Kuoh Town, Japan.

Along the edge of Taiheiyo Forest was a large, white building atop of a small hill. This building was notoriously known as Kuoh Town’s abandoned church.

Towering against the night sky, the church’s stone walls and stained-glass windows seemed to radiate in the moonlight. Its front doors were locked and boarded, and the windows were broken and coated in cobwebs. The surrounding yard was unkempt, with weeds and wildflowers overtaking the grass, and the nearby graveyard was abandoned and uncared for.

Despite its state of disrepair, the abandoned church still had a certain majesty and beauty about it. The steeple reached up towards the sky, and the arched windows and doors seemed to beckon the viewer inside. The moonlight danced across the stained glass, casting a soft, ethereal radiance over the interior.

It was rumored that in the past, this church had once been a lively place. However, following the death of a priest, this area had been mysteriously abandoned.

Creak, creak.

A large, girthy branch of a nearby tree shook up and down as a slender blonde girl grabbed onto it. She was dressed in a full, flared skirt with layers of ruffled lace and a corset-style top with ribbon lacing up the back.

The blonde effortlessly swung her body up and over, perching on top of the branch.

“Hooray…” She spoke out with a yawn, her expression emotionless and stoic.

Glancing down at the landscape below, her face was unreadable as she surveilled the forest around her.

However, as the minutes ticked by, she grew continuously irritated. She sighed heavily, and her demeanor completely collapsed as she gazed down at the ground beneath her.

“Aaahhh! Who am I kidding, acting like this is so soulless!” Restlessness was evident on her face.

She fidgeted on the branch, her legs swinging more frantically as she looked for something to distract her.

“Standing guard,” the girl tilted her nose upward and blasted her voice into the night sky, “is the most boring thing ever!”

Chirp, chirp, chirp.

Only the night sounds of crickets and katydids could be heard.

“Ugh, this really is the worst. Why am I even doing this anyway?”

Within the next few seconds, the sound of giant wingbeats filled the air. A large shadow swiftly flew by, coming to a stop in front of the blonde girl.

“Mittelt, what the hell are you doing?” The figure’s irritated voice hissed, “You’re supposed to be watching over the premises in a stealthy manner.”

In front of her was a tall, buxom woman in a skin-tight red dress. She was hovering in the air, keeping afloat with her giant, feathered wings.

“Hmph!” Mittelt snapped back at her, “It’s not like we get any visitors anyway.”

The woman’s expression contorted with annoyance. The gentle night breeze uplifted her navy-blue hair that covered her left eye.

“Just shut up and stop complaining! You need to follow Miss Raynare’s orders.”

“No way!” Mittelt complained, “That means I’ll have to sit around in one spot, doing nothing for the entire day!”

“I don’t care,” the blue-haired woman curtly replied with her arms crossed.

“Just remember,” she continued in a stern voice, “we need to stay undercover, so don’t act rashly. Take note of anyone who comes, but only kill if necessary.”

“Isn’t there a better—or rather more fun way of doing things?” Mittelt’s eyes flashed with a spark of bloodthirsty excitement. She was seemingly fantasizing about a vile and devious idea.

“We can kill everyone who comes,” Mittelt gave the woman a bright smile. She then viciously uttered, “I’ll only rip out their bones and feed their flesh to the pigs!”

“Stop rambling and only do as you’re told,” the woman tensed her mouth. “Our scheme is destined to succeed on the condition that everyone does their part properly.”

Before Mittelt could start complaining again, the woman made a powerful wingbeat. Her figure quickly turned into a black dot, swiftly disappearing into the night sky.

Whoosh!

The windy current from the aftershock rushed into Mittelt, intensely blowing through her blonde hair and frilly dress. However, despite the raging winds, she was unmoved. She was seated on a lonely branch; her blue eyes were full of spite and boredom.

“This self isolation is low-key torture,” she muttered.

“Which idiot can withstand being motionless in one place for so long…”

. . . . .

As the sun rose from the east, a young man with short, black hair could be seen standing at the top of a giant clock tower. His sharp eyes closely surveilled the city as it was becoming more and more crowded.

Kuoh Town’s Plaza was visible below, with its bustling crowds of people, street performers, and colorful storefronts. Beyond the plaza, the city stretched out in all directions, with rows of houses, apartment buildings, and office towers dotting the landscape.

‘Hmm… this “Kuoh Town” sounds familiar. Was that a city from my past life? There’s something about it on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t quite pinpoint it.’

Pondering for a while, Chekhov found that there were too many blank spots of information related to the authority figures of this world. No one seemed to question it, and it was almost as if something was intentionally hidden to the public.

