Image Translation:

"…I need your strength."

Image translation:

“What’s important isn’t what you offer—”

“…but the order in which you offer it.”

“For you see, you gain through offering… and through offering, you sin.”

“Because you are my most beloved children.”

“That’s why… I’m proud of you.”

Holding a glass of wine in hand, the god smiled.

Image translation:

The leaves rustle, the branches sing.
The sunlight through the trees is pale and warm.

Smiling together,
they walk through the forest dyed in golden hues.

Because the bond between the two of them
will never be torn apart again—
for eternity.

Prologue:
The Last Scenery I See

Chapter 1:
The Defeated ~Labyrinth Revengers~

Chapter 2:
Irregular Festival

Chapter 3:
Those Who Return

Chapter 4:
Question from the Frozen Prison

Chapter 5:

Absolute Despair

Chapter 6:

Toward the Promised Place

Epilogue:
Secret Art of Frozen Time

Prologue:
The Last Scenery I See

—So… let’s go together.

A voice resurfaced.

Was it the precious promise made long ago, sealed by the meeting of two lips?

—Yeah. When everything is over, let’s go. It’s a promise.

Her lips bloomed like a flower, while the other pair shone clear as a moonlit spring.

Those innocent lips had no knowledge of the inner conflict hidden beneath.

What pain was buried behind that answer, what feelings filled the heart as they dreamed of a future for “just the two of them”—no one knew.

But now is different.

As I stood there quietly, “she” came from the shade of the trees.

When I smiled like a child, “she” smiled with me.

Together, the two of us walked through the silent forest.

It was gentle, beautiful—its color like a golden sea of swaying wheat, or perhaps the glow of a twilight sky.
Leaves rustled, branches whispered.
The sunlight filtering through the trees was soft and warm.
Together, we walked through a forest of elves—
a place that seemed suspended between mystery and dream,
familiar and yet nowhere to be found.

Her long, amber hair swayed,
just as it had the day we made our promise.
Her unbound locks fluttered freely,
the same as when we exchanged that precious vow.

Freed from all burdens, she laughed—innocently, joyfully.
Untouched by any stain, her smile remained pure and serene.

Our fingertips brushed.
Gathering my courage, I reached out and took her slender, pale hand.
She blushed faintly, and gently held mine in return.

The twilight sunlight poured endlessly upon the two of us.

Side by side, we walked forward—toward the promise that belonged only to us.

And then—deep within the forest, the white radiance that had waited all this time scattered into shards of light.

The place we arrived at—
was where countless feelings intertwined in a perfect circle.
A homeland of souls,
where the two once separated would be reunited.

And then, I saw it—the “Crown of Light.”
A halo of radiance floating in the air, a white staircase woven from countless fragments of light.

No matter how far apart they drift, they will always find one another again—bound by the “Elf Ring.”

—“It’s all over now. Let’s go.”

At those words from her,
I smiled through my tears and nodded.

At the end of this journey.

Chapter 1:
The Defeated ~Labyrinth Revengers~

“Failure should be repeated.”

Some say that.
What one gains after success is, in truth, very little—often leading only to arrogance and narrow vision.
Those who know the pain and bitterness of failure are the ones truly qualified to use that experience as nourishment and set their sights upon new horizons.
For it is they who can one day turn their once-grasped success into true glory.

“True failure is something one should never taste.”

Others say that.
The idea that failure makes people stronger is mere sophistry.
True failure shatters everything—pride, will, status, honor, even the bonds that tie one to others. All people, without exception, call that state despair.

“Those who find hope at the edge of despair and reach out their hands—they alone are the truly strong.”

And a certain god says:
After losing everything, in that very despair—when will you rise again, and what will you accomplish?
That is the question that measures your true worth.
For only then, in the thunder’s wake, can a victor be born from among the defeated.

If that saying is true—then for Lefiya, that moment is now.

“The Expedition has failed! The Expedition has failed!! On the 60th floor, the Familia Alliance was annihilated!!”

The roar of Raul, battered and broken, echoed through the first floor of Babel.

