Ren looked over them from the front steps.
Azazel and a few of his closest researchers.
Rossweisse with two hardened Valkyries at her back.
Sona and a handpicked slice of her peerage.
Griselda, Irina, Xenovia.
Sairaorg. Seekvaira.
A Shinto emissary bearing a faint sliver of Amaterasu's presence.
A fox envoy from Kyoto.
Others—worthies from Heaven, the Underworld, and places in between—each of them talented, stubborn, and crazy enough to have walked willingly into his world and let it crush them.
The air around the manor still whispered with the fading echo of pressure and nightmare.
"Not bad," Ren said, mouth quirking. "For a first batch."
His voice wasn't loud, but the courtyard quieted anyway.
He shifted his gaze past them, toward the outer grounds where figures lingered in the shadows—those who'd tried and been spat back out by the threshold of his Saint Kingdom. People nursing bruised bodies and wounded pride.
Ren let his voice carry there.
"For those who failed," he called. "This isn't shame. It's information."
Heads turned. Some flinched; some glared; some simply listened.
"You know where you stand now," Ren went on, tone lazily matter–of–fact. "That's more than you knew yesterday. You can keep trying as many times as you want. The manor's not going anywhere."
A few jaws clenched. One young devil looked away, eyes burning brighter.
Ren nodded once, satisfied, and turned his attention back to the group in front of him.
"You," he said, smile returning. "Get to see the inside."
He pivoted and walked toward the open doors.
No fanfare, no grand proclamation—just a simple invitation. But everyone felt the boundary as they crossed it, as clearly as if they'd stepped from one season into another.
The world changed.
...
Inside the manor, the air was clearer.
Not thinner. Not weaker. Just… ordered.
Worldly energy here didn't drift aimlessly; it moved with purpose. It flowed through formation lines etched into walls and floor, vanished into nodes, resurfaced in spirals that followed Ren Ming's Dao. It felt like walking into the lungs of a living being and hearing the rhythm of its breath.
They gathered in a wide training hall. The polished wooden floor gleamed like still water. Paper screens were slid open to reveal a courtyard garden where a single twisted tree grew out of stone, its bark dark and knotted, its leaves a vivid, impossible green that made the eye linger.
Rias' peerage lined one side, already in simple training clothes. The way they carried themselves had changed—spines straighter, breaths naturally deep, power gathered tight instead of bleeding from their skin.
In one corner, Tiamat lounged like a bored apex predator—arms folded under the weight of her chest, legs crossed, long blue hair spilling over the back of the bench. Her dragon eyes tracked every movement, faint amusement curling at the corner of her lips as if watching new animals released into her territory.
Ren stood at the center of the hall.
"Welcome," he said again, voice relaxed but clear. "You've walked through pressure and nightmare. Good. That means you're at least a little serious."
Azazel raised a hand, flopping down cross–legged without waiting to be told.
"So, Teacher," he drawled, grinning. "What now? You going to tattoo enlightenment on our backs? I'm pretty sure I've got room."
A couple of the Valkyries twitched as if they weren't sure whether to be offended.
Ren snorted. "You can get a tramp stamp later if you're that desperate. For now, we start with basics."
He tapped his chest with two fingers.
"In my world, cultivation is built on three pillars," he said. "Physique. Life Wheel. Fate Palace. Whole system built around that. You don't need to understand the details—not yet, anyway."
He swept his gaze over devils, angels, fallen, gods, and hybrids.
"Here, your systems are different. Devil crests. Sacred Gears. Holy scripts. Divine authorities. All messy. All full of leaks."
A ripple of discomfort ran through the hall. No one contradicted him.
Ren spread his hands.
"My method—Myriad Epoch True Self Canon—doesn't care what you are," he said. "Angel, devil, god, human, dragon. As long as you have a self, you can cultivate."
His eyes grew faintly amused.
"First step: we build a place for your self to stand."
He pointed to his temple.
"Soul Palace."
Sona's glasses caught the light as her eyes sharpened. "A… palace of the soul," she repeated slowly. "An inner structural world?"
