This "consultation" lasted the entire morning. It wasn't until the lunch break that they finally left, looking like they hadn't quite had their fill, leaving behind a parting remark:
"We'll be back tomorrow for more guidance."
True to their word, they returned the next day.
They appeared punctually every morning, occupying all of Eina's time with absurd questions, causing the stack of documents on her desk to pile higher and higher.
Other staff members and adventurers in the hall could tell something was wrong, but the pair maintained a facade of "sincere learning," leaving no opening for anyone to find fault.
Finally, on the afternoon of the third day, Eina was called into the office of her superior, a stern dwarven supervisor.
"Tulle," the supervisor said, tapping the desk with a furrowed brow. "Your monthly reports are already three days late. Your efficiency has been slipping lately."
Eina opened her mouth to speak, but found she had nothing to say. She could only lower her head and apologize.
On the fourth day, the two men did not appear. Eina breathed a sigh of relief, yet she couldn't shake a growing sense of unease.
She stayed late to finish the backlog of work before dragging her exhausted body toward home. To save time, she turned into a narrow alley she usually frequented.
The light in the alley was dim. Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking her path.
It was one of the two men.
"Good evening, Miss Eina," the man said, his smile looking exceptionally cold in the gloom. "You seemed very busy today. Truly a diligent advisor."
Eina instinctively took a step back, clutching her file bag tightly. "What... what do you want?"
"Don't be nervous." The man spread his hands and approached slowly. "I'm just here to give you a friendly reminder. Your friend, Mr. Lynn, doesn't seem to know how to appreciate the radiance of the Sun. And there is a price to be paid for rejecting the Sun's gift."
He stopped in front of Eina, looking down at her, his voice dropped to a whisper like a snake's hiss. "Stay away from him. It's for your own good."
With that, he let out a soft chuckle and vanished into the other end of the alley.
Eina leaned against the cold wall, her legs feeling so weak she could barely stand.
When she finally got home, she locked herself in the living room. She didn't turn on the lights, sitting on the sofa with her knees pulled to her chest until late into the night.
The sound of the lock turning signaled Lynn's return. He was humming a tuneless melody.
"I'm home! Eina, you wouldn't believe what I ate at the Hostess of Fertility tonight. Their new stew—"
Lynn's voice cut off abruptly when he saw the huddled figure in the darkness. He walked over and flipped the switch.
"What happened?" He saw Eina's pale face and reddened eyes, and the smile vanished from his face.
Eina looked up at his concerned gaze, her throat feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton.
Tell him? Let him go pick a fight with the Apollo Familia? No, that would only make things worse and push him into a more dangerous situation.
"Nothing, just... work was a bit tiring." She stood up, forcing herself to appear calm as she went to pour some water. "Welcome back, Lynn."
Lynn stared at her back, his eyes flickering with intensity, but in the end, he didn't press her.
At the same time, in the backyard of a cheap inn in the west district, Patches was preparing to pack up his stall.
His stall consisted of nothing more than a broken wooden table displaying potions of dubious origin, rusted daggers, and a few bones claimed to be "rare monster materials."
Two burly figures blocked the courtyard entrance. The pressure radiating from them, the aura of high-level adventurers, made the very air in the yard feel heavy.
Patches' eyelid twitched, and he immediately plastered a fawning smile on his face.
"Aha! Good evening, masters! Looking for something? I just got a fresh batch of 'Goblin Slayer' potions. Drink one of these and I guarantee you'll walk through the Dungeon like you own the place!"
One of the men ignored him entirely, stepped forward, and kicked the wooden table.
CRASH—!
The table collapsed instantly. Jars, bottles, and scrap metal scattered across the ground, shattering into pieces.
The other man stepped forward, his boot crushing a so-called "Griffon Claw." The bone turned to powder beneath his heel.
"Baldy," the leader grabbed Patches by the collar, lifting him like a chick and pinning his shiny head against the rough stone wall. "I heard you've been getting quite close to a kid named Lynn?"
Patches' face was squashed against the wall, but he flailed his hands in the air, assuming a posture of total surrender.
"A misunderstanding! A massive misunderstanding, masters!" he shouted, his speech slurred. "I'm just a junk dealer! I'm close to whoever has the coin! Lynn? Oh, that guy. He's got more money than brains. I was just thinking of how to squeeze more out of him next time! We're not on the same side at all!"
The man frowned in disgust and let go. Patches slid to the ground like a pile of wet mud.
"Glad you're sensible," the man snorted. "Get yourself out of Orario. Don't let us see you again. Otherwise, the next thing to break won't be this trash."
With their piece said, the two swaggered away.
Patches lay on the ground until the sound of their footsteps vanished completely before slowly picking himself up. The fawning fear on his face evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, dark expression.
Silent, he crouched down and began picking up the items that were still usable, carefully wiping them clean with a rag.
He picked up a shattered bottle of "Goblin Slayer" potion—which was actually just cold water with dye—and stared at the glass shards, his eyes unreadable.
The next morning, the innkeeper, a thin middle-aged man, found him.
