Highschool Dxd Qartulad -

Issei’s Sacred Gear, Boosted Gear , pulsed red on his left hand. But something was different. The dragon inside, Ddraig, spoke with a rumbling echo: “This land is old, partner. Older than the Three Factions. The local pantheon—the Ghvtismshobeli —sleeps, but their magic lingers in the blood of these people.”

A towering man in a chokha —a traditional wool coat adorned with powder flasks—helped him up. “Welcome, boy, to the land of the Golden Fleece. I am Kote, a descendant of the Amirani —our Prometheus, chained for giving fire to mortals.”

Kokabiel screamed. “This isn’t your world, boy!” Highschool Dxd Qartulad

Rias, Akeno, and Kiba—who had tracked Issei through the rift—arrived just in time for the feast. Kiba tried chakhokhbili and wept tears of joy. Akeno became oddly fascinated by the polyphonic singing.

He activated his Balance Breaker—but instead of the usual crimson armor, scales of gold and red formed around him, patterned after the ancient Georgian Bolnisi crosses. From his back, wings of flame and grapevine unfurled. The battle was brutal. Kokabiel summoned ice spears; Natela countered with Svanetian dancing , her steps creating seismic cracks. But Issei—fueled by both the Boosted Gear and the lingering faith of the land—shouted: Issei’s Sacred Gear, Boosted Gear , pulsed red

Natela snarled. “You mistake strength for arrogance.”

Issei blushed. “I mean, Natela-san is pretty...” Older than the Three Factions

Issei drank. The wine burned like holy fire—but instead of drunkenness, he felt a new power surge. His Boosted Gear gained a secondary engraving: – doubling his strength for every toast honored. Chapter 3: The Fallen Priest of the Cross But peace was short-lived. A fallen angel named Kokabiel, tired of the war in Japan, had come to the Caucasus to awaken an ancient evil: the Pashkunji —a demonic wolf that once devoured the moon, sealed under Mount Kazbek.

Kokabiel mocked the local faith. “Your saints, your samepo (kingdom)—none of it matters. Christianity mixed with paganism? Pathetic.”

Ddraig chuckled: “I like her.”

A wooden ladle hit his head. Natela smirked. “Focus on the toast, boy. To friendship. To fire. To the flame that never dies—even in the Caucasus snow.”