It was both a wail of despair announcing the Loki Familia’s defeat, and a desperate plea for the rescue of the First-Class Adventurers still trapped below.

“Hurry—! Send reinforcements!! Our comrades—our captains—are still in the Deep Floors—!!”

As those words spread like wildfire, the world itself reeled in shock.
The adventurers, Guild staff, and townsfolk who had gathered around Babel—all frozen in disbelief—had their paralysis shattered in an instant.

“The city’s strongest Familia… was defeated…!?”
“You mean Braver and the others haven’t come back!?”
“W-What about the smiths!? The healers!? The others!
It was the Familia Alliance, wasn’t it!? How could they lose!?”
“You cowards—how dare you crawl back here alone!!”

The uproar—panic, disbelief, and rage—all turned into furious shouts aimed squarely at the Loki Familia.

Covered in blood, Alicia, Cruz, and Narvi clutched their wounds and bit their lips, while Elfy and the others who couldn’t even stand collapsed to the floor, heads bowed, tears streaming endlessly for their fallen comrades.

“Yes! You’re right—it’s all true!! That’s exactly why—please, hurry and save our captains—!!”

And standing at the front of that storm of condemnation, the only one still shouting—aside from his goddess—was Raul, the so-called coward, desperately trying to fulfill his duty despite his fear.

And then—only Lefiya, her hands clenched tightly.

The tidal wave of screams and accusations surrounding them—that was the very shape of the “true failure” that Raul and the others had faced, and the “despair” that Lefiya and her comrades had endured on the 60th floor, now reborn in another form.

Neither Alicia, nor Elfy, nor any of the others had ever known such bitter remorse, such crushing self-loathing.

The fact that they had abandoned the First-Class Adventurers—the “Great Heroes” themselves—and fled back to the surface, and the price that came with it, was a burden far too heavy to bear.

“—!!”

But for Lefiya, none of that mattered.

Of course it hurt.
It was agony.
She wanted to scream that she was shameless, worthless.
If there were a blade named “Punishment,” she would be the first to drive it through her own chest.
Yet even so—

There was a heat within her.
A fire that burned away every regret, every humiliation, every ounce of despair—and drove her forward.

Her gaze found him—the white-haired boy, caught in the same chaos and panic as everyone else.

Beyond despair, she had found something.
The one she reached toward—the one who embodied unmistakable hope.

(Bell Cranel!)

He was the source of the flame
that would never allow Lefiya Viridis to remain a miserable, defeated failure.

A young hero in the making—
the one whose astounding growth had raised him to stand among them
as an equal: a true First-Class Adventurer.

A ticket to a rematch—one that would never let her drown in despair.

That’s why Lefiya, unlike the other members, was able to stand up swiftly, even from the depths of hopelessness.

“Bell, wait!!”
“—!”
“You’re already falling apart...! Even breathing must hurt!
So for now, please—just get out of here quickly...!”

—And yet, despite that, the person himself was in utter chaos—panicking, and for some reason being clung to by a beautiful receptionist.

Fine—she could overlook the first part, but the second—why!?
Don’t flirt in a place like this! Look over here instead!
Do you have any idea how much you’ve set my heart ablaze!?

If she considered what was going on inside the boy’s chest, she knew her feelings were unfair—but she still felt a different kind of anger welling up, enough to turn her into something like a full-on “rematch incarnate,” on par with a certain “fated rival heroine” from a romantic tale.

Even Loki would be taken aback by the sheer intensity of her presence.
With a terrifying aura about her, the elf who had swiftly pulled herself from despair charged straight into the crowd, trying to reach the boy—

“—!”

—but her leg suddenly gave out, bending awkwardly at the knee.

It was simply her body’s limit.

The price of their retreat—after running nonstop from the 60th floor without a single moment’s rest.

“Lefiya, you can’t push yourself any further.”
“Loki...!”

“Right now, treatment comes first… hold still.”

As Loki spoke, she stepped forward and caught Lefiya’s trembling body from behind, supporting her before she could fall.

