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Chapter 346: Chapter 342 ~ Assault on Asgard

Rossweisseʼs silver hair streamed wildly behind her as she cut through the skies of Asgard. The polished plates of her silver-white Valkyrie armor gleamed beneath the golden sunlight that bathed the realm she had been born into—the land she had sworn to protect.

Below her, that very homeland was burning. Chaos reigned across the city.

Devils—hulking, grotesque abominations—tore through the skies and streets alike. Glowing dark crimson runes were carved deep into their warped flesh, pulsing with an eerie, malignant glow. 

Each mark, a curse of madness, amplified their strength at the cost of their sanity and very lifeforce. They roared as they descended, claws and corrupted magic ripping into buildings, guards, and innocent civilians without mercy.

Blood stained the once-pristine cobblestone streets.

City guards had rallied as best they could, forming defensive lines to shield evacuating civilians. Shields clashed, spears struck, and magic flared, but the battle was brutally one-sided. Every devil that fell after a desperate, hard-fought struggle was immediately replaced by another, even more frenzied than the last.

It was not a battle. It was a slaughter, and a fight for survival

And as if that were not enough, streaks of destructive magic suddenly rained down from above.

Rossweisse looked up sharply.

High in the sky, pale green magic circles blossomed open like malignant flowers. From them emerged hooded magicians clad in dark cloaks, their faces hidden as they unleashed beams and spells indiscriminately upon the city below.

Buildings exploded. Streets collapsed. Screams echoed.

”This canʼt stand…!”

Rossweisseʼs eyes burned with resolve as she gripped her sword tighter.

”Sisters!” she shouted, her voice carrying across the battlefield through magic and sheer will. 

”Fan out! Engage the devils and magicians! Protect the citizens at all costs—do not let them advance any further!”

””Yes!””

The Valkyries responded as one.

Silver streaks shot across the sky as they split off in every direction, diving headfirst into battle. Lances pierced through corrupted flesh, swords clashed against claws and cursed magic, and divine light flared with every strike.

Rossweisse herself descended like a falling star.

”Cursed devils!” she roared as her blade cleaved cleanly through a charging monstrosity, its body dissolving into ash midair. 

”The Old Satan Faction has no place in this new world!!!”

She made sure her voice rang loud—loud enough for the guards, loud enough for the fleeing citizens to hear.

Asgard stood on the verge of a historic alliance with the Underworld. Odin himself had declared that the era of isolation and endless conflict was over—that the pantheons must stand together against the growing threats that sought to plunge the world into chaos.

And the current Underworld— the Underworld lead by the four new Satans—was not the enemy.

At the very least, that was what Odin believed.

Rossweisse believed it too.

That was why she could not allow confusion or fear to take root among the people. She would not let this massacre be twisted into a narrative that blamed the new Devil Kings.

These monsters were not their doing. They were relics of the past.

So she shouted again as she fought, her words sharp and unyielding.

She had instructed her fellow Valkyries to do the same—to call it out, to make the truth unmistakable amid the chaos.

Whether it would be enough, she did not know. But she had to try…

Just then, something caught her eye in the far distance.

At first, Rossweise thought it was a trick of the smoke-filled skies—a distortion born from exhaustion and chaos. But as the clouds parted under an unnatural pressure, her breath hitched.

A castle. No… not merely a castle.

A flying fortress.

Its colossal silhouette loomed above the battlefield like a divine citadel torn straight from myth. Countless arcane structures interlocking into a single, awe-inspiring whole. Around it, gigantic structures, like a ring of shields etched in magical runes, floated. 

Before she could even form a question—

FWOOM.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of massive beams of light erupted from the fortress all at once. They were not simple spells but concentrated lances of annihilation, carving through the sky with deafening thunder. 

Entire swathes of devils and hooded magicians were erased in an instant, their bodies disintegrating before they could even scream.

It was slaughter on a scale beyond mortal warfare.

Then, from the heart of the fortress, a single pillar of radiant brilliance surged upward, piercing through the smoke, through the clouds, and into the heavens themselves. The light lingered for a heartbeat—

—and then fell.

Golden rain descended upon Asgard.

