The Sacred Altar
General Pov
The heavy doors sealed shut behind them, and the thud rolled once around the chamber before the silence swallowed it whole. Torchlight pooled blue-white along the base of the pillars ringing the altar, throwing the gods into a loose half-circle beneath the throne.
Ouranos let the silence stretch, one heartbeat, then another, before he lowered his gaze to the gods gathered below him.
Unable to bear the silence, Ishtar snapped.
"I will declare a War Game right here and now!" Her voice cracked off the stone walls, shattering whatever decorum the altar demanded. She flung a trembling finger at the Goddess of Beauty. "If you do not immediately vacate your hold on Rivira, Freya, the Ishtar Familia will burn your pathetic fortress to the ground!"
Off to the side, Loki snorted, low and amused, and didn't bother hiding it.
Freya didn't spare Ishtar so much as a glance. She rested her chin against her knuckles and turned her eyes to Ouranos instead, waiting him out with the bored patience of someone who already knew how this would end.
Ouranos, for his part, only narrowed his eyes. Along the wall, a torch guttered and steadied, as if the room itself had felt it.
That should have been warning enough. But Ishtar, riding the high of her own voice, mistook his silence for hesitation. She stepped forward, chin lifted, and pressed on.
"I propose a strict, immediate inspection," she demanded. "Loki's expedition party is due back any day now — have them sweep the premises the moment they surface. Make sure Freya isn't harboring illicit goods, or preparing to seize Rivira for herself."
Emboldened by her own echoing words, Ishtar swept her arm toward the other deities. "Furthermore, once the inspection is complete, this so-called outpost must be placed under the joint control of the Guild, Astraea, and Ganesha Familias. Only then can we ensure the fairness of the Dungeon's resources."
That sweeping gesture caused a visceral ripple through the chamber.
Leaning against her pillar, Loki slowly looked up, the lazy smirk on her lips tightening sharply. It was a remarkably clumsy and desperate power grab. Ishtar just attempted to implicate nearly every deity in the room into a hostile coalition against Freya, without asking a single one of them if they actually wanted the dangerous job.
Nobody moved to answer her. Even Hermes, the one god she hadn't tried to draft, only tipped his hat a fraction lower, enough to shadow his eyes and nothing else. Whether that meant he'd already been approached and quietly declined, or simply knew better than to be caught agreeing to anything in this room, Loki couldn't say.
"What you've proposed is redundant, and it will bleed resources for nothing," Ouranos said. He didn't raise his voice; as his declaration was enough to ground Ishtar's momentum. "I'd rather hear what Freya intends. Considerable effort has clearly gone into this base already."
The dismissal landed harder than a shout would have. Ishtar's face went red, her aura flickering and spitting at the edges like a candle in a draft.
She knew better, usually. The Goddess of the Night had enough street sense to read a losing room and fold before it cost her something real. But her eyes darted involuntarily toward the antechamber doors. The mere memory of Ottar waiting out there sent a restless heat flushing across her skin. The gnawing desire to break the Warlord and drag him into the Pleasure Quarter eclipsed her rationality. Driven by that blinding spike of lust, and projecting her own conniving nature onto Freya, she threw caution to the wind.
"Is this the 'fairness' you supposedly maintain, Ouranos?!" she thundered, her voice turning shrill as she stomped her heel against the stone. "Catering to the whims of the strongest Familias?! This bitch managed to fool all of us, building a fortress to monopolize the lower floors! And now I suspect she's managed to ensnare you in her charm as well!"
With those words, the temperature in the chamber dropped to a freezing chill.
"I refuse to sit quietly and watch her take over Orario!" Ishtar shrieked, losing whatever shred of dignity she had left. "Either you authorize a thorough search, or I will leave Orario entirely! I will take the help of those outside these walls who are actually willing to take this city back!"
That final accusation landed like a destructive storm tearing through a calm forest.
It instantly swept away the centuries of patient tolerance Ouranos usually reserved for the gods. The Elder God's eyes blew open in unadulterated fury. While he was accustomed to being personally insulted, questioning his impartiality crossed a severe line. Threatening to bring outside forces to destabilize Orario within his own sanctuary crossed a lethal one.