"Exactly." Ren nodded. "You all felt the pressure outside. That was the weight of heaven and earth. If you rely only on that, you're always at its mercy. So we build our own heaven and earth inside. A world that belongs only to you."
He lifted a hand and made a simple gesture.
"Sit."
They obeyed.
Azazel dropped like he was settling in for a good movie. Griselda knelt with perfect posture, hands resting lightly on her thighs. Sairaorg sat seiza, back straight, jaw set with that stubborn Bael resolve. Irina fidgeted before forcing herself to still. Xenovia sat like a soldier in prayer.
Sona folded her legs with measured grace, Tsubaki at her side. Seekvaira adjusted her glasses and sat as if she were about to attend a lecture, magic circles already wanting to unfurl at her fingertips.
Rias' group moved without hesitation. For them, this was familiar ground.
Ren's presence softened as he strolled among them.
"I'll guide you once," he said. "After that, it's on you. I'm not going to hold your hand every step of the way."
He raised his hand.
Fine strands of Dao–light uncoiled from his fingertips, thin as hair, clear as starlight. They brushed each forehead one by one—not piercing, not invading, just leaving behind a pattern, the ghost of a path.
"Close your eyes," Ren said quietly. "Breathe. Whatever power you use—holy, demonic, Touki, runes—gather it in your center. Don't let it leak into your hands, your eyes, your wings. Just… let it pool."
They followed his words.
For some, it was natural. Griselda's holy light folded in on itself like a disciplined choir obeying a baton. Rossweisse's magic, used to carrying stacks of spells and wards at once, folded into neat layers.
For others, it was like trying to wrestle with a wild horse.
Irina's aura wanted to surge out in bright waves, sparkling with earnestness. Xenovia's power flared in sudden bursts, like sword strikes half–finished. A young Greek emissary's divinity almost set his robes on fire before Azazel reached over and flicked his forehead.
"Hey," the Fallen muttered. "Don't embarrass us in front of the teacher."
"Don't fight it," Ren said. "Don't force it, either. Just… watch it. Accept that it's there. Your power isn't a stranger. It's you."
Under his voice, the Canon's first–layer merit law stirred.
Invisible patterns traced themselves through their bodies—simple loops at first. Leaking energy that would normally spill from skin and breath was caught, curved, and sent cycling. The Myriad Origin Scripture's recycling principle—refined for this world—caught drips and scraps of power and turned them back toward the center.
Worldly demonic power, holy light, divine authority—all of it began to flow more cleanly.
"Good," Ren murmured. "Now, from that pool, draw a thread. Just one. Bring it up… here."
He touched his own forehead lightly.
"In my home, the Fate Palace is hidden in the Ni Gong meridian, up here. Here, you don't have that structure, so we're not bound by his history, but the principle's the same—you're going to knock on the door of your own inner world. Gently. Don't smash your head against it."
Several expressions tightened. He knew, without seeing, that a handful had immediately tried brute force.
He let a smirk tug his lips.
Minutes passed.
Some felt nothing but pressure. A weight against their minds, an ache behind their eyes.
Then, one by one, small reactions appeared.
Irina sucked in a soft breath. "I… I can see something," she whispered. "A tiny chapel…? Stained glass… and a lot of dust…"
"Good," Ren said. "That's your first Soul Palace taking shape. Don't get distracted. Keep feeding it."
Rossweisse's brow furrowed. Sweat beaded at her temples. Her fingers twitched as if reaching for a pen.
"…A… library," she breathed at last. "Books, scrolls… the shelves keep… extending…"
Griselda's voice was barely audible. "An empty field," she murmured. "Just grass. And a clear sky. It feels… peaceful."
Azazel let out a low chuckle.
"Heh. Mine's a research lab," he reported. "Of course it is. Tch. Even my soul knows I'm hopeless."
Ren's expression warmed as he moved through them, occasionally adjusting someone's posture, lightly tapping a shoulder, letting a thread of intent steady a wavering mind.