"Um... Patches," the owner said, rubbing his hands together with a troubled look. "Yesterday, two gentlemen came asking about you. Their tone was... not very friendly. Look, I'm just running a small business; I can't afford to offend the big shots. Maybe you could... consider finding another place to stay?"
Patches sat on his hard bed. After listening to the owner, he simply smiled.
"Understood."
Relieved as if granted a divine pardon, the owner hurried away.
Patches sat in the room for a long time. Running away? That was what he was best at.
But this time, he didn't want to run. If word got out that he was scared off by two measly lackeys, how could he keep his reputation on the streets?
And stay away from Lynn? Impossible.
An hour later, in a more hidden and inconspicuous corner of the inn's backyard, a new stall was set up. Patches sat behind it, slowly polishing a dagger with a dirty cloth, looking exactly as he always did.
"Heh," Patches muttered, looking at his own bald reflection in the blade. A mirthless grin spread across his face. "Want me to get lost? Let's see if you lot have the balls to make me."
Lynn was sharp enough to notice that Eina's state had been off for the past few days.
Her smile remained gentle, but there was a lingering exhaustion deep in her eyes. Whenever he returned at night, he would see her staring blankly at a pile of documents, her brow tightly knit.
He had asked twice, but the only answer he received was that "work is too busy." He didn't push further; everyone had their own battles to fight.
Before heading out today, he made a detour to the backyard of that cheap inn in the west district to find Patches. Instead of the usual cluttered but functional stall, he found a scene of total wreckage.
Broken table legs, smashed jars, and several Griffon Claws ground into powder lay lonely in the dust. Patches was nowhere to be seen.
Strange. Did he head off to find a new trade route?
Dungeon, 10th Floor.
Lynn's figure appeared at the Site of Grace he had used to warp here.
He didn't set out immediately as he usually did. Instead, he stood still, closing his eyes to quietly sense the airflow around him.
It was too quiet. Unnaturally so.
The 10th floor was the watershed between novice adventurers and the intermediate guard. Monsters respawned frequently here. Normally, it should be filled with the chattering of goblins or the rustling of Killer Ant shells.
But now, the long, narrow passage ahead—the only way forward—was deathly silent.
Something's wrong. Someone just cleared this area.
The countless cycles of death in the Lands Between had long since branded a beast-like intuition into the depths of his soul. He knew this kind of silence all too well.
It was the scent of an ambush.
Instead of retreating, Lynn acted as if he hadn't noticed a thing. He drew the Bloodhound's Fang from his back, gripping it in his right hand while holding the Carian Knight's Shield in his left. He began walking down the deep passage at an unhurried pace.
His footsteps echoed through the silent corridor, as clear as a drumbeat.
One step, two steps...
Just as he reached the middle of the passage, where there was no way to retreat forward or backward.
"Do it!"
A roar shattered the silence.
Six figures erupted from the shadows and crevices of the rock walls like ghosts!
Two men blocked the path in front—a heavy-armored warrior with a tower shield and a brute wielding a Greatsword.
Two more figures blocked his rear—agile assassins with short swords and daggers. From the higher rocks on either side, two more leaped down—one was a mage preparing an incantation, the other a marksman drawing a bowstring!
A perfect six-man encirclement. A textbook ambush.
They all wore uniform light armor with the sun-and-harp emblem embroidered on their chests. Though their levels weren't high—all Level 2—their coordination was seamless, clearly the result of rigorous training.
Their eyes were filled with mockery and cruelty, as if they could already see this arrogant rookie with broken limbs, kneeling and begging for mercy.
Lord Hyakinthos's order was: "Give him a lesson he will never forget."
However, the panic they expected never materialized.
At the very moment the circle closed, the black-haired youth moved as if he had anticipated it perfectly. His body lowered slightly, and an almost imperceptible mist rose from beneath his feet.
Whoosh!
There were no wasted movements, no world-shaking fanfare. Lynn's figure simply vanished into thin air, like a drop of water merging into the ocean.
Bloodhound's Step!
The pupils of the six Apollo Familia members contracted sharply. The center of their proud encirclement... was empty!
"Where is he?!"
"Behind us!"
The tower-shield warrior had just roared the warning when he felt a gust of wind whip past his ear.
Lynn's figure appeared like a phantom at the very rear of the group, right next to the mage who was in the middle of an incantation.
The mage clearly hadn't expected the enemy to break the encirclement in such a fashion. His incantation faltered. Terrified, he tried to scramble back, but it was already too late.
A bolt of glinting blue light shot from the tip of the Glintstone Staff Lynn had raised, hitting the mage squarely in the mouth.
"Mmph!"
Glintstone Pebble.
With a muffled groan, the mage was struck so hard he saw stars. His teeth felt loose, and the remaining words of his spell were forced back down his throat.
"You bastard!"
The dual-wielding assassin closest to him reacted with lightning speed, spinning around and slashing his twin blades toward Lynn's neck.
Lynn didn't dodge or block. He raised the Carian Knight's Shield in his left hand to meet the blades.
CLANG!
A crisp sound of metal meeting metal.
Parry!
