Bell Cranel froze.
The comforting aroma of stew and ale that Syr brought turned cloying as Bell froze. Syr stood before him, her usual playful smile faltering at his reaction. But Bell didn't see Syr – he saw the system's damning notification burning in his vision:
(!)ALARM
[Effect: Sacred Insight has activated.]
[Divine Presence Detected: Concealed Arcanum]
[Source: Syr Flova]
The bustling noise of the Hostess of Fertility faded into a dull roar, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of his own heart. He stared at Syr—no, at the presence radiating from her—with the wide-eyed terror of a rabbit cornered by a wolf. His forced smile shattered like glass, replaced by raw, unguarded shock and a dawning horror that chilled him to the bone.
Divinity.
It was unmistakable. The same subtle, overwhelming pressure he felt when Hestia occasionally let her power leak through her mortal vessel, that sense of ancient, boundless otherness. But this... this was different. Contained, yes, expertly veiled beneath the warm, mischievous persona of Syr Flover, yet undeniably present. And infinitely more potent than Hestia's gentle glow. It wasn't just divine; it felt... primordial. Like staring into the heart of a star cloaked in velvet.
"Syr..." The name felt like ash on his tongue. His mind reeled, scrambling for purchase. The cheerful waitress who teased him, slipped him extra bread, encouraged him with bright smiles... it was all a facade? An act? Who was she? What was she? Was she even Syr at all?
(!)ALARM
[Effect: Sacred Insight has activated.]
[Presence Detected: Divine Entity (Veiled). Threat Level: Unknown. Recommendation: Extreme Caution.]
The system's cold notification only confirmed the terrifying reality. His stomach clenched, the meager contents threatening to rebel. The comforting scents of stew and ale turned cloying, suffocating. The curious, skeptical, and jealous stares from the other patrons suddenly felt like knives pricking his skin. He was exposed. Vulnerable. Standing before something far beyond his comprehension, wearing the face of someone he'd naively trusted.
"Bell?" Syr's smile faltered, genuine concern flickering in her blue eyes – eyes that now seemed impossibly deep, holding galaxies of hidden knowledge. She took a hesitant step closer, setting her tray down on the counter. "Are you alright? You look... pale. More than just tired." Her voice, usually warm and lilting, held an unnerving resonance beneath its surface, a vibration that hummed against his bones.
Ryuu, standing beside him, subtly shifted her stance. Her elven senses, honed by trauma and vigilance, had clearly picked up on the sudden, terrifying shift in the air, the almost imperceptible change in Syr's aura, and Bell's visceral reaction. Her hand, resting near the small of her back where a dagger likely resided, twitched almost imperceptibly. Her stoic expression hardened into one of intense scrutiny, her gaze darting between Bell's frozen terror and Syr's concerned facade.
Divinity. The realization struck like physical blow. The same otherworldly resonance he sensed from Hestia pulsed beneath Syr's cheerful facade – expertly hidden, but to Sacred Insight, it blazed like a shrouded sun. His friend. The girl who packed his lunches. A god? a puppet of the system? The cozy pub suddenly felt like a gilded cage.
"Bell?" Syr reached out, her hand brushing his. "You're white as a sheet! Did Anya's cooking finally—"
Skin against skin. But the touch now felt so foreign like a sweet lie that wants him to forget the uncertainty and embrace the illusion that was built up in front of him.
Bell recoiled violently, knocking his stool backward with a clatter. He stumbled back, breathing ragged, the phantom scent of blood and charred stone overwhelming the pub's warmth.
Syr froze, hand suspended mid-air, genuine hurt flashing in her grey eyes before being masked by deeper concern. "Bell? What's wrong?"
Beside him, Ryuu moved with silent efficiency. She stepped subtly between Bell and Syr, placing a tray on the counter with deliberate calm. "Give him space, Syr," she murmured, her voice low but firm. Her sharp green eyes scanned Bell – the tremor in his hands, the dilated pupils, the way his gaze darted like a trapped animal. She saw the fracture lines of profound trauma, fresh and raw beneath the surface. "Mister Cranel. Breathe. You are safe here."
Before Bell could attempt a lie, a hulking figure shoved through the crowd. Mord, a level 2 boar-human adventurer known for his temper and envy, loomed over Bell, reeking of cheap ale and aggression. "Safe? Doesn't look safe. Looks like the 'record breaker' can't handle his nerves!" Mord sneered, jabbing a thick finger at Bell's chest. "Level Two in a month? Bullshit! How much did you pay the Guild, pretty boy? Or did your goddess suck off—"
(!)ALARM
[Killing Intent Detected: Source - Mord (Lv. 2)]
[Threat Level: Moderate]
[Recommendation: Evasion/Neutralization]
The system's cold warning sliced through Bell's panic. He saw it – the subtle shift in Mord's stance, the predatory gleam in his bloodshot eyes, the hand clenched into a fist moving for a right hook. It was the same look Canoe had worn seconds before attacking. He means to draw blood.
Bell didn't think. He moved. Days of dodging monsters translated into instinct. As Mord's hand flashed towards his face, Bell sidestepped with prernatural speed, his Agility-enhanced body flowing around the lunge. Mord's fist whistled through empty air, his momentum carrying him stumbling forward.
