The scent removal potion was complete within two hours, a glass bottle filled with an orange colored liquid being the potion in question.
Naaza giddily exited the back room happily producing the potion and handing it over to Neme who silently accepted the bottle of potion.
Having already paid and requiring nothing further he just left, having concluded his business.
The giddy Naaza stood at the counter watching his back fade before being obscured from sight by the shop door closing.
Outside, Neme walked on, leaving the blue pharmacy behind but noting its location in his mind, a fine shop out of the way where he could acquire potions and place custom orders without needing to wait long and pay a premium for their discretion.
With the potion sorted, Neme let the rhythm of Orario's streets pull him along, boots striking stone in a steady cadence that matched the ticking clock in his head.
Five days.
Five days of blood, stone, and silence beneath the city.
Five days of crawling back out of the Dungeon with aching muscles, split knuckles, and a body that no longer felt entirely like it had when he first arrived.
Less than forty-eight hours remained.
He didn't rush.
Rushing drew attention.
Attention killed people—especially people who didn't belong to a Familia and didn't want questions asked about why.
He cut through side streets instead of main roads, avoiding plazas where gods congregated out of boredom, avoiding the Guild entirely.
He passed adventurers laughing too loudly, drunk on survival and ego.
Passed beastkin with twitching ears and alert noses, their instincts sharp even at rest.
Passed gods reclining in doorways or perched on balconies, playing at being mortal while never quite understanding what mortality cost.
Soma's name echoed in his thoughts, not with hatred, but with utility.
Useless god.
Neglectful.
Detached.
Accessible.
He found an abandoned storehouse near the outer edge of Soma Familia territory—a structure long since claimed by dust and spiders rather than people.
There, in the dim afternoon light filtering through cracked boards, he laid everything out.
Weapons.
Clothing.
Potion.
And himself.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling how differently they moved now.
How the stiffness that had once plagued him after each Dungeon dive was less severe, fading faster.
His breathing was deeper, steadier.
His reflexes sharper.
His self-falna, a source of his personal growth one tied to him like a golden finger, or system common among transmigrators.
He was still only Level 1.
Even if he was a level breaker it still was not enough to fight a god's Familia head-on.
Which was fine.
He wasn't here to fight a Familia, perhaps eliminate a few rotten eggs within a familia, but not everyone had been corrupted as deeply as their gods.
He uncorked the potion.
The scent that rose from the bottle was well absent, almost as if the air around the uncorked bottle itself lost all scent as well, it was unpleasant to say the least.
Not something meant to be consumed, but instead endured.
He hesitated only a second before downing it in one swallow.
The taste was far from bland, instead it was like you'd taken every flavor ever, before merging them together into one ultra disgusting flavor.
But from that came a warmth that spread from his belly, a feeling of the magical ability coating his entire body.
Like something fundamental had been scrubbed away.
He inhaled slowly, experimentally.
Breathing out he could no longer smell his own breath, in fact even after an entire dungeon dive still under his belt without showering he couldnt tell that he was in need desperately of one.
Even his clothes seemed muted, their presence dulled.
Beastkin would hate this.
Satisfied, he changed into the black clothing, securing the daggers at his thighs.
He left his usual Dungeon-worn gear behind, stashed beneath rotting boards.
If the job went well, he would return ready to change back from Nemesis to Neme, redoning his gear, while burning the temporary clothing he was wearing now.
And if the job didnt go well, well... nothing really would matter as he'd be dead.
Dusk settled over Orario as he moved.
Soma Familia territory was quieter than most.
Not abandoned—never truly—but lacking the restless energy of more active Familias.
Guards stood at the perimeter, alert enough to do their jobs but not expecting trouble.
Why would they?
Their god hadn't left the manor in days.
Weeks, maybe.
He rarely did anymore, and most of Orario actively avoided the Soma mansion for fear of being extorted by the Soma Famila members who were more bandits than adventurers.
Neme watched from a rooftop, crouched low, the roof tiles cold beneath his palms.
Guard rotations were sloppy.
Predictable.
He counted steps.
Measured pauses.
Watched how often eyes drifted.
Noted which guards drank on duty, which leaned too heavily on their spears.
The dungeon had taught him how to fight, meanwhile this was teaching him how to hunt.
When he moved, it was without flourish.
Down the side of a building.
Across a narrow alley.
Over a low wall.
The scent potion did its work—no alarm, no twitching ears, no sudden turns of heads.
He slipped past the outer patrol and into the shadow of the manor grounds.
The building itself was large but unpretentious.
Stone walls.
Narrow windows.
No grand statues.
No ostentatious displays of wealth.
It felt less like a god's residence and more like a warehouse that had forgotten its purpose.
Fitting.
As the Soma familia had started off with noble endevours but with their Patron god, trying to come up with a means to incentivize his familia, he instead caused them to become addicted to his wine, in the end commiting themselves to the pursuit of valis, valis to support their gods brewing habits and to earn the rights to taste the divine wine once more.
Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of wine.
Not fresh. Old. Stale.
Saturated into wood and fabric and stone.
The corridors were dimly lit, torches burning low, their flames neglected.
Somewhere deeper inside, voices murmured—Familia members, likely drunk or half-asleep.
He avoided them.
Stairs creaked softly under his weight, but no one stirred.
His boots barely whispered against the floor.
Each step was deliberate, placed where boards were strongest, where shadows were thickest.
The first floor was the common areas for the familia, meanwhile the second floor was the personal room for God Soma, where all his brewing attempts were made, and beside that was the Familia captain Zanis's room, along with the familia treasury.
If Neme was to say one thing, his primary target during this invasion was God Soma himself, but the secondary target was Captain Zanis, the man who was the driving force behind God Soma to give up and allow things to progress to this state.
To ensure the corruption spreading from this neglectful gods familia didnt find its way into another gods familia Zanis alongside Soma would need to fall.
Without both their pillars of support the remaining Soma familia members being a motley collection of level 1's and 2's would fall by the wayside, being subdued easily by the cities guardians, the Ganesha familia, or even overcoming their addictions once Soma's wine became impossible to obtain and returning to the light and progressing forward as adventurer's should.