Having seen enough, Chekhov walked back into the tower’s enclosure and descended to the ground floor using the elevator.

Looking back at the events from Taiheiyo Forest, why did Chekhov devour the boy, Kurou? Wouldn’t this cause unnecessary troubles with law enforcement?

Perhaps, it did have a slight risk — but Chekhov evaluated his benefit to be far more worthwhile.

In his previous life, murder would provide far less benefit and would be generally difficult to cover up. Moreover, the strength of one man could never surpass hundreds. Acting recklessly for little to no gain would be akin to suicide.

However, this time Chekhov had the support of a growth-type supernatural power. With a limited amount of lifespan on his biological clock, he was determined to seize all opportunities of knowledge and discovery that he could get. Of course, this was as long as the benefit-to-risk ratio was high enough.

As Chekhov strolled through the tree-lined walkways of the plaza, he came to a crowded outdoor enclosure.

‘Good place to test my audio perception.’

He decided to pose as an edgy teen with his arms crossed and back leaning against a wall.

This particularly busy area was a food court. It was a relatively large area filled with tables and chairs, where numerous people could be seen stuffing their faces with Japanese delicacies and foreign food.

It was a little noisy and chaotic at this time, as almost all the tables were filled up. Some people were sharing tables with strangers to find a spot to eat.

“You little sh*t! You’ve spilled chocolate milk all over my limited-edition Dragon Boy Z comic!”

One such table consisted of a skinny brown-haired otaku with glasses and a short, blue-haired boy.

‘It seems that sound waves can bounce off my dark energy. I can partially eavesdrop by redirecting any stray waves toward me.’

“Wahhh! Auntie!” the boy cried while pointing to his side. “This weird, ugly man is yelling at me!”

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Large footsteps could be heard as a muscular woman approached the table. Her thick eyebrows, large stature, and double chin gave her a frightening look.

“Uhh…” the otaku’s mouth opened in fear. His face showed signs of paleness as a large shadow loomed over him.

“How dare you!” the woman roared with bulging eyes. She raised up her large, brown purse.

“No one speaks to my nephew like that!”

She swung the purse at full speed, pounding the otaku at the center of his jaw.

Puff!

The otaku was sent flying out of his seat, landing shoulder-first onto the harsh ground.

Chekhov expressionlessly spectated this scene, his gaze occupied in deep thought.

‘At first glance, this technique seems very useful, but it’s only practical for eavesdropping. It requires time and precision to construct and maintain the tunnels, otherwise the sound waves will be distorted.’

Rumble, rumble.

This scene had caused a large commotion among the surrounding tables. Chekhov withdrew his dark energy as his senses were starting to get congested with indescribable noises.

‘In theory, if my soul power is strong enough, I could separately decode these vibrations into an interpretable language.’

Eventually, after the commotion died out, Chekhov went back to eavesdropping. He stood motionless for the next thirty minutes, not making the slightest sound.

However, he still couldn’t find any information that he was looking for. At least, not until a peculiar sight caught his eye.

‘Isn’t he…?’

A group of peculiar, young teenagers were sitting and chatting at a table. They were no older than 13 years of age.

“Anyone know where Kurou’s at?” a scrawny boy asked.

His short, black hair was shaped into a bowl cut.

“Ni**a’s prolly getting laid.” One of the other boys snickered, “On God, he’s got way more rizz than you.”

“You finna say on God?” the boy with the bowl cut retorted. “Shut your atheist ass up.”

Hearing this, Chekhov’s eyes narrowed.

‘He’s Ryo, that same boy from those memories.’

Chekhov knew that Ryo’s family was an avid follower of Christianity.

Normally, Chekhov wouldn’t care about this. But according to his inherited memories, Ryo’s grandmother—who was suffering from a chronic illness—was magically cured after visiting a nun a few weeks ago.

Chekhov considered this as a clue concerning the existence of other supernatural entities.

Listening further, Chekhov noticed that the boys’ conversation was getting into a heated religious debate.

‘They’re not going to give me any valuable details at this rate. Everyone’s just spewing nonsense and slurs every three seconds.’

Eventually, after 15 minutes, the group bitterly started to disperse. Everyone was leaving the table on a sour note.

‘Hmm… the existence of God is an interesting topic. This world must have supernatural powers hidden in the dark.’

Regardless of whether God existed or not, Chekhov’s plans would be the same. He considered God as just another entity in the universe—nothing more special than a human, animal, or rock. Perhaps this God could be an obstacle, but it could just as easily be used as a resource. In the end, if Chekhov needed to, he wouldn’t hesitate to burn the heavens down for his own ideals.

