a testament to physical brutality. He dragged a greatsword—a slab of dark iron enchanted with gravity runes—that was longer than Issei was tall. The tip of the blade etched a deep, screeching groove into the enchanted stone floor as he moved.
"Put your gauntlet on, boy," Gondul sneered, his voice a deep bass that vibrated in the chests of the spectators. "Call out your little 'Boosts'. Scream about your dreams. I want to hear you squeal before I crush your spine."
Issei looked up at the giant. His expression wasn't angry. It was focused. He didn't summon his Balance Breaker. He simply raised his left hand. The emerald jewel of the Boosted Gear glowed—not with a blinding flash, but with a steady, rhythmic pulse. It beat like a heart, deep and resonant.
"I don't need to scream anymore," Issei said, his voice level and calm. "Ren-sensei taught me that screaming just wastes oxygen. And oxygen is fuel."
Gondul's face twisted in rage. To be dismissed by a devil brat? "Die!"
The giant moved with a speed that belied his massive frame. He was a blurred avalanche of steel and killing intent. He hoisted the gravity-enchanted greatsword and brought it down in a vertical cleave that could have split a main battle tank in half. The wind pressure alone cracked the floor tiles before the blade even connected, the air shrieking as it was torn asunder.
The spectators leaned in, expecting the boy to dodge.
Issei didn't dodge. He didn't block.
He stepped into the swing.
It was madness. Or it was perfection. Just as the cold iron was about to cleave his skull, Issei raised his left hand. He didn't try to catch the edge; he slapped his palm against the flat of the blade.
Myriad Origin Scripture: Cycle of Waste.
Issei's mana channels didn't flare outward in a chaotic explosion of draconic power. They spun inward. It was a terrifying display of control. The kinetic energy of Gondul's strike, the magical gravity weight, the sheer crushing force—Issei didn't oppose any of it. He accepted it.
VWOOM.
A strange, warping sound echoed through the hall, like reality being folded. The greatsword stopped instantly. There was no shockwave. No dust cloud. No collision sound. It was as if the laws of physics had been put on mute.
Issei had absorbed the kinetic vector of the attack. The energy traveled through his palm, spiraled down his arm, shot through his spine, and cycled directly into his Dantian.
Gondul's eyes bulged, veins popping in his neck as he strained against the sword. It felt like he had struck a singularity. "What in the Nine Realms—?"
"Thanks for the top-up," Issei deadpanned.
He clenched his right fist. The energy he had just absorbed, combined with his own potent Draconic aura, was compressed into a singular, microscopic point on his knuckles. He didn't summon a massive beam. He didn't yell "Dragon Shot."
He simply punched Gondul in the solar plexus.
BOOM.
The silence shattered. The sound was akin to a howitzer firing inside a library. The impact didn't send Gondul flying backward immediately. The force was too concentrated for that. Instead, the shockwave traveled through him.
The heavy plate armor on Gondul's back exploded outward, shattering into razor-sharp shrapnel. The kinetic force exited the warrior's body, creating a vacuum tunnel that punched a clean, circular hole through the stone wall fifty feet behind him.
Gondul's eyes rolled back into his head. He crumpled like a wet paper towel, foaming at the mouth, his internal organs rattled into submission.
Total elapsed time: Three seconds.
Issei shook his hand out, wincing slightly as the steam hissed off his knuckles. He looked down at the unconscious legend. "Man, Ren-sensei was right. Recycling really is good for the environment."
The hall was dead silent. Even Odin, the God of Wisdom, had stopped drinking, his golden goblet hovering halfway to his mouth, his single eye wide with incredulity.
"Next," Ren Ming's voice cut through the stunned silence. He was lounging on a bench, looking completely indifferent to the miracle that had just occurred. "That was barely a warm-up. Kiba, you're on deck. Make it snappy, I wanna check out the buffet table."
The shock of Issei's victory hadn't even faded when Kiba Yuuto stepped into the circle.
The Prince of Kuoh didn't draw a sword. He just walked into the center, his expression serene, his blue eyes clear as a mountain spring. He didn't exude the heavy pressure of a devil; he felt sharp. Looking at him felt like pressing your eye against a razor blade.
His opponent was Skirnir, a dual-wielding swordsman famous across Asgard for speed that rivaled the lightning of Thor. Skirnir glanced at Gondul's broken body being dragged away, then turned his gaze to Kiba. He didn't make the mistake of underestimating the devils again.
"I am Skirnir," the warrior said, drawing two short swords that crackled with blue distinct Asgardian lightning. "I will not be careless. I will not give you the chance to breathe."
"I am Kiba," the knight replied, a polite, almost gentle smile on his face. "Please, show me your resolve."
Skirnir vanished.
