Bell floated in a realm of impossible grandeur. Endless corridors of polished, sun-gold stone stretched beneath a sky woven from liquid clouds-tinged rose-gold by an unseen dawn. Towering figures lined the halls, beings of pure light and shadow with wings of starlight and obsidian, standing rigidly at attention, their faces obscured by helmets of shimmering energy. An aura of profound reverence, thick as incense, choked the air. Down this impossible hallway strode another figure, its form indistinct yet radiating undeniable power. Its steps echoed like distant thunder, resonating in Bell's very bones. It approached colossal doors of fused light and platinum, etched with constellations that pulsed with life.
Bell, a silent, disembodied observer, felt a jolt of primal terror. This place mirrored the throne room of the entity he'd knelt to in the double dungeon – but infinitely grander, older, realer. The doors swung open silently, revealing a throne carved from a single, colossal diamond that refracted the ambient light into blinding rainbows. Upon it sat the Entity.
This time, it wasn't a statue or a shadowy figure. It was present. Its form was blindingly white, sculpted from solidified moonlight, draped in robes that seemed woven from galaxies. Upon its brow rested a crown of pure, searing gold, radiating palpable authority. Where the dungeon statue had been flanked by stone soldiers, here it was surrounded by swirling constellations of the same winged, ethereal beings lining the hall, their light dimmed in submission.
The figure who had walked the hall entered, its form resolving slightly – tall, clad in intricate armor of iridescent scales, wings of folded starlight held tight. It halted before the throne, its posture radiating awe and unwavering loyalty. Then, it knelt. Deeply. Forehead pressed to the impossibly smooth floor.
No. Bell's dream-self recoiled in visceral horror. Don't kneel! The memory of cold stone beneath his own knees, the suffocating pressure, the feeling of chains snapping into place around his soul – it flooded him. He braced for the phantom swords, the agonizing submission.
Instead, a sound like the harmonious ringing of a thousand crystal bells filled the vast chamber. Trumpets of pure light blared a triumphant, resonant fanfare that vibrated through the clouds and the very fabric of the dream. The Entity on the throne stirred. It lifted a hand, not in violence, but in benediction. Its voice, when it spoke, was not the cold, alien command Bell knew. It was deep, resonant, echoing with the weight of eternity and a terrifying, absolute certainty. It spoke a single word that shook Bell to his core:
"ARISE."
A wave of brilliant, dark aura erupted from the throne, engulfing the kneeling figure, the winged guardians, the entire celestial castle. The light wasn't warm; it was consuming. Bell felt his dream-self dissolve into it, not with pain, but with an overwhelming sense of insignificance, of being erased the sheer, annihilating radiance.
Bell jolted upright with a strangled gasp, drenched in cold sweat. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The remnants of the dark aura and the echoing command – "ARISE." – still pulsed behind his eyes. He sucked in ragged breaths, the familiar, musty scent of the church a stark anchor to reality.
He felt a weight on his chest. Hestia lay sprawled half on top of him, her cheek pressed against his tunic, twin tails splayed like dark wings, breathing softly and deeply in undisturbed sleep. Lili was curled tightly against his side, one small hand fisted in his shirt, her chestnut hair spilling across the thin pallet, snoring softly.
Carefully, muscles trembling from the nightmare's aftershocks, Bell disentangled himself. He slid out from under Hestia, gently lifting her slight form and settling her onto the worn sofa. He pulled the thin blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders. She murmured incoherently but didn't wake.
Lili was next. He scooped her up in a practiced princess carry, her weight negligible. She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open for a blurred second, crimson glow faintly visible before fading back to brown sleepiness. "Bell...sama...?" she mumbled.
"Sleep, Lili," he whispered, his voice rough. He laid her on the bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She sighed and burrowed deeper into the thin mattress, instantly asleep again.
Bell stood for a moment, watching them in the pre-dawn gloom filtering through the broken stained glass. The Entity's command echoed in his mind, contrasting violently with the peaceful vulnerability before him. He ran a shaky hand through his sweat-dampened white hair. He needed air. He needed to move.
He moved silently to the rickety table, finding a scrap of parchment – the back of one of his old, outdated Status sheets. He grabbed the pen from his small inventory pouch.
Hestia, Lili -
Gone for my morning routine. Back soon with breakfast. Stay safe.
- Bell
He placed the note prominently on the table. One last look at his sleeping familia – his sanctuary, his reason – and he slipped out into the cool, grey silence of pre-dawn Orario.
~(Scene Change)~
The air was sharp and clean, tasting of dew and distant chimney smoke. Bell ran. Not the desperate flight of the previous night, but a controlled, rhythmic pace. He followed Eina's suggested route, a circuitous path weaving through lesser-used streets and service alleys, deliberately avoiding any line of sight towards the monolithic Babel Tower where Freya resided. He felt exposed, hyper-aware of every shadow, every flicker of movement in a window. What will Freya do now?
He reached the high city wall on the side opposite Babel. The first slivers of true dawn painted the eastern sky peach and gold. Here, unseen, he began his ritual. Pushups on the cold stone, each rep driving the lingering terror deeper, replacing it with burning muscle. Situps, focusing on his core, on grounding himself. Squats, building the power in his legs, the foundation of an adventurer. One hundred of each. Then, another run along the wall's perimeter, his breathing settling into a steady rhythm, the physical exertion a welcome purge for his churning thoughts.
(!) DAILY QUEST COMPLETE
[Rewards: Status Recovery]
[Stat Points +50,]
[Random Item Box]
The notification was a cold comfort. He accepted the rewards automatically. The faint shimmer of Status Recovery washed over him, banishing the last traces of fatigue and sweat. The stat points were banked for later use. A small, box containing Random reward materialized in his inventory.
"Later" Bell stored it into his inventory. Now he needs to get some breakfast for his family.
Bell looked far with a blank gaze from the top of the walls where the sun was rising.
The Face of Grandpa flashed though the stories and heroes and saving maidens now all of it seems so far away pointless.
But even so he still wants to be a Hero a Hero for the people he loves. Even if his hands are stained in blood in the process.
Now, in the relative calm after exertion, the memories flooded back with brutal clarity. Canoe's terrified gurgle. The sickening resistance of flesh giving way to Rasaka's Fang. The unnatural whoosh of white flames consuming evidence, leaving only ash and the stench of ozone and burnt meat. The guilt was a physical stone in his gut, but it was something he needs to live with and bury in his heart as a reminder of his naivety and weakness.
Worse was the betrayal. Syr's warm smile as she handed him a lunchbox. Her teasing encouragement. The genuine-seeming concern in her eyes. All a meticulously crafted illusion. A goddess playing with her food, observing the fascinating specimen. The intimacy of her touch felt like a violation in retrospect. His naivety tasted like ash. Could I have played it cooler? Smiled, thanked her, left without suspicion? He doubted it. A goddess, especially Freya, would see through any mask he could muster. His raw reaction had been the only honest one – and it had painted a target on his back brighter than his Level Up announcement.
He ran a hand over his face, the stubble rough against his palm. Paranoia was already a constant companion; now it felt like a necessary survival instinct. He needed to get breakfast, avoiding the Hostess and its vicinity. The Golden Boar Eina suggested was the safe choice, but even that route felt fraught. He hadn't even descended into the Dungeon yet, and the day felt like a battlefield.
~(Scene Change Hostess of fertility aftermath)~
The tavern door's violent jingle still echoed as Syr stood frozen. Bell's retreating form vanished into the night, leaving her hand suspended mid-air where it had brushed his wrist. A tremor ran through her – not anger, but incomprehension. When words failed, her divine instinct took over: she unleashed her Charm.
Not the subtle allure she wielded as Syr, but the full, devastating weight of Freya's presence – the power that made gods weep and empires crumble for a glance. It flowed outwards, an invisible tsunami meant to soothe, to enthrall, to make Bell turn back with adoring eyes.
It crashed against… nothing.
The energy dissipated like mist against stone. Bell didn't falter, didn't glance back. He simply… ignored it.
