Floor Forty Eight stretched before them like a sleeping giant, all black stone ridges and rivers of hardened magma that glimmered faintly under the Dungeon's eerie glow. The air was hotter here, thinner somehow, as if even the world was holding its breath for what waited below.
The expedition advanced in disciplined formation. Loki Familia at the core. Ryuu and Samira moving along the flanks. Scouts weaving in and out like shadows stitched into the edges of the path. And yet, the deeper they went, the quieter it became.
Too quiet.
Finn's sharp eyes swept across the terrain. His spear rested casually on his shoulder, but there was nothing casual about the way he walked. Every step was calculated. Every glance measured.
"It seems you've really done well here," Finn said calmly, breaking the silence. "We haven't had too many monsters attack."
Damien shrugged, hands tucked into his coat as if they were strolling through a market instead of the upper threshold of hell. "I suppose so. I had a fight with a few monsters here. Cleared some nests. I even ran into the Obsidian Colossus."
Gareth's thick brows shot up. "Huh. You met an Irregular beast… and came out on top." He barked out a laugh that echoed off the cavern walls. "Kid, are you sure you're only Level Four?"
Damien smiled faintly. "Last I checked."
"Well, we all saw Damien defeat a Level Six without his Shadows around," Finn added evenly. "If we judge by combat performance alone, he's already operating at that tier."
Riveria adjusted her glasses, emerald eyes glancing sideways at Damien. "It is quite odd how strong you are. You break the norms we know as adventurers."
Damien rubbed the back of his head, almost sheepish. "I just work hard, I guess."
Gareth snorted. "Work hard, he says. You train like a madman and fight like a veteran who's seen three wars. That's not just hard work. That's something else."
Finn's lips curved faintly. "It's only fair we consider him an equal. Damien has established himself well in the last three months."
"Indeed," Riveria agreed. "He has shown excellent maturity, decision making, and battlefield awareness. I see no issue acknowledging that."
As she finished speaking, she stepped slightly closer, her shoulder brushing against his. It looked almost accidental. Almost.
Gareth noticed.
His grin widened.
"Well, if he's managed to get the approval of our bookworm and tame her, then he's already qualified."
Riveria's staff moved faster than most people could blink.
Thunk.
It struck Gareth cleanly on the head.
"What do you mean 'tame her'?" she said coolly, though the faintest flush had reached the tips of her ears.
Gareth rubbed his head, laughing anyway. "Just saying what everyone's thinking."
Before Riveria could retort again, Damien's arm slid around her waist.
Not hesitantly.
Not playfully.
Firm. Natural. As if it had always belonged there.
He pulled her slightly closer, his voice low enough that only those nearest could hear. "Now, now. You don't have to be shy. I don't care what others think. Neither should you."
Riveria stiffened for half a heartbeat.
The expedition continued marching.
Ais walked ahead, expression blank, though her eyes flicked back once. Tiona smirked openly. Tione clicked her tongue in mild annoyance. Ryuu observed in silence, unreadable as ever.
Riveria glanced around.
Every member of Loki Familia was pretending not to stare.
She did not push him away.
Instead, she adjusted her glasses again and said calmly, "Public displays should not interfere with operational efficiency."
"Of course," Damien replied smoothly.
Gareth burst out laughing again. "HAHA! Who would've thought our Riveria would tolerate public affection!"
Riveria lifted her staff threateningly.
Gareth immediately straightened. "Right. Tactical silence. Very important."
Finn cleared his throat, amusement flickering in his eyes but voice returning to steel. "Enough. We are approaching the descent path to Forty Nine."
...
Back in Orario, the Hestia District carried its usual rhythm of clanking steel, distant laughter, and the scent of baked bread drifting lazily through the streets. Compared to the inferno of the lower floors, it felt almost unreal. Like a painting of peace hung over a city that never truly slept.
Inside the forge, sparks leapt like captive stars.
Welf stood before the anvil, hammer rising and falling in steady cadence. Each strike rang sharp and clean, a blacksmith's heartbeat echoing through the workshop. The blade under his hands glowed orange, veins of heat pulsing across its surface.
The door creaked open.
"Sir Welf…"
He didn't look up immediately. "What is it, Damia?"
Damia stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The Amazonian still carried herself like a warrior despite the apron tied around her waist. Her bronze skin caught the forge light, muscles taut even at rest. After Ishtar's fall, she had wandered without banner or home. No Familia suited her. So she chose coin and purpose instead. Serving as Welf's assistant was simple. Honest work. And Finn paid well.
"There's… quite a suspicious person at the door," she said carefully. "He's asking for something he called a protection fee."
The hammer stopped midair.
"Protection fee?" Welf repeated flatly.
He set the hammer down and wiped his hands on a cloth before walking toward the front of the shop.
Behind the counter stood a man dressed entirely in black. Black coat. Black gloves. Black shades that hid his eyes even indoors. His posture screamed confidence, but it was the greasy kind. The sort that stuck to you.
"Ah, Mr. Welf," the man said smoothly. "Good afternoon."
Welf leaned one elbow on the counter. "Welcome to my shop. What do you want?"
The man smiled thinly. "I came to collect, of course. You're new here, so perhaps you don't understand how things operate. I'll explain."
"Collect?" Welf's eyes hardened. "Collect what?"
"We have an agreement with the district owners," the man said, lowering his voice slightly. "We operate quietly. Ensure every shop is protected from unfortunate incidents. In exchange for a small monthly contribution."
The air cooled instantly.
Welf's jaw tightened. "Protection? Sorry. I don't need any. And I highly doubt you have any agreement with the Hestia Familia to operate here."
The man's smile didn't move, but something behind it shifted.
"So I suggest," Welf continued, voice sharpening like a newly forged blade, "you get the hell out of my store before I report you to them."
Silence lingered.
The man adjusted his shades with one gloved finger.
"Well… I warned you, sir. There are quite the evil, shady people around these parts. Accidents happen. Fires spread. Merchandise disappears." His lips curved slightly. "So be careful."
He turned and walked out without another word.
The bell above the door jingled softly.
Welf watched him disappear down the street, irritation burning hotter than the forge behind him.
"A bunch of ruffians," he muttered. "Tsk."
Damia stepped closer. "Do you know anything about them?"
"Not a damn thing," Welf replied. "What about you? Anything from your Ishtar days?"
She shook her head. "Ishtar wasn't exactly open about her deals to low leveled adventurers. If something like this existed, it stayed above my pay grade."
Welf folded his arms, gaze drifting toward the street again. The Hestia District was supposed to be clean. Quiet. Hestia might be small time compared to the major familias, but she had allies now. Powerful ones.
And someone was testing that.
"I see…" he said slowly.
Then he exhaled through his nose.
"We're closing early."
Damia blinked. "Sir?"
Welf grabbed his coat from the rack and shrugged it on. "If someone thinks they can run a racket in Hestia's backyard, she deserves to know."
He stepped toward the door, expression firm.
"Let's go meet the Goddess. I've got a feeling she won't like this one bit."
Outside, the late afternoon sun dipped lower over Orario.
And somewhere in the streets, men in black shades watched.
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