He moved so fast he became a streak of electricity, a blur of motion circling Kiba to find a blind spot. He was faster than sound, creating afterimages that confused the eye.
Kiba didn't move his feet. He just closed his eyes.
He didn't use mana to boost his speed. He used Intent. Under Ren's tutelage, Kiba had learned that the sword wasn't a tool; it was an extension of the will. And the will was faster than the body.
Kiba opened his eyes. A wave of invisible, razor-sharp pressure expanded from his body.
Clang.
Skirnir froze. He was mid-sprint, appearing out of the blur as if he had hit a solid wall. The air around him was filled with invisible blades. The Sword Intent locked the space, turning the very atmosphere into a cage of cutting edges. Skirnir's lightning flickered and died, severed from the mana source by the sheer sharpness of Kiba's will.
"You are fast," Kiba whispered, appearing directly in front of Skirnir. It wasn't teleportation; he had simply cut the distance between them. "But you are moving through the air. I cut the air before you could step on it."
Kiba raised a single finger. A sword materialized above his hand—not a Holy or Demonic sword, but a blade made of pure, condensed grey energy. The Sword of the Mind.
He swung his finger gently, like a conductor directing a symphony.
The sound was a high-pitched whine that set teeth on edge.
Snap.
Skirnir's twin runic swords, forged by the master dwarves of Svartalfheim, snapped cleanly in half. The invisible cut continued, slicing the leather strap of Skirnir's chest piece, letting the heavy armor fall to the floor with a dull thud.
A thin, crimson line appeared on Skirnir's neck. Not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to draw a single drop of blood.
Kiba dissipated the energy sword. "Checkmate."
Skirnir fell to his knees, trembling. He hadn't even seen the blade move. The gap in skill was not a chasm; it was an abyss.
From the sidelines, Ren Ming clapped slowly, a lazy, rhythmic sound. "Not bad, pretty boy. Your edge alignment is getting better. Still a bit flashy with the monologue—you sounded like a movie trailer—but we'll work on it."
Ren Ming stood up and walked over to Rias, who was watching with wide, proud eyes, her hands clasped over her chest.
"Hey," Ren Ming said, nudging Issei with his elbow as the boy returned. "Good job not acting like a shonen protagonist for five minutes. That punch? Solid. Efficient. No wasted movement. That's what I like to see. Real combat isn't about who yells the loudest."
He then looked at Kiba, who was bowing to the stunned Odin. "And you. You're starting to understand the meaning of Sword Intent. Cutting the form is easy; cutting the concept is where the fun begins."
Ren Ming grabbed a grape from a silver fruit bowl, tossed it in the air, and caught it in his mouth. "See that, Odin? That's precision. Your boy was swinging like he was chopping wood. My boy was performing surgery. Different levels."
Odin grunted, leaning forward on his throne. The playful drunkenness was gone, replaced by the calculating gaze of a war god. "The way he used that sword... that… should be impossible. He severed the mana connection without touching the source."
"Impossible is just a word people use when they're too lazy to figure out the math," Ren Ming quipped, chewing the grape. "Next up! Tiny Tank! You're on!"
Koneko Toujou walked forward. She looked even smaller than usual in the vast hall, a white-haired doll amidst giants.
Her opponent was Thrum, a monstrosity of a man who was half-Frost Giant. He stood twelve feet tall, his skin a pale, icy blue, holding a war hammer the size of a Honda Civic. The ground shook with each of his steps.
"A child?" Thrum rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "I will not fight a little girl."
"Don't call me a child," Koneko said. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the air around her began to warp violently.
The Myriad Origin Scripture resonated perfectly with her Touki. It compacted it, density upon density, until her small body weighed as much as a mountain.
Thrum roared and swung the hammer. It was a clumsy, devastating blow meant to flatten her into paste.
Koneko didn't jump away. She raised one hand, palm open.
She caught the hammer.
BOOM.
The ground beneath Koneko vaporized into dust, creating a crater ten feet wide. But Koneko herself? She didn't move a millimeter. She stood in the center of the destruction, holding the massive weapon with one small, pale hand.
The kinetic energy of the blow traveled through her arm, into her core, looped three times through her meridians to build momentum, and settled in her other fist.
"Is that it?" Koneko asked, tilting her head.
Thrum's jaw dropped. He tried to pull the hammer back, his massive muscles bulging, but it wouldn't budge. It was like it was welded to the fabric of space.
Koneko let go of the hammer and stepped inside his guard. She punched Thrum in the kneecap.
It wasn't just a punch. It was a Touki blast concentrated into a needle point.
CRACK.
The sound of the half-giant's femur snapping was nauseatingly loud, echoing off the stone walls. Thrum screamed, toppling over like a felled tree. As he fell, Koneko spun, using the momentum to deliver a roundhouse kick to his jaw before he even hit the ground.