"ENOUGH!" Mia's roar shook the mugs on their hooks. She materialized beside Mord like an avenging spirit, her short frame radiating terrifying authority. Her heavy fist connected with Mord's jaw with a sickening crack. The boar-human crashed to the floor, unconscious before he hit the sawdust. Mia glared around the silenced pub, her gaze promising violence. "Next idiot who starts trouble gets fed to the Hellhounds! Through their arse!" She grabbed Mord's ankle and began dragging his bulk towards the door with terrifying ease.
The tension broke, replaced by murmurs and wary glances. Bell stood trembling, the system's alert fading but leaving adrenaline scorching his veins. He'd moved to evade, not attack. Small mercies.
Ryuu was at his side instantly, her voice low and urgent. "The cellar. Now." She didn't ask. She guided him firmly by the elbow, away from the staring eyes, past a stricken-looking Syr, and down a narrow hallway towards the storage rooms. She pushed open a heavy door revealing a cool, dimly lit space smelling of earth and stored vegetables, shutting the world out behind them.
Bell slumped against a stack of grain sacks, pressing his forehead against the rough burlap. The coolness was a minor relief against the fire in his skull.
Ryuu didn't offer false comfort. She stood before him, arms crossed, her gaze piercing. "That wasn't just an ambush," she stated flatly. "You reacted to Mord's killing intent like a veteran, but you flinch from a friend's touch. You smell of dungeon stone, grim, and…" she paused, nostrils flaring slightly, "...old blood. Not yours."
Bell stiffened. He'd used Status Recovery to cleanse himself, but Ryuu was an elf, her senses honed by years in the shadows.
"What happened with your supporter?" Ryuu pressed, her voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "Did she lure you into a trap? Did you…" Her green eyes held his, unflinching. "...have to kill to get out?"
The directness stole Bell's breath. Ryuu saw too much. The lie he'd prepared – a monster ambush, a narrow escape – died on his lips. He couldn't meet her gaze. He stared at his own hands, clean now, but forever stained in his mind.
"Her Familia," he rasped, the words scraping his throat raw. "They… found us. They weren't… they weren't just thieves." He squeezed his eyes shut, seeing Canoe's snarling face. "They wanted to get back at her. They wanted… me gone. Permanently."
He didn't say the words I killed them. He didn't need to. The haunted look in his eyes, the tremor that ran through him, the scent Ryuu detected – it painted the horrific picture. The shame was a physical weight, crushing him against the sacks.
Ryuu was silent for a long moment, the only sound Bell's ragged breathing. "Survival," she said finally, the word stark and unadorned. "Orario eats the weak. You protected yourself and your charge." There was no judgment in her voice, only a weary understanding that spoke of her own dark history. "But the cost is heavy. It leaves marks the Status Board doesn't show."
Bell finally looked up, surprised by the lack of condemnation. "You… don't think I'm…?"
"A monster?" Ryuu finished softly. She shook her head. "Monsters don't tremble. Monsters don't recoil from kindness. You carry the weight. That alone tells me what I need to know." She placed a clean canteen of water beside him. "Stay as long as you need. When you're ready, I'll get your order to go. Lady Hestia will be waiting."
She turned and left the cellar, leaving Bell alone with the haunting ghosts and the suffocating silence.
The food for Hestia and Lili sat untouched on the small table in the pub. Bell sat on the edge of the seat, watching the moonlight paint silver stripes across the floor.
But Bell couldn't find peace. Syr's face, etched with hurt when he recoiled, warred with the system's damning readout in his mind. Concealed Arcanum. Divine power hidden behind a waitress's apron. The predatory gaze from Babel made more sense now. The grimoire suddenly appearing in his path. Coincidence? Or careful design?
The kindness – the lunches, the encouragement, the gentle teasing – had it all been a lie? A god's game? Was he just a fascinating insect under a divine magnifying glass?
The questions gnawed at him, sharper than any dungeon beast's fang.
He walked with no clear destination, his feet carrying him back towards the only person that held the answer he both craved and feared. The Hostess was dark, closed for hours. But a sliver of light spilled from beneath the side door leading to the staff quarters.
Taking a breath that did nothing to steady him, Bell knocked softly.
Seconds later, the door opened. Syr stood there, still in her work dress, her hair slightly mussed, her grey eyes wide with surprise that quickly morphed into deep concern. "Bell? What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Did something happen ?"
"Can we talk?" His voice was hoarse. "Please?"
Syr hesitated only a moment, then stepped back, gesturing him into the small, neat sitting room used by the staff. She closed the door, the click echoing in the quiet space. "Of course. Sit. Do you want tea? You look…" She trailed off, searching his face.
Bell remained standing, tension coiling through him. He looked at her – really looked. At the faint smudge of flour near her temple, at the genuine worry in her eyes, at the ordinary human girl he'd laughed with just days before. But beneath it, he felt it – that subtle, unnerving thrum of power Sacred Insight had unveiled.
"Syr," he began, the words feeling like shards of glass in his throat. "All this time… the lunches, the jokes, the way you always seem to know when I'm feeling low…" He met her gaze, his own eyes haunted, desperate. "Is it real?"
Syr blinked, taken aback. "Is what real, Bell?"
"This!" He gestured vaguely between them, frustration and fear bleeding into his voice. "You! Are you… are you really just Syr? Or is this all…" He struggled for the word, not daring to say divinity, deception. "...an act? Are you hiding something? Something… big?"
