Usually, the private chambers of the Goddess of Beauty were filled with a warm, intoxicating atmosphere, thick with the scent of expensive wine and blooming flowers. But right now, the air was as brittle and freezing as a glacier.
Ottar, the Level 7 Warlord and the strongest adventurer in Orario, was kneeling on the cold marble floor. His massive frame was bowed low, his forehead just inches from the ground in an absolute display of submission.
Freya sat, bathing in the pale moonlight filtering through the massive glass windows. She wasn't lounging. Her posture was rigidly straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes, usually overflowing with affection or heated desire, were completely hollow.
"Speak," Freya commanded, her voice quiet.
"The Bringar failed their mission," Ottar reported without wasting a second. "Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer are dead. Their bodies have been recovered. Alfrigg sustained critical injuries. He is currently being treated by Heith."
Freya didn't blink. She didn't gasp in shock. She just stared down at the Boaz.
"I know," Freya said, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping another ten degrees. "I felt their Falna extinguish. What I do not know, Ottar, is why you were there."
Ottar closed his eyes.
"I gave the brothers a direct order," Freya continued, her tone measured. "I entrusted the assassination of that stain to them, and them alone."
"I ask for your deepest forgiveness, Freya-sama," Ottar said, keeping his head bowed. "I merely wished to see the execution myself."
The silence that followed was tense, broken only by the wind outside.
"I see," Freya finally whispered. She tilted her head slightly. "And what of the vermin? Since you were present to witness this tragedy unfold, I assume you crushed him into dust for what he did to my precious flowers."
Ottar was silent for a single second. Under Freya's divine gaze, that brief pause might as well have been a confession.
"I engaged him in combat," Ottar said slowly. "I managed to defeat him easily."
Freya's left eye twitched.
The terrifying stillness surrounding her cracked. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing sharply.
"Defeat, Ottar?" she repeated softly. "Not kill?"
Ottar remained kneeling, his head lowered.
"My final strike launched him across the district and buried him beneath rubble," Ottar explained, his voice steady. "However...Alfrigg's life was fading rapidly. If I had left him for even another minute to excavate the ruins and confirm the kill, he would have perished alongside his brothers. I prioritized his survival and quickly brought him to Heith. By the time I returned to the crater to find the body..."
Ottar tightened his massive fists against the floor. "...there was no one there. He had somehow escaped."
Freya slowly closed her eyes.
She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap.
"Go outside," Freya whispered softly.
"Goddess—"
"Get. Out." Freya repeated, her voice leaving no room to refuse.
Ottar rose to his feet, bowed deeply one last time, and backed out of the room.
The heavy doors clicked shut, leaving the Goddess of Beauty entirely alone.
For a span of five seconds, Freya stood perfectly still in the center of the room.
Then, the mask completely shattered.
"AGHHHH! DAMN IT!" With an ear-piercing scream of absolute, unhinged fury, Freya grabbed a priceless crystal vase and violently shattered it against the stone wall.
She flipped the heavy table, sending plates, candles, and fruit crashing across the floor. Then she seized the silk tapestries hanging from the windows and ripped them down in one violent pull.
She was a Goddess of War as much as she was a Goddess of Love, and right now, she was drowning in an agonizing ocean of rage.
Her flowers. Her beautiful, perfect children. Three Level 5s—First-Class adventurers that had taken years of devotion, love, and bloodshed to cultivate. Wiped from the board. Butchered in the dirty streets like common thugs.
And it was her fault.
Her foolishness and arrogance had led her to underestimate that accursed bastard, believing four of her elites would be more than enough to cut that weed away from her prize.
Instead, Toji had ripped her vanguard apart.
Freya collapsed onto her knees amidst the wreckage of her room, her hands tangling into her beautiful silver hair, her ragged breath echoing through the room.
Outside in the hallway, the Warlord stood like a silent sentinel.
Ottar listened to the sound of shattering glass, tearing silk, and the breakdown of the Goddess he loved above all else. He closed his eyes, his broad shoulders slumping heavily.
The disappointment he felt in himself was crushing.
༻❁༺
'Useless.'
The thought wasn't a dramatic revelation. It was a cold truth that had buried itself in Bell Cranel's chest, pulling him deeper and deeper into the claustrophobic corridors of the Dungeon.
He hadn't stopped moving since he entered Babel hours ago, driven by a desperate, self-destructive need to carve the weakness out of his own bones.
A high-pitched screech echoed off the walls of the 5th floor as a pack of Goblins and Kobolds swarmed him from the shadows.
Bell didn't feel the familiar spike of panic. Without hesitation, he stepped smoothly inside the guard of the leading Kobold, his left hand flashing out. Grinding Edge caught the monster's claws, parrying them with a spray of sparks. Simultaneously, his right hand drove the Hestia Knife straight up under the Kobold's jaw.
Bell didn't pause to watch it die. He ripped the blade free, spinning on his heel to meet the two Goblins lunging at his back. He ducked under a rusted sword, the tip grazing his shoulder guard, and lashed out. The Hestia Knife severed a wrist, and Grinding Edge buried itself deep into a Goblin's chest with a crunch.
'Why am I so weak?'
He ripped a magic stone from the bleeding chest of a fallen goblin. His hands were drenched in monster blood, but he kept running. Down the stairs. Deeper into the dark.
He hated himself. He hated how easily he panicked, how entirely reliant he was on the "kindness" of others, and how quickly he had bought into the fairy tale of Orario.
He was a piece of trash that was constantly being used. He wasn't a hero. He was a liability. A bloodstain waiting to happen.
By the time he hit the 7th floor, his reckless pace began to intensify.
A War Shadow melted out of the darkness, its razor-sharp claws brushing at his cheek. Bell barely leaned back in time, feeling the wind of the strike lightly cut his skin.
"Firebolt!"
A blinding streak of superheated flame erupted from his left hand, the magic slammed into the War Shadow at point-blank range, blowing a smoking hole straight through its torso. The creature shrieked, collapsing into a twitching, burning black ooze.
'Just a convenient spyglass.'
The image of Ais Wallenstein's beautiful golden eyes flashed in his mind, fueling the bitter fire in his gut. Ais had used his weakness for data about Toji, and he was dumb and weak enough to let her walk all over him without any consequences.
Same with Liliruca, who had used his kindness and naivety to steal his knife and leave him to die in the dungeon.
"Naive idiot," Bell cursed himself, plunging his knife into the chest of a dying Killer Ant to pry out its magic stone. He deserved it. He walked around expecting the world to be a storybook, then acted shocked when it wasn't. If it weren't for Toji, he would still be living that lie.
He shoved the stone into his drop bag and wiped a mixture of sweat and monster blood from his eyes before dragging himself down the next floor.
Floor 10.
A party was already gathered near the entrance, discussing their strategy.
"Alright, the Infant Dragon should spawn soon. If we stick to the plan, we can bring it down—"
Bell barely spared them a glance. Their conversation fading into the background as he stepped onto the 10th floor.
The atmosphere shifted drastically. The narrow, rocky corridors opened up into massive, cavernous rooms choked with a thick, eerie white mist and dead trees.
Heavy footsteps vibrated through Bell's boots.
From the fog three Orcs emerged, their pig-like faces twisted in feral instincts as they charged him. Above them, darting through the mist like oversized bats, were a handful of Imps jumping through the dead trees as they closed the distance.
Bell's breath hitched, but he didn't retreat. He tightened his grip on his dual blades.
Two Imps jumped at him, their claws outstretched.
"Firebolt!"
A concentrated blast of fire shot from his hand, incinerating them. The burning corpses crashed into the dirt.
But the flash of magic blinded him for a crucial second.
