My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 637

Capítulo 637: Going to collect a favor, in Nidavellir.

Vergil adjusted himself, slowly spinning the Yamato before sheathing it. The air around him was still—finally still—after days of intense training and absolute mastery of the energies coursing through him. He took a deep breath, feeling every spark of power pulse in harmony.

“I’m ready,” he said, with that quiet authority that made even the shadows align. “The Heavenly Tournament has nothing left for me to fear.”

Sapphire, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, watched him with a small, almost amused smile. In the reflection of her crimson eyes, Vergil looked like a star about to explode.

“Ready you are,” she agreed, pushing herself off the wall and walking towards him. “But the tournament is still six days away.”

Vergil frowned slightly, a trace of impatience sliding across his face.

“Then why did you call me so early? Do you intend to test some new technique on me?”

Sapphire chuckled softly, shaking her head.

“No. We’re not training today.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow.

“We’re not training?”

She moved closer, stopping just inches from him, and placed a hand on his chest—not romantically, but like someone demanding his full attention.

“You’re coming with me today.”

Vergil tilted his head, clearly curious.

“Where to?”

Sapphire smiled slowly, a smile that betrayed she was planning something—something big.

“Nidavellir.”

Vergil froze.

The world around them seemed momentarily silent, as if even the air awaited his reaction.

Finally, he blinked.

“…Nidavellir?” he repeated, his voice low, tense, incredulous. “The Nordic kingdom?”

“Yes.” Sapphire turned her back to him, walking toward the palace gate. Her hair flickered in small, lively flames—a sign of excitement. “The kingdom of the blacksmiths who forged the weapons of the Gods.”

Vergil took a second to process it.

Nidavellir wasn’t a casual destination. It was one of the most closed, oldest, and most dangerous kingdoms. Even demon kings avoided interfering there without permission. The place breathed tradition, strength, and constant challenges.

He approached her, his voice now firm.

“Why would we go to Nidavellir?”

Sapphire turned to look at him over her shoulder, smiling with the confidence of someone who had just delivered a perfect chess piece.

“Because,” she said slowly, “you’re going to enter the Celestial Tournament as a representative of the demons.”

Vergil kept his gaze unchanging, but his fingers twitched at his sides.

“And?” “And…” Sapphire turned completely to face him, her eyes blazing like live embers. “If you’re going to face beings from the heavens, the Norse pantheon, the draconic realms, and even the forgotten gods… you need to be equipped accordingly.”

Vergil took a deep breath.

“…You want me to get you a new weapon.”

“Not just any weapon.” Sapphire’s voice softened, almost reverent. “I want you to have something worthy of your current power. Something that isn’t just an extension of you… but that survives when you decide to use one hundred percent of the strength you’re hiding, and of course, that prevents you from using Yamato and your ascended form of Excalibur. Didn’t I say so? You need tricks up your sleeve, and Yamato’s final form is one of those tricks. The more we hide it, the more chances we have to destroy everything and win.”

Vergil lowered his eyes for a moment—not doubting her, but pondering the consequences.

“The blacksmiths of Nidavellir don’t forge weapons for demons, do they?” Vergil questioned, after all, despite never having been there, and never having left Midgard, or rather, Earth. He knew exactly about the dwarves’ pride…

Sapphire shrugged.

“They forge for whomever they want. And I have someone there who owes us a favor.” A mischievous smile appeared. “A very big favor.”

Vergil took a step back, assessing.

Nidavellir.

Kingdom of divine metallurgy.

Where blades gained a soul.

Where the heat of the forges could rival the fire of hell itself.

Where each hammer blow echoed like a living rune.

And Sapphire wanted to take him there.

“…She intends to have something forged for me,” he concluded.

Sapphire nodded.

“Yes. Something unique. Something that matches your style… and the monster you’re becoming.”

Vergil took another deep breath, his gaze sharp as a newly polished blade.

“This will draw attention.”

“Of course it will,” Sapphire replied, crossing her arms with a proud air. “You’re not going to the Celestial Tournament to participate, Vergil.”