Syr's – no, Freya's – breath hitched. Impossible. Mortal kings had waged wars for a fraction of this attention. Primordial deities had bent knees in her celestial court. Yet this boy, this child she'd nurtured with bread and smiles, had shrugged it off like a bothersome fly.
Before the shock could solidify, It struck back.
The warm tavern light bled away, replaced by an all-consuming darkness. Not shadow, but pure, fathomless void. Within it, two colossal violet eyes snapped open – eyes deeper than the Dungeon's abyss, colder than the space between stars. They pinned her, not with malice, but with terrifying, absolute scrutiny. Freya, Goddess of Beauty, felt utterly naked. Every divine secret, every buried insecurity, every calculated kindness laid bare before that annihilating gaze. The void offered no judgment, only silence so profound it crushed her spirit. She was a speck of dust before cosmic indifference.
Just as suddenly, the void vanished. Syr stumbled back, gasping, the cheerful noise of the Hostess crashing back as violently as the silence had fallen. Sweat beaded on her brow.
"Syr?" Ryuu's hand landed on her shoulder.
Freya screamed – a raw, ungodly sound of terror that shattered glasses behind the bar. Every patron froze. Chloe dropped her tray with a clatter.
CRASH!
Mia's stoneware mug exploded against the countertop. The dwarf stood, her usual gruffness replaced by volcanic fury. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU 'BOUT USIN' YOUR WHAMMY ON MY CUSTOMERS, GIRL?!" Her voice shook the rafters. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO THAT BOY?!"
Freya whirled, a divine retort burning on her tongue – met only by Mia's furious, unflinching stare. The anger died, replaced by dawning horror. She knows. Mia always knew.
"Nya, Syr?" Chloe piped up, wide-eyed. "Why was white bunny-kun so mean? Lovers' spat nya?"
The question hung in the air, echoed in every stunned face.
"I... He..." Freya stammered, the facade of Syr crumbling.
"ENOUGH!" Mia roared. "SHOP'S CLOSED! EVERYONE OUT! CLEANIN' DETAIL – NOW! YOU!" She pointed a thick finger at Freya. "ALLEY. NOW."
Mia hauled a trembling Freya into the cold, mist-choked alley behind the Hostess, slamming the door shut behind them. The sounds of the confused staff cleaning up were muffled.
"TALK." Mia's command was a blade.
Freya searched Mia's face – the worry beneath the rage, the loyalty that had endured centuries. No lies. No deceit. Only the harsh truth of her transgression. The dam broke. Silent tears, cold and alien, traced paths down Syr's cheeks. The second time Mia had seen her weep.
Mia sighed, the fury draining into weary exasperation. She scrubbed a hand over her face. "Haaa... Of all the damn boys in Orario to make you cry..." Her voice softened marginally. "Go home. Get your head straight. We'll talk 'bout that little charm stunt later. Didn't think the lad could just... ignore it."
Freya searched Mia's eyes again. No deception. Only blunt truth and a lingering shock that mirrored her own.
A sudden, brittle giggle escaped Freya. Mia stared as if her goddess had finally cracked. "So you saw it too," Freya whispered, the giggle dying into something cold and ancient. "He ignored it. Or rather... It did." A wave of primal dread washed over Mia, chilling her blood. "Syr... what do you mean?"
"Haa. Enough for tonight, Mia," Freya said, the Syr persona vanishing entirely, replaced by weary divinity. "I... Freya... needs to think. Heidin!"
A shadow detached itself from the rooftop. The composed pallum landed silently, kneeling instantly. "My Lady?"
"Take me to Folkvangr."
"As you command." Heidin rose, scooping Freya into a respectful princess carry. With a single powerful leap, they vanished into the night sky, heading towards the hidden divine meadow-realm.
Mia leaned against the cold brick wall, exhaling a plume of vapor into the chill air. "Just what in the nine hells is tangled up in that boy?" The muffled clatter of cleaning from inside the tavern promised a very long night. She scanned the shadows – Ryuu was gone. Of course. She needed her level-headed rock. Where was that elf?
~ (Folkvangr - Freya's Chambers)~
Freya materialized in her private sanctum within Folkvangr – a chamber woven from moonlight and starlight, filled with the scent of eternal blossoms. She shed the Syr disguise with a thought, her true divine form emerging. Still damp from a hasty, frustrated shower, she flopped backwards onto her enormous bed of cloud-soft celestial down, utterly naked and radiating restless energy. The towel she'd been clutching dissolved into motes of light.
She stared at the constellation-strewn ceiling, replaying the night. Bell's face, frozen in shock and betrayal when Sacred Insight revealed her. The raw fear as he recoiled from her touch.
The impossible defiance as he ran – ran! – from her, the devastating, humiliating failure of her Charm. The terrifying void, those Violet Eyes that saw through her.
Who was Bell Cranel?
He'd achieved the impossible: Complete, Utter Ignorance of Freya. Not resistance, not struggle – blank disregard. Ottar couldn't manage it. Mia couldn't maintain it. Even virgin goddesses felt the pull. Yet a boy barely a month in Orario had brushed it aside like cobwebs. The sheer, unprecedented insult of it warred with a terrifying fascination.
But worse than the ignored charm was the look on his face. Suspicion. Fear. It mirrored the condemnation of the High Gods in Tenkai – Odin's cold fury, Gungnir's piercing judgment when she'd overstepped. But this was different. This was personal. "Are you hiding something from me?" Bell's desperate question echoed. She was hiding everything! But how did he know? Was it the influence of that Thing within him? That consuming Void behind his eyes? It needed a name… 'The Abyss'? 'The Gaze'?
A slow, unwilling smile touched her lips. This defiance… this impossible strength hidden beneath the innocence… Was this what she'd truly sought? Not a worshipping supplicant, but an equal? Her Odr? Or was it the power within him, the Void, that truly captivated her?
The smile faded. How did he see through her transformation? A skill? Perhaps. But that didn't explain the Charm's failure. A terrifying thought struck her: What if Bell Cranel was a god in disguise?
She dismissed it instantly, rolling onto her stomach with a frustrated groan. The Dungeon would react violently to active Arcanum. Bell bled, fought, struggled – he was mortal.
Ottar's intelligence report surfaced in her mind: the hidden chamber deep in the Dungeon, the ancient altar where Bell had been found after the minotaur incident. What happened there? Only Ouranos, locked in his eternal vigil, or perhaps… Hestia, knew the full truth. Freya's nose wrinkled in distaste. Hestia. Of course it circled back to that stubborn little virgin.
Maybe she could still salvage this. A chance encounter, Syr's sweet apologies, a carefully woven explanation… But would Bell believe it? Could she even be Syr around him again without that terrible suspicion darkening his eyes?
Ahhh! Freya shoved her face into a pillow, muffling a scream of pure divine frustration. Since when did Freya, Queen of Beauty, have to argue for a mortal's affection? Mortals catered to her! They begged for scraps of her attention!
The pillow muffled another groan as a devastating realization struck. She was repeating Tenkai. She hadn't descended to the mortal realm to find another enslaved admirer. She'd come seeking Odr – a partner, an equal to stand beside her. Bell's defiance, his terrifying hidden power, his utter rejection of her divine will… it resonated with that ancient longing more deeply than any blind worship ever had.
For the first time in her eternal existence, Freya was utterly lost. How did mortals navigate this… this 'lovers' spat'? She had no frame of reference, no divine protocol for being rejected. The sheer, mundane absurdity of it was humiliating.
Ahhhhh! She writhed, pounding the pillow. Who could she possibly ask? Who understood mortals and their tangled hearts well enough to advise a goddess on courting one who terrified her?
One face surfaced through the turmoil: Idunn. The keeper of youth, the one who'd gently mocked her in Tenkai, urging her to seek true connection, not just adoration. Pride warred with desperation. To seek counsel from Idunn… it stung. But wasn't this precisely what Idunn had foreseen?
