"DXD: Infinite Loot System"Chapter 307: The Lion's Roar
Nearly a million spectators filled the stands, yet not a single voice dared to break the silence. Every eye was locked on two figures standing proud at the heart of the arena.
A golden lion. A sky streaked crimson and silver. This was a battle for the ages—a clash between lion and legend.
Under the weight of a million stares, they moved.
No rush. No hesitation. Tenra and Sairaorg strode toward each other, every step measured, deliberate.
Raw battle aura and spiritual energy erupted from their bodies in violent waves, each footfall fracturing the ground beneath them. They walked on air itself, closing the distance until they stood face to face.
Then—
Both fists flew, crashing into the other's jaw at the exact same instant.
Pain exploded behind their eyes. But both men grinned, wide and wild, lips curled in identical arcs.
This was the resolve. This was the power. This was it.
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!"
"YAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!"
The war horn had sounded. Tenra and Sairaorg unleashed a storm of fists.
Wind howled. Thunder cracked. The ground beneath them buckled, cratered, and kept expanding—wider, deeper, a pit gouged by their fury.
Sairaorg's fist shattered the armor on Tenra's abdomen. Tenra's counter cracked the shield plating across Sairaorg's chest. Sairaorg's knee drove into Tenra's side, rupturing organs. Tenra's sweeping kick snapped Sairaorg's ribs.
Defense abandoned. Only offense remained. They hammered each other with everything they had.
"OHHHHHHH!!!!!"
"No technique! No magic! Just man against man, fist against fist—like two kids in a schoolyard brawl, but taken to the edge of the impossible!"
"What savage combat! What blood-pumping battle!"
The announcer's voice broke with excitement. The crowd erupted. Every spectator shot to their feet, roaring the names of both fighters:
"Tenra Kamiyo! Tenra Kamiyo! Tenra Kamiyo!"
"Sairaorg! Sairaorg! Sairaorg!"
The cheers shook the arena. Faces flushed with adrenaline. Even in the VIP box, Ravel wept openly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Her Onii-sama and that Sairaorg—once branded as the Underworld's trash, mocked and despised.
But now? Now everyone screamed their names.
"HAH!!!"
Sairaorg roared, launching an uppercut. The force tore through reality—a jagged black arc ripped open the air, expanding toward Tenra like a slice of chaos.
Tenra twisted in midair, barely evading the void-scar by a hair. He drove his fist into the ground below.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM!
Shockwaves blasted skyward. The entire alternate space shook as the terrain exploded.
"HYAH! HYAH! HYAH! HYAH! HYAH!"
Dust swallowed everything. Sight vanished. But both fighters sensed each other perfectly. Separated by thousands of meters, standing in the ruins, they punched at empty air.
Every blow unleashed a torrent of force. Thousands upon thousands of shockwaves collided midair, and the battlefield roared with thunderous detonations.
The sky screamed. The earth wailed. The entire arena fractured, splintering under their wrath.
But it wasn't over.
Tenra charged, slamming Sairaorg hundreds of meters deep into the ground. They tore through soil and stone, their battle continuing beneath the surface.
THOOM. THOOM-THOOM. THOOM-THOOM-THOOM.
Muffled thunder rolled up from below. The ground rippled and heaved like a stormy sea. Spectators sat frozen, stunned beyond words. No imagination was needed to grasp the ferocity of the fight below.
Were these really just new-generation devils? Even the wars of ancient gods and demons couldn't have been more intense.
CRASH!
After what felt like an eternity, both fighters burst from the earth, standing once more atop shattered ground.
Armor in tatters. Bodies drenched in blood. Both looked utterly wrecked.
Sairaorg spat out mouthfuls of blood, each drop sending a jolt through the crowd, then collapsed to one knee.
"Has... has Sairaorg-senshu been defeated...?"
The announcer's voice trembled, uncertain. No one answered.
Though Sairaorg knelt, though he said nothing, everyone felt it. Everyone knew. His fighting spirit still burned—unyielding.
"Sairaorg! Sairaorg! Sairaorg!"
One voice started the chant. It grew, swelling as more joined in, until the whole arena thundered with his name.
They waited. Everyone waited for Sairaorg to rise.
Tenra drew ragged breaths. Organs battered, bones shattered. No one understood Sairaorg's injuries better than him—because his own body was just as wrecked.
But Tenra had [Mother's Smile], a power to heal his wounds. His cheat, his edge. Sairaorg had no such luxury.
Anyone else would have died from those injuries, let alone kept fighting. But Tenra knew—knew—the man before him would stand again.
Because he was Sairaorg.
"Stand up!"
A stern voice cut through the tension. A woman's figure materialized beside Sairaorg, semi-transparent, ethereal—like a ghost.
When her features came into focus, both Tenra and Rias (watching from outside) froze.
It was Sairaorg's mother—Lady Misla.
"Wh-what's happening?! How did someone else enter the battlefield?!"
The announcer's shock echoed through the arena. Many spectators shared his confusion.
But Azazel, voice grave, cut through the noise:
"That's not an intruder. It's the manifestation of Sairaorg's willpower."
"Seriously... just how intense is that guy's conviction, to actually affect the world around him?"
Azazel's words were quiet, but the awe in his tone was unmistakable.
The announcer and countless spectators stared, stunned. That woman was Sairaorg's manifested will? A person's sheer willpower could shape reality itself?
How was that possible?
Shock and disbelief aside, the phantom Lady Misla spoke again:
"Stand up, Sairaorg!"
"Stand up! Stand up! Stand up!"
Her expression was stern, proud, and confident—not cheering, but commanding, the tone of a mother who would never accept less.
And Sairaorg, scolded by his mother, stirred. Every ounce of strength summoned, he slowly lifted his face—bloodied, caked with dirt.
His injuries were severe, pain blinding. His eyes looked vacant, unfocused.
But deep within, a stubborn light flickered.
"Didn't we promise? That you'd become stronger than anyone?"
"Go fulfill your dream! Build the world you envision! For the Underworld! So no one ever suffers as you did—clench your fists and fight!"
"Sairaorg, stand up!"
Lady Misla's phantom faded, dissolving into nothing.
But—
He moved. Sairaorg's body moved.
His hand twitched. His arm, his legs. Under a million watchful eyes, Sairaorg slowly rose to his feet.
Blood dripped onto the shattered earth. But his eyes blazed with a light no one had ever seen before. Sairaorg stood tall, chest out, fists clenched tight, and then—
"ROAAAAAAAAARRRRRR!!!!!!"
He unleashed a lion's roar.
Countless souls trembled at the sight. After a heartbeat of stunned silence, the entire arena erupted in a tidal wave of cheers:
"Sairaorg! Sairaorg! Sairaorg!"
A warrior's anthem, sung for the hero who refused to fall.
"M-Milady... Young Master Sairaorg has never forgotten his promise to you. Never."
In a distant hospital room, the butler sobbed, wiping away tears that wouldn't stop.
Smiling through her own tears, the real Lady Misla's face was streaked with emotion.
Yes. Sairaorg had always remembered their promise. Always.
So then—
Go fight, Sairaorg. My son...
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