An Orc burst through the smoke, swinging a tree-trunk club in a devastating horizontal arc. Bell threw his arms up, crossing Grinding Edge and the Hestia Knife to block.
CRACK!
"Gha!" The kinetic force was monstrous. Bell was launched backward like a ball. He skipped across the dirt floor, his breath violently expelled from his lungs as a rib cracked.
He scrambled to his feet, tasting copper. The Orc was already closing the distance.
Bell tightened his grip, his red eyes burning with ferality. He ran directly at the charging Orc.
At the last possible second, Bell slid on his knees, slipping under the massive club. As the Orc's momentum carried it forward, Bell drove the Hestia Knife upward, plunging the blade deep into the soft meat of the monster's inner thigh, slicing right through the femoral artery.
The Orc roared in agony as its leg collapsed.
Bell stepped up the Orc's slumping back, leaped into the air, and caught a swinging Imp by the throat, driving it down into the floor and crush its skull under his boot.
He pointed his hand toward the crippled orc, not even looking back. "Firebolt."
A blast of crimson fire finished the crippled Orc.
The remaining two Orcs swung wildly in the mist, confused by Bell's erratic, chaotic movements. Bell didn't give them a chance to coordinate.
He ducked under the second Orc, scaled its back using his blades like climbing spikes, and violently buried both of them into its neck, severing the spinal cord. He kicked off the dying beast just as the third Orc's club smashed into its companion, friendly fire crushing the paralyzed monster's skull and earning the kill.
Bell landed in a crouch.
The final Orc turned to him, panting heavily, its club raised.
A stare down stretched between the Orc and Bell. Neither moved, eyeing each other intently, ready to bathe in each other's blood.
Then—
"Hyaaa!" Bell closed the gap, kicking up the dirt beneath his boots.
The Orc roared back, lunging forward.
Just as the two were about to clash—
"Raaaaaghhhh!"
A shadow eclipsed Bell. A roar echoed out so loud it deafened him.
A scaled blur descended from the labyrinth trees, crashing into the Orc with the force of a falling meteor.
Bell was thrown backward, landing hard in the dirt. When he looked up, the blood drained entirely from his face.
It was a wingless dragon.
An Infant Dragon—the rare, devastating monster that occasionally spawned as the unofficial Monster Rex of the upper floors.
Its scales were damaged and painted red with blood, as if it had just finished butchering a group of adventurers.
With a sickening snap, the dragon's jaws closed down on the Orc's torso, tearing it in half with a single bite. Then it dug into the gore and swallowed the Orc's magic stone. Its scales briefly rattled as it digested the raw power of the stone.
"An Infant Dragon...Didn't that party say they were hunting this one!?" Bell whispered, his voice cracking. He took a slow step backward, his trembling hands refusing to let go of his weapons. "Oi, oi, oi, oi...this is way too much!"
The Infant Dragon snapped its head up. Its reptilian eyes locked onto the white haired boy.
"Raaaghh!" It roared, unleashing a wave of superheated fire.
Bell's feet were already moving before his mind caught up. He made a run for it. There was no way he was beating an Infant Dragon, especially not an Irregular!
The dragon roared after him, unnervingly fast for its size, treating the massive labyrinth trees like mere twigs as it smashed through them in pursuit of its prey.
"Firebolt!" Bell screamed, blindly throwing a spell over his shoulder.
The bolt of flame struck the dragon, doing minimal damage. It only managed to piss the beast off even more.
Bell dove out of the range of a massive claw, but the dragon's tail struck his side, launching him through the air, crashing violently through a thick line of trees before slamming brutally into the earth.
CRACK!
"Gahh!" A sickening pop echoed in his ears, followed immediately by a spike of intense agony.
His right leg was dislocated.
"Move!" Bell screamed at his own body, gasping for air. "You have to move!"
Groaning, he tried to push himself up, only to pale as he saw what he had landed in.
It was a slaughter. The party he had passed by earlier lay half-eaten, littering the floor. Crushed bodies, broken weapons, and blood painted the soil black.
The dragons roar closed in through the trees, actively hunting for where Bell had fallen.
Panic threatened to consume Bell, but the horrifying reality of his situation forced a cold, pragmatic survival instinct to the forefront of his mind.
His hands shook violently as he crawled through the gore. He patted down the corpse of a dead supporter until he found an unbroken health potion.
"I'm so sorry," he apologized for the disrespect, but what choice did he have? He was out of potions.
Biting down on the leather strap of his own glove to muffle the sound, Bell grabbed his twisted knee and yanked hard.
CRACK!
"Mmmphhh!" A muffled, agonizing shriek tore through Bell's throat, absorbed by the leather in his mouth. Tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face. He uncorked the potion with his thumb and downed it, feeling the magic immediately begin to knit the torn ligaments and soothe the pain.
But it didn't heal fast enough for him to run. The heavy thud of the dragon's footsteps was getting closer. It was sniffing the air, searching for Bell's scent.
"Think. Think!" He looked around frantically.
Running was impossible.
Fighting was suicide.
Hiding...
"...Hide." he muttered, eyeing the corpses as a dark thought crossed his desperate mind.
Trembling, Bell reached into the pool of blood and began smearing the horrific sludge all over his face, hair, and armor, masking his own scent with the stench of the dead, then slid himself underneath two rigid bodies, holding his breath just as the head of the dragon broke through the trees.
The dragon stepped into the clearing, its foot crushing a skull just inches from Bell's face.
'Shit, shit, shit!' Bell screamed internally, desperately clinging to the hope that his disrespectful gamble for survival would work. 'Don't breathe. Don't move. Please...just leave!'
It lingered for what felt like an eternity, its breath sweeping over the corpses. Bell's heart hammered in his chest so loud he was certain the beast could hear it.
Finally, frustrated by the smell of old blood, the dragon huffed, turning its back and stomping toward the edge of the clearing.
Bell didn't wait for a second chance.
He sprang from the pile of corpses, throwing his weight onto his good leg as he scrambled frantically toward where the tunnel exit is located.
The dragon spun around. It didn't bother chasing him through the labyrinth trees. Instead, it unleashed a stream of fire across the cavern.
The flames slammed into the stone archway of the exit, collapsing the tunnel.
"No!" Bell skidded to a halt, staring at the blocked exit.
"...No." The word came out weaker the second time.
The exit was gone.
There was only one way left: fight.
"Roaaggh!" The dragon roared, the sound vibrating in Bell's chest, and charged.
The next few minutes were less of a fight and more of a frantic scramble to delay the inevitable.
Bell dragged himself through splintered roots of shattered trees, desperately putting solid mass between himself and the beast.
With an indiscriminate strike of its tail, the dragon shattered the stone pillar Bell had pressed his back against.
The impact launched Bell violently through the air. His grip failed. The Hestia Knife and Grinding Edge flew from his hands, clattering uselessly across the floor.
Before Bell could even hit the ground, the dragon's jaws snapped shut around Bell's armor, violently jerking him into the air.
Time slowed for a moment.
As gravity suspended him for a sickening second that stretched into an eternity, Bell's life flashed before his eyes. Beneath him, the dragon slowly opened its maw, a blinding inferno gathering deep within its throat.
...Is this it?
Is he really going to die here?
He had finally seen the world for what it truly was.
The lies. His own weakness. The same mistakes he'd repeated over and over again.
He had only just begun to change.
He hadn't clawed his way this far just to become another corpse rotting in the Dungeon!
Not before he could become someone capable of standing on his own. Someone who would never be used like a discarded insignificant piece of trash again!
Like hell he was dying here!
Bell thrust his hand straight at the dragon's open jaws and roared, "FIREBOLT!"
The concentrated blast of magic detonated right inside the beast's windpipe.