Syr's expression shifted. The playful warmth faded, replaced by a stillness that was profoundly un-Syr-like. The air in the small room seemed to grow heavier, charged. The lamplight flickered. For a heartbeat, Bell saw something ancient and immeasurable looking out from behind her grey eyes – a glimpse of the power concealed beneath the waitress's skin. It wasn't threatening, but it was vast, alien, and utterly terrifying in its depth.
Then, it was gone. Syr Flova was back, but her smile was sadder, softer. She stepped closer, but didn't touch him. "Oh, Bell," she whispered, her voice thick with an emotion he couldn't name – sorrow? Regret? Affection? "I hide many things. This city… it forces us to. But what I feel when I pack your lunch? When I see you walk back from the dungeon, tired but alive? When I tease you until you blush?" A genuine, trembling smile touched her lips. "That's the realest thing I know."
She reached out slowly, telegraphing her movement, and gently cupped his cheek. This time, Bell didn't flinch, though the divine resonance beneath her touch sent shivers down his spine. Her hand was warm. Human.
"I care about you, Bell Cranel," she said, her gaze unwavering, impossibly deep. "That is not an act. That is a promise. And whatever else I am… whatever I hide… that truth remains."
Alert(!)
[Skill: Scared Insight Activated]
"Truth"
This caused Bell to have complicated feeling.
Bell stared into her eyes, lost in the storm of contradictions – the divine power humming beneath her skin, the undeniable sincerity in her voice, the terrifying implications of her existence. The system's warning pulsed silently in his mind, a constant reminder of the impossible gulf between them.
He believed her. And that, somehow, made everything infinitely more terrifying. He pulled back gently, breaking the contact, the phantom warmth of divinity lingering on his skin.
"I… I need to go," he stammered, turning towards the door, his mind reeling. "Hestia…"
"Bell," Syr called softly as he reached for the handle. He paused but didn't turn. "Whatever darkness you faced today… whatever choices you made to survive… don't let it steal the light I see in you. Please."
He didn't answer. He couldn't. He slipped out into the cold Orario night, leaving the divine enigma who called herself Syr standing alone in the lamplight, her promise hanging in the air like a fragile, impossible hope. The walk back to the church was a blur, the moonlight now feeling cold and watchful. He had no answers, only deeper questions and the crushing weight of blood on his hands, divine eyes on his back, and a system that demanded ever more from his fractured soul.
Mama Mia, wiping the same glass with unnecessary vigor, narrowed her eyes. "Kid? You gonna be allright if anything is bothering you ? Spit it out." Her gruffness couldn't mask the sharp intelligence in her gaze. She sensed the tension crackling between the three of them, a dangerous static in the air of her usually boisterous pub.
Bell couldn't speak. Words tangled in his throat, choked by the sheer, suffocating weight of the revelation. His mind raced through every interaction:
Her persistent curiosity about his growth.The unnerving accuracy of her insights.The way she pushed the Grimoire on him.Her almost... possessive interest.
Had it all been calculated? Was he just an experiment to this divine being playing human?
The implications were staggering, terrifying. If Syr was divine... who did she serve? What was her purpose here, in this pub, interacting with him? Was she connected to the system? To the entity within him? Panic, cold and sharp, began to slice through the initial shock. He was trapped. Surrounded by potential enemies – the suspicious adventurers, the perceptive Ryuu and Mia, and now this.
He needed to get out. Now.
"B-Bell?" Syr tried again, her voice softer, laced with a worry that felt terrifyingly genuine yet impossibly alien coming from a goddess. She reached out a hand, intending perhaps to touch his arm.
Instinct, honed by the dungeon and the day's brutal violence, flared. Bell flinched back violently, his feet scraping loudly against the stone floor. The sudden movement drew more stares, whispers intensifying.
"I... I have to go," he stammered, the words thick and clumsy. He fumbled in his pouch, pulling out a handful of valis far exceeding the cost of a simple takeaway meal and slapping them onto the counter. Quick. Please." His eyes darted towards the door, a desperate escape route.
Syr's hand hung in the air for a moment before slowly lowering. Her expression shifted, the concern deepening into something more complex – hurt? Confusion? Annoyance at the disruption of her game? It was impossible to tell beneath the veil of divinity. Her blue eyes seemed to darken, boring into him with an intensity that felt like physical pressure.
"Bell, wait," she said, her voice losing its warmth, gaining an edge of command that resonated with unnatural power. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"
The command, subtle but undeniable, sent a fresh wave of icy fear down Bell's spine. It wasn't a request. It was an order from something infinitely greater than himself. The system's alert pulsed like a warning siren in his mind.
Alert(!)
[Divine Command Detected. Khandirus Blessing Actiavted...]
[Stat Check: ??? vs Divine Presence (???)]
[Result: Complete Mind Resistance. Mental coercion reduced. All abnormal Status returned to normal]
He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. He felt the compulsion, the overwhelming desire to sit back down, to spill his fears, his guilt, the horrifying events of the day to this beautiful, terrifying entity. It was a siren song wrapped in concern. But the image of Hestia, asleep and hungry in the church, and Lili, broken yet clinging to him, flashed in his mind. He couldn't succumb. Not here. Not to her.
