Max
Three days passed in focused determination.
Max stood in the desert outside the village, far enough that no one would witness his training but close enough to respond if needed. The sun beat down mercilessly, sweat beading on his forehead despite his enhanced resilience. Crimson energy crackled around his right hand as he fired another concentrated blast of Power of Destruction at the sand dunes. The sand didn't explode or scatter—it simply ceased to exist, erased from reality as if it had never been there, leaving only a perfectly smooth cavity and the faint smell of ozone.
This pattern had defined the past seventy-two hours. The days had been peaceful in the sense that no crises had emerged, but Max had used every waking moment to grind his skills like a protagonist on a training arc montage, methodically building his capabilities one grueling session at a time.
His nights were dedicated to meditation and aura suppression. Hour after hour, Max visualized his magical output as a sphere of energy—bright, pulsing, impossible to miss—and systematically worked to compress it inward. Shrinking that sphere, reducing the ambient magic he leaked into his surroundings, suppressing his devil aura like Frieren controlling her mana. The process was exhausting, mentally draining work that left him with pounding headaches, but the results spoke for themselves. After three days of relentless practice, many meditation sessions, and more than a few frustrating setbacks, he'd finally hit his current limit: ten percent of his original output.
Not bad, he thought, even as he acknowledged it was probably nothing compared to what actual Devils in DxD could manage. But this was Danmachi, not DxD, and his hax abilities would only take him so far. He needed every advantage he could develop, and progress was progress—no matter how incremental.
The daylight hours brought a different kind of training. Max ventured deep into the desert to practice his offensive capabilities away from prying eyes, where the only witnesses were sand and the occasional startled lizard. The Power of Destruction came first—his clan trait, instinctive and responsive. The meditation had helped him refine his control significantly, allowing him to modulate the output, create concentrated beams or wide-area bursts, even shape the destructive energy into temporary constructs before releasing them. The crimson-black energy responded to his will like an extension of his thoughts, growing more refined with each practice session.
Building on that foundation, Max explored the five basic elements next—fire, water, earth, wind, and lightning—all accessible through the magical knowledge embedded in his devil body. Some spells came pre-loaded in his memories, complete with incantations and hand gestures, but Max discovered he could also improvise new techniques by understanding the underlying principles. Magic in this body was surprisingly intuitive once he stopped overthinking it, flowing naturally when he trusted his instincts.
One spell in particular made him grin with anticipation: barriers. The ability to create magical shields and protective fields would be an absolute cheat code in this world, especially when combined with his other abilities. Barriers could block physical attacks, deflect magic, create enclosed spaces, even trap enemies if he got creative enough. The tactical applications were endless.
And finally, there was teleportation—perhaps the most broken ability in his entire arsenal. Max practiced until the crimson magic circles glowing beneath his feet became second nature, the world blurring for just a split second before he stood fifty feet away. This is no doubt a complete hack of the system, he thought gleefully. If he had an inventory system to go with it, he'd be the ultimate utility hax in Danmachi history, though he had to make do with his storage bag for now.
In the quiet moments between training sessions, Max had also gotten a notebook and basic textbooks from Stella—children's primers, really, but perfect for brushing up on this world's alphabet and writing system. The script was similar enough to what he remembered from the inherited memories that he could read it with only minor difficulty, but writing it properly required practice. He spent hours copying letters and basic words by lamplight, determined not to be illiterate in his new world.
He also used the notebook to document everything he could remember from both Danmachi and DxD anime in his mother tongue of course, filling pages with cramped handwriting. For Danmachi, he'd outlined the major arcs—the timeline, the key players, the events he might need to avoid or leverage. For DxD, he'd created a checklist of abilities that should theoretically be available to him: superhuman physical stats, magic circles, wings, healing magic, transformation magic, elemental magics, advanced devil magic, contracts, familiar summoning—some waiting to be tested and confirmed.