"Don't analyze too much yet," he told Sona when he noticed her trying to label every sensation. "Just build the floor. You can rearrange furniture later."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she obeyed, letting her pristine mental diagrams dissolve into raw sensation.
Time blurred.
Breaths sunk into a shared rhythm. The hall's wooden beams watched in silence.
When Ren finally lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, the sound was soft but carried like a bell.
"Open your eyes," he said.
They did.
And in that first heartbeat, they all realized it.
Everything felt… different.
Not dramatically. No one had grown extra wings. No one had suddenly ascended to godhood. But the entire world seemed to have rotated half a degree.
Colors were a shade more vivid. The grain of the wooden floor stood out like fine script. Voices separated cleanly from ambient sound, as if someone had adjusted a filter. Thoughts that usually tangled came in neat stacks, easier to sort.
Their power—demonic, holy, divine, magical—no longer felt like a wild river threatening to overflow. It felt like a reservoir behind walls, with channels they could see if they focused.
Azazel flexed his fingers slowly, magic and light running through tendons like tamed lightning.
"…Hah," he said. "That's… insane?"
Ren nodded, hands sliding into his pockets.
"This is cultivation," he said. "Right now, you lot have condensed about twenty percent. That's enough for you to notice. At fifty, you'll wonder how you ever lived without it. At a hundred, you'll never go back."
Rossweisse pushed her glasses up with a hand that shook.
"My calculations…" she whispered. "If this stability is maintained, spell failure rates would drop by… no, that number can't be right… but it feels… possible…"
Sona's mind raced at a blistering pace, but her voice stayed even.
"…My thoughts are clearer," she said slowly. "It's like… the noise has been filtered out. Connections I should have seen before are… obvious."
Irina blinked rapidly, hand over her heart.
"Eh? I really do feel… smarter," she said. "Is that okay? Am I allowed to feel like that?"
Xenovia opened and closed her hands. Usually, power bled from her at every movement. Now it stayed close, a weight in her limbs instead of a leaking aura.
"If this helps me cut things better," she muttered, "then I don't care what it's called."
Griselda bowed her head.
"This… is a blessing," she said quietly. "Not from Heaven… but something like it."
Ren watched all of this, satisfaction humming through his chest.
"This," he said, voice steady, "is just the start."
He let his gaze sweep across angels, devils, fallen, gods, dragons.
"You've taken your first step into cultivation. From now on, every breath, every meal, every battle can feed that inner world. Your Soul Palace will grow. Your Anima will sharpen. Your Dao Fruits will eventually hang from your own tree."
They didn't understand all of those words yet, but the weight of them sank in.
"You'll be stronger," Ren said. "Smarter. Harder to shake. But remember: power isn't free. The more you refine yourselves, the more the world will push back. Your old enemies won't understand what you've become. Your gods will be confused. Your superiors will be scared."
He smiled then—pure, relaxed, as if he hadn't just told them they were about to shake the bones of their cosmology.
"If you're okay with that," he finished, "then… welcome to the class."
Silence held for a long heartbeat.
Then Azazel laughed, throwing his head back.
"Well," the Governor of the Fallen said, stretching his arms behind his head. "I always did like bad decisions. Alright, Teacher. Show me how far this rabbit hole goes."
Sona exhaled, lenses flashing.
"…I refuse to be left behind," she murmured to herself.
Rossweisse touched her chest, feeling the new, faintly glowing "room" she had built.
"If I master this," she thought, a flutter of unfamiliar warmth blooming in her chest, "maybe… I can finally stand somewhere on my own."
Rias stepped forward.
Her crimson hair burned under the hall's light, eyes shining. There was pride there. Affection. A quiet, unshakable trust in the man at the center of the room.
"Everyone," she said, voice clear. "As Ren's first disciples… let's show them how to climb."
Ren's smile turned faintly feral.
...
By the time the sun slid beneath Kuoh's horizon, Ren's manor felt less like a house and more like the eye of a quiet storm.
The first batch of cultivators had been turned loose.
The ripples spread outward.