"You are throwing wild accusations without even listening to what Freya intended, Ishtar," Ouranos warned, his voice shifting into a low grind. The divine pressure radiating from the throne spiked so sharply that dust vibrated off the pillars, physically pressing the deities down. "If these claims are proven false, you will face dire consequences."
The rest of the room, however, realized exactly what had just happened, and their demeanors shifted.
Hermes pulled the brim of his hat down, his jovial smile completely gone; with Evilus moving in the shadows, Ishtar had just dropped a lit match next to a powder keg. Simultaneously, Ganesha dropped his theatrics like a discarded cloak, shifting his weight into a hardened readiness to suppress Ishtar on the spot if Ouranos gave the word. Astraea paled, physically sickened by the vicious, treasonous display, while Loki merely watched Ishtar, reassessing the Night Goddess's sanity with cold calculation.
After a tense moment, Ouranos finally broke the silence.
"Freya," he commanded. "Tell us what your intent was in establishing this base in Rivira."
Rather than replying immediately, Freya took her time. Gracefully, she turned her head to look at Ishtar for the very first time since the doors had closed. She didn't glare. Instead, she simply let her eyes drag over Ishtar from head to toe, sizing her up with a detached disinterest—evaluating her exactly like a filthy stain on the floor.
Ishtar growled, her aura flaring defensively at the unspoken disrespect, but Freya simply disregarded it. Having made her point, the Goddess of Beauty turned back to the throne.
"My base in Rivira was intended to train my warriors," she began. Her voice was smooth and calm, its melodic cadence contrasting beautifully against Ishtar's lingering shrillness. "It is manned and overseen by Level Threes, utilizing the Dungeon's regenerative properties. Taking the rough times in front of us into consideration, I felt it prudent to have a strong operation in the Dungeon to help ensure Rivira stays in our hands."
Freya paused, allowing the rational logic to drift through the chamber.
"It is, in fact, open to all of your Familias as well," she offered gracefully by spreading her hands as if including them. Then, she slowly turned her eyes back to Ishtar. "Except yours, Ishtar."
The Goddess of the Night froze as if she had been struck by a physical blow.
"It was never intended to take over Rivira," Freya continued dismissively, turning away from her delusional rival as if Ishtar no longer existed. "Aside from providing a secure space where our children can grow stronger, I have plans to build other facilities. It will act as a rest stop and supply point to provide better accommodations while on expeditions. We all know how lackluster Rivira is." She paused briefly, pointing toward the side of the room. "Including your children, Loki."
Recognizing a highly profitable olive branch when she saw one, Loki offered an appreciative nod, happily ignoring the spluttering Goddess of the Night in exchange for the logistical advantage.
Ishtar's eyes widened in dawning horror as the mastery of the trap finally closed its jaws around her.
While she didn't trust Freya's altruism for a single second, the logistical reality slammed into her. By throwing a blind tantrum, she had handed Freya the perfect excuse to isolate her. Without lifting a finger, Freya had legally and ruthlessly severed Ishtar's access to a well protected base on the first safe zone in the Dungeon—a devastating blow to her Familia's military progress, right as she was recalling her strongest members for a major push.
The silence that followed Freya's declaration was thick, heavy with the finality of a flawlessly executed political guillotine.
The shifting power dynamic rippled through the onlookers in a singular wave: Hermes tilting his head in terrified respect, Ganesha relaxing his broad shoulders in approval of the bloodless resolution, and Loki grinning so wide it showed teeth, her eyes glittering with undisguised delight at Ishtar's irreversible humiliation. Only Astraea lowered her gaze, caught between a pang of pity and the stern reality that justice demanded consequences.
Yet Ishtar, blinded by her narcissism, refused to accept hers.
"You cannot do this!" she screeched. Her horror rapidly curdled back into a desperate rage, she took another step forward, ignoring the hypocrisy of her outrage. "This is a blatant violation of the Dungeon's neutrality! Ouranos, are you going to allow this silver-haired harlot to dictate who lives and dies in the Middle Floors?!"
In response, the flames of the eternal torches flared, burning a majestic blue.
"Enough."
The word dropped from the throne like a falling monolith, instantly crushing the remaining air out of the room.
Ouranos leaned forward, resting his hands heavily upon his knees. His glowing blue eyes bored directly into Ishtar, carrying the unforgiving weight of the sky.