" I have to go!" His voice came out louder, sharper than intended, edged with panic. He ignored the stunned looks from nearby patrons, ignored Mia's deepening frown, ignored the way Ryuu's hand now rested firmly on what was undoubtedly a weapon beneath her apron. His eyes locked with Syr's for one terrifying, electric second. In that instant, he saw past the veil – not a clear image, but a glimpse of vast, ancient power, of amusement mixed with sharp curiosity and... something darker, hungrier, lurking beneath the surface. It wasn't malice, not exactly. It was the gaze of a collector observing a rare, fascinating insect.
He tore his eyes away, the contact feeling like touching a live wire. Turning abruptly, he nearly collided with Chloe, who was emerging from the kitchen with a steaming pot.
"Woah there, cutie! Where's the fire?" she chirped, oblivious to the tension.
Bell didn't answer. He sidestepped her, his movements jerky with adrenaline, and practically bolted for the door. The bell above it jingled violently as he shoved it open, stumbling out into the cool night air of Orario. He didn't look back. He couldn't. The feeling of being watched, of divine eyes boring into his retreating back, was overwhelming.
He ran. Not with the smooth, efficient stride of an adventurer, but with the desperate, stumbling gait of a prey animal fleeing an apex predator. The familiar streets of Orario, usually a backdrop to his dreams of heroism, now felt like a maze of shadows, every alley a potential ambush, every flickering lamplight revealing hidden eyes. His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale tasting of cold fear and the lingering scent of the pub – and beneath it, the terrifying, intoxicating trace of divinity.
He ran past late-night vendors closing stalls, past drunken adventurers weaving their way home, past watchful Ganesha Familia guards patrolling their district. He didn't stop until the dilapidated steeple of the abandoned church came into view, a dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. Only then, clutching the stitch in his side, did he slow, leaning against a crumbling stone wall, gasping for air.
He was safe. Physically, at least. But the church walls couldn't shield him from the earthquake rocking his world. Syr was a god. A powerful one. And she had been watching him. Closely. Playing a role.
Why?
The question screamed in his mind, louder than the phantom cries of the men he'd killed. Was it just amusement? Was it his rapid growth? Was it... the system? Or the entity within him? Did she know? Had she orchestrated the Grimoire? Was his entire life since coming to Orario just a stage for divine games?
He slid down the wall, landing heavily on the cold cobblestones, burying his face in his hands. The weight of the day – the killings, the guilt, Hestia's tears, Lili's transformation, and now this – crashed down on him with crushing force. The emotional dampening of the system felt like a thin dam holding back a tsunami of despair, confusion, and terror. He felt fractured, lost in a labyrinth where the walls were closing in, painted with the faces of the dead and the unknowable eyes of gods.
He had no food for Hestia. He'd fled like a coward. He'd left Syr... the goddess... undoubtedly suspicious, perhaps even angry. He'd drawn attention to himself in the pub. And he was no closer to understanding the forces manipulating his life.
The image of Syr's face, the mask of concern slipping to reveal that ancient, hungry gaze, burned behind his eyelids. A friend? An enemy? A predator toying with its food? He had no answers. Only a terrifying certainty: nothing would ever be simple again. Trust was a luxury he could no longer afford. The warm, welcoming lights of the Hostess of Fertility now seemed like the glowing eyes of a beast lying in wait.
Bell Cranel, the boy who dreamed of being a hero, sat alone in the cold dark, the taste of blood from biting his lips and divinity heavy on his tongue, the weight of secrets and sins pressing down until he could barely breathe. The path forward was shrouded in shadow, and the most dangerous monsters, he was realizing, didn't always lurk in the Dungeon's depths. Sometimes, they served you ale and smiled with godlike eyes.
He Needed answers and to clear his mind and he knew one place he could get it but first needed to clear his mind and the turmoil in his heart ….this.
BETRAYAL
He is not going to get hunted like a rabbit. He cannot let fear consume him. The whole lot of mixture of emotion wants him to wail out his sorrow but the emotional damper of the system won't let him.
So, he ran again.
The only thing he did while coming to Orario.
~(Scene Change)~
The heavy oak door of Captain Zanis's private office slammed shut, muffling the raucous, drunken clamor of the Soma Familia's main hall. Zanis leaned back in his worn leather chair, the scent of cheap wine and unwashed bodies clinging to the air even here. He swirled the dregs of his own glass – a marginally better vintage pilfered from Soma's dwindling private stock – his lips twisted in a perpetual sneer.
Canoe. The name echoed unpleasantly in his mind. The oaf was late. Far too late. His scheduled "collection" from the lower ranks, particularly that troublesome runt Lilicua, was overdue by hours. Zanis hadn't bothered to check the lower quarters himself; the stench and whining were unbearable. But Canoe was reliable, in his own brutish, greedy way. Reliable like a rabid dog on a leash, useful for keeping the vermin in line and siphoning their pathetic earnings.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Zanis's face. Canoe knew the penalty for skimming too much before delivering the main cut. Had the idiot gotten greedy? Gotten drunk on his own take and passed out in some alley? Possible. Likely, even. But a sliver of unease, cold and sharp, pricked at Zanis's complacency.