Chekhov uncrossed his arms and took out his phone. Through an internet search, he found a datasheet containing Kuoh Town’s bus routes and timings.

‘I might have to take a small road trip today.’

. . . . .

One hour later.

A medium sized public bus was moving through the streets of Kuoh Town. Posing as an inconspicuous passenger, Chekhov was taking mental notes of significant landmarks and eavesdropping over conversations.

A few seats in front of him, a girl with long brown hair and a slender figure was talking quietly on the phone.

“Murayama. Please tell the instructor that I’ll be late for kendo practice.”

“What??! …You’re going to be late too?”

‘Murayama. That name sounds familiar, I feel like I’ve heard it in my previous life.’

Chekhov looked at the back of the girl’s head again, but he couldn’t quite remember where he heard that name from.

‘It might be a coincidence. I’ve read and watched countless amounts of manga and anime when I was in my early teens.’

Chekhov tried listening into other people’s conversations, but as expected, he didn’t find any valuable information.

Fifteen minutes later, the bus arrived at a seemingly quiet and peaceful neighborhood. The houses were all similarly rectangular shaped, painted white, and made up of two stories.

This was Chekhov’s stop. Within sight was the entrance to a small but verdant forest consisting mostly of broadleaf trees.

After stepping down from the bus, he began slowly treading toward the forest.

Unlike the Taiheiyo Forest, this one had many signs of human activity. Many trees were neatly cleared, creating a wide and smooth path that faintly sloped upward for several kilometers, leading directly toward the abandoned church after a few twists and turns.

Although the sun was still high up in the sky, Chekhov still felt that the forest exuded a dangerous atmosphere.

Immediately releasing an immense amount of dark energy from his soul, Chekhov began scanning the area around him for any dangerous activity. At full force, his transformed soul was powerful enough to pick up dark energy fluctuations within a 500-meter radius.

‘I can produce enough dark energy to safely execute a wide-scale scan every 5 minutes while never dropping below half my energy capacity.’

One of the biggest advantages to Chekhov’s transformed soul was its exceptional energy capacity and energy regeneration rate. He was confident that he could easily win a battle of attrition against any evenly matched adversary.

‘Nothing unusual spotted.’

Stepping inside the forest entrance, he slowly and cautiously trod along the cleared-out path. Five minutes later, he conducted a wide-scale scan again. By repeating this process for an hour, Chekhov walked uninterrupted to the point where the base of the abandoned church was within direct sight.

‘There are too many objects inside this church. I’ll have to switch to a low-scale precise scan of each room when I go inside.’

During the next few seconds, he continued to step forward toward the church doors, then stopped in front of the entrance. At this juncture, he could peer inside and observe the entire nave.

Chekhov closed his eyes once more, preparing for the last wide-scale scan. The next moment an immense amount of dark energy was released into all cardinal directions.

‘Something is heading toward me. It’s fast.’

He swiftly opened his eyes with full alertness. Preparing to fight, Chekhov was planning to abruptly turn around and catch his attacker by surprise with a continuous barrage of concentrated dark energy waves.

This was best employed as a mid-range attacking technique. From afar, the waves would be too dispersed to deal any significant damage, and from point blank he would be susceptible to any melee skills.

‘Once it moves into range of my concentrated waves, I’ll immediately attack.’

However, Chekhov noticed something unusual. Instead of speeding up, his attacker was slowing down while approaching him.

He decided to act as if he didn’t notice any movement.

Chekhov stood still for a while and then feigned an innocent expression as he looked inside the church’s nave.

At that moment, he heard a sweet, high-pitched voice.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Chekhov turned around, pretending to be surprised.

However, he was truly taken aback for an instant when he saw her appearance. Standing in front of him was a short blonde-haired girl with blue eyes, clothed in a Lolita dress.

‘Twin tails, black frilly outfit, blue eyes, blonde hair…’

Realization came to him as today’s events were beginning to clear up: the girl on the bus, the nun with healing magic, the abandoned church, and the name of this town.

‘There’s no doubt about it. She’s that throwaway villain from High School DxD.’

“High School DxD” was a series of the light novels that Chekhov had read in his past life. If it was his previous self, he would instantly recognize the world when he heard the name “Kuoh Town”.

Yet, this time, Chekhov needed a jolt of remembrance. Although his transformed soul prevented memory deterioration, he couldn’t shuffle through his eons of memories all at once.