"Lady Freya is under no obligation to open a privately funded fortress to a Familia that has openly threatened to burn it to the ground," the Elder God stated, his tone devoid of any warmth or mercy. "Furthermore, it is not Freya's actions that currently concern this council. It is yours."
Ishtar opened her mouth to protest, but the pressure on her intensified, physically forcing her jaw shut.
"For the baseless accusations you have hurled within this sanctuary, and for the treasonous threats you have implied against the stability of Orario," Ouranos decreed with finality, "the Ishtar Familia shall face sanctions."
Ishtar paled, the vibrant color draining entirely from her beautiful face.
"Effective immediately," Ouranos continued, sealing her fate, "all newly initiated members of your Familia are strictly banned from crossing Floor 18 for the coming three years. Should any of your children be found illegally venturing deeper without express Guild authorization, I will order the complete seizure of all your Familia assets within this city."
A disbelieving silence swept through the gods as the magnitude of the punishment set in.
Hermes's head snapped up in genuine shock. Astraea gasped softly, her hand flying to her chest. It was an unprecedented punishment. By restricting her new recruits from venturing past Rivira, Ouranos had effectively crippled the Ishtar Familia's ability to generate high-tier adventurers, halting her military growth dead in its tracks.
Realizing the full implications of the sanctions, Ishtar's face contorted into a mask of unadulterated fury. Baring her teeth like a cornered animal, her arcanum spiked violently as a furious growl tore from her throat. She drew a deep breath, preparing to scream—to damn the entire Guild to hell—
But Ouranos simply shifted his gaze, his glowing eyes narrowing into glacial slits.
"I suggest caution before you speak something untoward, Ishtar," the Guild overseer warned softly.
The threat was terrifyingly evident. One more word of defiance, and the sanctions would immediately escalate to full expulsion from the city.
Ishtar swallowed the scream. But the sheer effort to keep herself quiet was evident through her violent trembling and her nails biting into her palms yet she managed to shut her mouth. Taking a staggering step back, she was finally broken by the unyielding authority of the throne.
The choking tension lingered like thick smoke before a gentle voice finally broke the quiet.
"Lord Ouranos," Astraea spoke, stepping forward with her serene grace, her voice acting as a soothing balm to the scorched atmosphere of the chamber. "If I may offer a resolution to the initial concern?"
Ouranos shifted his gaze to the Goddess of Justice, and the pressure in the room eased by a fraction. "Speak, Astraea."
"Given the vast depth of the Dungeon, we cannot be certain when Lady Loki's expedition party will return," Astraea reasoned calmly, steering the room back to logical diplomacy. "To assure every deity's fears regarding the sudden establishment of this base, why not send an impartial inspection team immediately? Lord Ganesha's children and my own can descend to Rivira to verify the facility's purpose and ensure it poses no threat to the Dungeon's balance."
Turning, she offered a polite nod toward the Trickster Goddess. "If Lady Loki has no objections?"
Loki shrugged lazily, stuffing her hands back into her pockets as if the whole ordeal was a passing entertainment. "I don't mind either way," she drawled. Her eyes slid sideways to lock onto Freya, and the lazy smirk returned to her face, sharp and knowing. "But I gotta admit, I'm terribly curious to know how they managed to fool Rivira until the setup was complete. Must have used some incredibly dangerous artifacts to move all that stone without anyone noticing. Right, Freya?"
Freya met Loki's gaze effortlessly. She recognized the probe for exactly what it was—the Trickster was fishing for information.
Instead of denying it or offering a fabricated explanation, Freya simply let a mysterious smirk touch her lips. She understood Loki was just poking the bear to see if it would bite, and she had no intention of giving her rival the satisfaction of an answer. Let the joker be the joker.
"I have no objections to Lady Astraea's proposal," Freya said smoothly, turning her attention back to the throne. "My facilities are open to inspection."
Ouranos nodded deeply. "Then it is settled. Ganesha, Astraea. Dispatch your captains."
The Guild's machinery showed its efficiency. Summons went out and minutes later, the antechamber doors opened. Shakti marched in, her back straight, expression locked in stressful duty. Followed by Alise, who was stifling a small yawn from the previous night's exhaustion, but she snapped her heels together in attention before the gods.
Astraea calmly explained the mission: descend to Floor 18 together, inspect the newly established Freya Familia outpost, and report back to the Guild.