“You’re going to dominate.”

Vergil finally smiled—small, controlled, full of meaning.

“Then let’s go.”

Sapphire opened her hands, and a portal began to form behind her—made of blue flames mixed with shimmering runes.

“Prepare yourself,” she said, her eyes burning with anticipation. “Nidavellir is not like the underworld. Nor like the human world. Nor like the heavens.”

Vergil took a step toward the portal, his aura adjusting as if preparing for a new kind of battle.

“I don’t expect it to be.”

Sapphire went in first.

Vergil followed.

The portal shattered like liquid glass, and the dense, hot air of Nidavellir filled Vergil’s lungs before his feet even touched the ground.

The light was reddish, tinged with the constant smoke from the forges. The sound of hammers echoed like rhythmic thunder. The smell of heated metal, oil, dust, and ancient magic permeated everything.

And they emerged—right in the middle of a wide street.

A street… crowded with dwarves.

Small, muscular, bearded, each carrying tools larger than their own legs. The conversations were loud. The footsteps, heavy. Flames and smoke rose from chimneys everywhere. Enormous chains, complex mechanisms, gleaming runes on the ground. Hundreds of them. Everyone stopped and stared.

Vergil raised an eyebrow slowly.

“…This was the best place,” he said in an impassive voice, “for two Demon Kings to appear without warning?”

Sapphire clicked her tongue, clearly amused by the situation.

“Relax.” She put her hands on her hips. “Here we are nobody.”

Vergil blinked, confused for a moment.

“What do you mean…?”

“Do you think a bunch of dwarf blacksmiths are going to care about two demonic monarchs?” She pointed around. “They deal with gods every day. Dragons, giants, primordial spirits. You and I? We go unnoticed.”

As if to validate her words, a dwarf passed by pushing a cart full of shiny metal bars, huffing:

“HURRY UP, YOU TWO BIG GUYS! THE STREET ISN’T FOR DECORATION!”

Vergil stood still.

Sapphire stifled a laugh.

“See?” She winked. “We’re just an obstacle in the middle of traffic.”

Vergil exhaled slowly, more resigned than irritated, as he followed Sapphire who advanced through the crowd. The atmosphere was truly different: rough, direct, unceremonious. The dwarves shouted at each other as if they were always on the brink of war, but each of their movements was an art—efficient, calculated, precise.

Sapphire stopped suddenly, looking around, narrowing her eyes.

“Hmm… where exactly are we?” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Vergil remained silent, watching as she scanned the city like a cat in ancient territory.

Then, suddenly, she smiled.

There, among rustic shops and smoke-filled workshops, stood an old sign made of wood darkened by the heat:

“The Beard of Bravokkr – Restoration and Runes”

Her smile widened.

“We’re too far,” she remarked, taking two steps back. “Much farther than I thought.”

“Far from where?” Vergil asked.

“From our destination.” Sapphire was already flexing her legs. “The true heart of Nidavellir lies near the sacred volcano. And this here…” She pointed around. “It’s just the trading area.”

Without warning, she levitated, then took flight effortlessly, blue flames glowing beneath her feet like living thrusters.

“Come on,” she said, waving her hand at him. “Try to keep up.”

“I can just open a portal—”

“Not funny!” she cut in. “Flying is better! And you need to test your new body.”

Vergil sighed, resigned, and activated a soft glow of energy around his feet, rising into the air.

But before he could say anything, Sapphire was already high above him, with a mischievous smile.

“I bet you can’t keep up with me.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“…Are you challenging me?”

“Of course I am!” She spun in the air, leaving a trail of blue flames that snaked behind her. “Let’s see if the great Demon King can catch a mere queen of fire.”

Vergil responded only with silence.

But his pupils narrowed.

Sapphire recognized that look immediately.

The look he had when he accepted the challenge.

“Great,” she said. “Because I’m going to speed up.”

Vergil opened his mouth to reply.

But Sapphire vanished.

