Quite a few days had passed since Zamasu emerged from the Dungeon and completed his registration with the Guild.
Though he had only ventured to Floor 17, his official recognition now marked him as an adventurer of Orario.
Zamasu had successfully been acquainted with the Takemikazuchi Familia hall.
Finding them proved far more difficult than expected. Orario was massive, its districts packed with winding streets, crowded marketplaces, and dozens of buildings without clear markings.
Trying to locate a low-profile familia was no easy task. Especially if you have no idea who you're looking for.
Zamasu spent hours walking the city. He asked merchants, adventurers, blacksmiths, and tavern owners.
Most shrugged at the name or pointed him toward vague directions. It quickly became clear that Takemikazuchi's familia was not famous outside certain circles.
Their reputation was solid, but they lacked the grandeur or notoriety of familias like the top tries.
Still, Zamasu pressed on.
By the late afternoon, after a full day of searching, he finally caught a break. The sound of strikes against wooden dummies and the rhythmic calls of training exercises carried through the air as he approached.
The building was plain.
Modest in size, constructed with simple materials, its exterior showed signs of wear. But it was well-maintained, with no unnecessary decorations or grandeur.
There was a small courtyard, some training equipment, and a few low-level adventurers practicing forms and drills.
The moment he stepped onto the property, heads turned. The trainees paused their drills, eyes drawn to his appearance—Their curiosity was evident.
Within moments, Takemikazuchi himself emerged.
The god was of average height, dressed in practical attire suited for training.
His expression was calm but wary, eyes sharp as they assessed Zamasu from head to toe.
His presence carried the air of a warrior—disciplined, focused, but clearly on guard.
Zamasu wasted no time.
"I've been searching for your familia all day," Zamasu stated bluntly. "I came to request training. Martial arts, to be specific."
Takemikazuchi's brow furrowed slightly. "You came all this way… just for training? You're not looking to join my familia?"
"No," Zamasu replied plainly.
The god crossed his arms, still wary. "You have an unusual aura about you. Who sent you here?"
"Loki recommended you." Zamasu watched the god's expression carefully. "She said if I wanted proper instruction, I should speak with you."
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Takemikazuchi's eyes narrowed, but the sharp suspicion faded slightly at the mention of Loki.
"Loki recommended you?" he repeated, voice thoughtful. "That woman doesn't usually hand out advice unless there's something interesting involved."
Takemikazuchi considered that. His gaze lingered on Zamasu's posture—the way he stood, the faint, unnatural stillness that surrounded him.
It was obvious Zamasu possessed raw power, but there was an absence of refined technique in his stance.
After several seconds, the god nodded slowly. "Alright. If Loki's recommending you, you're either dangerous… or have potential. Maybe both." He unfolded his arms. "You want martial arts training? I'll give it to you."
Zamasu inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "What's your price?"
Takemikazuchi waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not charging you."
Zamasu frowned faintly. "You'd give training for free?"
"You're not the first stray to come looking for guidance," the god explained.
"Besides, proper discipline benefits everyone. I'd rather have another competent fighter walking the city than someone strong and reckless." His tone was firm, practical, with no hidden agenda.
Zamasu could accept that logic. "When do we start?"
They discussed a schedule. Morning sessions twice a week, additional evening drills when possible.
The god emphasized consistency and patience—skills wouldn't come overnight, no matter how strong the student.
Zamasu agreed without complaint. He would like to think he is a disciplined person.
"Before I forget," the god spoke up, voice steady, "Takemikazuchi. God of this familia.
"And you are?" Takemikazuchi asked.
"Zamasu," he answered.
And that brings us to the present, 5 days later.
Several mornings passed since Zamasu began training under the Takemikazuchi Familia.
The schedule remained strict—every morning, just as the sun's first faint glow brushed the skyline of Orario.
His arrival at the Familia's hall became routine, his presence no longer an unfamiliar sight to the others.
But despite his growing familiarity, the training remained rigorous.
Takemikazuchi had made one thing clear from though: while Ouka, the captain, was responsible for basic martial structure—stances, footwork, fundamental drills—any combat-specific instruction would be handled by the god himself.
Takemikazuchi, though known for his easy smile and flirtatious reputation, carried strength far exceeding what his casual demeanor suggested.
Despite having his divinity sealed, his physical capabilities mirrored those of a high-level adventurer—an oddity, but one earned from centuries of combat experience before his descent to the lower world.
Ouka handled form.
Takemikazuchi handled fighting.
It didn't take long for the reason behind that arrangement to reveal itself.
The first combat demonstration had been simple enough—a controlled exchange of strikes, intended to assess Zamasu's potential.
What followed, however, altered the Familia's perception of their newest student entirely.
Even restrained, Zamasu's strength was… overwhelming.