It was warm, gentle, and impossibly beautiful, like sunlight given form. Yet to the devils, it was pure damnation. They howled in agony as the golden droplets touched them, their corrupted flesh blistering, melting, and dissolving into ash. The cursed runes etched into their bodies burned white-hot before crumbling away entirely.

At the same time, Rossweise felt it.

Her wounds closed before her eyes. Fatigue vanished like mist under the morning sun. Her magic surged back, fuller and purer than it had been all day. Around her, valkyries straightened in shock as their injuries healed, and civilians stared in disbelief as pain fled their bodies. Even those on deathʼs door rose once again.

”What… whatʼs happening?” Rossweise whispered, her voice trembling.

”What is that…?”

For all her mastery of runes, for all her centuries of study and battle, she had never witnessed magic like this.

This wasnʼt merely powerful.

It was divine—in the truest sense of the word.

Her thoughts were cut short by sudden screams from above. Hooded magicians barely had time to realize something was wrong before spectral arrows tore through their skulls with terrifying precision, dropping them lifelessly from the sky.

And then—

ROOOAAAR.

Two colossal lightning bolts shaped like roaring dragons erupted from the heavens, tearing across the battlefield. Wherever they passed, devils and magicians alike were reduced to scorched silhouettes, their remains crumbling into ash mid-scream.

Those few who somehow survived barely had time to gasp in relief—

Before their bodies abruptly dissolved into black smoke, vanishing as if erased from existence itself.

”Captain… whatʼs going on…?” a valkyrie flew over towards her and asked, her voice shaking.

”I…I donʼt know either.” Rossweise swallowed hard, eyes never leaving the sky.

She clenched her sword. 

”Take this chance! Guide the civilians to the protected shelters—now!”

”Yes!”

Before they could move—

”Captain! Weʼve received urgent reports!” another valkyrie shouted.

”Dark, shadowy figures have appeared all across the city!”

”What?!” Rossweise snapped. 

”Then we need to—”

”N-No!” the valkyrie interrupted, disbelief clear in her voice.

”Theyʼre… protecting the people!”

”…What?”

”Weʼve seen a black-armored knight shielding civilians from devils before cutting a swarm down in a single strike. A… slime-like creature guarding shelters, absorbing attacks meant for the people inside. A birdlike archer firing arrows into the sky while shouting, ʼLike shooting fish in a barrel!ʼ”

Her voice wavered.

”And above it all—a massive skeletal mage wielding a golden staff, casting spells that precisely target devils and enemy magicians.”

Rossweise slowly turned, scanning the skyline.

And then she saw it.

A vast, shadowy figure soared through the smoke-choked skies, cloaked in darkness yet radiating undeniable authority. From its outstretched form, massive fireballs, storms of razor-sharp bones, and crackling lightning bolts rained down upon the invaders with merciless accuracy.

”…I donʼt know who they are,” Rossweise said quietly, awe threading her voice.

”But this… this is good.”

She raised her sword, resolve hardening once more.

”Our role hasnʼt changed. Protect the citizens—no matter what.”

”Yes, Captain!”

Rossweise looked back to the flying fortress. 

She didnʼt know if it was truly an ally… But at the very least, at this moment, they were a great help in protecting the people of Asgard.

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East of Asgard

Duolio floated high above the ravaged streets, his form suspended effortlessly in the skies of his birthplace. 

Tremendous holy power poured from him in waves, manifesting as roaring, spiraling winds that wrapped around his body like an invisible mantle. His white garments fluttered violently within the tempest, yet he remained unmoving—an eye of calm amid gathering chaos.

Far above him, the heavens themselves began to change.

Dark storm clouds rolled in from all directions, swelling and merging until they blotted out the once-clear blue sky. Sunlight vanished, swallowed whole by layers of churning black and violet clouds that loomed like an ominous ceiling over Asgard.

A low rumble echoed.

Then—silence.

Below, the battlefield seemed to freeze.

Civilians who had been running in blind panic slowed to a stop, heads lifting instinctively toward the darkened sky. Their screams faded into hushed gasps. Just moments ago, the city had basked in warm sunlight. Now, the air was heavy, charged—every breath tingling against the skin with the unmistakable promise of lightning.

The mages fell still for another reason entirely.