"Raghh!" The monster shrieked, a muffled sound as the internal blast tore through its throat, forcing its own fire breath to misfire inside its own lungs.
Meanwhile, the kinetic force of the explosion hit Bell, blasting him safely from the dragon's jaws and slamming brutally into the dirt.
The dragon thrashed wildly, crushing the earth beneath its claws as thick, black smoke and blood poured from its jaw. Its reptilian eyes locked onto Bell, consumed by intelligent hatred.
"Where is it? Where is it?!" Bell scrambled blindly, his burned fingers digging into the dirt, desperately searching for anything to defend himself with.
His hand brushed against familiar cold metal.
The Hestia Knife.
The dragon reared back, taking a massive, rattling breath. Despite its ruined lungs, it gathered every ounce of its remaining power, preparing a final, all-consuming wave of fire to burn everything to ash.
Bell stared up at the towering beast. His mind went entirely blank. There was no strategy left. There was no stamina left. There was only one last Firebolt inside him and the absolute refusal to die.
Losing grip of his mind, Bell accidentally channeled the volatile, explosive energy of Firebolt directly into the metal of the Hestia Knife.
The mithril violently absorbed the magic instantly.
Bell's eyes widened. What did he just do...? He didn't understand.
A vague memory of his goddess flashed through his mind: "It's forged from mithril, Bell-kun!" Hestia had declared proudly. "It's as magical as you are to me!"
Magical...
The flames refused to leave the blade.
Bell's grip tightened.
Suddenly, a roaring aura of concentrated fire erupted around the knife.
This was his last gamble, his last Firebolt.
"Ngh...!" It was an unstable, chaotic beta version of something he had absolutely no control over. The flames violently spilled over the blade, engulfing Bell's hand and eating away his own flesh. But Bell didn't let go. He couldn't feel the pain over the deafening beats of his own heartbeat.
"FIRE—!" Bell screamed. Forging a technique from nothing but survival instinct manifesting in his blade, he launched himself straight up from the dirt just as the dragon unleashed its fire. "—BOLT!"
The supercharged knife cleaved through the incoming wave of fire, parting the flames like a sea, and struck the dragon directly in its chest!
BOOM!
A shockwave of fire and kinetic force blasted outward, cratering the earth and blowing away the heavy mist. Bell was thrown backward by the force of his own attack, his right arm smoking, his armor completely trashed to mere scraps of melted metal.
When the thick smoke finally cleared, the dragon was on its side. Its chest was blown wide open, exposing ribs and deeply scorched flesh. But incredibly, it was still twitching.
Bell forced himself to raise his right hand.
It didn't move.
"...Damn." Bell bit his tongue to stay awake, Mind Down hovering dangerously close, and his right arm was a ruined, agonizing mass of burns that hung uselessly.
Bell crawled forward with his weak left hand and pushed himself up over the twitching, dying Infant Dragon, his shadow falling over its bleeding eyes.
"Hey..." Bell rasped, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "It's over."
He raised the Hestia Knife and drove it straight down through the dragon's eye, piercing its brain and ending its reign of terror.
Bell collapsed, his back hitting the scales of the dragon. He slid down until he was sitting in a puddle of its blood, staring up at the dark, misty ceiling of the Dungeon.
He had just killed an Infant Dragon. A Level 2 monster.
He stared at his shaking, blood stained hands, his self-hatred finally cooled into a quiet, resigned acceptance.
Bell closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his bag of magic stones, and allowed himself, for the first time in days, to rest right on top of his prey.
༻❁༺
"EXTRA! EXTRA! Read all about it!"
A young paperboy's voice cut through the bustling noise of the plaza, waving a thick stack of freshly printed sheets high in the air.
"Three Bringar dead! Freya Familia's unprovoked attack on a stranger leaves their elite ranks crippled and six civilians dead in the crossfire! Come right up and buy the latest Orario Times for the full, bloody details!"
A crowd was already forming around the boy, with adventurers and citizens alike murmuring in shock, shoving valis forward to snatch up copies of the paper. It was the kind of news that would normally have Bell stopping in his tracks to listen, wide eyed and terrified at the sheer scale of the city's titans clashing.
Today, he just walked right past.
He didn't have the energy to care about the political wars of First-Class adventurers.
It was late afternoon and Bell had just finally dragged himself out of the Guild headquarters. After reporting the massacre of the adventuring party and his own victory over the Infant Dragon, he had cashed out his magic stones for just over 80,000 valis in a single dive—his biggest payout yet.
The impressive achievement, however, hadn't spared him from the earful Eina gave him. She had scolded him for nearly an hour, calling him every variation of "reckless," "suicidal," and "idiot" she could think of.
Nor did the biggest payout of Bell's life magically heal his injuries. Even after using the Guild's showers and receiving emergency treatment, he still looked like he'd been run over by two wagons.
His right arm was encased in thick bandages and bound tightly in a sling against his chest, treating the agonizing burns he had inflicted upon himself with his last attack.
He walked with a slight limp from his reset knee, and his cracked rib protested with every shallow breath. Slung over his good left shoulder was a sack that clanked heavily with every step, carrying the melted scraps of what used to be his light armor.
Every single inch of his body was screaming in protest. He just wanted to go to the renovated church, collapse into his new bed, and disappear into sleep.
"I should have enough valis to spare for a session with Toji-san..." Bell muttered to himself, thinking about the insane rates of his ruthless captain.
Maybe he should try one out to see if he could get any better with his technique, especially with that new attack he had used...
He kept his head down, navigating the crowded streets on autopilot, until a familiar voice cut through the chatter of the city.
"Bell!"
He froze, slowly lifting his head toward the source.
Standing a few paces away, wearing her crisp, green waitress uniform, was Syr Flova. She was holding a small basket, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile. A few steps behind her was the elven waitress, Ryuu Lion, her blue eyes watching the exchange silently.
"Syr," Bell acknowledged, his voice quiet.
"I thought that was you!" Syr skipped over, peering closely at his face before her brilliant smile instantly faltered. Her eyes dropped to his injuries. "Gods, Bell...what happened to you? You haven't come by the tavern in days, and now you look like you crawled out of a grave!"
A week ago, Bell would have blushed furiously, waved his hands in a panic, and stammered out a dozen frantic apologies for making her worry.
Today, he looked at Syr's worried expression, and a dark thought ran through his exhausted mind: Why is she being so nice?
It didn't make any sense.
He had learned the hard way that kindness in Orario was rarely free. Lili had smiled at him just like that right up until she stole his knife and left him to die. Ais had been a silent, beautiful savior, right up until she needed data for a fight.
What did Syr want? She always offered him food. She always went out of her way to talk to him. Was she reporting on him to someone? Was she trying to indebt him? He hated that his mind was working like this, but he couldn't turn the paranoia off.
Toji had warned him about the Hostess waitresses before...
"I've been busy," Bell said flatly, taking a small half-step backward, putting distance between them. "Diving in the Dungeon."
Syr's eyes narrowed slightly as she saw him pull away. The bright, easily flustered rabbit was nowhere to be seen.
Behind Syr, Ryuu's gaze sharpened.
The elf didn't say a word, but her eyes mapped every microscopic detail of Bell's posture. She noted the way his shoulders were hunched, protecting his obvious injuries. She saw his good left hand hovering just an inch closer to his hip where he kept his broad knife, compensating for his ruined right arm.
She recognized that look. It was the look of an adventurer who had just realized the world was a meat grinder, and that anyone around him could be holding the handle.
"Busy?" Syr recovered quickly, leaning in slightly closer, completely ignoring his personal space again. "Too busy to stay alive? You look like you're about to fall over, Bell. You're pale, you're limping, your arm is wrapped like a mummy, and..." She gestured to the heavy sack on his shoulder. "...is that your armor?"
