After the adventurers carved out a breather, Tsunayoshi's puppet appeared.
"Tsunayoshi!" Tione hopped over, bright as a spark. "Your real body—are you okay?"
"I'm fine," the puppet rumbled, shaking its head. "A reinforced strain doesn't trouble me much."
Its eyes flickered toward her. Tione blinked, then understood—there was more to say, just not here.
Finn cut in smoothly. "Open the entrance to the Rest Space first. Everyone inside. We need time to reset—gear repairs, bandages, the works. We'll rest an extra day."
"Captain! An extra day?" The protest rose from the ranks at once. They felt good—better to ride the rhythm than cool off, right?
"Then look at your weapons," Finn said mildly.
Heads dropped. A day's hard push had carved spider-fine cracks into blades; armor plates were a patchwork of dents and tears. Their gear had eaten a storm of blows for them. Marching on like this was asking to be fed to the Dungeon.
"I know you're keyed up," Finn went on. "But weigh your bodies and your kit. You can treat a cut with potions. A sword needs a smith. Think about their load too."
That conjured the morning's sight: black-eyed smiths swaying on their feet, one gust from keeling over. If the workshop saw today's wreckage roll in, half of them would look ready to die.
Faces twisted. Yeah—push the craftsmen like this and you'd wreck more than shields. Deep Floors from 40 down would chew durability faster; ordinary weapons barely bit down there. Tactics would shift—more shields, more bows, more arrows—and the workshop would have to churn all that out.
"Another day of rest," someone muttered, resigned. "I can already see the smiths' death stares."
"Same. I can feel the curses from here."
When the mood had turned, Finn tipped his chin to the puppet. The gateway irised open. One by one, adventurers shouldered their battered gear and stepped through. No expensive potions tonight—just herbs and cloth. A day's sleep would do most of the healing.
Once the line had filed away, the last of the familia's heavy hitters exchanged a look. The puppet gestured; space folded, and the elite core dropped into the extradimensional chamber.
All eyes slid to Tsunayoshi, seated within.
Bete spoke first. "You said you got targeted. By who?"
Finn's expression tightened, attention narrowing.
"The Dark Faction has me in their sights," Tsuna said simply. "They probed me again."
"Again?" Tiona's eyes went wide. "Didn't they learn the first time?"
"No." Tsuna shook his head. "They learned. Which is why they didn't pull a Valletta and stroll up to my face. Without knowing the range of my spatial tricks—or even my current movements—they won't risk a direct poke."
"They can't afford to bet wrong," he added. "So this time they sent something disposable. An externalized puppet—a 'fae' embryo."
"Fae!?" Voices rose. Ais's eyes widened a fraction.
"How does a fae end up in bed with the Dark Faction?" Bete blurted. History and scripture both painted fae as the gods' agents—aid to mortals, not accomplices to world-burners.
"Real fae don't," Tsuna said. "I'm talking about a fae that got swallowed by a Dungeon monster—then reversed and swallowed the monster from the inside. A fae whose core was twisted by the Dungeon's malice toward gods and humans. That kind crawls toward the Dark Faction."
He threw a projection into the air: an unformed human embryo, skin a glassy green, face cherubic—and then its eyes snapped open. The infant mask curdled into naked loathing.
No one needed another lecture. The image alone answered the question.
Too evil for any other company.
(End of Chapter)
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