With a final, resigned sigh, Freya rolled onto her back, staring at the shimmering constellations above. Talk to Idunn. Not for advice. Just… talk. Perhaps the keeper of youth could make sense of the chaos churning within the Goddess of Beauty. Exhaustion, divine and emotional, finally pulled her into a fitful sleep filled with echoes chilling depth of Violet Eyes.
~(Next Morning)~
Sunlight streamed onto the cobblestones as Syr swept the front step of the Hostess of Fertility, her movements rhythmic, almost serene. But beneath the calm surface, her mind whirred. He'll come today. He always does. Bell Cranel's abrupt flight yesterday afternoon, the way he'd recoiled from her touch… it stung, deeply. But Syr, ever the strategist, refused despair. This was merely the final, unexpected hurdle in her long, long search. My Odr wouldn't be easy to claim, would he? A spark of determined excitement flickered within her.
In her apron pocket, the small, leather-bound book Horn had practically shoved at her this morning felt heavy. The gruff elf had noticed her uncharacteristic quietness, her distracted air, and with a begrudging grumble, offered the volume: "The Lovers' Reconcile: A Treatise on Mending Broken Hearts." Syr hadn't read it, barely glanced at the florid script on the cover. The methods within likely wouldn't apply to her unique situation, but the gesture, however awkward, was noted. Patience. Space. And my charm. She smiled to herself, a practiced, dazzling curve of her lips. Give him a little time, show him unwavering care… he'll come back. He has to.
She nodded decisively, leaning on her broom. The plan was clear: greet him warmly but without pressure, let him lead the conversation, subtly reassure him. Whatever momentary fear she'd inadvertently triggered, she would soothe.
The tavern door opened, and Ryuu Lion emerged, carrying a crate of empty bottles to the side alley. Syr seized the opportunity.
"Good morning, Ryuu," Syr called, her voice light but with an underlying thread of concern. "Did… did Bell seem alright to you yesterday? After he left so suddenly?"
Ryuu paused, setting the crate down carefully. Her expression, usually stoic, tightened almost imperceptibly. "He was likely fatigued from the day's exertions in the dungeon. The aftermath can be taxing."
Syr tilted her head, her smile softening into something more knowing. "Oh, I know all about what happened in the dungeon yesterday. I overheard you and Anya talking." She waved a dismissive hand before Ryuu could react. "But that's not quite what I meant. When he was here… before he left… did I do something? Something that… frightened him?" The question was delicate, probing.
Ryuu's eyes widened slightly. She knows about the supporter and her familia? How? But Syr was already moving on, her tone brightening artificially.
"It's probably nothing," Syr continued, her gaze drifting towards the street where Bell usually appeared. "Just a little bump. I'll make sure he has an extra special lunch today! Something hearty to cheer him up. Everything will be back to normal before we know it." Her confidence was palpable, a shield against the niggling doubt.
Ryuu hesitated. The weight of Bell's words, his palpable anguish, pressed on her. She couldn't let Syr continue with this false hope. Her voice was low, grave. "Syr… it might not be that simple."
Syr's bright smile faltered. "Hmm? What do you mean, Ryuu?"
The elf took a breath, steeling herself. "After you went downstairs yesterday… he left. Without his takeout. I… followed him."
Syr's playful facade vanished, replaced by genuine confusion. "Followed him? Why?"
"Because of how he looked," Ryuu stated bluntly. "Like the world had ended. He wasn't fatigued, Syr. He was devastated." She met Syr's now-widening eyes. "He stopped me. He asked… questions. Strange, specific questions. About you."
A cold prickle ran down Syr's spine. Her grip tightened on the broom handle. "About… me?"
"Yes. About your past. About…" Ryuu paused, the next words feeling like stones dropped into still water. "He asked for your birthday."
The world seemed to tilt. The cheerful morning sounds of Orario faded into a dull roar. The broom clattered onto the cobblestones as Syr's hand flew to her mouth. Her face drained of color, leaving her pale as parchment. "M-My birthday?" The whispered question was raw, disbelieving. "It's rude to ask a women her age!".
"He was insistent," Ryuu confirmed quietly, watching the dawning horror in Syr's eyes. "He said… he said he couldn't meet you anymore. That it was impossible. He would still help the Hostess if needed, but… he could not see you."
The carefully constructed shield of hope, charm, and strategy shattered. The confirmation she'd dreaded, yet somehow hadn't truly believed possible, slammed into her with the force of a Minotaur's charge. He knows. Bell Cranel knows who I am. The realization was a physical blow, a nail driven into the coffin of her carefully nurtured dream.
"Syr, I'm sorry," Ryuu began, stepping forward.
"Your J-Joking…" Syr stammered, a desperate, brittle laugh escaping her. "You're joking, Ryuu, right? Bell wouldn't… he couldn't just…"
But Ryuu's expression, filled with pity and grim certainty, was the final, undeniable truth. The denial crumbled. Syr's breath hitched. Her vibrant eyes, usually sparkling with mischief or warmth, filled with tears that spilled over instantly, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. A wave of pure, unadulterated panic and heartbreak washed over her, stealing her breath. It wasn't just sadness; it was the terror of the inevitable crashing down, the shattering of a millennia-long hope held just within her grasp.
"No…" The word was a choked sob. "No, no, NO!"
Before Ryuu could reach her, Syr whirled around. The innate charm she wielded, usually a subtle tool, flared outwards in her distress – not an attack, but a sudden, overwhelming aura of "Stay Back!" that made Ryuu physically recoil, stumbling a step. It was instinctive, primal defense.
Then Syr ran. She fled down the street, away from the tavern, away from the devastating truth delivered by Ryuu, her silver hair streaming behind her like a banner of defeat, her sobs echoing in the suddenly too-bright morning.
"Syr! Wait!" Ryuu called, pushing past the disorienting charm, but Syr was already vanishing around a corner, driven by panic and grief.
The commotion brought Mia Grand charging out of the tavern, her massive shovel already in hand. "What in the name of the Great Flame is all the—?!" She saw Ryuu staring after the fleeing Syr, then the discarded broom, and the elf's unusually shaken expression. Behind Mia, Chloe and Anya peeked out, wide-eyed.
Ryuu slowly turned back, her face a mask of forced calm, though her eyes were troubled. "It's… Bell Cranel," she said simply, the name heavy with implication.
Mia's single eye narrowed, her knuckles white on the shovel handle. She took in the scene – the tears on the cobblestones where Syr stood, Ryuu's tension, the direction of Syr's flight. With a deep, angry sigh that rumbled like distant thunder, she hefted her shovel. "Tch. Damn brats causin' nothin' but trouble. Chloe! Anya! Get back inside! We got a tavern to run, and someone," she glared down the empty street, "is gonna need answers." Chloe and Anya exchanged worried glances before ducking back inside.
Ryuu watched Mia stomp back in, then looked once more towards where Syr had disappeared. The forced relaxation on her face couldn't mask the deep concern. The path Syr had taken led towards one place: Folvagner.
~(Scene Change)~
The Golden Boar was a cacophony of clattering plates, boisterous laughter, and sizzling griddles – a stark contrast to the fragile silence Bell Cranel carried within him. As he pushed open the heavy oak door, the morning din dipped noticeably. Dozens of eyes – adventurers, merchants, laborers mid-bite – snapped towards him. Whispers, sharp as knives, cut through the haze of pipe smoke and grease.
"…that's him…"
"…Level 2 in a month…"
"…cheat…?"
"…A lot of Familia's been sniffing around him…"
Bell felt the weight of their stares: suspicion, naked jealousy, predatory curiosity. He wished fervently for a Skill like Conceal or Invisibility, anything to melt into the worn floorboards. Instead, he kept his head down, crimson eyes fixed on the scuffed path to the bar, shoulders hunched against the invisible barrage.
He slid onto a stool before the burly owner, Sanders, who was polishing a tankard with surprising delicacy. "Sanders," Bell greeted, voice tight.
The man glanced up, his weathered face crinkling in appraisal. "Damn, boy. You still look like shit dragged through hell backwards."