Bang.
The giant spun in the air twice, defying gravity, before crashing into the stone wall, embedding himself into the masonry like a grotesque decoration.
"Done," Koneko said, dusting off her hands.
Ren Ming whistled low and long. "Damn. That's pure violence. I love it."
He waited for Koneko to walk back. As she approached, Ren Ming stood up and opened his arms. Koneko, usually reserved and stoic, practically sprinted the last few steps and buried her face in his stomach.
"Good job, short stack," Ren grinned, resting his chin on top of her white hair. "You handled that recoil perfectly. Your center of gravity is rock solid."
"He was weak," Koneko mumbled into his shirt, inhaling his scent. "I wanted to break his other leg."
"Save some aggression for later," Ren laughed, rubbing her back soothingly. "But seriously, you looked cool as hell. Total boss energy. I'm proud of you."
Koneko's cat ears twitched, and a rare, genuine smile graced her lips. Being praised by Ren was better than any catnip or sweet treat.
The score was 3-0. The Asgardians were getting restless. This was supposed to be a stomping, a lesson for the devils. Instead, their elite were getting folded like lawn chairs.
"This is absurd," a hooded figure muttered, floating into the circle. He was surrounded by orbiting magical stones. "Brute force has failed. Magic will prevail."
Asia Argento stepped forward.
The crowd laughed. A nun? A healer? She looked like she would cry if you yelled at her. Her green eyes were wide, and she clutched her hands together.
"Girl," the Rune Master sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "Surrender. I control the ancient runic magic of the Vanir. I can boil your blood with a thought."
Asia looked back at Ren. Ren gave her a thumbs up and winked. "Show 'em the Twilight Zone, Asia. Be the glitch in the matrix."
Asia took a deep breath. Her eyes, usually so gentle, sharpened with a terrifying clarity. The Myriad Origin Scripture didn't just recycle physical stamina; it recycled mental focus and magical intent.
The Rune Master fired a barrage of fireballs and lightning bolts, a storm of elemental destruction.
Asia didn't summon a shield. She simply expanded her aura.
"Twilight Suppression."
Her Sacred Gear, Twilight Healing, usually used for mending wounds, was inverted by Ren's twisted teachings. Instead of pushing life into things to heal them, she flooded the atmosphere with so much dense, life-attuned mana that it choked out every other element.
The fireballs fizzled out into sparks. The lightning vanished into thin air. The atmosphere became thick, smelling of heavy antiseptic and ozone.
The Rune Master choked, clutching his throat. The mana density around Asia was so high it was like swimming in syrup. His runes couldn't activate because there was no "space" for them to exist.
Asia pointed a trembling finger at him.
"Rest."
A beam of pale green light hit the mage. It wasn't an attack. It was healing. But it was aggressive healing. It forced his body's cells to regenerate and relax so rapidly that his parasympathetic nervous system crashed.
His muscles turned to jelly. His brain was flooded with a lethal dose of dopamine and serotonin. He fell to the ground, not in pain, but in a blissed-out, drooling coma. He was asleep before he hit the floor, overdosed on life.
"Oh wow," Issei muttered, stepping back slightly. "That's… actually terrifying."
"Combat Medic Asia," Ren Ming nodded, looking pleased. "Pacifism through superior firepower. She didn't hurt him; she just gave him the best nap of his life. Whether he wakes up next week is another problem."
As Asia walked back, trembling slightly from the adrenaline, Ren pulled her into a tight side hug, squeezing her shoulder.
"You were amazing, Asia," Ren Ming said softly, looking directly into her eyes. "You controlled the field completely. You didn't just beat him; you neutralized him without hurting him. That takes serious skill."
"I… I didn't want him to suffer," Asia said, blushing furiously under his intense gaze.
"That's why you're the heart of this team," Ren Ming said, brushing a stray bang out of her face with a gentle touch. "Kindness isn't weakness when it's backed by a tactical nuke. You did great, sweetie."
Asia beamed, clutching his shirt. "Thank you, Ren-san!"
Finally, it was Akeno's turn.
Her opponent was Hrist, a Valkyrie Captain wielding a spear that crackled with blue lightning. A lightning user vs. a lightning user.
"I am Hrist," the Valkyrie announced, pointing her weapon at the Priestess of Thunder. "I command the storms of the North. Your devil lightning is impure."
Akeno giggled. It was her signature "Ara ara," but it carried a dark, heavy undertone that made the skin crawl.
"Impure?" Akeno licked her lips, her violet eyes glinting with sadism. "Ren-sama taught me that purity is just a matter of voltage. Let me show you."
Hrist cast a massive bolt of Nordic lightning, a jagged spear of white-hot plasma that illuminated the entire hall.