"It broke. I'm fine, just tired," Bell said, averting his eyes. He didn't have the mental bandwidth to decipher her intentions right now. "I should get back to my Goddess. Excuse me."
Syr was having absolutely none of it.
Before Bell could take a second step, Syr reached out and firmly grabbed his uninjured left wrist. Bell flinched slightly at the contact, his red eyes snapping back to hers.
"Nope. Not happening," Syr said, her voice leaving no room for argument. The bubbly, teasing tone was gone, replaced by an iron-clad stubbornness. "You're coming to the tavern. You're going to sit down, you're going to eat a hot meal, and you're going to rest."
"Syr, really, I don't—"
"Ryuu, a little help?" Syr called out over her shoulder, already pulling Bell down the street.
Ryuu smoothly stepped in behind Bell, effectively cutting off his only route of retreat. "Syr is correct, Cranel-san," Ryuu said, her voice calm and even. "You are in no condition to be walking alone. A meal is mandatory."
Trapped between the surprisingly strong grip of the gray haired waitress and the imposing presence of the elf behind him, Bell realized he had no choice. He didn't have the physical energy to fight them off, nor a working hand to do it with.
He let his shoulders slump in defeat, allowing Syr to drag him through the evening streets toward the Hostess of Fertility, his mind still spinning with paranoia.
༻❁༺
The Hostess of Fertility was vibrant and crowded as Bell remembered it.
But to him, sitting in a secluded corner booth, the lively tavern felt a million miles away.
He stared blankly at the wooden table. The loud noise was just a dull murmur in his ears.
Syr slid into the booth across from him, setting down a mug of water. Her eyes were full of a tender concern that made Bell's chest tighten uncomfortably.
"You really look awful, Bell," Syr said softly, leaning forward. "What happened to you out there? You can tell me."
Bell's eyes flicked up, meeting hers as he tried to understand why she was even concerned. Naturally, these thoughts led to open doubts: 'Why is she sitting here? The tavern is full. She should be working.'
"Fought an Infant Dragon...barely made it out alive," Bell answered, his voice flat and perfectly even.
For a split second, the concerned tavern girl vanished.
Syr's eyes widened, a glimmer of pure fascination flashing across her face. An Infant Dragon? And he had survived it alone!?
A faint flush crept up her cheeks, her fingers unconsciously clasping together.
"An Infant Dragon?!" Syr breathed, unable to hide her excitement. "Bell, that's incredible! You defeated something like that all by yourself? You must have been amazing out there!" She smiled brightly. "Ohh man, I wish I could have seen it!"
Bell didn't blush or stammer. If anything, Syr's sudden burst of enthusiasm only made him more wary.
"Yeah..." he replied, meeting her gaze. "I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me, Syr. The tavern's busy. I'm sure there are other customers who need you."
This flush on Syr's cheeks faded, the brief flash of obsession giving way to something that looked genuinely hurt at his dismissal.
"I see..." Syr murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked down at her apron, suddenly feeling very small, the goddess hiding beneath the mortal shell stung by his utter rejection. "I'll...I'll go get your food, then. Just wait here."
She slid out of the booth and walked away, her shoulders slumped.
From across the tavern, Anya, Chloe, and Lunoire paused their serving. They had seen the exchange. Three pairs of fiercely protective glares locked onto Bell. Anya actually bared her fangs, looking entirely ready to throw a plate at his head for making Syr look so sad.
Bell saw the glares, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It just reinforced his twisted logic: See? They're all hostile. The kindness was just an act.
A few minutes passed in heavy silence. Then, a new figure stepped into the booth.
Ryuu Lion didn't ask for permission. She set down a plate of stew and slid into the seat Syr had vacated. The elven waitress folded her hands on the table, her eyes pinning Bell to his seat with an intensity that demanded attention, but not necessarily submission.
"You are projecting," Ryuu said. Her voice was calm, analytical, and entirely devoid of pity.
Bell frowned, his grip tightening on his knee under the table. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You are treating Syr as if she is the one who harmed you," Ryuu continued smoothly, ignoring his denial. "She is not. Whatever happened to you out there...do not bring that into this tavern. It will only isolate you further."
"Don't act as if you know what happened," Bell almost snapped, a rare flare of defensive anger breaking through his paranoid shell. "This city is a wolf den. If you're too trusting, you're just...you're just prey. Everyone just wants to use you."
Ryuu didn't blink. She looked at the exhausted boy, trembling slightly as he desperately tried to act tough, and felt a ache in her own chest. She knew that feeling. What it was like to watch your naive view of the world burn to ash.
"I know more about the cruelty of this city than you could possibly fathom, Cranel-san," Ryuu said softly. The absolute conviction in her tone made Bell freeze.
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze softening just a fraction. "I am not telling you to drop your guard. To survive in Orario, caution is a shield. But if you hold that shield up against those who are actively trying to bandage your wounds, you will crush yourself under its weight. Loosen your grip, just a little."
Bell stared at her. The cold logic of her words bypassed his paranoia.
Ryuu stood up. "Eat your stew. You cannot heal on an empty stomach."
As Ryuu walked away to tend to other tables, Bell looked down at his lap, the anger bleeding out of him. He let out a long breath, his tense shoulders relaxing down.
Before he could pick up his spoon, a heavy sigh sounded next to his table.
"Man, what a miserable day..."
Bell looked up. Standing there was a young man with spiky red hair and a bandana, looking thoroughly depressed. He was carrying a large, wrapped bundle on his back. The stranger gestured lazily to the empty seat Ryuu had just vacated.
"Every other table is packed," the red haired man muttered. "Seat free, pal?"
Bell's immediate instinct was to say no and protect his isolated bubble. But Ryuu's words echoed in his head...
There was no harm in sharing a table.
"...Go ahead," Bell muttered.
"Thanks." The young man dropped into the booth, letting out another long sigh. He took one look at Bell's heavy cast and exhausted posture, and let out a dry chuckle. "Rough day in the Dungeon? You look like you went ten rounds with a Silverback."
"An Infant Dragon," Bell mumbled, taking a sip of his water.
The man barked out a laugh. "Yeah, sure. And I'm the King of Rakia." He took another swig from his mug before shrugging. "Guess we're both having a rough day." He let out a dry chuckle. "Been trying to sell weapons and armor all day. No luck."
Bell hummed quietly, actually listening. He could relate to feeling useless and overlooked.
The smith leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his eyes locked onto the sack resting beside Bell. The top was open, revealing the melted metal and the heavily scarred chest plate inside.
The man's eyes widened briefly.
"Hold on..." He reached over without asking, pulling the damaged chest plate out of the bag. "This...this is my armor!"
Bell blinked. "What?"
"I forged this." The redhead's depressed aura vanished instantly as he stared at the trashed piece. "Wait...you actually bought this? From Babel?"
Bell frowned, far too exhausted for this level of energy. "...Yeah."
"And you wore it?!"
Bell looked down at the melted metal in his sack. "That's...usually what armor's for."
The smith completely ignored the deadpan sarcasm, leaning in closer to inspect the damage. "Look at these scorch marks. The metal actually held! What the hell hit you?"
"I told you," Bell sighed. "An Infant Dragon's fire..."
"Seriously?" The smith's grin somehow widened even further. "Hah! I knew I got the specs right!" He held up the battered breastplate like it was a prized trophy. "Oh, man, you've gotta let me fix this up for you. Discounted, of course. Can't charge a real customer full price after they put my gear through a meat grinder like that."
"You really don't have to—"
"I insist!" The man slammed a hand to his chest. "Name's Welf. I got a feeling you and I are gonna get along just fine, pal."