A weak chuckle escaped Bell. "Had a hard night."
"Looks like it," Sanders grunted, setting the tankard down. "Tell ya what. Since Eina vouched for ya last night, breakfast is on the house. Regular with extra meat, yeah? But you gotta be a regular here now, aight? Need decent folk to balance out the riff-raff." He jerked a thumb towards a table of rowdy adventurers.
Bell managed a faint smile. "Well... it seems I might be."
"Bell?"
He turned at the familiar voice. Eina Tulle stood by the entrance, impeccably dressed in her Guild uniform, though faint shadows under her eyes betrayed her own restless night. "Miss Eina! Good morning!"
"Good morning to you too, Bell," she replied, weaving through the crowded tables towards him, the whispers momentarily shifting focus. "Mind if I join you? I'm running late thanks to… well, let's just say sleep wasn't easy after last night's revelations." She took the stool beside him.
"Seems neither of us slept much," Bell murmured as Sanders placed a steaming mug of tea before Eina without asking.
Eina leaned closer, her voice dropping to a concerned murmur only he could hear over the pub noise. "Bell, what are you planning? How do you even begin to deal with… them?" Her eyes darted nervously towards the door, as if expecting Ottar to materialize.
"The only thing I can do," Bell stated, his voice gaining a steely edge. "Get stronger. Much stronger."
Eina's brow furrowed. "Bell, be realistic. Surpassing someone like Ottar… the King… it's unheard of. Even for you, with your… unprecedented growth." She kept her words deliberately vague.
Bell met her gaze, a flat, almost unnervingly hard look replacing his usual warmth. "Is it?"
Eina blinked, then her eyes widened slowly as the implication sank in. She leaned in so close her breath tickled his ear. "Do you… Bell, do you have a Skill? One that… accelerates your growth?" The question was barely a breath.
A flicker of something mischievous – a ghost of the old Bell – touched his lips. He raised a finger to his own lips in a silent shh, enjoying the stunned, almost comical shock that spread across Eina's face. The confirmation was clear.
Recovering, Eina pressed on gently. "Why, Bell? Why push yourself like this? Why come to Orario in the first place?" She saw him flush crimson, looking down at his clasped hands.
"My… my Grandpa," he mumbled. "He raised me. He told me stories… amazing stories about heroes, adventures…" His blush deepened. "...and, uh, harems." He peeked up sheepishly. "He said coming here, becoming an adventurer, that's how I'd find it all. Become a hero."
Eina gave him a profoundly flat look. "I see."
Bell's brief embarrassment vanished, replaced by a hollow sadness. "It won't happen anymore," he said quietly, the words heavy with finality. His dream, twisted by Systems demands and Freya's obsession, felt tainted.
"Bell, no," Eina said firmly, placing a hand over his. "Don't lose heart. What happened wasn't your fault. Orario… it's dark. It consumes people. But you? You have a light. Don't let them extinguish it." She took a breath. "My mother… she was very ill when I was young. My father worked three jobs, day and night, just to afford her medicine. I studied… harder than anything. I swore I'd get a good position, provide security, a future. For them. For myself. I couldn't give up. And you can't either, Bell Cranel."
Bell looked at her, a genuine, warm smile breaking through his gloom. "You're a really good person, Miss Eina. I admire that. Your persistence… it's incredible." Her words were a balm, clearing the fog of despair. "You're right. I won't give up. I'll get stronger. To protect the people close to me." His gaze held hers, intense and sincere. "Including you."
Eina's cheeks flushed a deep pink. She opened her mouth, stammering, "B-Bell, I… th-thank—"
THUMP!
Two massive plates slammed onto the bar, piled high with eggs, crispy bacon, sausages, and thick sandwiches overflowing with roast meat. Sanders loomed over them, a broad, knowing grin splitting his face. "Couples Special! On the house! Eat up, lovebirds!" He winked outrageously before bustling away, leaving two mortified, beet-red people in his wake.
They ate in a flustered, companionable silence, the simple act of sharing a meal a small anchor in the storm. When the plates were cleared, the mood turned serious again as they stood to leave.
"Eina," Bell said, voice low and tense. "If… if things get bad… if Freya makes her move…"
"I'll help," Eina interrupted, her voice fierce with determination. "I have contacts. Routes. I will help you escape them, Bell. Whatever you need. I'm here."
Bell's heart warmed, a new ember of resolve joining the fire within him. Another reason to get stronger. "Thank you. Truly." He paused. "I'll… I'll meet you at the Guild later. For the lower floor authorization."
Eina's eyes flashed with immediate, professional fury. "Bell Cranel! Adventurers do not rush into deeper floors after traumatic events! You need rest, assessment—"
"If I don't," Bell cut in, his voice quiet but unwavering, resonating with a newfound, steely resolve, "I won't get stronger. And if I'm not stronger, I won't have the power to protect anyone. Not you. Not Lady Hestia. Not Lily. Not myself." He met her Guild advisor glare head-on, his crimson eyes burning with an intensity that silenced her protests.
Eina stared at him, seeing the unshakeable will beneath the exhaustion and fear. Slowly, the fury in her eyes softened into reluctant respect, then hardened into matching resolve. "Fine," she conceded, her voice tight. "But my test won't be easy. Don't expect leniency just because…" She trailed off, the memory of his hand over hers and his protective vow still warming her cheeks. "Be safe, Bell."
"You too, Miss Eina." With a final nod, they parted ways taking the breakfast takeaway placed beside him, Bell stepping back into the wary gaze of Orario, heading towards the only sanctuary he had left.
Scene Church - Basement Home
The moment Bell slipped into the dim, cluttered basement, he was met with twin waves of fury.
"Bell Cranel!" Hestia's voice was a shrill squeak of indignation; hands planted on her hips. Lily, perched on a crate, glowered at him with folded arms, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm. "Sneaking out AGAIN! This is becoming a COMMON occurrence! Do you have ANY idea how worried—"
"I brought breakfast," Bell interjected quickly, pulling two large, fragrant paper bundles from his Inventory. The savory smell of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the cramped space.
Lily's nose twitched. Hestia's tirade hitched. "...Well, that's… marginally better," Hestia muttered, though her pout remained firmly in place. Lily just gave a disgruntled "Hmph!" but snatched one of the bundles. Hestia, with a final dramatic sigh, plopped down onto their makeshift couch and accepted the other.
They ate in tense silence, the only sounds the crackle of paper and chewing. Once the edge of hunger was blunted, Hestia set her half-eaten sandwich down, her expression grave. "Alright, Bell. We need to talk. About… her. Syr. How did you figure it out?"
Bell explained his theory about Insight, the strange doubling effect, and his suspicion. "It felt like… like seeing the real person beneath a mask. But Syr… it felt like the mask was the person, but also… wasn't. Like a perfect copy projected over something else."
Hestia nodded slowly, her divine knowledge filling the gaps. "Freya… she's not just a goddess of beauty. She's deeply entwined with magic, especially illusions and soul manipulation. A specialized Grimoire… something allowing her to project her own appearance onto a willing Familia member, or even swap places entirely… it's plausible. Horrifyingly plausible." She shuddered. "Accepting that Syr was just… a vessel Freya used… it's chilling."
Bell nodded grimly. "It fits."
"Master Bell, Goddess," Lily interjected, her voice sharp with practicality. "While fascinating, this brainstorming ignores the dragon in the room! How do we escape Freya? If she announces a War Game to take Master Bell, hiding becomes impossible! Shouldn't we flee Orario? Now?"
"It's pointless, Lily," Bell said, his voice weary but firm. "They're the strongest Familia. And Freya… she can see me. My soul. No matter where I hide, on the surface, in the deepest wilds… she'll find me. Running just delays the inevitable and makes us weaker." He met Hestia's worried gaze. "The only chance… the only desperate chance… is to dive deep. Into the Dungeon. Level up. Fast."
Lily threw her hands up. "We cannot hold out in the Dungeon forever! Supplies run out! Weapons break! Armor needs mending! We'd be hunted prey!"