Faced with magic so vast, so absolute that it eclipsed their own understanding, their bodies reacted before their minds could. Knees trembled. Hands shook. Fear rooted them in place, primal and suffocating.

The devils fared even worse.

Their twisted, rune-etched bodies quivered uncontrollably—not from the static in the air, but from the divine presence radiating from the storm above. Their instincts screamed in terror. This was not power they could corrupt or endure.

This was judgement.

Duolio gazed down upon the devils and magicians beneath him. His ever-present gentle smile faded, replaced by an expression of solemn resolve. There was no hatred in his eyes. Only unwavering conviction.

He brought his hands together in prayer.

”Oh Father in Heaven,” he intoned softly, his voice carrying effortlessly through the charged air. 

”Lend me Your strength, that I may protect the innocent and repel the evil that dares defile all beneath Your sky. Manifest Your mighty hammer of divine judgement in this world. Strike them down—Zenith Tempest.”

The heavens answered.

A blinding flash of lightning tore across the sky, so brilliant it washed the world in white.

In the very next instant, nearly a hundred devils and magicians were struck simultaneously. Divine lightning descended like spears of judgment, engulfing them completely. Their screams were cut short as their bodies blackened instantly, reduced to charred silhouettes frozen mid-motion.

Then came the thunder.

A deafening roar exploded across Asgard, its shockwave rippling outward with irresistible force. The blackened remains crumbled apart, scattering like ash in a violent wind—erased so thoroughly that it was as if they had never existed at all.

”Phew…”

A heavy breath escaped Duolioʼs lips as the storm around him slowly began to calm. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

Despite his immense mana reserves, that strike had taken a toll.

Zenith Tempest—one of the strongest Longinus-class Sacred Gears, second only to the True Longinus—demanded an extraordinary price in exchange for its overwhelming might. The ability to command the weather itself, to bend storms into both shield and sword, was not something achieved lightly.

Even for Duolio, the Churchʼs greatest genius and strongest warrior, it had taken decades of relentless training and devotion to wield it properly.

And even now—it drained him deeply.

His gaze drifted downward, toward one of the many shelters scattered across the city. There, he saw families clinging to one another—tears streaking their faces, yet smiles breaking through as relief washed over them. Parents held their children tightly. Strangers embraced like kin.

Seeing that alone made it worth it.

ʼThank you… for lending me Your strength, Father.ʼ

Duolio closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer to the God he knew no longer walked the world—yet still lived, undeniably, within his heart.

But peace did not last.

More devils emerged.

Light-green magic circles flared open across the city—symbols he recognized immediately. Shalba Beelzebubʼs work. One after another, berserk devils and cloaked magicians poured forth, flooding the streets anew.

So long as Shalba lived, the summoning would not cease.

Duolio clenched his fist.

ʼI can still fight… but not like this.ʼ

A prolonged battle against mindless devils who felt no fear of death, supported by long-range magicians, while simultaneously protecting civilians—such a scenario would inevitably end in failure.

ʼMichael-sama… Gabriel-sama… please hurry.ʼ

And then—

Something entered his vision.

Far at the edge of the horizon, space itself seemed to distort.

A colossal shape emerged from the distance.

A flying fortress.

Its sheer scale dwarfed even Asgardʼs grandest structures, hovering in the sky with impossible grace. Duolio barely had time to process what he was seeing—

When massive purple beams erupted from its structure.

Each one carried power sufficient to annihilate a city.

They struck the battlefield with merciless precision.

Devils. Magicians. Summoning circles.

All vanished instantly beneath the overwhelming barrage, leaving behind nothing—not ash, not shadow—not even absence.

They were simply gone.

Then, from the heart of the floating fortress, a radiant light surged upward.

Golden. Brilliant. A moment later, divine rain fell from the heavens.

Duolio froze midair as the golden droplets washed over him.

His breath caught. Fatigue melted away. His exhausted magic circuits surged back to life, mana flooding through him with renewed vigor. Wounds—minor though they were—vanished entirely.

This was no ordinary spell. This was a blessing. A true divine benediction.

Slowly, Duolio lifted his gaze toward the flying fortress—the source of both annihilation and salvation.

”Who… are they…?” he murmured softly, awe filling his voice. 

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