Welf turned and flagged down a passing waitress. "Hey! Two of your best ales over here! Put it on my tab!"
Bell shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Welf spent the next few minutes eagerly rambling about thermal resistance and metal weaving.
The smith was loud, invasive, and entirely too optimistic for Bell's current headspace. But as Bell watched him talk, he couldn't find any hidden agenda in his eye. Welf wasn't probing for weaknesses or trying to scam him: he was just genuinely thrilled that someone was using his work.
"Here you go, nya," Chloe chimed in, suddenly appearing at their table and thunking two massive wooden mugs down in front of them. "Don't make a mess, nya!"
"To a new customer!" Welf grinned, raising his mug toward Bell. "Though I never did catch your name."
Bell stared at the offered mug for a moment.
"...Bell. Bell Cranel." He reached out with his good left hand and clinked his heavy mug against Welf's.
Bell took a long gulp of the cold ale, then lowered the mug and grabbed his sack. "Thanks for the drink, Welf. But I'm literally dead on my feet. I need to go and rest."
"Ah, fair enough," Welf nodded sympathetically, taking a swig of his own ale. "Don't forget to swing by my forge tomorrow so I can get to work on that armor. Ask around for Crozzo and they'll guide you to me!"
Bell smiled at Welf's genuine eagerness, giving a small nod. "I'll do that."
He bit his tongue immediately.
He just let his guard down and trusted random people again.
Sighing, Bell turned toward the crowded aisle to pay for his stew—
BUMP!
A heavy shoulder slammed deliberately into Bell's injured right arm.
The sudden impact made him lose his balance slightly, stumbling back against the edge of his booth.
The chubby Raccoon-man who had walked directly into him, flanked by three equally sleazy lackeys, made a loud, exaggerated show of staggering. The full mug of ale the man had been carrying sloshed wildly over his gear.
"Watch where you're going, cripple!" the Raccoon-man snarled, looking down at his wet clothes. His feigned anger instantly melted into predatory glee as his eyes locked onto Bell.
"Look what you did," the Raccoon-man, who was none other than Canoe, sneered, stepping closer as his lackeys moved up to box Bell in. "That was genuine leather, kid. You just ruined it."
"Seriously?" Welf let out a chuckle as he stepped between Bell and the thugs. "You've got four guys crowding one injured guy? Hell of an adventure you've got going there."
Bell stared at Welf's back in stunned silence. Why was he getting involved? They were practically strangers.
Welf planted a hand against Canoe's chest and pushed him back just enough to reclaim Bell's space. "Take the hint and walk away before I forge a new dent in that empty skull."
Canoe sneered, slapping Welf's hand aside. "Mind your own damn business, blacksmith."
Before Welf could answer, Canoe shoved past him with his lackeys, crowding Bell again. His eyes drifted from Bell's sling to the heavy pouch of valis hanging from his belt.
"You owe me some compensation," Canoe said with a greasy grin. "Hand it over, rookie before my boys lose their patience and—"
Bell listened half-heartedly. It was Lili all over again: the fake scenarios, the obvious hustle, the opportunistic vultures trying to pick him apart.
"Come on brat! Pay up!" Canoe shoved Bell lightly, trying to scare the money out of him.
Then, something snapped in Bell's mind.
All the pent-up anger, the humiliation from Ais, the betrayal by Lili, the suffocating paranoia—it all compressed into a single, blinding point of rage.
Without a word, Bell swung his left arm that clung to a mug, shattering the heavy wood directly on the center of Canoe's face.
CRUNCH!
"Ghahh! My fucking nose!" Canoe's head snapped back with a sickening crack, blood erupting from his ruined face. The thug flew backward, crashing violently into a nearby table and sending plates of food flying.
The entire Hostess of Fertility plunged into dead silence for exactly one second.
Welf blinked, staring at the shattered mug and his customer. He let out a long sigh, and a feral grin slowly split his face.
"Hah! Guess you beat me to the skull dent!" Welf laughed. Without missing a beat, the smith grabbed his own ale and violently splashed it directly into the eyes of the two lackeys on the left, blinding them, before throwing a massive right hook that floored one of them. "Hands off my first customer!"
Then, chaos erupted.
"TAVERN BRAWL!" a dwarf roared in delight, slamming his mug on the table.
Patrons scrambled out of the way, cheering and placing bets. Canoe's remaining lackey stared at their bleeding leader in shock before turning furious eyes back to Bell.
"You little shit!" he roared, lunging forward.
"Nyah! Stop it!" Anya yelled from the bar, dropping a tray of food and moving to intercept. Chloe and Lunoire were right behind her, ready to toss the thugs out onto the street.
A massive arm suddenly blocked their path.
"Hold it," Mama Mia commanded, her voice cutting through the noise like an axe. The towering dwarf stood with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed.
"Mama! We have to stop them! Bell's injured! He can't fight!" Syr cried out, rushing up to the bar, her hands clutched over her heart in absolute horror.
"I said stand down," Mia growled, her tone brooking absolutely no argument. She had been watching Bell since he walked in. As a former adventurer, she could read an aura like a book. The boy was a walking powder keg. "The kid needs a wall to break his knuckles on. Consider it a favor from me to allow this fight, girl."
Syr watched in terror, but Ryuu stood silently beside her, her blue eyes locked onto Bell. The elf didn't move to intervene either. She understood exactly what Mia meant.
Mia folded her arms. "Then I'll press charges."
"What!?" Syr stared at her in disbelief. Even Ryuu's composed expression faltered for a moment.
Mia didn't spare either of them a glance. "If they want to settle things with their fists, they can settle them in a cell afterward."
༻❁༺
She wasn't kidding.
CREEEEAK!
"INTO THE CELL, SCUM!"
The heavy bars slammed shut behind them with an echoing thud.
"Whoa!" Bell stumbled forward, his legs finally giving out, but a firm hand grabbed him by his left shoulder, keeping him from eating dirt.
"I gotcha, Bell. Easy now," Welf grunted, practically carrying Bell over to the cell bench.
Bell collapsed onto the hard wood with a ragged breath. The injuries inflicted by Canoe's bunch hadn't magically removed the damage from the Infant Dragon, they just layered fresh agony on top of it.
Welf wasn't in pristine condition either, but compared to Bell, he looked ready to run a marathon.
The smith immediately turned and slammed his fists against the iron bars.
"Hey!" Welf roared down the corridor. "My buddy's severely injured! Pass a potion through the bars, you inhuman trash!"
"Zip it!" a guard barked back from the shadows. "Should've thought about potions before starting a tavern brawl."
"Tell that to the fatass raccoon garbage who started it!" Welf yelled back down the hall.
"You broke a chair at my head, you crazy blacksmith!" Canoe's muffled voice echoed from a few cells down, sounding incredibly pained through his shattered nose.
"And I'll break an anvil next time!" Welf clicked his tongue in annoyance, kicking the iron bars before turning back to Bell. "Sorry, pal. Looks like we're roughing it out."
"...This is my fault," Bell muttered to himself, wincing as a sharp spike of pain shot through his swollen cheek.
One moment of anger had turned Bell's first bar fight into his first night in a jail cell. And dragged Welf into it with him.
Toji would probably laugh his ass at Bell for getting caught so easily.
"...Hey, Welf?" Bell whispered, looking up at the smith. "Thank you. For jumping in. But you didn't have to...I'm just a stranger."
Welf blinked, then a wide grin stretched across his face. He dropped onto the bench next to Bell. "Stranger? You bought my armor, Bell. You trusted my forging with your life down in the Dungeon. That makes you my customer. And I don't let my customers get shaken down by alley rats."
Bell stared at him in disbelief. "That's it? Just because I bought a piece of armor?"