Akeno didn't block. She opened her mouth and inhaled.
Using the closed-loop nature of the Myriad Origin Scripture, she treated the incoming energy not as a threat, but as fuel. She guided the enemy lightning into her own veins, stripping away the Nordic signature, refining it, and mixing it with her own Demonic Lightning.
She swallowed the attack. Literally.
"Tasty," Akeno murmured, her eyes glowing neon yellow, static electricity dancing across her lips.
The Valkyrie froze, horror dawning on her face. "What…?"
Akeno raised her hand, pointing a single finger at the Valkyrie.
"Return to sender."
A beam of concentrated lightning, no thicker than a pencil, shot from her fingertip. It was a fusion of the absorbed attack and her own power, compressed to the point of becoming a laser. It moved at the speed of light.
It pierced the Valkyrie's shoulder guard, melted her spear shaft instantly, and grazed her cheek, blowing up the stone wall behind her with a deafening crack.
The Valkyrie collapsed from the shockwave alone, her armor smoking, her will completely broken.
"Oh my," Akeno chuckled, fanning herself with her hand. "I might have used a little too much."
She sashayed back to the group, hips swaying. Ren Ming caught her by the waist, pulling her flush against him. He could feel the residual static electricity buzzing on her skin, a sensation he found incredibly appealing.
"Show off," Ren Ming teased, his voice low and husky, right in her ear. "But damn, you look good doing it. You looked like a goddess of storms out there. Scary and sexy. That's a dangerous combo."
Akeno shivered, leaning into his touch, her sadistic mask melting into pure, adoration-filled affection. "Did I please you, Ren-sama?"
"You always please me, Akeno," Ren whispered, kissing her temple. "Remind me to have you teach me that lightning-eating trick later. It was metal as fuck."
Finally, it was Rias's turn.
The atmosphere shifted again. Rias Gremory removed her Kuoh Academy school jacket, revealing her battle attire. Her crimson hair flowed as if she were underwater, reacting to the immense pressure of her own aura. The air around her began to turn red and black, the color of Ruin.
Odin stood up. His face was grave. "My Captain of the Guard, Sigurd, will face you. He is Ultimate Class. He has slain dragons."
Sigurd stepped forward. He was a knight in blinding golden armor, wielding a spear that shone like a captured sun.
"Lady Gremory," Sigurd nodded respectfully, though his stance was guarded. "Prepare yourself."
Rias looked at Ren Ming. He winked at her. "Go get 'em, Tiger. Show them what Destruction really means. It's not about blowing things up. It's about erasure."
Sigurd lunged, his spear tip glowing with solar flare magic, a thrust meant to pierce mountains.
Rias didn't fire a beam. She spread her wings.
The room darkened. Small orbs of the Power of Destruction floated around her like dead stars.
Myriad Origin Scripture: Starfall.
The gravity in the room increased tenfold, focused entirely on Sigurd. But it wasn't normal gravity. It was erasing gravity. The air around Sigurd began to hiss as it was deleted from existence, creating a vacuum.
Sigurd fell to one knee, his armor creaking and groaning under the strain. "This pressure... it's eating my mana shield! It's devouring the light!"
Rias pointed a single finger at the tip of Sigurd's legendary spear.
"Erase."
A beam the width of a pencil shot out. It hit the spear.
There was no explosion. The spear simply... ceased to be. The divine metal vanished, eaten by the Power of Destruction. The beam continued, ignoring the durability of the weapon, and stopped exactly one millimeter from Sigurd's forehead.
Sigurd froze. He was weaponless, kneeling, with the power of absolute death hovering between his eyes. He looked up at the Gremory heiress and saw not a spoilt princess, but a monarch of ruin.
"I yield," Sigurd whispered, sweat pouring down his face, terror gripping his heart.
Rias retracted her aura instantly. The lights returned to the hall. She flipped her hair, turned around, and walked back to Ren.
She didn't run. She glided. She stopped in front of him, looking up with expectant eyes, her cheeks flushed with the high of victory and the desire for his approval.
Ren didn't say anything at first. He just looked at her, his grey eyes intense.
"That," Ren said, his voice serious, devoid of any joking, "was royalty. You commanded that arena. You stared down an Ultimate Class warrior and made him kneel without breaking a sweat. You aren't just a Gremory, Rias. You're a queen in your own right."
Rias beamed, a smile so bright it outshone the Bifrost itself. "Thank you, Ren. I... I wanted to impress you."
"I knew you had it in you," Ren smiled, a soft, genuine expression that softened his sharp features. "You were breathtaking."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment. Rias closed her eyes, basking in the warmth, the anxiety of the day washing away, replaced by the unbreakable confidence he had instilled in her.