Azazel and Penemue were off to their own side.
"I'm serious," he told a stunned Penemue. "It's not a Sacred Gear system, it's not a spell framework, it's not anything. It's… a different world glued on top of ours. Start clearing time in the labs. And send only people who won't panic when the floor starts breathing."
Heaven's group was quieter, but no less shaken.
Griselda walked with Irina and Xenovia, expression calm. Her eyes, though, were distant, replaying the feel of that first Soul Palace—the open field, endless sky.
"Recorded observations will be submitted to Michael-sama," she said, voice steady. "However… I recommend we do not dismiss this as some demonic trick. It felt… clean."
Irina nodded repeatedly.
"I really feel like I got smarter," she confessed. "Like the inside of my head got… scrubbed. Is that okay? That's okay, right?"
Xenovia just gripped Durandal and snorted.
"If this helps me cut more enemies of God," she said firmly, "then it's fine."
Sona's group moved with the organized efficiency of a student council adjourning a long meeting. Even so, Tsubaki could see the spark behind her King's glasses.
"Tsubaki, compile everyone's notes," Sona ordered as they walked. "Momo, Reya—record changes in spell formation times. Cross–check with Hyoudou's breathing method. Document everything."
"And you?" Tsubaki asked quietly.
Sona adjusted her frames.
"…I will prepare a proposal," she said. "If Kuoh is becoming a new… hub, we cannot remain bystanders."
In the Underworld, communication circles flared to life.
In Agares territory, Seekvaira didn't even sit down before magic circles blossomed into the air above her desk. She traced models of "Soul Palaces" with quick, precise motions, equations unfolding into constellations of light.
"So if the inner world's stability scales with…" she muttered, scribbling onto parchment with a pen in one hand and rearranging formulas with the other.
Not far away, Sairaorg Bael stood alone on a balcony, hands clenched on the railing until stone cracked under his fingers. The wind whipped his cloak, carrying faint traces of Ren's foreign aura.
"So that's the path you chose, Ren Ming," he said quietly. "A road where anyone can climb if they have the guts to try."
He smiled, fierce and unyielding.
"Fine. I'll start from the bottom and catch up."
In Kyoto, fox envoys knelt before Yasaka, tails brushing the tatami as they tried to describe the impossible.
"…It was as if the air itself bent, Lady Yasaka," one said. "The manor… breathed. Our power did not move unless we willed it. And when we did, it felt… heavier. Truer."
Even in Takamagahara, a priestess relayed reports to Amaterasu.
The sun goddess listened in silence, fingers tapping once on the armrest of her throne.
"…A path not born from this world," she said at last. "And he opens it to all."
Her eyes closed, as if tracking a new sun rising on an unfamiliar horizon.
Far beyond, in quiet corners of old factions and new conspiracies, people who had never heard Ren Ming's name felt tiny shifts in fate. The world was tilting a little, in small increments. Edges of old systems frayed under the lightest touch of something that didn't belong.
..
Back in Kuoh, at the heart of it all, Ren Ming stretched lazily on the manor's front steps.
The courtyard had emptied. Some guests had left to report. Others lingered within, already sitting down to taste their Soul Palaces again, afraid the new clarity would dissolve like a dream if they blinked.
Inside, Rias and her peerage were taking care of logistics. Asia happily fluffing pillows with a small hum. Koneko stacking futons with the calm efficiency of someone who could lift a truck one–handed. Akeno humming as she set tea trays, her lightning now flowing like silk in her veins instead of occasionally sparking in the corners of the room.
Ren rolled his shoulders, joints crackling softly, like distant thunder.
"Not bad for day one," he murmured to himself. "A bit noisy, but…"
He let his senses expand.
He didn't unleash his Saint Kingdom; he just breathed. His Dao moved with him, and the world adjusted.
Qi threads unfolded over Kuoh like a second atmosphere. Demonic power, holy light, divine authority—their signatures were bright fingerprints in the dark.
Most were already streaking away—teleportation trails toward the Underworld, Heaven, Kyoto, Asgard.