"That, and you looked like a guy who'd been kicked around one too many times," Welf shrugged, his smile softening. "Sometimes you just need someone to cover your blind spot. Besides, I haven't had a good scrap like that in months. Honestly? That was fun."
The absurdity of the situation suddenly bubbled up in Bell's chest. He had spent days trapped in a suffocating cloud of paranoia and self-loathing, constantly looking over his shoulder for the next person to use him and cast him aside.
But tonight, he had fought back against the vultures. And sitting right next to him was a guy who had thrown himself into a four-on-one brawl just because Bell had bought his gear. No hidden agendas. No schemes.
"Pfft..." A small laugh escaped Bell's lips, causing his ribs to flare with pain, but he couldn't stop the smile.
"You're a weird guy..." Bell said softly. "But I agree, it was fun."
"Glad you're in good spirits," Welf chuckled, stretching his legs out. "Because since that giant dwarf lady pressed formal charges for the broken tables, we might as well get comfortable."
With that final thought, pure exhaustion overtook Bell, and sleep finally dragged him away from his aching body.
For what felt like days, though it hadn't been, this small, quiet box had been their entire world.
Bell sat cross legged on the bench. His left eye had completely swollen shut into a spectacular shade of violet. Next to him, Welf was lying flat on his back on his bench, tossing a small pebble up and catching it in sheer boredom.
Bell could only think of one thing: Just where the hell was his Goddess?! She should have heard about this by now! He almost felt abandoned.
And as if the heavens had answered his prayers, the iron lock on their cell clicked open with a screech.
"Cranel. Crozzo. On your feet," a guard called out, stepping aside and gesturing down the hall with his baton. "Your Goddesses are here. Bail's been posted. You're both free to go."
"Finally," Bell breathed out, standing up and wincing sharply as his stiff muscles violently protested. Welf cracked his neck, following right behind him.
The moment the doors to the lobby swung open, the quiet air Bell had found in his cell was destroyed.
"BELL CRANEL!"
A tiny, furious blur of white and blue launched itself across the marble floor.
Before Bell could even register her presence, Hestia collided with him. She practically tackled him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him violently back and forth.
"G-Goddess—!"
"Do you have any idea how worried I was?!" Hestia shrieked. "I thought you were dead in a ditch! And then Hephaestus banged on my door in the middle of the night to tell me you were arrested for a tavern brawl! A BRAWL! My sweet, innocent Bell?! I couldn't believe it!"
She suddenly stopped shaking him and began frantically patting him down, her hands flying over his arms and face. When she saw the massive purple bruise on his eye, she gasped.
"Look at your face! Your beautiful face is ruined!" Hestia cried, gently cupping his cheek. "What were you thinking?! Why didn't you just call the authorities?!"
Bell chuckled nervously. There was no good way to explain that he'd been the one to swing first.
"He wasn't exactly innocent." A smooth, authoritative voice cut through the chaos of the lobby.
Standing near the front desk was Hephaestus. The red haired Goddess of the Forge had her arms crossed beneath her chest, her one visible eye narrowed.
"The precinct sent a memo to my Familia because one of my smiths was involved," Hephaestus said, her gaze drifting lazily to Welf, who immediately tried to blend into the stone wall. "I saw your boy's name on it too, so I figured I should drag you out to come get him. According to the report, your 'innocent' Bell shattered a mug over a man's face before the brawl even started."
"What!?" Hestia whipped her head around to glare at the taller Goddess. "You didn't tell me that part when you dragged me all the way down here!"
"So you would hurry up," Hephaestus replied dryly.
Hephaestus slowly turned her gaze back to Welf, staring at him with a deadpan expression. "You really like getting into bar fights, huh?"
"M-man, you didn't have to come yourself, Lady Hephaestus." Welf stammered, instantly sweating bullets. "Also, this time it was...uh...customer service! Defending a patron! You value that, no?"
"Here is your equipment," the desk officer grunted, interrupting the tension as he slid Bell's trashed armor, the Hestia Knife, and the cursed tool Grinding Edge, alongside Welf's belongings, across the counter.
Hephaestus's visible eye tracked the movement of the weapons. Her gaze lingered on the wide block of metal with a handle.
Hephaestus leaned over the bizarre weapon, inspecting it.
"Is this a...knife?" Hephaestus murmured, her divine eye narrowing as she analyzed the dark metal, never touching it. She could sense a unsettling aura radiating from it. "...A cursed weapon?"
Bell stepped forward, blinking in confusion. "Is everything alright, Goddess Hephaestus?" He picked up the blade and gave it a light swing through the air. The dull slab of black metal rippled, its edge sharpening into a broad sharp knife.
"Fascinating," she admitted, her gaze narrowing. "How does that mechanic work?"
Bell blinked. She was asking a lot of questions, but it would be rude to turn down a friend of his goddess. "...It sharpens with every clean strike and dulls with every missed one."
"...Huh." Genuine interest flickered across Hephaestus's face. "Whoever made it had a disturbingly creative mind," she said.
She straightened up, casting a sideways glance at Hestia. "You two better get going now."
"Oh, we will," Hestia grumbled. She marched over, grabbed Bell's gear, and shoved it into his arms.
Then, she reached up and grabbed him firmly by the ear.
"Ow, ow, ow, Goddess, please—!"
"Not. A. Single. Word!" Hestia commanded, pulling him toward the doors.
"People are watching!" Bell protested, his face burning brighter than a Firebolt as Hestia hauled him across the lobby by the ear.
"I want them to watch!" Hestia shot back without slowing. "Maybe you'll finally stop picking up Toji's bad habits!"
Bell let out a defeated groan, hugging his equipment closer as he stumbled after his furious Goddess.
Hephaestus watched the spectacle unfold with a dry, impassive expression. She turned her head slightly, glancing at Welf out of the corner of her eye.
"Perhaps," Hephaestus mused flatly, "I should adopt a similar disciplinary method for my wayward smiths."
Welf went completely pale. He stared at the Goddess of the Forge, his jaw dropping open. "You...you're joking, right? Goddess Hephaestus? Right!?"
Hephaestus just turned and walked toward the exit, her red hair swaying as she left Welf to scramble after her in an absolute panic.
༻❁༺
"I still cannot believe it!" Hestia's voice rang out. "My sweet, innocent Bell, coming back from the Dungeon with a charred arm, cracked rib, and a ruined knee, and instead of coming straight home to his loving Goddess, you go and throw punches in a tavern like some kind of street thug!? The absolute nerve!"
"Goddess, please," Bell pleaded, his voice muffled behind the small paper bag of medical supplies he was carrying. He flexed his right hand, marveling at how seamlessly the high-tier potions had knit his melted skin and muscle back together.
"Not another word!" Hestia spun on her heel, walking backward just to maintain eye contact as she lectured him. "If that deadbeat Toji hadn't corrupted you, you wouldn't be in this situation! Honestly, I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you're suddenly a delinquent. At least Miach was kind enough to give us a discount on your treatment."
"I really do feel a lot better," Bell mumbled, touching the skin around his mostly healed eye, the last remnant of the brawl. "And I already said I'm sorry. I just...lost my temper."
"Hmph." Hestia crossed her arms, turning back around to face forward as they neared the familiar, narrow pathway leading to their home. "Well, you're doing the dishes for a month. And sweeping. And—"
Hestia stopped dead in her tracks.
Bell, who was walking with his head down, nearly crashed into her back. "Goddess? What is it?"
Hestia didn't answer. Her bright blue eyes were blown wide, staring at the entrance of the alleyway leading to the church.
Bell squinted, trying to see what had paralyzed her. There was nothing there. Just the familiar cobblestones, a few discarded wooden crates, and the shadows of the late afternoon.