Looking around, even Raul, who had been shouting hoarsely this whole time, was finally reaching his limit. Just as he was about to collapse, Cruz managed to catch him at the last second.

And then—the world, which had already lost its sense of direction, was swallowed by genuine panic at last.

The defeat—no, the possible loss—of the heroes known as the Loki Familia…
The time had come for Orario to face an unprecedented crisis.

The wounded were quickly being carried away—some to the upper treatment rooms of Babel Tower, others out of the tower entirely.

(How pathetic…!)

Her mind willed her forward, but her body would not obey.
Even though she wanted—more than anything—to return to that hell immediately and rescue those she admired, her frail, powerless body gave out a pitiful cry of protest.

Frustration welled up again, and Lefiya bit down on her molars hard—but Loki, who could read the heart of her elf child as easily as a book, tightened her grip around Lefiya’s shoulders.

That gentle pressure helped cool the feverish storm in Lefiya’s head and heart, if only a little.

Even the glance cast her way by the “knight”—her teacher from the Academy District,
who was now escorting the calmed boy somewhere else—helped to still her heart.

There were others besides Lefiya who were already moving to confront this crisis.

(…I have to accept it.)

This isn’t the end.
I won’t let it be the end.

Telling herself that, Lefiya watched as her comrades were carried away one after another on stretchers, and as the world around them sank deeper into chaos.

To face their defeat that began in despair—

The complete annihilation of the Loki Familia.

Upon receiving that report,
the City of Heroes began to move in earnest.

“Treatment, quickly!”
“Potions won’t cut it—bring the universal elixirs!”
“We can’t let anyone else die!!”

Even though it was within the city, a fierce battlefield had unfolded.

That battlefield’s name was the Dian Cecht Familia’s clinic.

Inside, the healers who had remained aboveground were rushing endlessly from patient to patient—tending to the Expedition Party adventurers who had been brought back from the Dungeon.

Only a handful—the lucky few who had escaped with nothing worse than severe injuries—
were transported to the upper treatment rooms of Babel Tower.
All the rest were gathered here, in this clinic turned desperate war zone.

Not only the Loki Familia,
but also members of the Hephaestus Familia, other factions,
and even fellow healers who had participated in the Expedition Alliance—all of them were here.

Countless voices of agony filled the air—screams, groans, and cries of pain and grief echoed from every bed, mingling with the smell of blood and tears.

“Everyone…”

In a clinic whose capacity—even with its specialized facilities and equipment—had long been exceeded, Elfy, who had given up her own bed to a colleague who had lost a leg, was on the verge of collapsing into tears.

It had all happened so fast.

Though it had felt so long—everything had ended in the blink of an eye.

After Ais and the others had departed from the base, time passed… until the Dungeon began to rumble from far below.
Then, as if triggered by that tremor, a flood of monsters—glittering in horrific, kaleidoscopic colors—swarmed their base.

Unable to hold the line, Elfy and the others regrouped with Raul and Lefiya, who had returned from the front, and together they escaped from the Deep Floors—but along the way, they lost so much.

“Damn it… damn it, damn it all…!!”

A human female martial artist, who had been entrusted with the defense of the base, was crying on the bed right beside Elfy.

A Level 4 adventurer, a member of the Second Army like Raul, always strong-willed and cheerful—yet now she covered her eyes with her bandaged arm, unable to stop her tears.

She had failed to protect the home base while Finn and the others were away.
The shame of her powerlessness, and the pain of having lost her comrades—even her strong heart was burning in anguish.

Seeing that sight, tears that had welled up at the corners of Elfy’s eyes finally spilled over.

“Everyone’s beaten up, and the captain’s not here… What are we supposed to do!?”

Her usual cheerfulness was gone; covering her face with both hands, she let out a frail, broken whisper.

That fragile figure—ready to shatter at a touch—was none other than the image of one who had faced a true failure.

“...!”

At those words, a young Amazoness from the Dian Cecht Familia bit down on her lip, coming to a stop as if to sink her teeth into the floor, before lunging toward Elfi.

“Stop.”

