Chapter 133: Progress Reaches 100%—Initiating World Synchronization
"So many divine pantheons... can the thirteen Valkyries truly open them all?"
The question hovered in the air like an invisible blade. Brunhilde didn't answer immediately, but she knew the truth well enough.
The Valkyries weren't limited to thirteen—not truly. Those thirteen sisters simply served as the most iconic among them, each bonded not only by shared blood but by ancient duty. Across the divine domains—Greek, Norse, Egyptian, Hindu, and others—Valkyrie-like semi-divine beings had existed since the world was young. Each one tasked with guiding mortals into the realm of divine warfare. Each one entrusted with keys to the gates between heaven and Earth.
And now, this cloaked figure—enigmatic, amused, dangerous—was asking her to rally them all. To summon every gatekeeper across every faith and throw open the thresholds between worlds.
To what end?
Invasion.
Brunhilde's voice was cool, cautious. "Why should I do such a thing?"
In response, the cloaked figure raised a hand. A character window materialized before her, suspended in shimmering air. One feature—a greyed-out function—lit up with a soft glow.
Progress: 100%.
Connection initiated.
Silence fell across Akasha like a velvet curtain.
Even breathing became audible.
Her younger sister, Horusret, spoke with hesitancy. "Sister... this man, he's too strange. You sense it too, don't you?"
Brunhilde's eyes narrowed.
The cloaked stranger claimed he was no ally of the Primordials. Said he was their enemy. But how could she trust that?
Wasn't this exactly how the old gods would infiltrate? Under the guise of opposition? Claiming righteousness as they seeded rebellion?
The risk was colossal. If Brunhilde followed through, she might not just betray the gods—she might hand the divine realm directly to those who cared nothing for humanity, who might reduce mankind not merely to ashes but to oblivion.
Unlike the gods—who, despite their hubris, still needed humanity—the Primordials had no such tether. Their war would not be the end of a civilization.
It would be extinction.
"Is the Old Man of the Mountain one of yours?"
The name cracked the silence like thunder.
Grey gasped. Even the most stoic of Valkyries flinched.
That ancient being—older than myths, colder than death itself—was said to embody mortality. His presence unsettled even those born of divine essence.
"No need to involve him," the figure said. Then he went silent.
Unnervingly silent.
Until he whispered, "When the moment comes... I'll contact you."
And just like that, he vanished.
Brunhilde's expression remained unreadable.
Grey watched her anxiously, heart thudding in her chest.
Then came the command: "Gundal, summon every Valkyrie still under our banner."
"Yes, Sister!"
Next, she turned to Horusret. "Reach out to the other pantheon gatekeepers. The ones we spoke with at the last Council Tea."
"Understood," Horusret replied without hesitation.
She didn't try to dissuade her sister. Whether right or wrong, she would follow. Brunhilde had guided them for so long—through chaos, wars, and bitter decisions. If this was her resolve, then Horusret would walk beside her into fire itself.
Grey, however, hovered near the edge of panic. "Sister, should we warn the others? Tell Lord Zeus?"
Brunhilde shot her a glare. "Grey... do you even use your brain?"
Grey winced. "Well—Zeus is the Parliament's chief, isn't he?"
"And that means he can't be a traitor?" Brunhilde snapped. "Have you already forgotten that a pantheon's head betrayed us in the last war?"
Grey fell quiet.
Brunhilde continued, her tone now oddly amused. "Just imagine. If the current gods are caught off guard—if they falter—and then humans turn around and save them... wouldn't that be entertaining?"
"Humans? Save the gods?"
The idea was laughable. Absurd.
Wasn't it?
Brunhilde's gaze drifted toward memory—toward myths. The Key of Solomon, which promised the return of magical dominions... and the First Emperor's empire, which had evolved for two thousand years in shadow. The mystery man had likely embedded powers even she wasn't aware of, preparing for a war that would redefine everything.
Perhaps his push for humanity's involvement wasn't just about chaos... but the exposure of hidden betrayals.
Beelzebub's ambush in the second match—likely orchestrated by the Primordials. The third match's catastrophe, when Daoist magician Douma unsealed the demonic star—another thread in the web?
Was Douma's betrayal real?
Or engineered?
Was it all part of this cloaked one's plan—to cloud the gods in turmoil, making space for the Primordials to ascend?
Even her own proposal of Ragnarok had likely been twisted into a pawn. That bitter realization tasted like poison.
She'd been used—by both sides.
Who was this man?
He said he'd left names across history. Claimed they had met more than once.
Too little to narrow it down. Too many masks to uncover the face.
And then she remembered—
After she'd slain the dragon, he'd once said: If you ever learn I've deceived you, go easy on me.
He knew she'd be summoned.
Knew she'd turn against him.
Had the stranger shown him his fate?
Had he forgiven her betrayal before she committed it?
Was she manipulated just to push Ragnarok into the gods' agenda?
Her laugh came bitter and dry.
How vexing. How incredibly vexing.
She could tell the Valkyries everything now—lay bare his identity and plan. But even that held risk.
Women, after all, were unpredictable creatures.
What if she blackened? What if revenge slipped into her veins and she sabotaged it all?
No. She'd wait.
Until they met in person.
Plans like this couldn't be explained in a few words. And forced connections through hacked transmissions were too unstable.
And then—it happened.
Progress reached 100%. Initiating world synchronization.
The connection to the other network was complete. The worlds would link.
Chapter 134: The Fall of the Ark and the Sacred Coffin
New Arc: High School DxD – The Devil's Crossroads
The city had the scent of centuries clinging to its stones.
Every day, pilgrims from across the world came to bow at its gates. Some came driven by faith—longing to feel holiness with every footstep.
Others came as penitents—seeking forgiveness for broken vows, hoping the sacred ground might cleanse them.
"Report: One demon spotted nearby."
"What's it doing here? Doesn't matter. Kill it."
The edict was swift. In a place sanctified as this, even the presence of a demon was desecration. To the Church's warriors, their duty was clear. No evil would trespass the holy precinct.
Yet the demon's arrival felt timed. Deliberate.
Was it coincidence that today a sacred relic was scheduled for transport?
Perhaps not.
The knight assigned to the task descended the hidden passage beneath the shrine, footsteps echoing faintly. At the end of the corridor, light bloomed—and with it, awe.
Before him stood a temple built in the 10th century BCE. Yet despite three millennia, it seemed untouched by time. Marble gleamed. Gold whispered.
And there—at the temple's far end—priests knelt in solemn prayer. They whispered holy incantations to a relic no less than legendary:
The Ark of the Covenant.
A chest formed of acacia wood, sheathed in gold. Upon its lid perched two angels sculpted in gold leaf—wings outstretched, forming a chamber between them, a sacred throne for God's presence.
No one had intended to move it.
To relocate the Ark was to awaken every protector of faith, every barrier of divine law.
But something had changed.
And so began its descent.
Not just the Ark—but the Sacred Coffin too.
For war would soon reach even the holiest ground.