"Goddess?" Bell asked again, his hand instinctively hovering near his knives.
But Hestia wasn't looking at empty air. Through her divine perception, the alley was painted with thick purple blood. And at the end of that horrific trail, curled against the cold stone wall, was a pitifully familiar creature.
Toji's Inventory Curse.
Somehow, the cursed spirit had dragged itself halfway across Orario. It had wandered the city for days after losing its master, bleeding and alone, following nothing but blind instinct. Against all odds, those instincts had led it back to the church, the only place besides its master that had ever felt safe to it.
Its grotesque, human-like face turned toward Hestia. Its eyes blinked slowly.
"Mommy..." the curse gurgled, its voice a wet, horrific rasp that sounded like a dying child. "Hug me..."
༻❁༺
The grand, circular hall at Babel was crowded, its high domed ceiling echoing with the chaotic chatter of the divine.
For the gods of Orario, the Denatus was supposedly a formal council to manage the city and its adventurers. In reality, it was a glorified gossip circle masquerading as a senate.
Hestia sat nervously in her oversized chair, her hands tightly gripping the edges of the polished table. To her right, Takemikazuchi was aggressively rubbing his temples. To her left, Hephaestus sat, her arms crossed and her single visible eye scanning the room with boredom.
"Breathe, Hestia," Hephaestus murmured, leaning slightly toward her. "You look like you're about to jump out the window."
"I can't help it!" Hestia hissed back, her legs bouncing anxiously. Just yesterday, she had found Toji's bleeding pet curled up in her alleyway, indicating Toji was missing—and Bell had leveled up the exact same night! And now she had to sit here and play politics!
"I AM GANESHA!"
The booming voice of the elephant masked god shattered the gossip, signaling the official start of the assembly.
"Alright, alright, settle down you lot!" Loki's voice echoed through the amplification magic crystal in the center of the table. The goddess of mischief leaned back in her chair, casually kicking her boots up onto the table. "Welcome to the ten-thousand-whatever Denatus. We've got a lot of brats who leveled up this month, so let's get through this before I sober up."
Loki paused, a wicked grin slowly spreading across her face. Her eyes cracked open just enough to lock onto the stunningly beautiful goddess sitting at the third-row table.
"But before we start the roll call," Loki said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, "I think we should all observe a brief moment of silence for the Freya Familia. It's a real tragedy to hear that some of Freya-chan's absolute best, top-tier elites lost their lives to a random, nameless street thug in an alleyway a few days ago."
The entire room went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop.
Every deity in the hall collectively inhaled through their teeth. It was a massive, public middle finger Loki was pointing at the Goddess of Beauty.
Freya, seated calmly in her plush chair, slowly stirred her teacup, her silver hair catching the light. She looked up, offering Loki a smile that was terrifying in its perfection.
"You should be careful with your jests, Loki," Freya said, her voice like chiming silver bells laced with venom. "Grief makes people incredibly...reactive. It would be a shame if that same street thug found his way into your manor."
"Just paying my respects, Freya," Loki chuckled darkly, entirely unfazed. She waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, moving on! Ganesha, read the first block!"
The tension slowly bled out of the room as Ganesha began reading off the list of newly leveled adventurers from the minor Familias. The naming process was exactly as chaotic as Hestia had feared. The gods threw out utterly ridiculous, overly dramatic monikers, completely ignoring the protests of the patron deities.
"Next is the Takemikazuchi Familia! Yamato Mikoto has reached Level 2!" Ganesha announced.
"Ooh! A ninja from the Far East!" a goddess cheered. "Call her the Silent Blade!"
"No, no, that's too boring!" another god yelled. "The Night Stalker!"
"Please," Takemikazuchi begged, sweating as he stood up. "She is a traditional, honorable warrior. Something modest, I implore you—"
"Absolute Shadow!" It was none other than Dionysus who declared it, swirling a glass of wine and chuckling softly at Takemikazuchi's betrayed reaction.
"Yes! Absolute Shadow!" the room repeated in agreement.
Takemikazuchi let out a hollow, defeated gasp, burying his face in his hands as the gavel struck.
Zetsuei. It was so incredibly cringe-inducing that Hestia couldn't help but let out a small, sympathetic giggle, which temporarily eased her own nerves.
"Alright, next up..." Ganesha picked up the next paper. He paused, his elephant mask tilting slightly. "...The Hestia Familia."
The laughter in the room instantly vanished.
"Toji Fushiguro. Level 2. New record holder for the fastest level-up in history, shattering the Sword Princess's previous record of one year by reaching Level 2 in approximately three months and twenty-seven days," Ganesha read, his booming voice carrying a rare note of genuine surprise.
He paused.
"...Then we have Bell Cranel." Even Ganesha sounded baffled. "Also Level 2. And...somehow, he has already broke his own captain's newly established record, reaching Level 2 in just two months and eight days."
Absolute silence reclaimed the hall.
Slowly, very slowly, dozens of divine eyes turned to stare directly at the petite goddess sitting between Hephaestus and Takemikazuchi.
"Hold the hell on!" Loki's boots slammed onto the floor as she leaned forward, her eyes snapping wide open to glare at Hestia. "Are you pulling a fast one right under our noses, you short potato sack?! Not one, but two Level 2s in a month!?"
Hestia panicked, waving her hands defensively. "W-What are you talking about? Come on! My boys just work really hard!"
"Bullshit!" Loki snapped, pointing an accusatory finger. "My beautiful Ais held the record at a year! You expect us to believe a virgin Familia with zero resources birthed two monsters that shattered the record simultaneously? You're falsifying their Falna!"
"I am not cheating!" Hestia flared up, her maternal instincts overriding her anxiety. She slammed her hands on the table and stood on her chair to match Loki's height. "You're just throwing a tantrum because my boys absolutely demolished your precious Sword Princess's record! Both of them left her in the dust, and you can't handle it!"
"Ooooooh!" the surrounding gods echoed, eagerly leaning in as the drama escalated.
"Say that to my face, you broke shorty!" Loki snarled. But beneath her explosive anger, the Goddess of Mischief's mind was racing at lightning speed. 'This isn't right. A dark faction is moving behind the scenes. The Dungeon is spawning plant monster anomalies. And right in the middle of it, a practically invisible Familia produces two impossible, record-breaking adventurers of their own? Someone is feeding them steroids. Or worse, itty-bitty here might be a proxy for whoever is behind this stuff.'
"As much as it pains me to admit it, Loki is correct to be suspicious."
Once again, Freya's melodic voice brought the room to a halt.
Loki blinked, looking at the Goddess of Beauty in genuine shock. Freya? Agreeing with her?
Freya rested her chin on her elegant fingers, her eyes locking onto Hestia with a suffocating intensity. "This Toji Fushiguro...his rapid ascension is highly unnatural. Given the current instability in Orario, we cannot ignore the possibility of foul play. I suggest we delist his adventurer status immediately and launch a full Inquisition into his activities."
Freya tilted her head. "Tell me, Hestia. Where is your Captain right now?"
"Uhh..." Hestia shifted awkwardly. "He's...he's around!" she stammered, sweating bullets.
"Around where?" Freya pressed, her smile soft but chilling.
"I don't know, alright!?" Hestia yelled, completely flustered. "He does his own thing! Stop picking at my bones!"
"Oh, don't be so harsh on poor Hestia," a smooth voice drifted over the table.
Hermes took a slow sip from his drink, a highly amused smile on his lips. His golden hair shifted as he leaned forward, his eyes glinting with amusement. "If I managed to recruit a man capable of shattering Ais Wallenstein's record, I'd keep him hidden too. Though, from what I've heard of him, he certainly knows how to enjoy life...he's quite the free spirit." Hermes winked.