His thoughts turned to the reports filtering through the Familia's grapevine. That white-haired rookie, Bell Cranel. The one Lilicua had been sniffing around. The one who'd apparently leveled up in a damned month. An absurdity. A dangerous absurdity. And Lilicua… she'd been seen with him more than once. Zanis had initially dismissed it as the runt trying her usual pathetic scams on a naive mark. But what if…
A slow, cruel smile spread across Zanis's face, replacing the unease. What if the runt had finally found a spine? Or, more likely, found someone else's spine to hide behind? The image formed clearly: Lilicua, desperate and cornered, spinning tales to the naive Cranel boy about her poor, abused existence. Cranel, flush with the arrogance of his impossible level-up, deciding to play hero. Confronting Canoe and his louts. A fight breaks out in the Dungeon depths, away from prying eyes.
"Canoe wasn't subtle," Zanis murmured to the empty room, his voice a low rasp. "Neither were his cronies. Loud, clumsy… easily provoked." He took a slow sip, the cheap wine burning his throat. "And that Cranel brat… survived a monster party on the ninth floor to level? He's got teeth. Maybe sharp ones."
The pieces clicked. Canoe wasn't late. Canoe was gone. Wiped out. By Cranel and that treacherous little Pallum bitch. The thought wasn't frightening; it was exhilarating. A surge of greedy anticipation warmed him more than the wine. Cranel was a walking windfall. A record-breaking level-up meant fame, attention… and wealth. The Guild reward alone would be substantial. And then there was the boy himself. His looks alone would fetch a pretty penny from certain… discerning patrons in the Entertainment District. Or, more permanently, his Fame was a prize Zanis could bleed dry for decades.
Lilicua was just a bonus. A familiar punching bag turned traitor. Her punishment would be a public spectacle, a reminder to the rest of the scum beneath him.
He slammed the empty glass down on the desk. "Fine. You want to play, runt? You want a knight in shining armor, Cranel?" Zanis chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Let's see how shiny he stays when I drag him through the mud. And as for you, Lilicua…" His smile turned predatory. "You've just signed your own execution order."
He stood, the chair scraping harshly. Time to mobilize the Familia's real enforcers. Cranel had made his first mistake. Zanis wouldn't let him make a second.
Bell didn't stop running until his lungs screamed and his legs threatened to buckle. He stumbled to a halt not at the church, but near the central fountain in a quieter plaza, its gentle splash a jarring contrast to the turmoil inside him. He braced his hands on his knees, gasping, the cool night air doing little to cool the feverish terror clawing at his insides.
Syr. Divine. A Goddess.
The words echoed, each one a hammer blow to the fragile foundation of his world. He sank onto the cold stone edge of the fountain, the water's rhythmic splash suddenly sounding like mocking laughter. He stared into the dark, rippling surface, seeing not his reflection, but the vibrant, chaotic tapestry of Orario at night – a tapestry woven with threads of greed, violence, and now, divine deceit.
His grandfather's voice, warm and full of wonder, echoed in the hollow space left by shattered illusions. "Orario, Bell! The Labyrinth City! Where heroes are forged in the fires of the Dungeon! Where dreams take flight on wings of courage! A beacon of hope, where the strong protect the weak! Where beautiful women can be seen all days long! Romance Bell Romance!!!"
A choked, bitter sound escaped Bell's lips. Hope? Heroes? Lies. All beautiful, comforting lies. The city wasn't a forge for heroes; it was a grinder for the naive. The strong didn't protect the weak; they exploited them, crushed them, or ignored them. Canoe and his men. Zanis. The indifferent adventurers in the pub. The gods themselves, playing dress-up and spying on mortals like insects under a glass.
Then he felt it the divine stare again.
Fear, cold and paralyzing, wrapped around his heart like icy vines. He was alone. Utterly, terrifyingly alone. A pawn caught between an incomprehensible system, a primordial entity slumbering within him, and now, capricious deities wearing friendly faces. Syr's divine presence, so casually revealed by his cursed insight, wasn't just power; it was the yawning chasm of his own insignificance. How could he fight that? How could he protect anyone from that?
Despair threatened to drown him. The weight of the day – the killings, the guilt, Lili's bloody resolve, Hestia's tears – pressed down, threatening to crush him into the stone. He was weak. So pathetically weak. Weak enough to be manipulated, used, forced into becoming something he despised…
Then, cutting through the suffocating darkness, a memory surfaced. Not of grandeur or heroism, but of simple, profound warmth. Hestia. Her bright, worried eyes filled with tears for him. The fierce, protective grip as she clung to him in the dilapidated church. Her unwavering acceptance, even after he confessed the horror staining his hands. "I'll never leave you, Bell. I'll always come back to you." And his own promise: "No matter what happens… we'll always have each other."
The icy fear didn't vanish, but it receded, pushed back by a surge of fierce, protective love. He wasn't completely alone. He had Hestia. His goddess. His home. She believed in him, not as some flawless hero, but as Bell. And for her… for the sanctuary she offered, the unconditional love she gave… he had to be strong. Strong enough to shield her from the shadows gathering around them. Strong enough to protect the fragile peace they'd carved out in that old church.
His resolve hardened, a cold, sharp edge forming beneath the fear. He will get stronger. Faster. More powerful. Not just for the Dungeon's monsters, but for the monsters wearing smiles and divine power. He wouldn't be deceived again. He wouldn't be used. He wouldn't be beaten into a corner where the only choice was to kill.
A strange, unnatural calm settled over him, smoothing the frantic edges of his panic. The system's emotional dampener, a hated crutch, was at work. His stomach churned at its artificial influence, souring his newfound resolve. He didn't want this numbness, but right now, it allowed him to think.