His objectives for tomorrow were already forming in his mind: experiment with the untested abilities, particularly transformation and familiar summoning. Understanding the full scope of his powers would be critical for—
The bar doors burst open with enough force to rattle the hinges, shattering both his thoughts and the evening's quiet atmosphere like a stone through glass.
Max looked up from his dinner—another excellent meal courtesy of Stella, some kind of spiced lamb with flatbread—as one of the guards from his first night stumbled inside. The man's face was flushed from running, chest heaving as he gasped for air, eyes wide with the kind of urgency that made everyone in the tavern freeze mid-conversation.
"Max!" he shouted, scanning the room until he spotted him at his usual seat. "Emergency! The Chief sent a message—he needs all capable fighters immediately! There's a monster stampede heading straight for the village!"
The tavern fell silent. Every conversation stopped mid-word. Forks clattered against plates. Stella's face went pale, one hand flying to her mouth as the weight of the announcement settled over the room like a shroud.
Max set down his fork slowly, his mind already shifting gears from peaceful contemplation to combat readiness. The adrenaline began trickling into his system, sharpening his senses and bringing the world into crisp focus. Well, he thought, standing up and feeling the familiar weight of his magic gathering in his hands with eager warmth, guess it's time to field test everything I've been practicing. No better teacher than live combat.
Without delay, Max and a handful of village soldiers moved quickly through the desert night, their footsteps crunching against sand that gradually gave way to harder ground as they followed the guard who'd delivered the message. The cool night air carried the sound of rushing water from the river—the life-giving waterway that gave the village its name—growing louder with each step. But beneath that steady background roar came something else, something that made Max's combat instincts prickle with warning.
The unmistakable sounds of battle.
And that's when Max got his first real glimpse of the monster threat in this world, and it was enough to make his breath catch.
Holy shit.
It wasn't just a few scattered creatures prowling in the darkness. It was a horde—easily over a hundred monsters of various types charging forward like participants in the world's most nightmarish marathon, their collective roars and screeches creating a cacophony that assaulted his ears and sent vibrations through the ground beneath his feet.
Sand Worms the size of buses, their segmented bodies undulating as they burrowed and surfaced in waves. Scorpions with pincers large enough to crush a man, their chitinous armor gleaming in the moonlight. Desert Serpents slithering between the larger creatures with hypnotic grace. Sand Golems that looked like they'd been carved from the dunes themselves, each thunderous step sending small tremors through the earth. Packs of Jackals with glowing amber eyes that reflected the moonlight like coins. Kobolds wielding crude weapons and howling battle cries that echoed across the desert. And—
Wait, are those Killer Ants? And Almirajs?
Max's weeb knowledge kicked in immediately, and with it came confusion. Those were supposed to be dungeon monsters, confined to the upper floors of the labyrinth beneath Orario. Seeing them on the surface, this far from the city, was highly unusual. Either these were surface variants, or something had seriously disrupted the normal ecosystem—neither option was particularly comforting.
Standing between the village and certain destruction was a small party of exhausted-looking fighters, and at their head stood a man in worn adventurer gear whose very presence seemed to anchor his beleaguered forces. His armor was dented and scratched from extended combat, blood—whether his own or monsters'—staining his clothes, but his posture radiated grim determination despite the obvious fatigue weighing on him.
Chief Stan, Max assumed, sizing up the man with growing respect.
The reinforcements from the village quickly joined the defensive line, boots crunching on sand and stone as they took their positions. Stan turned as they approached, and visible relief washed across his weathered features, tension easing slightly in his shoulders even as his hand remained firmly gripped on his weapon.
"Men!" His voice cut through the night air with practiced authority, carrying over the approaching horde with the kind of battlefield command that came from years of experience. "This is a do-or-die moment for us. If we can't stop these monsters here, they'll crush our village. Our homes. Our families." It set a grim precedent but the chief didn't stop.
"Abandon the doubt from your hearts! REMEMBER, we have faced these monsters before. Just because their numbers are high doesn't mean they have changed. They are the SAME dumb BEASTS we fought before."