A sonic boom ripped through the air, shattering windows and knocking tools off the dwarves’ workbenches. The ground vibrated. Flames on the lampposts leaned violently toward the air current she left behind.

Vergil stood still for half a second.

Half a second.

And then—

FWOOOOOOM

He shot after her with the same supersonic roar, tearing through the air like an arrow of concentrated power.

The dwarves looked up at the sky, annoyed, complaining loudly:

“IDIOTS!”

“YOU BROKE MY WINDOW!”

“COME BACK HERE, PALE DEMON, AND FIX MY ROOF!”

But Sapphire and Vergil were already two bright streaks crossing the crimson skies of Nidavellir, heading towards the colossal volcano that spewed smoke and living runes into the firmament.

The thermal currents around the volcano were so intense they felt like they were biting at the skin. Internal flames roared like an ancient beast trapped inside the mountain, and crimson vapors escaped through fissures in the ground. Vergil landed first—silent, precise—leaving only small black cracks where his feet touched the incandescent rock.

Sapphire descended right behind, landing naturally, as if the extreme heat were just a warm breeze.

The volcano’s entrance was… strange.

It was a wide, circular opening, with ancient runes burned into the stone. Chains of black gold hung from the sides, stretching into the interior of the mountain like the tendons of a sleeping monster. And, just above, a carved dragon’s head—but so detailed, so lifelike, that it seemed to watch them both.

Vergil narrowed his eyes.

“…Explain why we’re entering a volcano,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with suspicion. “And why do I sense an absurdly ancient, draconic presence in here?”

Sapphire brushed her hair back naturally, a slow smile appearing on her lips.

“Because I’m going to collect a favor.”

Vergil crossed his arms.

“From whom?”

She began to walk through the dark entrance, without looking back.

“From a bastard.”

Vergil followed, though with the caution of someone who senses they are entering the lair of something very… inconvenient.

Soon the heat intensified. Runes glowed on the walls like live embers. The sound of boiling lava echoed in the background, but there was something deeper—a deep rumble that made the ground vibrate.

Vergil recognized it immediately.

Breathing.

Immense breathing.

“Who exactly should we find?” he insisted, and Sapphire simply replied:

“You’ll see.”

They turned into a corridor, and it was like entering the heart of a star. The cave expanded into a gigantic dome, illuminated by rivers of magma that flowed like pulsating veins. And in the center…

Something breathed.

A deep voice, so profound it seemed to graze the depths of the soul, echoed through the walls, shaking dust and stone.

“What… is the Demon Queen… doing in my domain?”

Vergil felt the air vibrate. The spiritual force behind that voice was absurd, heavy, ancient. Something that came from the era before civilizations were born.

Sapphire smiled, a smile that was 50% charm and 50% provocation.

“Is this how you greet me after three centuries of absence, darling?”

She raised her hand, gesturing to the shadows of the cave.

“I came to gather materials to forge a weapon.”

The ground trembled.

The temperature rose several degrees instantly.

Sapphire finished, with a playful glint in her eyes:

“Then hurry up and provide everything I want.”

The roar came like a thunderclap.

Rawr— BRUOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!

Stones fell from the ceiling. Magma raised columns. The vortex of heat exploded outward. It was a primal roar, made to intimidate, frighten, and remind anyone who dared enter that that mountain had an owner.

Vergil raised an automatic energy barrier with a single gesture, while Sapphire didn’t even blink.

She only narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, crossing her arms.

“Oh, are you nervous?”

The flames at the bottom of the cave rippled.

The colossal breathing intensified.

Sapphire smiled mischievously and amusedly.

“Fafnir.”

A pair of enormous eyes—reptilian, golden like liquid gold—opened in the deep darkness.

And then the colossal dragon head emerged from the shadows, revealing horns curved like obsidian blades and scales that gleamed like incandescent metal.

The legendary Fafnir, the Greedy Dragon, gazed at Sapphire with pure, ancestral disgust.

And Sapphire looked at him as one who meets an old enemy…

…and a debtor.