"Understood, Lady Astraea," Alise affirmed, exchanging a firm glance with Shakti. "We'll leave immediately."
"To ensure the process is unobstructed," Freya interjected, her voice soft, "I shall send Ottar to escort you."
Both captains froze at that.
The metallic scrape of armored boots rang out as the towering Warlord stepped inside from the entrance.
"Thank you, Lady Freya," Shakti managed after a moment, bowing stiffly.
Ottar offered a slow bow to his Goddess. Without a sound, he turned, his massive frame parting the space in the room as he led the two captains out.
As the doors sealed shut behind them, the rest of the gods turned to Freya, curiosity gleaming in their eyes as they angled for every last detail on her new fortress. Only Ishtar remained apart, hollowed out and silent.
-◈ -
Shakti
The cool evening air of Orario felt like a fleeting mercy as the heavy doors of the Pantheon sealed shut behind them, but it did nothing to chill her frustration.
Keeping the city from tearing itself apart during a shadow war was more than a full-time job. She had been pulled from finalizing a report on the assassin's escape for an emergency Guild summons, fully expecting another petty territorial dispute. Instead, she had walked into a revelation.
A fortified Freya Familia base in Rivira.
To the gods, it was a political crisis. But as Captain of the Ganesha Familia, Shakti saw the board differently. The Dungeon was a pressure cooker constantly threatening to boil over onto the surface. A secured stronghold on Floor 18 meant intercepting Irregulars before they ever reached the upper floors, and more importantly it meant keeping the lawless scum of Rivira strictly in check. In her eyes, a heavily armed fortress down there wasn't a threat; it was a godsend for city security.
It was also her first time operating this closely with the Warlord.
As they crossed the plaza toward Babel, Shakti kept Ottar in her peripheral vision. The Boaz walked point in silence. He wasn't flaring his aura, but the sheer gravity of a Level 6 clung to him anyway, parting the evening crowds like a massive ship carving through water. Watching him clear the path, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of peace Orario could achieve if a man like him acted as a shield for the entire city, rather than just Freya's personal sword.
"Madam Shakti! Captain Alise!"
The shout broke her train of thought. A junior Guild employee was sprinting toward them across the plaza, dodging between merchant carts. He skidded to a halt directly in their path, bracing his hands on his knees as he gasped for air.
"Madam Shakti," he panted. "Are you... heading down into the Dungeon?"
"We are," Shakti replied, her tone flat. "On a direct mandate from Lord Ouranos. Move aside."
"Wait! The Guild just secured access to a new transportation device. We need reliable testers for public integration, and there aren't any high-level parties available. Could you—"
The employee froze mid-sentence. His eyes had finally tracked upward, locking onto the towering mountain of dark armor standing silently beside Shakti's shoulder. The color drained from his face in an instant, and his clipboard slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the cobblestones.
"C-C-Could you please..." he squeaked, taking a terrified step backward.
Shakti didn't even break stride. She had no time to coddle terrified clerks or test experimental gadgets. "We are on official business. Clear the path."
She stepped around the trembling boy and continued toward Babel's entrance. But before she could cross the threshold, a second figure detached himself from the archway, stepping smoothly into their trajectory.
"Captain Shakti. A moment, please."
It was a senior Guild official. He had clearly been watching from the steps, and unlike his stammering subordinate, the older man offered a composed bow, expertly ignoring the intimidating presence of the Warlord entirely.
"Forgive my junior's frantic approach; he lacks tact," the senior official said, his voice calm and professional. "We are not asking you to test a mere gadget. We are offering you a secure route to reach most of the Middle floors in a matter of seconds. If your mandate from Lord Ouranos is urgent, this will expedite your descent considerably."
Shakti paused. Her boots stopped scraping against the stone. She looked the senior official in the eye, weighing the claim. Eighteen floors in seconds. If it was true, the tactical advantage for the city was incalculable. If it was a lie, she would arrest him on the spot for obstructing a Guild mandate.
"Show me," she commanded.
Instead of taking the central ramp down into the Dungeon as she expected, the official guided them inside the tower to a magical lift. They rode it up to the ninth floor, walking past high-end commercial spaces until they stopped before a set of unmarked double doors.
The moment Shakti's group approached, the heavy doors swung open. Guildmaster Royman stepped out.