The assassin felt a massive force travel up his blades, numbing his hands and nearly sending his swords flying. His balance was shattered instantly, leaving his chest wide open.
Lynn didn't follow up with a strike. He simply stepped aside, letting the stumbling body of the assassin pass him. Simultaneously, the Bloodhound's Fang in his right hand traced a blood-colored arc, lightly grazing the bowstring of the marksman.
SNAP!
The bowstring severed instantly.
The marksman stared blankly at his useless bow. Before he could react, Lynn's figure vanished again.
The entire sequence had happened in the blink of an eye.
"Close in! Don't let him pick us off one by one!"
The lead heavy warrior roared, charging at Lynn with his tower shield raised. The remaining three melee fighters reacted immediately, launching a coordinated assault from different directions.
But as Level 2s, they didn't have much combat experience—at least not against other humans.
Lynn's footwork was impossibly light. He wove through the three-man assault, every dodge perfectly timed. His movements were minimal to the extreme, yet he always managed to evade lethal strikes by a hair's breadth.
The Greatsword swung down with immense force; Lynn simply performed a side-step. The blade whistled past the tip of his nose and smashed into the ground, sending stone shards flying.
A short sword lunged toward his ribs. Without even turning, Lynn gave a slight twist of his waist, causing the attack to find nothing but air.
His body seemed weightless, yet he appeared to have intimate knowledge of every coming attack.
"Is this guy... an eel?!"
The brute wielding the Greatsword was panting heavily. Every one of his attacks was thrown with full force, yet he couldn't even touch the corner of the boy's clothes. He was so frustrated he felt like he might vomit blood.
What terrified them even more was that silver curved sword.
Every time the Bloodhound's Fang swung, it didn't seek a killing blow. It merely left shallow wounds across their bodies. But as the wounds multiplied, a bizarre power began to spread through their systems. They felt as if their blood was starting to boil, and their strength was draining away rapidly.
BOOM!
The heavy warrior's shield bash was parried once more by the Carian Knight's Shield. This time, Lynn didn't hold back.
He stepped forward, the edge of his shield slamming violently into the man's jaw.
The heavy warrior let out a muffled groan. His massive frame swayed before he fell straight backward, knocked unconscious.
"Captain!"
The remaining members were aghast.
The marksman with the broken bow, watching this scene that looked like a demon's dance, finally snapped. He dropped his bow, glanced at the mage who was still gagging from the Glintstone Pebble, and turned to run without hesitation, scrambling into the depths of the passage.
Lynn glanced at the back of the deserter but didn't give chase.
30 seconds.
Only thirty seconds had passed since the fight began.
Of the six-man ambush team: one fled, one was unconscious, and one was incapacitated.
The three remaining melee fighters were all wounded and bleeding. They stood there, huffing and puffing, staring in horror at the boy who didn't have a single scratch on him. Not one of them dared take a step forward.
They finally understood why Lord Hyakinthos placed such importance on this Level 1 rookie.
This wasn't a rookie! This was a monster wearing a rookie's skin!
"Finished?"
Though these people were Level 2, Lynn estimated they hadn't leveled up long ago. With his current attributes, he likely far surpassed these green Level 2s.
Lynn flicked the blood off the Bloodhound's Fang, the blade letting out a soft hum. He walked slowly toward the remaining three, a harmless smile on his face.
The three retreated in terror until their backs hit the cold rock wall. There was nowhere left to run.
"What... what do you want?!" the dual-wielding assassin shouted, his voice cracking with hollow bravado. "We are members of the Apollo Familia! If you touch us, you make an enemy of the entire Familia!"
"Oh, Apollo." Lynn nodded, looking as if he had just realized something. "I was wondering who it was. So you're the underlings of that narcissist."
He walked up to the Greatsword brute, who was trembling so hard from blood loss his legs were shaking, and stopped.
Lynn tilted his head and asked, "Your God sent you? What does he want?"
The coldness in Lynn's eyes made the brute feel as if he were being stared down by a venomous serpent.
"W-we just wanted to teach you a lesson!" the brute shouted with the last of his courage.
"A lesson?" Lynn smiled. "With just you lot?"
He dropped the smile, lifted his foot, and lightly stepped on the brute's wounded knee.
CRACK.
The sound of bone fracturing was slight but clear.
The brute let out a piercing scream, clutching his leg as he collapsed to the ground. The other two were scared out of their wits, their weapons clattering to the floor.
"Go back and tell your God," Lynn said, not even looking at the man rolling on the ground. He swept his gaze over the remaining two, his voice flat but carrying an undeniable weight of pressure.
"If he wants to play rough, I don't mind obliging."
"This time, I'm only breaking one leg."
He paused, his eyes suddenly becoming sharp as daggers.
"If there's a next time, I'll pay him a visit personally. And then... I'll tear down his palace."
With that, he ignored the terrified men. He sheathed the Bloodhound's Fang on his back and turned to walk deeper into the Dungeon.
From start to finish, not a single speck of dust had touched his clothes.
In the passage, only the sounds of pained moans and terrified gasps remained. The conscious assassin slumped to the ground, watching Lynn's disappearing silhouette, his body shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind.
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