“No,” Issei said, landing beside Natela. “But a guest protects the table.”

Using a final, unexpected move—the Khasia Embrace (a traditional Georgian wrestling hold)—Issei pinned the fallen angel and sealed him inside an empty qvevri (clay wine vessel) with sacred runes. That night, the mountain villagers celebrated. Natela carved Issei a small wooden horn. “You are now an honorary Khevsur —a warrior of the cliffs.”

“In Georgia,” she declared, “we do not duel with swords first. We duel with toasts .”

From his palm erupted not a sphere, but a serpentine dragon made of molten wine and church bell sounds. It coiled around Kokabiel and exploded in a shower of pomegranate seeds and silver.

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.”

“Then you will learn.” She raised a horn cup. “The first toast: to the dead who guard this land. Drink.”

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.

Chapter 1: A New Sacred Gear Issei Hyoudou never thought he’d leave Kuoh Town. But after a bizarre spatial rift caused by a rogue magician, he found himself tumbling through a vortex of light and shadow, landing face-first in the ancient, misty mountains of Georgia.

Issei stepped forward. “I don’t fully understand your culture yet. But I know one thing: you don’t mock someone’s supra (feast table) or their ancestors.”

As Issei raised his horn one last time, Ddraig whispered: “This is your true power, partner. Not just breasts—but bonds across worlds.”

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.

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

Before Issei could ask more, a shadow fell over them. A woman descended from the cliffs. She had long, raven-black hair braided with vines, amber eyes like aged chacha , and a pair of curved, ram-like horns. Her wings were not feathery or bat-like—they were woven from threads of golden wool.