Shakti's mind stalled. For the Guildmaster to personally oversee a retail space meant this wasn't a mere test; it was a major breakthrough.
But beneath her surprise, an uncomfortable realization began to form. Her Familia maintained a security outpost in Babel, meaning she was here nearly every week. To build a logistical hub on the ninth floor required moving massive amounts of magical equipment and materials. How had a project of this magnitude been smuggled into the tower completely undetected by her or the other guards?
She had missed something monumental right under her own nose.
Royman offered a sweeping bow, his smile wide and a bit forced. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead.
"Madam Shakti. Captain Alise. Lord Ottar," Royman greeted. "A delight to see you. We are currently inaugurating this new facility, which houses a device that allows instantaneous travel into the Dungeon. Where would you like to go?"
Shakti looked past him into the polished stone room. Two darkened archways sat at the back. No elevators. No drop-shafts.
"We are headed to Rivira, Guildmaster," she stated.
"Excellent. A perfect demonstration."
Ushering them inside, Royman grabbed a sheet of small parchment from a counter and held it out.
"Keep this on your person," he instructed, slipping effortlessly into a salesman's cadence. "Once your inspection is complete, simply place this flat on the ground and think of coming back. You will be transported directly back to this room."
Shakti took it. The paper felt strange—cool, slightly viscous to the touch, and humming with a dense, latent energy. She opened her mouth to question the magical theory, but Royman was already moving. He led them into the left-hand archway, which opened into an empty circular stone room dominated by a sleek copper dial mounted on the far wall.
Without hesitation, Royman turned the dial. The mechanisms clicked loudly. The needle locked onto an engraved '18'.
"Brace yourselves," Royman warned.
The natural light in the room dimmed as a magic circle flared to life beneath their boots, washing the sterile walls in a pulsing purple glow. The ambient mana spiked so violently it made Shakti's teeth ache. Before she could even drop a hand to her spear, the blinding light swallowed them whole.
VWOOM!
The solid ground dropped away. For a sickening second, Shakti felt weightless before gravity slammed back into her with bruising force.
The polished stone of Babel was gone.
Shakti's eyes snapped open. Her hand flew to her spear shaft out of honed instinct, but the anticipated attack never came. The scented air of the tower had vanished, replaced instantly by the damp, metallic musk of the Middle Floors. The quiet hum of Babel was drowned out by the echoing roar of a waterfall and the overlapping chatter of hundreds of rough voices.
Standing directly in front of them, bathed in the ethereal light of massive blue ceiling crystals, was the mud-packed town of Rivira.
Shakti's breath hitched. Her legendary composure cracked right down the middle as she stared at the cavern walls, her mind short-circuiting at the impossible reality before her. They had crossed eighteen floors of the Dungeon in a single heartbeat.
She quickly glanced to her side. Ottar didn't move an inch. The towering Boaz stood relaxed, his posture unbroken and his expression entirely detached. He simply blinked at the mud-packed town in front of him, as if being instantaneously translocated twenty-seven floors from Babel to the Dungeon was just another Tuesday.
"I knew it."
The voice shattered her paralysis. It wasn't a shout of alarm; it was a breathless laugh.
Shakti whipped her head around. Alise wasn't reaching for her weapon, either. The exhausted redhead was staring wide-eyed toward the left side of the cavern, where the luxurious structure of the Freya Familia outpost stood out against the mud like a diamond in a trash heap. Her face was lit up with absolute vindication.
"You knew?" Shakti demanded, her voice tight with disbelief as her gaze snapped from the fortress back to the Captain of Justice. "Alise... what exactly do you know about this?!"
-◈ -
Max
The evening rush had finally hit PAL, and the storefront had devolved into a warzone.
Originally, Max had toyed with naming the shop something strictly anime-related—Tempest Corps, maybe, a glorious hybrid of Capsule Corp and Tempest Industries. But he quickly realized the populace of Orario wouldn't get the reference, so he settled on Plot Armor Logistics. PAL. You are my pal, I'm your pal. Considering his teleportation network and the absurdly overpowered rings he was peddling, he was quite literally selling these people their own plot armor.
Right now, however, those people were trying to tear his shop apart to get it.