But on the very edge of his sense, clinging to the perimeter of his territory like burrs, there were five signatures that didn't belong to any invited group.
They were sharp. Contained. Dangerous in a way that didn't come from raw volume, but from precision honed by battle.
Ren's lips curved.
"…And here I was thinking today would end quietly."
He tilted his head slightly. Inside the manor, he could feel Rias and the others winding down, warmth and domestic noise spreading out like a soft blanket.
He considered letting the intruders skulk around a little longer.
Then the domineering part of him shrugged.
No reason to humor brats on his turf.
He snapped his fingers.
Space didn't crack. It didn't scream. It simply decided that, tonight, following his intent was easier than following its own rules.
A ring of Dao–script flared into existence along the edge of the manor grounds. Invisible to human eyes, but blinding to anything that could sense power. Each character pulsed with ancient austerity, lines drawn from worlds Vali Lucifer had never heard of.
Five shadows, creeping across rooftops and trees, froze mid–step.
"—what—"
"Oi, what the—"
Ren curled his fingers.
The ring tightened like a net.
A heartbeat later, the quiet courtyard wasn't quiet at all.
Five figures were dragged into view in a rush of displaced air, like fish scooped from deep water.
A white–haired young man with draconic wings half–unfurled, mismatched eyes gleaming like twin blades.
Beside him, a staff–wielding monkey–boy landed with infuriating grace, grin already in place even as he assessed danger.
A voluptuous black–haired nekomata in a kimono that prioritized curves over coverage, tails swaying lazily behind her as if she had every right to be here.
A blond swordsman in a neat suit, aura honed and quiet around the Holy King Sword at his hip.
A petite witch in a cloak and slightly crooked hat, slender fingers clutching her grimoire.
They landed in varying degrees of ready stance, instincts screaming.
The gathered energy around the manor flexed once, acknowledging new variables, then settled again.
Ren stayed where he was, sitting on the steps, elbows resting on his knees.
"Evening," he said mildly. "Enjoying the view?"
The white–haired youth in front—six black wings folded tight, dragon aura coiled—smirked despite the abrupt forced teleportation.
"So you noticed us," Vali Lucifer said. "As expected."
Bikou let his staff rest against his shoulder, golden cloud dispersing around his ankles.
"Man, you didn't just notice us," he laughed. "You yoinked us. That's rude, you know?"
Le Fay blinked, eyes wide behind her fringe. "Um, Onii–sama, this aura, it's… it's not demonic, or holy, or…"
Her words faded as she truly felt the weight pressing in from every direction—not heavy in the way of oppressive holy light or suffocating demonic miasma, but something deeper. A world's gaze, turned inward.
Kuroka straightened, golden eyes sweeping the courtyard.
Her usual languid, teasing aura sharpened for a moment as she assessed the manor's invisible boundary. Then her gaze slid to the doorway.
The paper door slid open.
Rias stepped out first, hair loose over her shoulders, crimson like burning silk. Akeno followed with an easy, amused smile. Asia peeked out shyly, fingers tangled in her skirt. Koneko walked beside her, expression as flat as ever.
Koneko's eyes landed on Kuroka.
Her pupils shrank.
Her tail—longer now, fluffier and fuller thanks to her own growth and Ren's cultivation—puffed so violently it strained the seams of her uniform.
"…Nee—" Her throat closed. Her voice emerged barely above a whisper. "…sister."
Kuroka's aura rippled for the first time since she arrived. The playful slouch vanished. For a heartbeat, she looked like someone who had been struck across the face.
"Shirone."
The name slipped out raw, stripped of her usual sing–song "nya."
Koneko flinched as if the word had claws.
Behind Ren, Issei, Kiba, and Gasper stepped outside as well, drawn by the sudden spike of unfamiliar power.
Issei's eyes widened the instant he saw Vali.
"So that's the White One's host…" he muttered, hands tightening. In the back of his mind, Ddraig's voice rumbled, unusually serious.
[So you finally see him up close, partner.]