‘This fierce, little fish should be Mittelt. As far as I remember, she was a low-class Fallen Angel with mediocre strength.’

Standing motionless, Chekhov decided that his best option was to leave. He didn’t want to risk getting encircled by multiple Fallen Angels or their leader, Raynare.

“Uhm... Y-yes, I’m looking for a priest,” Chekhov put on an act of nervousness. “My mother had fallen ill a while back. I was hoping there would be a priest here that could bless her.”

Coincidentally, this statement was true. His mother had adopted him when she was already at an old age. At the present, she was even older. It wasn’t uncommon for people in their 70s to fall ill.

For a moment, Mittelt’s expression showed slight curiosity, but then she responded back with a stern and neutral face.

“Sorry, but there’s no priests in this church anymore.”

Chekhov stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking back with his head slightly lowered.

“Yeah, I figured. This place looks deserted.”

‘I should be able to leave just like this.’

As he walked past her, Mittelt asked one last question.

“What’s your name?”

Chekhov was about to give her a fake name, but he stopped himself at the last moment. A scheme had begun to form in his mind.

He turned to his right, facing her with a friendly smile.

“Chekhov Serebya.”

. . . . .

Mittelt stood in her place as she observed the black-haired young man turn around and continue walking.

‘I hate guard duty. The one time I look away some ignorant kid wanders in.’

Although Mittelt thought of Chekhov as an ignorant kid, she was inwardly cautious when talking to him. She could faintly feel a sense of danger from him.

‘His aura is super weird. I can feel his Sacred Gear, but I’ve never felt anything like it before. But he’s fully human, so he can’t be from one of those Devil households. I hate those Devils and their stupid, ugly faces.’

As Chekhov almost disappeared from her view, Mittelt gazed at his back one last time.

‘Chekhov Serebya… I’ve never heard of him. Hmph, now I have to write up a dumb report about today’s events.’

. . . . .

Chekhov had walked for two kilometers with his hands in his pockets and head slightly lowered. He wanted to keep his guise until he was completely sure no one was watching.

‘One more wide-scale scan to be safe.’

A tremendous amount of energy was abruptly released into all directions. He had executed multiple wide-scale scans over the course of 20 minutes, as Chekhov was extra cautious for what he was planning to do next.

‘There was no abnormal movement in four consecutive scans. I should be alone now.’

Chekhov’s walking speed slowed down to a halt. He removed his hands from his pockets and raised his head back up.

All humans in this world have a chance to be endowed with a Sacred Gear, so Chekhov wanted to assess if he possessed one as well.

However, humans can’t sense their own Sacred Gear until it is awakened. In order to forcefully awaken his Sacred Gear, Chekhov had to use his desire as the key.

‘My true desire…’

He tilted his head up and gazed directly into the bright sky. His surroundings appeared to blur, and ripples formed in the air. Taking one step forward, Chekhov had found himself in a land of fire.

The ground was made up of compact dark gray soil, stained with the blood of countless corpses. Screaming could be heard from every direction, only to be drowned out by the black sky.

Chekhov turned to his right. Within ten meters, there was a man impaled to a cross by rivets on both his hands and ankles. Blood was trickling down the left side of his face from a dark red stub where his ear should have been. He seemed to be hallucinating, his eyes looking upward as if he had seen a ghost.

The man was crying and pleading, only to be inexplicably set on fire by an invisible force. The man’s shrieking could be heard for a few minutes before it eventually died down. All that was left was his charred black body.

A ghostly red face appeared behind Chekhov, staring at him with a bloodthirsty smile. It was the size of a small house, floating 4 meters into the air.

The floating red face spoke with a stentorian voice.

“This is the place where all evil souls will perish! Since I’m feeling a little merciful today, I might give you the chance to take back your sins for a quick death.”

Chekhov turned around and looked upward. He resolutely stood against the floating face, his caramel brown eyes unwavering. He revealed a slight smile as he replied.

“I only live for my true self. Whether I receive a painless death or meet my endless suffering, I will never have any regrets.”

Chekhov further raised his head upward to peer at the vastness of the void black sky. At this moment, a thin golden ring embedded with a black diamond on its top materialized on his index finger.

While raising his right arm above his head, Chekhov pointed his index finger at the sky.

‘Disintegrate.’

The sky abruptly shattered into black pieces, and purple cracks were forming in the air. Large pits could be seen as the black pieces intensely smashed into the ground. However, Chekhov was not in a state of trepidation. He calmly took one step forward, causing his surroundings to blur yet again.

A few seconds later the blurring ceased, and Chekhov was back in the forest.