Chapter 60 – The Clash!
At this moment, Ottar stood frozen, unable to believe what had just happened—he had been blown away?
The man standing before him—a newcomer who hadn't even been in Orario for half a month and was only Level 1—had just sent him, a Level 7 warrior, flying. It was an unbelievable disgrace.
(Note: Shin Akira has never visited the Guild to update his status. In only ten days, he had already reached Level 3—an absurd growth rate that would've caused chaos if made public.)
A deafening shockwave roared across the battlefield.
The surrounding earth cracked apart under the force of the impact, forming a wide trench. Ottar stared at Shin Akira—who now looked like a crimson-armored humanoid dragon—with rare, genuine astonishment, and a seriousness he hadn't displayed in years.
"You're strong," Ottar finally admitted. "To have reached this level of power in such a short time… is truly impressive. That Sacred Gear of yours is far from ordinary."
"You're talking as if you're still above me, Ottar," Akira responded calmly. "But no matter how powerful a weapon is, it's still just a tool. In the face of overwhelming strength… even tools become meaningless."
"So you're asking whether I have what it takes to defeat you?"
"Then come down here—and see for yourself."
Another burst of power erupted from below.
Ottar, gripping two massive black blades, shot up toward Akira like a fired cannonball, tearing through the air with monstrous speed.
But unlike earlier, his eyes now gleamed with total seriousness. No more hesitation. No more holding back.
『Boost!』
Akira's power doubled again. But this time… something felt different.
He felt his body scream in warning. If he kept pushing it further, there would be consequences—his muscles and bones could give out. The pressure was mounting.
Their weapons collided with a powerful metallic crash—Ottar's twin greatswords clashing against Akira's blazing crimson blade. The resulting shockwave tore across the battlefield.
"Do you remember what I said earlier?" Akira spoke as they clashed. "Each time I boost, my power doubles. Now, I'm twice as strong as I was a moment ago. So tell me, Ottar—how exactly are you going to beat me now?"
"…"
Ottar didn't reply. But the weight of his silence said everything.
To him, failure was not an option. He lived for one purpose—to serve Lady Freya. If he failed her... it would be a permanent stain on his honor.
And worse, if that failure ever disappointed her... he would rather cease to exist.
He had to win. He must carry out her will.
"Grrkk—!" Their blades remained locked in a clash of raw strength. The tension between them was staggering. But even now, one thing was clear—Ottar's power was monstrous.
Still, no matter how close their strength was, weapon quality was a different matter entirely.
Ascalon, forged as a dragon-slaying holy sword, far outclassed any weapon in Orario. Even Ottar's elite-level twin blades couldn't match its divine craftsmanship.
A faint smirk crept onto Akira's lips. He saw it. A tiny crack in Ottar's defenses.
As if on cue, he pushed harder—and Ottar responded in kind.
But then—crack!
One of Ottar's swords shattered under the pressure, scattering metallic fragments into the air.
Blood splattered.
The violent backlash from the broken sword tore into Ottar's arm.
Meanwhile, Ascalon didn't have a single scratch.
Wasting no time, Akira slashed toward Ottar's exposed chest.
The veteran warrior instinctively stepped back, avoiding a fatal blow—but not without cost. A bright red gash opened across his torso.
It wasn't deep, but blood poured freely.
Still, Ottar didn't flinch. He didn't curse or panic over the loss of his weapon. He calmly tossed the broken hilt aside and locked eyes with Akira.
He was no swordsman.
He was a brawler.
Even without a blade, his fists alone were a force to be feared.
Suddenly, the air trembled from a surge of raw energy.
Ottar's battle aura flared violently, like a wildfire blazing out of control. Parts of his body began to change—his skin thickening, limbs growing more muscular, features warping toward something beastlike.
He had activated his signature ability:
— — —
Skill: Vana Arganture
Can be activated at will
Partially transforms the user into a beast (semi-beastification)
Greatly boosts all physical stats
Consumes massive stamina and mental energy
Temporarily grants power on par with Level 8
— — —
"I will crush you," Ottar growled, voice deeper, primal. "And offer your body to Lady Freya herself."
Fwoosh!
Ottar vanished in a blink.
His speed had increased dramatically—far beyond what he displayed earlier.
Akira's eyes widened, arms instinctively crossing in front of him to block.
A split-second later, Ottar's fist smashed into him like a charging freight train.
The impact was brutal.
Akira's body was hurled backward, skidding across the stone floor and carving a deep trail in the ground before coming to a halt.
Panting heavily, he sat up. His expression turned grim.
"If it weren't for this Balance Breaker armor… my arms would've been crushed. This gear really is the only thing keeping me alive right now," he muttered, his limbs tingling with numb pain.
Still… he stood.
His eyes locked onto Ottar again.
"It's not enough... I still don't have enough strength. If I were Level 4… or even 5… this fight would already be over."
He spoke softly, not to anyone in particular—just voicing the frustration bubbling inside him.
Half a month.
That was all the time he'd had since arriving in this world.
From what he could tell, the universes of Danmachi and High School DxD both had terrifying power scales.
Danmachi had gods who had lived for eons. DxD had beings like Great Red, Ophis, and the Beast of 666—multiverse-level disasters in the form of entities.
But objectively, DxD's power ceiling was far higher.
A Level 1 adventurer from Orario wouldn't last five seconds against even a low-class devil from the DxD world.
But the reverse was just as true—a single low-class devil dropped into Orario could cause a full-blown catastrophe.
The Falna system may grant power... but in the end, it was still a divine game—a pastime for the gods. It was no substitute for true power earned through battle.
Right now, Shin Akira was only Level 3.
His strength, mixed with the power of the King of the Shadowkhan—Tarakudo—gave him incredible magic and command over shadows… but even so, he was hitting a wall.
If he could just level up once more—twice at most—then Ottar wouldn't even be a challenge.
『Boost!』
He triggered it again.
More power surged into his body. His muscles screamed in protest.
He didn't care.
He refused to lose here—not just because of pride, but because losing meant enslavement.
If he fell now, Freya would take him, reshape him, mold him into her little toy.
He wouldn't allow that.
He couldn't allow that.
His pride as a former top-class warrior from another world screamed in protest.
To lose… and become a puppet for a goddess of another realm?
That would be a shame he could never forgive.
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