Takemikazuchi had tested him cautiously at first, offering light strikes, weaving in feints, measuring Zamasu's reactions.
But the moment Zamasu returned a strike—a calm, measured palm thrust—it was clear to everyone present that his raw physical power eclipsed theirs entirely.
The wooden post behind Takemikazuchi cracked from the displaced air alone.
Ouka, Mikoto, and the other members exchanged subtle glances, their expressions composed, but their eyes sharp with realization.
Zamasu was beyond them. Without being blessed by a god, he was way more powerful.
Not just stronger—significantly stronger. His strikes carried the force of a veteran adventurer, if not greater, despite his calm, unhurried demeanor.
Takemikazuchi, ever the composed instructor, only grinned wider at the revelation.
"Figures," the god had remarked, shaking out his arm. "Loki doesn't send me ordinary mortals."
Despite the clear difference in strength, the structure of training didn't change. If anything, it solidified the necessity for proper instruction.
Power without control was reckless.
Over the following days, that became the central focus.
Stance. Balance. Precision.
Zamasu adapted to each lesson with quiet efficiency. Ouka drilled the fundamentals relentlessly—foot placement, stable guards, smooth transitions.
Zamasu never wavered, his silver eyes steady, absorbing each correction without complaint.
His body, designed for overwhelming force, required recalibration. His natural durability allowed him to bypass mistakes, but with proper structure, those mistakes vanished entirely.
Takemikazuchi oversaw the combat-specific sessions.
Their sparring was carefully controlled—the god leveraging centuries of skill, Zamasu applying raw strength tempered by emerging technique.
Their exchanges were fluid, efficient. Zamasu never acted aggressively, his movements calculated, measured, free of emotional bursts.
His strikes came with purpose.
Even when he overpowered a block or disrupted Takemikazuchi's stance with minimal effort, his expression never shifted.
Calm. Controlled. Focused.
The other Familia members observed the interactions with growing awareness.
It was impossible to ignore the gap in strength, but Zamasu never boasted, never disrespected the structure of the training.
In time, familiarity grew.
Mikoto, initially cautious, began offering quiet pointers during drills. Ouka's critiques softened, replaced with more collaborative corrections.
The younger recruits, while still wary of Zamasu's power, respected his disciplined, detached approach.
Takemikazuchi remained his usual self—a balance of relaxed charm outside of lessons, strict, capable instructor within.
His strength, honed through lifetimes of combat, was evident in every exchange.
"You've got a great amount of power,"
Takemikazuchi remarked after one sparring session, wiping his brow. "Good thing you're disciplined, or half the city would be flattened by now."
Zamasu offered a faint, composed nod.
The god laughed softly.
The daily structure continued.
Ouka handled form—meticulous drills correcting every small inefficiency.
Step, pivot, guard, strike. The fundamentals repeated endlessly until they became second nature.
Takemikazuchi handled combat—demonstrating evasions, joint locks, strike combinations.
Their sparring sessions grew more refined, Zamasu's reactions faster, his footwork smoother.
The Familia grew accustomed to Zamasu's presence.
Though stronger than them by far, he never carried himself with arrogance. His quiet, analytical nature made interactions simple.
He spoke when necessary, observed more than he engaged, and respected the hierarchy of the Familia's structure.
Takemikazuchi, ever the contradiction, remained friendly, approachable—and undeniably strict when it came to combat.
Despite his flirtatious nature around the district's markets or his easy smile with townsfolk, the god's demeanor sharpened during training.
"You'll learn to control that strength properly," Takemikazuchi emphasized one morning as Zamasu executed a strike combination, the air rippling from the force. "Otherwise, power alone will fail you."
Zamasu inclined his head slightly, adjusting his stance without hesitation. "I understand."
Their dynamic settled into routine.
The mornings began with Ouka's structured drills—stance correction, footwork alignment, striking repetitions.
Zamasu moved through each task methodically, his form growing sharper, his transitions more fluid.
Following that, Takemikazuchi took over—practical combat applications, controlled sparring, advanced defensive techniques.
Despite the Familia's earlier reservations, they now accepted Zamasu's presence. His discipline, quiet focus, and respect for their structure earned him that place.
Takemikazuchi summarized it best after one particularly smooth sparring session.
"You've got the strength of an upper-level adventurer," the god remarked, arms crossed, observing Zamasu's composed stance. "But strength without mastery means nothing in this city."
Zamasu's silver gaze held steady. "That's why I'm here."
The god smiled faintly, satisfied. "Good."
And so, the mornings continued—refinement, discipline, controlled growth.
The others trained alongside him, now familiar, no longer wary.
Zamasu's presence within the Takemikazuchi Familia was no longer an anomaly.
It was part of the rhythm.
Chapter 26 end
I feel this chapter is boring as hell
Power level- 124(high level 4. Low level 5 with ki attacks)