He took a momentary pause, and bellowed, "Say it with ME! WE WILL DEFEAT THEM!"
The words galvanized the defenders, spines straightening, weapons rising as fear transformed into determined resolve. One of the soldiers beside Max leaned in, whispering context with breath that came in nervous puffs. "That's Chief Stan—went on a hunting trip to clear monsters from our borders. Successfully finished, too, but then ran into this stampede on the way back. He called for help immediately."
Max studied the Chief with newfound appreciation. The man was clearly exhausted—his party had been fighting for who knew how long before this, probably days of constant combat judging by their condition—but his leadership presence was strong, unwavering, the kind of charisma that kept people from panicking when death itself was charging toward them.
But what struck Max most was how he felt in Stan's presence. Or rather, how he didn't feel. There was no weakness, no overwhelming pressure like he'd half-expected when facing someone with a Falna blessing. His devil nature apparently wasn't as disadvantaged as he'd feared, at least not against a Level 2. If anything, he felt... equal. Maybe even slightly superior in raw magical capacity.
That's the final nail in the coffin, Max realized with growing certainty, the pieces of evidence from the past few days clicking into place with satisfying finality. This world definitely has different rules when it comes to Devils. No divine weakness, no corrosive holy energy, no Falna-induced disadvantage. The restrictions from DxD don't apply here.
The relief that washed through him was profound, almost dizzying in its implications. He wasn't operating under the same crippling limitations that had defined Devils in his original knowledge base. Whatever cosmic force had brought him here had either adapted his nature to this world's rules or placed him in a reality where those weaknesses simply didn't exist. He could touch crosses without burning. Pray to God without agony. Stand beside Falna-blessed adventurers without being crushed by divine pressure.
I'm all the more grateful for that, he thought, a smile tugging at his lips even as the horde drew closer. This changed everything—his plans, his possibilities, his entire future in this world.
"Who's the mage here?"
Stan's question cut through Max's thoughts, pulling him back to the immediate crisis. Every head turned toward Max simultaneously, dozens of eyes tracking his movement as he stepped forward through the defensive line, feeling the weight of their desperate hopes settling on his shoulders.
Stan's appraising gaze swept over him with the practiced efficiency of a veteran assessing a new asset. His eyes lingered on Max's relaxed posture, the way magical energy seemed to gather around him without conscious effort, the confidence that spoke of genuine power rather than bravado. After a moment, the Chief gave a satisfied nod, his expression shifting from desperate to cautiously optimistic. This guy looks strong, he thought, assessing the mage with professional interest. Almost as strong as me. Hopefully he can be of use.
"Can you use any spell to deter those monsters?" Stan asked directly, his voice carrying both hope and urgency as the ground trembled beneath the approaching stampede.
Max turned his full attention to the horde, his enhanced vision picking out individual threats even in the darkness. A mix of sand and surface monster variants—a nightmarish variety pack of death charging straight at them with the single-minded purpose of destruction. The ground trembled beneath their collective weight, and the air filled with the stench of monster and bloodlust.
His first instinct was to unleash Power of Destruction and erase the entire problem in one overwhelming blast of crimson annihilation. But revealing his clan trait this early, before he'd even set foot in Orario proper, seemed like an invitation to unnecessary drama. Questions he couldn't answer, attention he didn't want, potential connections to his stint with the Elves which could get very complicated very fast. No, he needed something flashy but explainable—something a "wandering mage" might reasonably have in his arsenal.
Fire and Lightning stood out as the most destructive basic elements available to him. And as his mind raced through possible spells, inspiration struck from one of his earliest anime loves, pulling up a memory of Aizen from Bleach wielding devastating Kidō with casual precision.
Perfect. Flashy, destructive, and technically just lightning magic. Nobody needs to know I'm bridging two completely different magic systems.
"Everyone step back," Max commanded, his voice carrying unexpected authority that made several soldiers straighten instinctively. "Get behind me."