He pushed the anger at the system aside. One problem at a time. First: identify the threat.
Who is Syr?
He closed his eyes, focusing past the lingering terror, past the system's chill, forcing his mind into a state of cold, analytical clarity. The clues were there, scattered like puzzle pieces he'd been too naive to assemble.
Mama Mia: The formidable owner of the Hostess, a veteran adventurer who tolerated no nonsense, treated Syr with a deference that bordered on reverence. Not like an employer to an employee, but something… deeper. Almost protective, yet acknowledging a higher authority. Mia hadn't just tolerated Syr's quirks; she'd facilitated them.
Ryuu: The stoic, deadly elf. Her vigilance around Syr wasn't just coworker concern; it was the watchfulness of a guardian. The way she subtly positioned herself, the sharpness in her eyes when Syr interacted with potentially troublesome patrons… especially him. Ryuu wasn't just protecting Syr; she was serving her.
The Patrons: The diverse, often rough clientele of the Hostess. Syr moved among them with an effortless ease that seemed unnatural. Even the rowdiest adventurers tempered their behavior slightly around her, a subconscious deference he'd mistaken for charm.
The Grimoire: Her insistence he take it. Her uncanny knowledge that he needed it. The sheer, impossible value of the item casually pressed into his hands. Not a gift from a friend, but an… investment? A tool placed deliberately?
Her Interest in Him: Persistent, probing, intensely focused. Not romantic, he realized with chilling clarity now. More like… observational. Like a scholar studying a fascinating specimen. His growth, his struggles, his soul?
The pieces clicked into a horrifying picture. Syr wasn't just *a* goddess. She was a goddess powerful enough to command the loyalty of someone like Ryuu Lion and the implicit respect of Mama Mia Grand. A goddess who ran a tavern frequented by Orario's power players, observing the city's pulse from the shadows. A goddess with a specific, unsettling interest in him.
Only one name resonated with that level of power, influence, and notorious fascination with captivating souls: Freya.
The Goddess of Beauty. The Queen of the Ishtar Familia's rival. A being whispered about in hushed tones, known for her capriciousness and her terrifyingly powerful Familia led by the King, Ottar. A goddess who collected beautiful things… and beautiful souls.
Ice flooded Bell's veins again, colder than before. Freya. It made terrible, perfect sense. The beauty, the allure, the underlying power, the web of influence… and her focus on him. His rapid growth, his unusual magic, the power he held… all would be irresistible to a goddess obsessed with unique souls.
He stood abruptly, the cold stone of the fountain bench leaching into his bones. He couldn't go back to the church yet. Not with this knowledge burning a hole in his mind. He needed confirmation. He needed information. He needed… Eina.
Eina Tulle. His advisor. The half-elf who had been genuinely kind, genuinely concerned, without any hidden agenda he could discern. She'd warned him about Lili, worried about his safety, celebrated his achievements with sincere pride. In a city of masks and hidden blades, Eina felt… real. The only one who hadn't tried to use him, deceive him, or force him into violence.
He turned his steps not towards the crumbling church, but towards the Guild Headquarters. It was late, but advisors often worked long hours. He needed to know about Mama Mia. About the Hostess. About who might frequent it. He needed to see if Eina's knowledge aligned with his terrifying deduction.
As he walked, the resolve forged by thoughts of Hestia and hardened by the chilling identification of Freya solidified into a cold, unyielding core within him. The fear was still there, a constant companion. The guilt over Canoe and his men was a heavy cloak. The confusion over the system and the entity was a labyrinth.
But he wouldn't break. He wouldn't run forever. He would dig for the truth. He would grasp every shred of power the system offered, no matter how tainted its source. He would become strong. Not just strong enough to survive the Dungeon.
He would become strong enough to shield Hestia from divine whims.
Strong enough to protect Lili from the consequences of his own actions and her past.
Strong enough to face the monsters in human skin and divine form.
Strong enough to never again be deceived.
Strong enough to never again be used.
Strong enough to never be beaten into a corner where killing was the only path left.
The path ahead was shrouded in shadow, paved with blood and secrets, but Bell Cranel set his jaw and walked into it, his once-dreamy eyes now reflecting the cold, hard light of grim determination. The boy who wanted to be a hero was learning the first, brutal lesson: sometimes, heroes have to walk through hell before they can build heaven. And he was just beginning his descent.
~Scene Change(Guild)~
The Guild hall was cavernous in its emptiness, the usual clamor of adventurers replaced by the hollow echo of Bell's boots on marble. Moonlight streamed through high windows, cutting silver bars across the vacant reception desks. His reflection in the polished floor showed a specter—pale skin stretched too tight over sharpened features, violet-tinged shadows beneath eyes that had seen too much.
Then he saw her.
Eina sat hunched over a mountain of paperwork at a corner desk, the sole island of light in the darkened hall. The ink stains on her fingers gleamed in the lamplight as she scribbled notes, a loose strand of chestnut hair falling across her face. She hadn't noticed him yet.
Click. Click. Click.
His footsteps slowed, each one heavier than the last.
Her head lifted.
The pen slipped from her fingers.
"Bell…?"
Her voice cracked on the single syllable. The warmth drained from her face as she took in his hollow cheeks, the tremor in his hands, the way his armor hung slightly looser—as if he'd already begun wasting away under some invisible weight.
The chair screeched as she stood too fast. "What happened to you?"
Gods, he looks hollow.