"That," Bell said, a strange calm settling over him, "isn't a problem anymore." Before Lily could retort, he reached out, grasped empty air, and pulled. A gleaming, razor-sharp knife appeared in his hand as if conjured from nothing.
Lily's jaw dropped. Her eyes bulged. The world she understood tilted on its axis. "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!" Her scream echoed off the stone walls, high-pitched and utterly bewildered. She stared at the knife, then at Bell's hand, then back at the knife, her mind visibly short-circuiting.
Hestia groaned, massaging her temples. "Oh, just tell her, Bell. It's easier."
Slowly, Bell explained the System – the Shop, the Inventory, the Points. Lily listened, her initial shock morphing into dawning, terrified comprehension. "I… I see," she whispered, her voice shaky. "A divine blessing… but… different…"
Hestia leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. "Bell, this power… it's incredible, but dangerous. If Freya charms Lily… if she asks the right questions…"
Bell nodded grimly. "It's only a matter of time before Freya figures out something changed me drastically. So… I might as well go all in. Use everything I have."
Lily, recovering some of her pragmatism, began strategizing. "If… if Master Bell wants to 'stat max' and live in the Dungeon… the 18th Floor, Rivira, is the safest haven. And now, with this… 'Inventory'…" She tested the unfamiliar word. "...storing non-perishable food, spare equipment, necessities… it is feasible. For a time."
Bell shook his head. "I might not need to stay in the main Dungeon forever. Or even for long." He took a deep breath. "The System… it has its own Dungeon."
The revelation hit Lily like a physical blow. Her eyes rolled back, her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint with a soft thud.
Hestia sighed, long-suffering. "Honestly, Bell. Earth-shattering revelations before noon…"
"Hestia," Bell said, kneeling beside the unconscious Prum, his expression deadly serious. "I need to do this. Now. I don't know when Freya's storm will hit. I need every second, every ounce of strength."
Hestia's eyes filled with tears. "But… where will I go? I can't stay here alone! If Freya finds me…"
"You need to stay with someone you trust," Bell said gently. "Someone strong. Hephaestus."
Hestia flinched. "Hephaestus… yes, she'd protect me. But… telling her? About the System? And… and burdening her again? After everything…"
"Don't tell her about the System," Bell urged. "Just… tell her the situation with Freya. She'll understand the danger. And… I'll make sure you have what you need." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'll manage the money, Hestia. Through the Shop. I'll provide for you. The best I can. You won't want for anything."
Hestia's composure broke. She threw her arms around Bell, burying her face in his chest, sobbing. "Why, Bell? Why can't we just… just be happy? Just our little Familia?"
Bell hugged her back, his heart aching. "I want that too, Hestia. More than anything. But to have it… I need the strength to protect it." He pulled back, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "With a sigh." He stood up, the urgency pressing down on him. "I need to start preparing. Today." He needed armor, weapons, supplies – everything for a deep, extended dive.
Then he remembered. He focused, reached into the intangible space, and pulled out the sleek black box the System had given him after the Daily Quest Completion. The soft snap of the lid opening drew Hestia's bleary gaze.
Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay a single key. It was forged from a warm, glowing orange metal, shot through with veins of pure gold, radiating a subtle, potent energy. Bell picked it up, a genuine, relieved smile spreading across his face for the first time that morning. "Looks like the System… the one that's been 'snooping'… is also supporting me. For my trouble."
Hestia sniffled, peering at the key. "W-What is it? What rating?"
Bell's smile widened as he read the shimmering, ephemeral script only he could see. "S-Rank."
[Item:
Rarity: S
Type: Key
A Key that allows you to enter Dungeon: Demon Castle.
Can be used in Babel Tower.]
(!)Quest
[Defeat the Gatekeeper Kerberus and obtain permit of higher floor]
[#Reward: Key to the entry of Upper floor of Demon Castle]
Hestia's jaw dropped, her tears forgotten in a wave of pure, divine shock. "S-S-S-S-RANK?!" she stammered, her voice cracking. She stared at the unassuming, radiant key as if it were the heart of a star. The implications were staggering. Whatever door that key unlocked, it held power beyond anything they'd yet encountered. A desperate hope flickered in her wide eyes as Bell closed his fist around the warm metal, the first real tool in his impossible fight.
~(Scene Change)~
At the East of Orario, in the opulent, ethereal chamber known as Fólkvangr, the air crackled with suppressed divine fury. Freya sat upon her silver throne, her usual aura of captivating beauty replaced by a chilling, glacial stillness. She wasn't raging; she was frozen rage. Her silver hair seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it, her violet eyes distant storms.
Arrayed before her, the executives of the Freya Familia stood rigidly. Ottar, the King, a mountain of muscle and power, kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his knuckles white where they gripped the handle of his massive sword. Allen Fromel fidgeted, uncharacteristically subdued. Hedin Selland, usually the composed strategist, knelt directly before the dais, his head bowed low, sweat beading on his temple despite the room's coolness. The Gulliver Brother, Helun and Horn and the others stood further back, radiating palpable nervousness. The sheer weight of their Goddess's silent displeasure pressed down on them, a physical force making it hard to breathe.
No one knew exactly what had transpired the night before or even in the morning, only that their Goddess had returned not in her usual playful or contemplative mood, but radiating a heartbreak so profound it bordered on the apocalyptic now It looked like the End of the World in the morning after she similarly came with a much more broken image. The image of her standing silently on her balcony, staring out at the city with an expression of utter devastation, was seared into their minds. Ottar had felt the primal urge to tear Orario apart brick by brick to find the source of her pain, but her silent, suffocating aura had quashed any thought of action. They existed in a state of suspended dread, waiting for the storm to break.
Hedin opened his mouth, perhaps to offer some measured counsel, to inquire about the source of her grief. Before a sound could escape, the massive, ornate double doors of the throne room exploded inwards.
Not with force, but with sheer, undeniable presence.
Mia Grand stood framed in the doorway. Her usual apron was gone, replaced by practical, sturdy travel clothes. Her short frame seemed to fill the entire entrance. Her eyes, usually sharp but warm behind the bar, were chips of flint, burning with a fury that rivaled Freya's frozen storm. She ignored the gathered executives; her gaze locked solely on the Goddess on the throne. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of Folvagner and the frantic beating of mortal hearts.
One word cracked through the tension like a whip, directed solely at Freya, heavy with accusation and a demand for answers:
"TALK."
~(Scene Change)~
The morning sun beat down as Bell and Lili navigated the bustling streets, a tense silence hanging between them despite the city's noise. Bell's mind raced with logistics: potions, preserved food, a durable lamp, maybe even a collapsible tent and bedroll for the lower floors. He recalled the spider-boss fight in the C-Rank Dungeon – the satisfying crack of his Welf Crozzo chest plate absorbing that fiery blow. Need more like that. Hope Babel has stock...
"Lili," Bell asked, glancing at the disguised Supporter, "need help gathering your supplies? Or anything you want from the market?"
The blonde-haired Prum shook her head firmly. "Lili has it covered, Master Bell. Safehouses hold potions, gear... Lili will buy preserved rations too." She patted a worn coin pouch at her belt. "Savings. Meant for leaving Soma Familia someday. Might as well use it now."
Bell stopped dead, turning to her with sudden intensity. "Leave Soma? What... what does it cost? Is there a fee? Like... a normal child paying their Familia for lodging?" The implications sickened him.
Lili spat on the cobblestones, her disguised face twisting with venom. "Fee? Zanis is a pig. He charges for status updates, and a roof over your head! For the 'privilege' of serving Soma-sama's s will!" Her voice trembled with suppressed rage. "He bleeds us dry for his own greed."
Bell grimaced, the vileness of Soma Familia settling like lead in his gut. "We'll get you out, Lili," he vowed, his voice low and fierce. "As soon as we can. But we need the right moment, a plan. Expose Zanis, his dealings... but quietly. In the shadows. We're already targets." Attacking a major Familia head-on now was suicide.