Stan hesitated only a moment, his tactical mind recognizing both the confidence in Max's tone and the gathering pressure of magical energy around the young mage. He nodded sharply, gesturing for his people to comply. "You heard him! Fall back and give him room!"
They formed up behind Max in disciplined rows, giving him clear line of sight to the stampede while positioning themselves to catch any stragglers that might slip through. Max raised his right hand, palm forward, and began the incantation with careful precision. The words flowed from memory, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him, each syllable pronounced with deliberate clarity:
"Sprinkled on the bones of the beast! Sharp tower, red crystal, steel ring. Move and become the wind, stop and become the calm. The sound of warring spears fills the empty castle!"
He paused, drawing in breath as the spell was visualised in his mind, then let the final designation ring out with deliberate weight that echoed across the battlefield:
"Hadō Number 63. Raikōhō!"
The spell didn't activate immediately. Max felt his devil magic struggling to conform to the foreign incantation structure, like trying to force a square peg through a round hole—the words were from a different magic system entirely, after all. But the chant acted as a bridge, his words creating a framework that his magical energy could flow through and shape itself around, adapting and conforming until the two systems achieved an unstable harmony.
A small orb of yellow lightning began to form above his palm, crackling with barely contained power that sent sparks dancing across his fingers and made his hair stand on end. Max fed more magic into it, watching with analytical focus as the orb grew, compressed under the weight of additional magic, then expanded again in pulsing cycles. The air around his hand ionized with an audible snap-crack-pop, the sharp smell of ozone filling his nostrils and making nearby soldiers' noses wrinkle. The crackling grew louder, more insistent, building to a crescendo that made the very air vibrate with anticipation.
The monsters were close now—less than a hundred yards and closing fast, near enough that Max could see individual details. The gleam of chitin armor, the foam dripping from slavering jaws, the mindless hunger in hundreds of glowing eyes. Their roars were deafening, a wall of sound that threatened to overwhelm thought itself.
Max let the spell charge, building pressure and potential until he felt it reach critical mass, the orb vibrating with barely restrained violence that threatened to explode prematurely if he didn't release it soon. The power thrummed against his palm, eager, hungry, demanding release. Then, with a sharp exhale that carried all his focus, he released it.
The lightning orb shot forward like a spear thrown by Zeus himself, leaving a trail of ionized air in its wake that glowed brilliant purple against the darkness. It struck the front line of the monster horde and—
Everything went white.
ZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTT—
The explosion was catastrophic. Brilliant light engulfed the entire forward section of the stampede, turning night into artificial day with such intensity that Max had to squint even with his enhanced vision barely able to process it. The sound was deafening, a combination of thunder, electrical discharge, and the death screams of dozens of monsters all compressed into one overwhelming sensory assault that left his ears ringing and his bones vibrating.
The shockwave hit a heartbeat later like a physical wall. Wind and smoke erupted outward with enough force to send lighter fighters stumbling backward, loose sand whipping into their faces and forcing them to shield their eyes. Max planted his feet and leaned into the blast, feeling the heat wash over him in waves while behind him, he heard Stan barking orders, keeping his people anchored and steady through the chaos.
Stan had half-expected the mage to collapse from mind down after such a massive spell—he'd seen it happen before, casters pushing too hard and burning out, their bodies unable to sustain the drain. But when he glanced over with worried concern, the young man just looked slightly strained—tired, a sheen of sweat on his forehead catching the residual light—but still very much combat-ready, his eyes already scanning the aftermath with analytical precision, looking for surviving threats with the focus of a professional.
The smoke began to disperse, carried away by desert winds that seemed eager to clear the battlefield and reveal the results of such devastating magic.
What it revealed left the entire defensive line stunned into silence.