The Guild's consultation room was quiet, the muffled sounds of the outside world fading behind the thick oak door. Eina had guided Bell inside with a gentle hand on his back, her emerald eyes scanning his face with growing concern.
"Bell," she said softly, "you look… different."
He sat stiffly in the chair, his fingers gripping his knees. The weight of the day—the blood on his hands, the divine deception, the suffocating fear—threatened to crush him.
"Can we talk" Bell said in a deep voice "I need your help, I know it's late but I need some information preferably soon.
Eina had a confused look at why would Bell as her for Consultation but looking at his Haggard state, she feels that something important happened and needs to be addresses. Her intuition as a Guild Advisor Kicking in.
The Consultation Room
The Guild's consultation room was quiet, the muffled sounds of the outside world fading behind the thick oak door. Eina had guided Bell inside with a gentle hand on his back, her emerald eyes scanning his face with growing concern.
Eina poured him a cup of tea, the steam curling between them. "I heard some men talking in the Guild today," she admitted, her voice low. "They were eyeing you—your armor, your weapon. I was worried, so I asked Miss Wallenstein to keep an eye out for you."
"Bell," she said softly, "you look… different."
He sat stiffly in the chair, his fingers gripping his knees. The weight of the day—the blood on his hands, the divine deception, the suffocating fear—threatened to crush him.
Bell's breath hitched. Ais Wallenstein? The Sword Princess? His throat tightened. Even now, after everything, Eina was looking out for him.
"You… sent her?" he whispered.
Eina nodded. "I didn't want you walking into an ambush."
Something inside Bell cracked.
The tears came before he could stop them—hot, silent streams down his face. His shoulders trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Eina's eyes widened, and she reached across the table, gripping his hands.
"Bell? What's wrong?"
The dam broke.
He told her everything.
The Soma Familia's ambush. The merciless slaughter. The way his body had moved without his consent, carving through flesh like a butcher. The way the flames had left nothing behind—no evidence, no bodies, just scorched stone and the stench of burning blood.
Eina's grip tightened, her face paling.
But he didn't stop.
He told her about the Soma Familia's desperation, their cruelty, how they had cornered Lili like an animal. He told her about the fear in her eyes, the way she had looked at him—not as a mark, but as someone who might finally save her.
Eina's breath caught. "Bell…"
His voice was raw. "I didn't want to kill them. But I—I didn't have a choice."
Eina leaned back, her mind racing. "This is worse than I thought," she murmured. "If the Guild investigates—"
Bell's hands clenched. "Will they?"
Eina hesitated, then exhaled slowly. "If there's no evidence… no bodies… it'll be hard to prove anything. But if the Soma Familia pushes for an inquiry…"
Bell's stomach twisted.
Eina's voice softened. "But I'll testify. So will Miss Wallenstein. You won't face this alone."
Something warm flickered in his chest. She really is the only light in this city.
Bell hesitated before asking the next question. "Eina… what do you know about the Hostess of Fertility?"
Eina blinked. "The pub?"
He nodded. "The staff. Ryuu, Chloe, Luniore… Mama Mia. Who do they work for?"
Eina frowned, tapping her pen against the desk. "Well… Mama Mia used to be part of Freya Familia. Ryuu was from Astraea Familia, but they disbanded years ago. Chloe and Luniore are from Njord and Demeter Familias, but both gods left Orario temporarily."
Bell's blood ran cold. Freya.
Eina continued, oblivious to his reaction. "Freya has a room at the top of Babel Tower. She's… not someone you want attention from."
Bell's fingers dug into his knees. Syr. Freya. It all fits.
Eina's eyes narrowed. "Bell… why are you asking about this?"
He couldn't tell her. Not yet. Not when the truth was still a knife twisting in his gut.
Instead, he forced a weak smile. "Just… curious."
Eina didn't look convinced, but she didn't press.
Silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken fears.
Finally, Bell whispered, "Thank you, Eina. For… everything."
Eina's expression softened. She reached across the table, squeezing his hand. "Always, Bell."
And for the first time that night, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn't completely alone
Bell nodded, his voice raw. "She's been watching me. And now… I don't know what she wants."
Eina leaned back, her mind racing. "This is worse than I thought," she murmured. "If Freya has taken an interest in you… Bell, you might need to leave Orario. At least for a while."
His hands clenched. "I can't."
"Bell—"
"I won't." His voice was quiet but firm. "Running won't save me. Not from her. Not from the Soma Familia." His crimson eyes burned with Purple light for a split second—something dark and hungry. "I have to get stronger. Strong enough that no one can force me into a corner again."
Eina studied him, her worry deepening. But she didn't argue. Instead, she exhaled slowly. "Alright. we need to plan to avoid the Babels Line of sight and the route you take from the hostess of fertility."
Bell gave a firm node.
She pulled out a map of Orario, marking safe routes, neutral zones, and—most importantly—a small, unassuming eatery in the Ganesha district. "If you're avoiding the Hostess, try this place. "The Golden Boar" The owner owes me a favor."
Bell managed a small, grateful smile—the first real one in what felt like days.
Eina hesitated, then added, "And if the Soma Familia tries to implicate you… I'll testify. So will Miss Wallenstein. You won't face this alone."
Something warm flickered in his chest. She really is the only light in this city.
After some small talk Bell returned with renewed vigor to the Golden Boar for some food for his Goddess.