Lili met his gaze, a flicker of hope warring with grim reality. "Lili agrees. We need allies. Support. For Soma... and for them." She jerked her head subtly upwards, towards where Freya reigned.
A humorless chuckle escaped Bell. "Yeah. Allies against the strongest Familia... and against a cesspit like Soma. Who'd sign up for that war?" Even so, the resolve in his eyes was unshakeable. They would move forward.
He activated the Party System interface only he could see.
[A Pallum has Joined your party]
"Lili, if you're in danger... the System will alert me. Stay sharp." Lili gave a sharp nod. "Your scars are mine," Supporter spoke, adding "and my scars... are mine " With that, the blonde Prum melted into the crowd. Bell turned towards Babel, but not the main entrance. Eina's warning echoed – use Dedalus Street, the maze, stay unseen.
His enhanced senses, honed by rapid growth, made memorizing Eina's marked route surprisingly easy. He navigated the labyrinthine alleys and crumbling arches of Dedalus Street, a shadow among shadows. Nearing the end of a narrow, dimly lit corridor leading towards Babel's service tunnels, he froze.
A voice, smooth as silk and thick with sensual menace, drifted from a hidden alcove ahead.
"...the cultivation of Gugalana is yours. Let it rest. The charm is placed; I will awaken it at the perfect moment against that insufferable Freya."
Bell pressed himself against the cold stone, heart pounding. War against Freya? Who?
A deeper, rougher voice answered: "It will be done, Lady Ishtar. Lord Dix will handle the matter soon. But... if I may ask, what trump card gives you such confidence? With Ottar by her side... even two Level Sixes..."
"Enough about that bitch and her boar!" Ishtar's voice snapped, icy fury replacing the silk. "Kali Familia marches to Melen with their Level Six, the Bull of Heaven. And my trump card. Freya will fall. Your only concern is your work. My Berbera will ensure the hidden routes remain open."
A chill colder than the dungeon depths shot down Bell's spine. Ishtar AND Kali? Two Level Sixes? An unknown 'trump card'? Gugalana? This was a cataclysm waiting to happen. He needed to leave now. But his foot scraped a loose stone.
A pause in the alcove. Then Ishtar's voice, contemplative now: "...perhaps I'll bring that record-breaking rabbit, Bell Cranel, under my wing. Breaking the Sword Princess's record... he could be a viable asset."
"Or a threat, my Lady," the other voice cautioned.
Bell silently cursed. Couldn't escape one trouble before another sprouts. Orario truly was a dog-eat-dog world. He shook his head, the weight of reasons to get stronger crushing down. Maybe... another anonymous letter to Loki Familia? With that final thought, he retreated silently, finding another, longer route out of the maze, leaving the plotters behind.
Scene: Babel - Eighth Floor Armory
Bell emerged into the relative brightness and organized chaos of Babel's eighth-floor armory. The air hummed with chatter, clanging metal, and the sharp scent of oiled steel. He immediately tuned it out, heading straight for the section where he'd found his first Crozzo armor. He scanned the meticulously alphabetized shelves under 'C'... nothing by Welf Crozzo. Just mass-produced junk. He sighed, disappointment sharp.
His path to the clerk's desk was blocked by a loud argument. A tall, muscular young man with fiery red hair and soot-smudged forearms was jabbing a finger at the beleaguered clerk.
"...useless! Telling me 'no demand' when my work is clearly superior! You wouldn't know a magic sword if it—"
"Excuse me," Bell interjected politely but firmly, stepping around the redhead. "Sir, could you please move? I need to ask the clerk about the blacksmith Welf Crozzo." He pulled his cracked, silver Crozzo chest plate from his Inventory, holding it up for the clerk to see. "He made this. Do you have any more in stock? Or anything similar?"
Both the clerk and the red-haired man stared at the armor in front of them, jaws slack with identical shock – as if Bell had just pulled down the moon.
The redhead blinked, then threw his head back and roared with laughter, loud and genuine, startling nearby adventurers. "HAHAHAHA! SEE?!" he bellowed, slapping the stunned clerk on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. "I told you I had customers! Someone who appreciates real craftsmanship!" He turned his blazing grin on Bell, eyes alight with fierce pride.
Bell slowly put two and two together. "...You're Welf Crozzo?"
"Damn straight!" Welf declared, puffing out his chest. He gestured grandly at the armor in Bell's hands. "Looks like you're in need of some gear, my friend! That took a beating, huh?"
"Yes," Bell said, relief warring with wariness. "Similar stuff. Light, durable. Arm and knee guards too. Something that can take serious hits."
Welf's grin widened. He snapped his fingers and pointed dramatically towards a large crate tucked behind the clerk's counter. "Well, you're in luck! Because right here..." He hauled out a chest plate. It was forged from a darker, almost gunmetal grey base metal than Bell's silver one, but traced with intricate, glowing crimson lines that pulsed faintly like embers. It looked both incredibly sturdy and strangely alive. Bell was instantly captivated, the fine craftsmanship undeniable. "...is the Mark II! Improved heat dissipation, better weight distribution, same Crozzo resilience! Interested?"
[Pyonkichi Mk-Alpha Chestplate]
[Item Class: D+]
[+7 Physical Damage Reduction. Heat Resistant property]
[Set effect will activate if Item is Equipped with Remaining set]
The System scans the chest plate showing the pervious one was just lesser.
Bell ran a hand over the cool, dark metal, feeling the subtle hum of power in the crimson lines. "How much?"
"11,000 Valis," Welf stated. Then he leaned in conspiratorially, his grin turning sharp. "Or... you can have it for free if you do one thing for me."
Bell narrowed his eyes, folding his arms across his chest and raising a skeptical eyebrow. "And that would be...?"
"Take me on as your contracted blacksmith!" Welf announced, throwing his arms wide. "Exclusively! I forge, you fight! Show the world what Welf Crozzo gear can do!"
Bell was genuinely surprised. "Huh? Why? Because of the... record?"
"Exactly!" Welf boomed. "You're the record-breaker! The fastest Level 2 in history! If you're seen wearing my armor, slaying monsters, breaking more records... my name gets known! People will see past the damn 'magic sword' stigma!" His enthusiasm was infectious, but Bell sensed the deep frustration beneath it.
The clerk just sighed, massaging his temples.
Bell considered. He did need a skilled, reliable smith. The System could provide gear, but Welf's unique Crozzo enhancement properties were invaluable. And confidentiality... "Now that I think about it," Bell said slowly, meeting Welf's eager gaze, "I could use a dedicated blacksmith. I have... specific monster drops I need forged into equipment. Custom work. But..." His voice turned serious. "It would be a long-term contract. And absolute confidentiality is non-negotiable. About the gear, the materials... everything. Can you handle that?"
Welf's grin softened into a look of intense seriousness. He placed a soot-stained hand over his heart. "Blacksmith's honor, Bell Cranel. Your secrets stay with me and my forge. Lead the way."
"Follow me," Bell said, a small, hopeful smile touching his lips for the first time that day. "We need to talk somewhere... private do you know a place?."
"My forge is the best place no one comes for a visit"
He needed to see this forge, gauge the man properly. Welf grabbed his crate without hesitation, the dark armor with its crimson veins gleaming, and fell into step beside the white-haired adventurer, leaving the bewildered clerk behind as they headed towards Welf's smithy – a potential alliance forged in the fires of mutual need and the shadows of looming war.
~(Scene Change Forge)~
Bell followed Welf through a side alley near Babel, arriving at a sturdy stone building radiating heat even from the street. Inside, the smithy was a controlled chaos of clutter – tools scattered on workbenches, half-finished projects leaning against walls, piles of scrap metal, and a thick layer of soot coating everything except the glowing heart of the space: the massive forge itself. Bell blinked, taking in the organized mess.
"Home sweet home," Welf announced, gesturing grandly before kicking a stray piece of iron out of the way. He dumped the crate containing the dark armor onto a relatively clear bench.