The front third of the monster stampede had simply... ceased to exist. Not scattered to the winds, not wounded and retreating—vaporised. The sand where they'd been standing was scorched black, fused into glass in places from the sheer heat of the electrical discharge, creating a glittering crater that reflected moonlight like scattered diamonds. A few magic stones glittered among the devastation, still pulsing with faint light, all that remained of creatures that had been charging at them with murderous intent just seconds ago.
Stan stared at the devastation, his professional assessment calculating furiously even as shock threatened to overwhelm analysis. I couldn't have dealt with that many effectively. Not without serious injuries or casualties to my people. Probably would have lost a dozen men just holding the line. But this mage just... he vaporised them. Like they were nothing.
His gaze snapped to Max with new intensity, a mix of profound gratitude and fresh wariness warring in his expression. "Are you—"
"The Sand Worms and Serpents managed to burrow underground," Max interrupted smoothly, his attention still focused outward as his magical senses swept the area with systematic thoroughness. His inherited knowledge let him feel the vibrations in the earth, track disturbances in the sand like sonar pings against his awareness.
"Watch for them. They'll try to attack from below, probably targeting whoever looks weakest. Aside from that, I don't sense any more monsters in the immediate area. The blast scared off the stragglers."
Even as he spoke, Max felt the vibrations beneath his feet—three, no, four large creatures moving beneath the surface, circling around toward the flanks like aquatic predators testing for weak points in their prey's defenses.
Round two, he thought grimly, lightning already beginning to crackle subtly at his fingertips as he prepared for underground assault tactics. Let's see how they handle fighting blind.
-?-
"The Level 2 is moving into position," the first hooded figure murmured, their voice distorted by the enchanted mask they wore. From their vantage point on the ridge overlooking the battlefield, they had a perfect view of the chaos unfolding below. "Just as predicted. Desert-forged warriors are so... predictable."
"Quiet," hissed the second figure, leaning forward with barely contained excitement. "This is the critical moment. Watch how the surface monsters interact with the dungeon specimens."
The third figure adjusted the crystalline device in their hands—a recording tool that pulsed with soft blue light, capturing every detail of the experiment unfolding in the valley. "The Sand Worms are responding to the Killer Ants' pheromones. Fascinating. Cross-species coordination wasn't in the initial projections."
They had been planning this experiment for months. Creating a controlled monster stampede was one thing—any competent tamer with the right equipment could manage that much. But mixing surface monsters with dungeon creatures? That required finesse, precision, and an understanding of monster psychology that bordered on art.
"The Sand Worms, Serpents, and Scorpions are holding formation," the first figure noted with satisfaction. "Three months of conditioning, and they finally understand pack tactics. Those species are notoriously difficult to tame—too aggressive, too territorial, too dangerous even for experienced handlers."
"Worth every scar," the second figure agreed, their hand unconsciously moving to their side where a particularly vicious Serpent had nearly eviscerated them during the conditioning process. "But look—the Scorpions are moving to flank. Exactly as we programmed them."
The third figure's grip tightened on the recording device. "The village defenders are taking position. Chief Stan at the front—Level 2, desert specialization, estimated combat rating of E-plus. His party looks exhausted. Probably returning from their border clearing operation."
"Perfect timing," the first figure breathed. "Fresh from battle, low on resources, facing overwhelming numbers. This will be an excellent demonstration of desert Level 2 capabilities under duress. The data alone will—"
"Wait." The second figure's voice cut through their excitement like a blade. "There's someone else. Moving with the reinforcements."
All three hooded figures leaned forward as one, their attention focusing on a new arrival joining the defensive line. Young, perhaps late teens, with distinctive blue hair that caught the moonlight.
"Is that...?" The third figure adjusted their device, zooming in on the newcomer. "Blue hair. Amethyst eyes. Unknown combatant. He's not in any of our village census data."
"A wanderer?" The first figure's tone carried annoyance. "Irrelevant. One more body won't change the—"
"He's stepping forward," the second figure interrupted. "Stan is giving him space. The defenders are falling back. What is he—"
The young man raised his hand, and magical energy began to gather with an intensity that made all three observers tense.