The heat inside the store was stifling, thick with the smell of sweat, leather, and ozone. Off to the side, Rehmer was drowning. The chianthrope was pinned behind the authentication desk by the press of the crowd, frantically scanning Status sheets to filter approved buyers into the testing room faster than the mob could multiply.
It wasn't working.
The moment Rimuru had showcased the Level 1 and 2 rings, any shred of common sense the crowd possessed evaporated. The mob surged forward, a wave of armor and unwashed bodies pressing dangerously against the polished wood counters. A few opportunists near the front decided the line was a suggestion and dove over the displays, reaching for whatever merchandise they could grab.
They didn't make it far.
BZZZT.
Max's pre-installed wards flared a blinding violet. The thieves seized up mid-vault, the magical current electrocuting them before hurling them backward into the crowd. The sharp smell of singed hair cut through the air.
A few stubborn stragglers tried to bypass the magic entirely. They reared back, swinging iron maces and thick gauntlets to smash the display cases by force.
They were met with Kairu's handiwork. The reinforced glass didn't even shudder. Thick knuckles shattered and iron flanges bounced off the displays with a deafening CRACK, leaving the glass pristine.
After a dozen adventurers were thrown across the room or left nursing broken hands, a fragile order settled over the front of the store. The crowd quickly learned to step back whenever the glass began to hum. But while the physical riot had been quelled, the sheer volume of screaming customers remained a logistical nightmare.
Desperate, Rehmer tried the Guild comms, begging his friends at the other store for reinforcements. Radio silence.
Pushed to the brink, the frantic chianthrope leaned over the desk and bribed a burly adventurer with priority verification just to run a message across the floor. Ten minutes later, the messenger pushed his way back through the crush, shrugging helplessly. Rehmer's supposed friends claimed they didn't know anyone by that name.
The undeniable betrayal was magnificent.
Watching from the soundproofed back office, Max leaned back in his leather chair and laughed out loud.
The peak of the comedy arrived five minutes later. Beyond the mob, Guildmaster Royman strolled past the shop's front windows, flanked by his personal guards. Rehmer's eyes lit up. The chianthrope plastered his face against the glass, waving his arms frantically to flag down his boss.
Catching sight of his desperate employee trapped inside the riot, Royman suddenly found the architecture of the fountain plaza fascinating. Sweating profusely, the Guildmaster looked everywhere but at the store, speed-walking past the glass without breaking stride.
Max was perfectly content to watch his employee suffer, but his amusement was abruptly cut short.
Down the main counter, Rimuru was completely boxed in. A towering wall of muscle-bound adventurers leaned over the glass, waving coin pouches and shouting demands in three different slangs. Overwhelmed and physically squished by the sheer noise, the slime stretched upward and shrieked a high-pitched alarm, mercilessly throwing Max under the bus for immediate backup.
Forced out of his chair, Max transformed into Gojo, pushed open the office door, and sauntered out onto the floor.
With the crowd rapidly losing their patience due to the lack of demos, Max raised a hand, seeing them ignore him, he flared his aura just enough to put a suffocating pressure over the room. The chaotic shouting instantly died down as the adventurers choked on the sudden weight.
"In there. Now," he commanded, gesturing toward the testing chamber.
Herding a group of twenty armed adventurers inside like a flock of confused sheep, Max stepped up to the podium. He held up a set of three silver bands, letting the light catch the metal.
"Pay attention," he drawled, his voice dripping with theatrical arrogance. "These aren't standard magic items. They respond to vocal triggers. For example: Maidan's Lament."
The air in the room cracked. A wave of concentrated lightning roared from the ring on his index finger. The concussive force rattled the adventurers' teeth as the lightning crossed the room and instantly vaporized the stone target dummy into a cloud of fine dust.
A collective gasp echoed through the group. Max didn't pause.
"Mother's Shield."
An inverted, translucent blue pyramid snapped into existence around him. The defensive barrier hummed with a dense energy, sealing off the space.
"Father's Fist."
He pointed two fingers at a secondary target. Six blinding beams of yellow light erupted from the ring and slammed into the stone dummy, violently locking it in place with inescapable binding force.
When the light faded, Max lowered his hand. He stepped out of the testing chamber and stood tall behind the glass of the main counter. Crossing his arms, he looked down through his blindfold at the awestruck mob and flashed them a condescending smirk.