Hestia paled, her jaw dropping. "What are you implying, Hermes!?"
Loki narrowed her eyes, instantly sensing the blood in the water. "If the Captain is a ghost bouncing around chasing skirts, then investigating just him isn't enough," Loki declared loudly. "I propose we lock down and investigate the entire Hestia Familia. All members. Subject them to divine interrogations."
"Absolutely not! Objection! You flat-chested walking washboard!" Hestia exploded violently. If they took Bell into an interrogation room, they would find out about his Liaris Freese skill, and the same went for Toji and his Heavenly Restriction.
"Shut the hell up before I stomp your short ass into the ground!" Loki bit back.
Freya's eye twitched.
If they investigated the entire Hestia Familia, Loki would get her hands on Bell Cranel. And Freya absolutely refused to let anyone else touch her beautiful, transparent soul.
"I withdraw my vote," Freya stated abruptly, elegantly raising her hand.
Loki whipped her head around. "Huh?! What the hell, Freya!"
"Subjecting an entire Familia to an Inquisition over a fast level-up sets a dangerous, tyrannical precedent," Freya said smoothly, completely reversing her stance. "Let the Guild handle their own verifications. The Denatus is for naming, not witch hunts."
With Freya withdrawing her support, the myriad of gods who blindly followed her immediately began nodding and withdrawing theirs as well.
Loki sat back slowly, her eyes darting between Hestia and Freya. What the hell is going on here? Freya wants the big one targeted, but she's protecting the little one?
"Fine," Loki sneered, crossing her arms. "Let's name the record-breakers, then. Let's see what these 'grand heroes' have been up to. Read the guild rumors, Ganesha."
"Certainly!" Ganesha flipped open Toji's thick file. "Toji Fushiguro! Let us hear of his glorious Dungeon exploits! Ah...wait."
Ganesha paused, his elephant mask squishing as he squinted at the paper.
"According to the rumor network...he is most frequently sighted at high-end and low-end casinos blowing fortunes, cozying up to random female adventurers, and...frequenting the Pleasure Quarter?"
Hestia blinked. Besides the casino one, the other two were news to her. "What?"
"Hold on!" Rhapso, the goddess of a prominent textile Familia, stood up, pointing a furious finger at Hestia. "Is he the tall one with the scar on his lip? He slept with my lead seamstress, borrowed fifty thousand valis, and vanished!"
"Wait, that's him!?" Eir, the goddess of medicine, gasped, slamming her hands on the table. "He took my potion maker out to a wildly expensive dinner, told her his name was 'Hiroshi,' left her with the check, and stole her favorite coat!"
"He broke three of my children's hearts in a single week!" Maeve, a goddess of fertility, roared, violently crushing a goblet in her grip. "I'll castrate the bastard!"
The entire Denatus hall erupted into a chaotic hive of complaints about Toji. Not a single rumor mentioned his speed, his immense strength, or his cursed weapons. Every single testimony involved him being an absolute, irredeemable deadbeat gigolo who preyed on vulnerable female adventurers for gambling money.
Hermes burst into a fit of laughter, raising his glass in a mock toast. "I must say, a man who appreciates fine gambling and beautiful women with such dedication? He has my utter respect. Truly, a man of culture!"
Hestia sat frozen, her jaw practically on the floor.
"Where are you getting this stuff!?" Hestia screamed over the noise, her face burning with absolute mortification. "My Toji isn't like that!—minus the gambling—he funded my church renovations!"
"With my seamstress's money, you enabler!" Rhapso shrieked back.
"The votes are in!" Ganesha boomed over the chaos. "For his profound ability to empty wallets and break hearts...Toji Fushiguro shall be known as...The Ruinous Gigolo!"
BAM! The gavel struck.
Hestia slid halfway down her chair, her soul visibly leaving her body. Hephaestus awkwardly patted her shoulder, laughing quietly to herself. "I...I'm sorry, Hestia. But that's genuinely hilarious."
"Let's move on before the short stuff combusts," Loki cackled, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "What about the little one? Bell Cranel."
"Ah, the adorable white haired boy," Ganesha said, flipping to the next page. "Surely his rumors are more heroic! Let's see...'Sighted returning from the Dungeon entirely coated in a thick layer of monster blood, walking like a zombie.'"
The gods paused, chuckling nervously.
"'Sighted at the Hostess of Fertility,'" Ganesha continued. "'Reports indicate that, despite suffering from a heavily burnt right arm, he violently shattered a heavy wooden mug directly across the face of an adventurer, triggering a massive four-on-two tavern brawl, won it, and was thrown in jail.'"
The gods stared.
"Wait," Apollo said, leaning far over the table, his eyes wide. "The kid who looks like a fluffy white marshmallow? The one with the incredibly pinchable cheeks?"
"He started a bar brawl while crippled?" Takemikazuchi asked, entirely bewildered.
"Against four adventurers?!" Hermes chimed in, tipping his feathered hat with a massive grin. "And he survived?! Hahaha! Oh, Hestia, you've been hiding a little spitfire!"
"The contrast is absurd!" Loki burst out laughing, slamming her fist on the table. "He looks like a pet, but he's actually a rabid wolf! He's out of his mind!"
"I propose we call him the Bloodstained Bunny!" A deity shouted gleefully.
"No! The Mad Doggy!" Another roared from the back.
Hestia frantically sat back up, waving her arms. "No, please! He's a good boy! He just lost his temper! Please give him something heroic!"
"The votes are in!" Ganesha struck a heroic pose, his muscles flexing. "For his deceptive appearance and violently unhinged combat rumors, Bell Cranel shall be known as...The Rabid Rookie!"
BAM!
The entire hall erupted into cheers, whistles, and uproarious laughter.
Hestia slumped forward, her forehead smacking against the polished marble table.
"First the Ruinous Gigolo...and now the Rabid Rookie," Hestia whimpered, completely defeated. "My Familia sounds like a traveling freak show..."
Hephaestus let out a full laugh this time, gently rubbing Hestia's back. "Look on the bright side, Hestia. At least nobody is going to forget their names anytime soon."
༻❁༺
The End
༻❁༺
Wassup.....
No Toji in sight because I wanted Bell to shine a little, but Toji's influence is very visible
Bell also leveled up fighting the Infant Dragon, got to know Welf, and gained a little more self-worth by picking fights and ending up in a cell lol
And both Bell and Toji got aliases. Pretty cool, right?
(Denatus actually happens way earlier in canon, but I forgot bruh. I decided to move it here instead)
Hope y'all like Bell's new alias. Now, instead of the Little Rookie, he's the Rabid Rookie thanks to very true rumors
Also, one thing: I said in the comments that I will probably add Cursed Techniques to the story
Some of y'all got very excited and started throwing out wild ideas. Some were actually very close to what I had in mind, tbh. But none of y'all got the whole picture right
Just wanted to say that this Cursed Techniques plot twist is way ahead, so there's no need to focus on it for now lol. Expect it to be at least five to ten chapters away, maybe? I don't want to say what it is or how it's done because it'll ruin the surprise and the plot
Anyway, did you know I made a DanMachi x Konosuba one-shot? Check it out on FanFict.net and SpaceBattles forums if you're interested, dear reader
I believe many of you are probably disappointed that there was no Toji in this entire chapter, which is understandable. But we're blending canon with Toji, so it had to happen. I needed the canon timeline to move toward the future arcs a little faster
With Bell's level 2 achievement, he's now heading to the black Goliath fight (tho that one will probably not happen...)
Next chapter is entirely Toji, with probably a few time skips
Hope this was enjoyable and gave a clear idea of what's happening with Bell right now—and with the Inventory Curse too
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