"That's a lot of power," the third figure said quietly, their recording device beginning to pulse faster as it registered the building magical pressure. "That's... that's more than a Level 2 should—"
"Hadō Number 63. Raikōhō!"
The attack name carried across the desert with crystalline clarity, and then the world turned white.
The explosion was visible even from their distant vantage point—a devastating blast of lightning that engulfed the front third of their carefully assembled horde. Thunder rolled across the desert like the wrath of gods, and when the light finally faded, a glittering crater of fused glass marked where over three dozen monsters had simply ceased to exist.
Silence fell over the observation point.
"Did he just..." The first figure's voice was strangled, disbelieving.
"Over a third of the horde," the third figure confirmed, their recording device now pulsing erratically as it struggled to process the energy readings. "Gone. Just... gone. In a single spell."
The second figure's hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Three months. Three months of conditioning those Sand Worms. Do you know how hard it is to get them to work with Killer Ants? The Scorpions alone took—"
"Our entire experiment," the first figure hissed, watching as chaos erupted below. The surviving monsters were scattering, their carefully programmed formations breaking apart as primal survival instincts overrode their conditioning. The Chief and his defenders were rallying, picking off stragglers. "Ruined. By one nuisance mage who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"We should intervene," the second figure said, already reaching for their equipment. "Kill him. Salvage what we can of the—"
"No." The first figure's hand shot out, gripping their companion's wrist with bruising force. "Think. One spell did that. What do you think he'd do if we revealed ourselves? And there's still the Level 2 down there, plus whatever reinforcements the village can muster."
"But our data—"
"Is compromised but not worthless. We got footage of the initial formation, the cross-species coordination. The fact that it failed due to outside interference doesn't invalidate the methodology." The first figure's voice was cold, calculating. "And we have future experiments to consider. Larger scale operations. Plans that can't be jeopardized because we got emotional over one setback."
The third figure was still focused on their device, zooming in on the blue-haired mage who was now systematically hunting down the remaining monsters with casual efficiency. "Recording his features now. Blue hair, distinctive. Amethyst eyes, very rare. Approximately 180 centimeters tall. Combat casting speed—exceptional. Magical capacity—abnormally high for visible age. Fighting style combines long-range bombardment with mid-range elemental manipulation. No visible Familia insignia."
"Commit it to memory," the first figure commanded. "All of you. That face. Those features. That magic signature."
"You think we'll encounter him again?" the second figure asked, their voice carrying a note of dark promise.
"I hope we encounter him again," the first figure replied, watching as their months of work dissolved into failure below. "Because next time, we'll be prepared. Next time, we'll account for variables like wandering mages with delusions of heroism."
"Next time," the third figure agreed softly, their recording device capturing one final, perfect image of the blue-haired mage standing victorious amid the carnage, "he won't ruin everything."
The first figure made a sharp gesture, and the three hooded figures began packing their equipment with practiced efficiency. Within minutes, they would be gone, leaving no trace of their observation point. Just three more shadows disappearing into the desert night.
But as they prepared to leave, the leader said to their companions, "Remember him. When our larger plans begin, and when we finally reveal ourselves and our work... I want that one found. I want him brought before us. And I want him to understand exactly what he cost us tonight."
With that, they vanished into the darkness, leaving behind only dissatisfaction, burning resentment, and the promise of future retribution.
The experiment had failed. But the data on one particular blue-haired nuisance? That was now filed away in their minds, waiting for the perfect moment to be used.
--> Devil in a Dungeon <--
AN:
I hope I didn't jinx Max from the last chapter!! Even if I did, it worked out in his favor, didn't? He showed off, the possible positive reaction of the villagers, ignore those sketchy hooded figures. And he's found he can use Kido from Bleach. What's next? He's gonna use Kurohitsugi?? Uhh, did I just jinx it again??
"..."
We will see I guess. But please let me know your thoughts in a comment/review.
Next update will be on Wednesday.
Ben, Out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.