"You see that, weaklings?" he asked, his voice carrying effortlessly over the stunned silence. "That is the pinnacle of magical engineering. You should all be weeping with gratitude that PAL is willing to sell you these rings so you don't die a miserable death on Floor Ten. Form a line and be quick about it."
It was a flawless, in-character delivery.
It was also a terrible mistake.
Instead of cowing them into orderly submission, the casual disrespect acted like salt rubbed in an open wound. News of the rings' confirmed firepower rippled backward through the line, spilling out into the plaza. Within minutes, the crowd pressing against the storefront doubled in size.
Max blinked, realizing his attempt to act cool backfired spectacularly.
But the sheer volume of customers wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the spite. The adventurers at the front of the pack had taken his insult personally. Instead of buying the rings and leaving, the offended bastards realized they held the ultimate retail power: wasting his time. Refusing to join the new group demonstrations, they demanded individual showcases.
"I blinked!" a burly dwarf shouted with obnoxious self-satisfaction, slamming his fist on the counter. "Didn't see ya damn thing! Do it again, tall guy!"
"Yeah, my allergies are acting up, I sneezed right when you did the lightning part!" a remarkably persistent Pallum yelled, scaling the side of the display case. "Individual demo! Right now! The customer is always right!"
Max stared down at the sea of smug faces. The noise was deafening, the heat suffocating. The sheer audacity of these grunts demanding endless encores made his eye twitch beneath his blindfold. He wanted nothing more than to grab the nearest dwarf by the beard and yeet him straight into the middle of the Kaios Desert.
But he couldn't. He was running a legitimate business, and didn't want to get a bad reputation on the first day.
Watching the Pallum wave a stack of coins dangerously close to his face, a brilliant idea clicked in Max's head. He absolutely refused to stand here doing parlor tricks for spiteful weaklings. There was only one solution.
Delegation. He needed more employees, and he needed them yesterday.
"Rimuru, hold the line!" Max shouted over the clamor.
Without waiting for a response, Max grabbed Rehmer by the collar. He hauled the chianthrope out from behind the authentication desk and shoved him toward the main counter to cover the gap. Before either employee could lodge a complaint, Max slipped past the displays, ducked into the secure storeroom, and teleported.
He appeared a moment later in a quiet, sun-drenched courtyard. The sudden silence was jarring. Blissfully ignorant of the retail war raging in Orario, Chloe was sprawled out in the warm evening sun, napping like a contented cat.
Max didn't give her a second to process his arrival.
Grabbing her by the arm, he warped straight back into the chaotic PAL storeroom. The abrupt transition from a peaceful nap to the deafening roar of a hundred shouting adventurers left the cat-girl entirely disoriented, her ears flattening against her head in panic.
"Listen to me, no time to explain. Sell the rings, don't let them bite, and keep the line moving. Here is a brochure to get yourself acquainted," Max rapid-fired. He shoved the paper into her chest, grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a firm push through the swinging doors directly onto the sales floor. "Rimuru! She's your problem now, guide her!"
Ignoring Chloe's indignant yelp as she stumbled into the screaming crowd, Max turned back toward the shadows of the storeroom. His mind was already moving a mile a minute, locking onto his next hire.
Time to go find Lili.
--> Devil in a Dungeon <--
AN:
What an inverse, huh?
While the Gods struggled and Ishtar made a fool of herself, and Shakti was confronted with teleportation, Max was chilling at his store with too much success. If his pov feels a bit off, that was intentional. I just felt it adds flare to the chapter showing Max completely detached and aloof from the consequences of his actions while everyone struggled ;)
Aside from that Ishtar completely screwed herself, not in the good way(how she wanted) either. She simply couldn't control herself.
Do you think bringing Ottar was also a strategy from Freya? I mean she wanted to bring Kairu initially, but changed the plan in the last moment as having Ottar by her side would make any deity think twice before questioning her obviously unless you are Ishtar...
Do you all think Lili would join Max/Gojo and become an employee at his store?? And yay, Chloe is officially back and maybe permanently this time! We also see the first day at PAL!!
The next chapter will mainly be about the investigation, Lili's pov, and maybe Max finally departing on his 2nd Monster Rex hunt.
Do share how you felt the chapter was. Was it good or did you feel? Please share your feedback/suggestions on how to improve the story in a comment/review.
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Next update will be on Tuesday.
Ben, Out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.