Bell glanced around, noting the lack of any Familia crests. "Do you belong to Goibniu or Hephaestus Familia?" he asked casually.
Welf snorted, grabbing a heavy leather apron. "Nah. Independent. Tried to hang around Hephaestus familia smiths for a bit, but..." he trailed off, a flicker of something complex in his eyes. "Didn't fit. I work better alone. Mostly."
Bell nodded, understanding the sentiment more than Welf knew. "Three months," Bell answered Welf's unspoken question about his time in Orario. "Been adventuring for about one month of that. Just hit the 9th floor yesterday." He kept his voice matter-of-fact.
Welf, who had been stoking the forge, froze mid-swing with the poker. He slowly turned, eyes wide. "The ninth? Solo? Damn, kid! I can barely handle the seventh reliably, and that took me... well, longer than a month." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
"It's less about charging in," Bell explained, leaning against a workbench. "More about listening. My Guild advisor... she drills knowledge into me. Know your enemy, know your escape routes, use the terrain. Charging head-on usually gets you killed." He recalled The Lord – Running hadn't been enough.
Welf chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, yeah. Sage advice. Harder to remember when a Monsters breathing down your neck." He wiped his hands on his apron. "So, what've you got for me? Monster drops? Lower floor stuff?"
Bell reached into his jacket, subtly accessing his Inventory. He pulled out the gleaming, incredibly hard Raikan Steel Fang, the tooth of the lightning-wolf boss from the D-Rank Dungeon. He handed it to Welf.
Welf whistled, turning the fang over in his hands, feeling its weight and unnatural hardness. "High-grade stuff! Rare drop? Took down something nasty, huh?" He looked impressed.
Bell gave a silent nod of affirmation. "I also have... other materials," he added cautiously. "Special crystals, ores. Found them in a hidden chamber deep down. Could you... incorporate different types? Make an armor blend?"
Welf's eyes lit up with a craftsman's fervor. "As long as you've got the stuff, I can forge anything. That's the Smith's promise!" He grinned. "But yeah, confidential. Got it."
Bell watched him for a moment, then asked the critical question, his voice neutral. "You mentioned working alone... and Hephaestus not fitting. But you're clearly skilled. Why not join a Familia for better resources, dungeon access? Why stay independent here?"
Welf was taken aback by the young adventurer's insight. He sighed, rubbing the soot on his neck. "You really are new, huh? Don't know what the name 'Crozzo' means?" He saw genuine confusion on Bell's face. "Right. Village kid. Well..." He leaned against the anvil. "My family... the Crozzos... we were famous. Royal blacksmiths for Rakia. Famous for one thing: Magic Swords."
Bell's eyes widened slightly. He knew the term, distantly.
Welf's expression turned grim. "We made swords that could unleash incredible magic with a swing. Made Rakia powerful... for a while. But it was a curse, really. The spirits... or something... turned against us. The bloodline weakened. The swords became unstable, dangerous. Rakia lost it's power, the Crozzos fell in Ruin." He spat near the forge. "Greed was definitely part of it, yeah."
Bell gave a quiet sigh of understanding. The weight of legacy, tainted by power and loss.
Welf fixed Bell with a direct look. "So, knowing that... do you want a Magic Sword from me?"
A flash of memory hit Bell: Canis, the wolf-man from the Dungeon, blasting him with raw energy from a crumbling sword. He frowned. "I... don't really know what they are. Saw one used once. It... broke?"
"Exactly!" Welf said, pointing a finger. "That's the curse. Magic Swords store magic, unleash it in powerful blasts. But they shatter after a few uses. Useless junk. Expendable weapons. So," he asked again, his gaze intense, "knowing they break... do you still want one?"
Bell looked thoughtful, then confused. "Break...?" He reached into his jacket again, accessing the Inventory. This time, he pulled out the sleek, serpentine Rasaka's Fang dagger. He held it out, the blade shimmering faintly with latent poison magic.
Welf took it, his initial curiosity turning to shock as he examined it closely. "This... this is a Magic Sword! Or... a Magic Dagger. But... how?" He turned it over, testing the edge, feeling the thrum of power. "It's pristine! It hasn't shattered? How many times have you used it?"
"A few," Bell admitted vaguely. "It... hasn't broken. It just works." He carefully avoided mentioning the System Shop.
"Who made this?! How is this possible?" Welf demanded, his professional fascination overriding everything else. "This defies everything about Magic Swords!"
"That's... part of the confidentiality," Bell said firmly, taking the dagger back. He smoothly slipped it back 'into his jacket' (Inventory).
Welf stared at the spot where the dagger vanished, then at Bell, his mind racing. "What magic does it have?"
"Poison debuff on hit," Bell answered.
"Ah," Welf breathed, "so a cursed blade? Inflicts a status?"
Bell shook his head. "Cursed? No. It has magic placed on it. Like you said, releases stored magic – poison."
Welf rubbed his temples. "Right, right. Magic Sword releases magic. Cursed items inflict curses. Different beasts." He nodded, filing away the impossible puzzle of the unbreakable magic dagger. "Okay. Okay. Let's work with what we can work with." He gestured to the Raikan Fang.
Welf got to work. He fired up the forge hotter, carefully heating the incredibly hard Raikan Steel Fang. He worked with practiced skill, coating sections with powdered Adamantine to make it workable, hammering it with rhythmic, powerful blows on the anvil. The heat was intense, the clang of metal filling the smithy.
Over the hammering, Welf made small talk. "My dream," he shouted, sweat pouring down his face, "isn't to make disposable junk like those cursed Magic Swords. I want to make a blade... an enduring masterpiece! Something that surpasses even Lady Hephaestus's finest work! A sword unlike any other, forged by my hands, with my skill!" He slammed the hammer down with extra force. "That's why I need the Blacksmith Development Ability. To refine my craft to its peak. To make that dream real."
After intense work, quenching, and sharpening, Welf finally held up the finished product. The Raikan Fang had been transformed into a sleek, deadly dagger with a subtle lightning-like pattern etched into the dark steel near the guard. He expertly sheathed it in a simple leather scabbard and handed it to Bell.
[Raikan Edge]
[Item Class: D+]
[Type: Dagger]
[Effect: 5% Increased Cutting Power]
Bell was impressed by the craftsmanship. As he reached for it, Welf held onto the scabbard for a second.
"One more thing, Bell," Welf said, his expression serious. "I need a favor favor... about taking me on? I meant as your party member. Not just a supplier. I need to go into the Dungeon with you. See monsters, see how my gear performs under real pressure, find rare materials myself... that's how I'll truly grow and earn Blacksmith."
Bell felt immediate unease. Another person to involve? Another potential target for Freya... or Ishtar? The lessons with Lili, with Syr/Freya, screamed caution. He needed to know Welf's real motive. He focused, activating Sacred Insight as he asked, suspicion hardening his voice. "Your intention... joining my party. Is it only to get the Blacksmith Ability? Is there another agenda?"
Welf met Bell's gaze squarely, no hint of deception. "Only the Ability. And the chance to be your personal blacksmith, forging gear tested in the fires of your battles. That's the only agenda. Swear it on my forge."
Alarm(!)
[Skill: Sacred Insight Activated]
"Truth"
The confirmation washed over Bell. Relief replaced suspicion. A genuine smile touched his lips. He extended his hand. "Well, Welf Crozzo. It seems we'll be working together."
Welf's grin was bright and relieved. He clasped Bell's hand firmly. "Glad to hear it, Bell Cranel!"
Bell retrieved the Raikan Edge and slipped it into his belt. "I need to leave now. Meeting another party member."
Welf nodded. "Right. Don't forget your armor!" He tapped the crate holding the dark chest plate with crimson veins.
Bell hesitated. "About meeting up... Front of Babel is... too exposed. Can we meet at the Golden Boar Tavern instead? Around midday tomorrow?"
Welf saw the flicker of discomfort on Bell's face and didn't push. "Golden Boar? Sure. Know the place. Decent stew. I'll be there."