~(Scene Change)~
The night air was crisp as Bell stepped out of the Golden Boar, a wrapped package of roasted meat and fresh bread tucked under his arm. The streets of Orario were quieter now, the usual clamor of adventurers dulled to murmurs in the distance. His footsteps echoed against the cobblestones as he made his way back to the church—back to Hestia and Lili.
Then, a shadow detached itself from the alleyway.
Bell's hand instinctively went to Rasaka's Fang, but he stopped when he recognized the familiar green hair and piercing emerald eyes.
Ryuu Lion stood before him, her expression unreadable. In her hands was a woven basket—the same one Syr always used to pack his lunches.
For a moment, neither spoke. The tension between them was thick enough to cut.
Finally, Ryuu shoved the basket into his chest, her voice low and bitter.
"You left this."
Bell caught it, the weight familiar in his hands. The scent of freshly baked rolls and spiced meat wafted up, stirring memories of simpler days.
"...Thank you," he murmured.
Ryuu's eyes narrowed. "That's it? No explanation?"
Bell exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the basket. "It wasn't my intention to be confrontational."
"Then what was your intention?" Ryuu's voice was sharp, her usual stoicism cracking. "After everything Syr has done for you—the meals, the encouragement—you treat her like some kind of enemy?"
Bell's jaw clenched. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to scream the truth—that the kind, smiling waitress was nothing but a mask, a game for a goddess who saw them all as playthings. But he couldn't. Not yet.
Instead, he asked quietly, "Ryuu… do you know who Syr really is?"
Ryuu blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"Her past. Where she came from. Her motivations." Bell's crimson eyes bore into hers. "Has she ever told you anything real about herself?"
Ryuu opened her mouth—then stopped. Her brow furrowed as realization dawned.
"...No," she admitted slowly. "But it doesn't matter. She's been there for us. For me. That's enough."
"Do you know her birthday?" The words landed like a guillotine. Ryuu's jaw clenched.
Bell's expression twisted in pain. She doesn't understand. She can't.
"I can't come back to the Hostess," he said softly. "Not anymore."
Ryuu's eyes widened. "You're cutting ties? After everything?"
Bell's grip on the basket tightened until his knuckles turned white. "If you ever need help—if any of you do—I'll come. But I can't see Syr again."
"Why?" Ryuu demanded, frustration bleeding into her voice.
Bell shook his head. "That's for you to figure out. And… I hope you never do."
The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Ryuu stared at him, confusion and anger warring in her gaze. But Bell couldn't stay. Not when every second risked Freya's attention turning toward her.
With one last look, he turned and walked away, leaving a conflicted Ryuu standing alone in the dim streetlight.
~(At the Church)~
The creak of the church door was the only warning before two figures barreled into him.
"BELL!"
Hestia and Lili crashed into his chest, their arms wrapping around him in a vice-like grip. Hestia's face was buried in his tunic, her voice muffled but frantic.
"Don't you ever disappear like that again!"
Lili's grip was just as tight, her crimson-tinged eyes glaring up at him. "Bell-sama, you idiot! We thought something happened!"
Bell staggered back, warmth flooding his chest despite the scolding. "I-I'm sorry. I just needed to… think."
Hestia pulled back, her blue eyes searching his face. Then, her expression darkened. "Something did happen."
Bell hesitated. Then, with a heavy breath, he told them.
"Syr… the waitress at the Hostess… she's Freya."
Silence.
Lili's face drained of color. "W-What? But—gods can't use Arcanum in the lower world! How—?"
Hestia's hands clenched into fists. "A skill. Or magic. Someone in her Familia must be able to disguise her, just like Lili's Cinder Ella."
Bell nodded grimly. "That's what I thought."
Hestia suddenly grabbed his arm, her voice urgent. "We need to leave Orario. Now. If Freya's been watching you this whole time—"
"No." Bell's voice was firm. He placed a hand over Hestia's. "Running won't save us. Not from her." His crimson eyes burned with resolve with a shade of purple. "I'll get stronger. Strong enough to protect both of you."
Lili stepped forward, her small frame radiating determination. "Lili will too."
A loud, comical gurgle cut through the tense atmosphere.
All three froze.
Then, another gurgle—this time from Hestia's stomach.
Bell couldn't help it. A small, weary laugh escaped him. "…I brought food."
Hestia's cheeks flushed as she snatched the basket from him. "F-Food first! Then panic!"
Lili eyed the Hostess's basket warily. "What if it's poisoned?"
Bell shook his head. "Poison doesn't affect me anymore. The system—"
Hestia smacked his arm. "That's not a healthy mindset!"
The tension shattered as the three settled around their meager table, the aroma of warm bread and roasted meat filling the church. Bell watched as Hestia and Lili dug in with gusto, their earlier fear momentarily forgotten.
But as the night wore on and the two drifted off to sleep—Hestia curled against his side, Lili nestled at his feet like a protective watchdog—Bell remained awake.
His eyes traced the moonlight filtering through the broken stained glass, casting fractured colors over his sleeping family.
Tomorrow, he vowed silently. Tomorrow, I start getting stronger.
No matter what it took.
Hestia slept fitfully beside him, her small hand clutching his tunic. Lili lay curled on her side on the floor pallet they'd made, her breathing even, the unnatural crimson glow gone from her eyes. Peaceful. Unaware.