Kiba's gaze lingered on the blond swordsman, Collbrande hanging at his side. Old obsessions with swords and holy steel flickered in his eyes, tempered now by a calmer, heavier resolve.
Rias' brows drew together, her gaze sharp as she took in Vali's wings, his presence, the casual arrogance that never tipped into recklessness.
Ren rose to his feet.
The act was simple—just a man standing up from sitting—but every eye followed him.
Up close, Vali's aura was a compressed storm—cold, sharp, honed on battlefields that had never seen sunlight. Dividing power coiled around him like a pale dragon, half–tamed and hungry.
Ren's own presence, by contrast, felt… simple.
Relaxed. Almost lazy.
And yet, the world around him moved with his breathing. The Dao that underpinned his Saint Kingdom thrummed along the grain of the wooden steps, whispered in the shifting leaves of the twisted tree in the garden, traced the edges of every formation line.
"Vali Lucifer," Ren said conversationally. "I've heard the stories. Hakuryuukou who wants to fight the Sekiryuutei at full power. Hates boredom. Doesn't care about politics unless it leads to good battles."
Vali's smile sharpened. "You've done your homework."
"I try." Ren's gaze slid to Bikou. "Monkey with Sun Wukong's staff. You like poking hornets' nests just to see what flies out."
"Heh." Bikou grinned wider. "Guilty."
Ren's eyes moved to the swordsman. "Arthur Pendragon. Sword genius. Holy King Sword. Magnet for trouble."
Arthur's lips twitched. He inclined his head. "An interesting reputation."
Ren looked at the witch. "Le Fay. Magic prodigy. Big fan of certain dragon shows. Cute, too."
Le Fay turned pink to the tips of her ears. "Eh—ah—um—"
"And Kuroka," Ren finished, his tone softening a fraction. "Nekoshou who killed her master to protect her little sister. Got labeled a criminal for it. Dragged into a messy crowd afterwards."
Kuroka's lips curled back into a lazy smile, but it didn't quite hide the flicker of surprise.
"You know a lot, hm?" she purred. "For a strange human~"
"Cultivator," Ren corrected lightly. "And you were all skulking around my yard. Where I'm from, that's bad manners."
Bikou opened his mouth—probably to quip about guard dogs.
Ren's eyes flicked to him.
Just for a moment.
The air dipped several degrees. The invisible world wrapped around the manor leaned forward, like a predator turning its head toward a noise in the grass.
Bikou's throat clicked. He shut his mouth.
Vali didn't flinch. If anything, his grin widened, eyes lighting with genuine interest.
"We were curious," he said simply. "About the new path you opened. About the red dragon's host you've been raising. About you."
His gaze slid to Issei, the light in his eyes sharpening, hunger for battle peeking through.
"Albion has been… noisy. He says the other half is changing. Growing. I wanted to see."
Issei swallowed, feeling the way Vali's attention focused on him like a blade.
But instead of the old, bitter inferiority that had once eaten him alive, another feeling rose now—steady, bright, anchored in the quiet space of his Soul Palace.
Determination.
"If you wanted to say hello," Ren remarked, "you could have walked through the front gate."
Arthur spread his hands slightly.
"We weren't sure how welcome we would be," he said with polite honesty. "Given current… politics."
"Politics." Ren snorted softly. "Boring word. You're here. You're strong. That's enough."
He glanced over his shoulder.
Rias. Akeno. Asia. Koneko. Kiba. Issei.
They all straightened unconsciously when his gaze touched them, as if someone had set their backs, brushed dust from their shoulders.
'This'll be your first time seeing them like this,' Ren mused. 'In the old route, you were on the back foot. Today…'
He remembered how things had gone the first time, in the "original" flow of this world.
Vali appearing in the aftermath of Kokabiel's attack, casually humiliating the Cadre and then making Issei feel like an insect. A peace conference where Vali could have killed the then–Issei in an instant if he'd been serious.
Back then, Rias' peerage had been scrambling just to keep up.
Now…
He turned back to Vali's team, eyes glinting.