"Thanks, Welf." Bell hoisted the armor crate. He left the smithy, turned the first corner, and with a glance to ensure he was unseen, touched the crate. It vanished into his Inventory. He leaned against the cool alley wall for a moment, letting out a long sigh.
Looks like I'm roping more people into my trouble. The thought was heavy, but Welf's genuine desire and the confirmed truth offered a sliver of hope, a potential asset in the storm.
As he walked towards the Golden Boar to meet Lili, the streets seemed quieter. His hand drifted to his pocket, not pulling anything out, but feeling the weightless presence within his Inventory. His fingers brushed against the warm, solid shape of the S-Rank Key.
A shuddering breath escaped him. Tonight. Tonight, I conquer that dungeon. The resolve solidified, cold and sharp as the newly forged Raikan Edge and the new armor. The path ahead was terrifying, but he had to take it. Strength was the only currency that mattered now.
~(Scene Change Golden Boar)~
The Golden Boar's lunchtime bustle provided a welcome cloak of anonymity. A boy in a dark cloak slipped through the door, hood pulled low, scanning the crowded room. His crimson eyes quickly found a short Pallum girl, nervously perched on a stool near the back, a large, sturdy pack resting at her feet. He weaved through the tables and slid onto the stool opposite her.
"Lili," Bell murmured, pushing back his hood just enough to reveal his face.
"Master Bell," Lili replied, relief briefly flickering in her eyes before being replaced by wariness. "Lili secured the spot."
Bell signaled Sanders. "Lunch special for me, please. And... a large takeout portion of the stew and bread. To go." For Hestia, he thought, the guilt of leaving her twisting slightly.
Sanders grunted an acknowledgment, eyeing Bell's still-tired appearance but saying nothing.
As Sanders moved away, Bell turned back to Lili, his voice low. "Shopping done?"
Lili nodded, patting the heavy pack. "Potions – high-grade and standard. Rations for two weeks, preserved. Compact tent, bedrolls, reinforced lamp... all suitable for Rivira and below." She listed efficiently, the practiced Supporter taking over.
"Good," Bell said. "I got the armor. Darker than the last one, Crozzo make. Feels solid. And a new dagger he forged for me from that fang." He tapped the new, subtly patterned Raikan Edge at his belt.
Lili's eyes widened slightly in approval. "Excellent. Master Bell needs reliable gear for the deep—"
"I also contracted a blacksmith," Bell added casually. "Exclusively. Welf Crozzo."
Lili froze. Then her eyes bulged. "WHAT?!" The shriek cut through the tavern noise, drawing startled glances from nearby patrons. Lili clapped a hand over her mouth, her face flushing crimson. She leaned in, hissing furiously, "Why?! Master Bell, why would you bind yourself to someone now? At such a time! How can you trust him? Is he Freya's? Is he—"
"Lili," Bell interrupted firmly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Calm down. I used my Skill. Sacred Insight. I questioned his motives for joining us – only wants the Blacksmith Ability and to be our smith. Nothing more. Not working with Freya. Truth."
Lili deflated slightly, but suspicion still warred with pragmatism in her eyes. But A crozzo of all people do you know what they are famous for master Bell.
"He told me his family Lineage and his past so it's no reason to be suspicios. Also In conrimed his intentions with my skills. He want to Level up and Get the Blacksmith ability."
"Insight... confirmed? Just the Ability?"
"Just the Ability," Bell affirmed. "He needs to see his gear in action, find materials. It... aligns with our needs." He paused, then shifted gears. "What do you know about Ishtar Familia?"
Lili blinked, thrown by the sudden topic change. She gave him a profoundly flat look. "Ishtar Familia? Master Bell knows exactly what they are. They own the Pleasure Quarter. Powerful, ruthless, led by a goddess obsessed with beauty and control. Why?"
Bell leaned closer, his voice barely audible. "Because I stumbled on a conversation in Dedalus Street. Ishtar. Talking about Kali Familia coming to Melen with their Two Level Six, the 'Bull of Heaven'. Talking about a 'trump card' called 'Gugalana'. Talking about... war against Freya."
Lili's blood drained from her face. "W-War? Against Freya? With Kali? Two Level Sixes?!"
Bell nodded grimly. "And then Ishtar... she mentioned me. Said maybe she'd 'bring me under her wing' since I broke the record. Called me a 'viable asset'. Her advisor called me a 'threat'."
Lili slowly lowered her forehead onto the cool wood of the table with a soft thump. "Master Bell," came her muffled groan, "you are a magnet for divine-sized trouble. Freya wasn't enough? Now Ishtar and Kali?!"
A dark, humorless chuckle escaped Bell. "Seems like it. But... maybe we can use it."
Lili lifted her head, frowning. "Use it? How? We're minnows between leviathans!"
"By pitting the leviathans against each other," Bell said, his crimson eyes glinting with cold calculation. "If Ishtar and Kali are moving against Freya... we let them. We encourage it. It buys us time. Freya focused on them means less focus on hunting me."
Lili stared at him, aghast. "Pit them...? Master Bell, that's... cruel. And incredibly dangerous. If they find out..."
"It's not like I want to be caught in their crossfire" Bell retorted, a flash of frustration in his voice. "But I am. And if their fight gives me the weeks, the days I need to get stronger in the System Dungeon? I'll take it." His gaze hardened. "I'm diving into the Dungeon tonight, Lili. Alone. The Rating... it's too high for you right now."
Lili opened her mouth to argue, her Supporter instincts screaming.
"No," Bell cut her off, his voice leaving no room for debate. "You aren't ready for that level yet. Your job is to stay safe, gather intel, and be ready to move fast tomorrow. We make a beeline for the 18th floor the moment I'm back." He saw the protest die in her eyes, replaced by reluctant acceptance. "We need that safe haven."
Lili sighed, a world-weary sound. "No rest for the wicked, it seems. Fine. Master Bell dives tonight. Lili prepares. But about Ishtar's 'trump card'... Gugalana? If they have something hidden, something potent against Freya... we need rumors. Whispers in the underworld. Lili can try to tap her old contacts, listen carefully."
Bell nodded. "Good. Do that. And... there's another player we might nudge." He paused, a thoughtful, almost sad expression crossing his face. "Loki Familia."
Lili blinked. "Loki? How? They hate Freya, yes, but..."
"Kali Familia is coming to Melen," Bell said slowly, the plan forming as he spoke. "But what if... they were lured to Orario sooner? What if they thought Freya was making a move against them? Or against Ishtar in Melen? It could accelerate Ishtar's plans... force the conflict faster."
Lili's eyes narrowed. "How would we do that? Send a message?"
Bell gave a small, sad smile. "My old self... he wouldn't have considered this. But this is survival, Lili." The sadness vanished, replaced by a sly grin that looked utterly foreign on his usually earnest face. "Tell me... can you forge things? Like... Familia emblems? Or replicate specific clothing?"
Lili's breath hitched. She instantly understood. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock, then slowly, a dark, matching grin spread across her own face. A low, chilling chuckle escaped her. "Oh my... Master Bell. How... devious." Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous mix of fear and admiration. "Forging Freya Familia emblems... creating 'evidence' of Freya agents acting against Kali in Melen... or provoking Ishtar directly..." She nodded slowly, the Supporter's cunning fully engaged. "Lili knows people... discreet people. It can be done. Risky... but possible."
Bell held her gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between them. They were no longer just hiding. They were maneuvering pieces on Orario's deadly chessboard. Sanders chose that moment to slam down Bell's lunch and the takeout bag with a grunt, breaking the intense moment.
"Eat up, kid. You look like you need it more'n ever," Sanders muttered, giving Bell's pale, determined face a knowing look before walking away.
Bell picked up his fork, the weight of their conspiracy heavy, but the S-Rank Key a burning promise of power in his pocket. Tonight, the System Dungeon. Tomorrow, the depths of Orario's Dungeon. And somewhere in the shadows, a forged emblem would begin a war. He took a shuddering breath. The path was dark, but it was the only path forward.