“—!! B-but!—”

Her outstretched arm was caught mid-motion by a young Human male with glasses who had been passing by.

The assault on the artificial dungeon, Knossos, the casualties among those who followed the Loki Familia—all of it had left marks. He understood everything his junior wanted to shout, just from the fire in her eyes.

“Even so… we healers—no, everyone left here in Orario—have no right to blame the Loki Familia.”

“!”

Even Elfy, still crying in heartbreak, was among those from the Loki Familia who had stood at the forefront, fighting with the fate of the world on their shoulders.

If not for them, who knows how many times the city’s order would have collapsed, how many times it would have fallen into ruin.
If there was ever a group who had drawn the “short straw,” it was the Loki Familia.

This latest attack on the 60th floor—though it should have been a duty shared among all factions, including the Freya Familia—was borne entirely by them.

It was a battle that should never have ended in annihilation.
A battle they were not supposed to lose.

Even if the mission had been a Guild-enforced one, the Loki Familia, who led the “Faction Alliance,” carried that burden.

And yet, those who knew of the defeat of Zeus and Hera understood that in Orario, there is no such thing as “absolute” in adventure.

To condemn those who failed to grasp victory—that would be an act of shame.
Especially for those who knew the truth surrounding the “Corrupted Spirit.”

The young man’s eyes met hers, his gaze firm, as if to teach her that truth.

“But… Amid… Amid is…!”

Both the young man and the girl—and all the other healers present—knew it well.

Those who face “true failure” are most often the ones who dared to adventure.

At the very least, the members of the Dian Cecht Familia, healers of the city, must never criticize those who go into the Dungeon. The same holds for the Guild members who send adventurers into peril and watch over them.

“If Amid were here, she wouldn’t say a word. She’d just keep healing—more devotedly than anyone else. Am I wrong?”

The moment the young man spoke the saint’s name, tears welled up in the young Amazoness' eyes.

She was the one who had adored Amide, always hovering near her, eager to help with anything.
It was she—an Amazoness warrior—who had knocked on the door of the Dian Cecht Familia, after being saved from a grievous injury by the saint’s devotion.

At his words, the young girl lowered her gaze—then, with a burst of resolve, ran off once more.
To heal the wounds of those who still suffered.

The young man, looking down at his gloves stained crimson with blood—no longer knowing whose—closed his eyes as if in prayer for the saint who had yet to return, then quietly returned to his duty.

“I'm so desperate I feel like killing myself...!”

From the corner bed where he had been laid down, the dog-person—Cruz, a Cyanthrope—watched the entire scene unfold and let out a deep, guttural growl.

Lifting his upper body, still covered in emergency bandages, he bared his fangs as though the absent wolf Bete had possessed him. The anger that surged within him wasn’t for anyone else—it was for himself.
Even if the healers could forgive them, he had sworn that they themselves never would.
While the others still sat drowning in despair, Cruz’s eyes had not lost their fire—just like those of a certain golden-haired elf.

They were the eyes of one who vows to fight again.

“Elfy! Are your tears all dried up!?”

“You don’t have to tell me that…!”

There were two others besides him.

Next to Cruz’s bed, Alicia, her voluptuous body wrapped in bandages where her clothes had been stripped away, sat up without caring that the sheet slipped from her shoulders.

The elf who had watched not only the Xenos but even her own comrades from the Freya Familia die had long since lost the luxury of something as delicate as a “breaking heart.”
“Because elves are proud, they are fragile when their hearts shatter.” That old saying—she crushed it beneath her heel.
Her heart burned fiercely; she had to make it burn.

Not as an elf, but as a veteran who had endured countless trials under the Loki Familia—one of the oldest members still surviving—she possessed a resilience forged by hardship.

“Can you still clench your fists, Narvi!?”

“Ah… I knew I’d be included too…!”

Among the members of the second squad, the youngest, Narvi, forced her body upright with a strained effort.

Immediately, drip, drip—blood fell to the floor. It was a nosebleed.

“I’m falling apart…” she muttered with a faint smile.

Even with the strength of a second-class adventurer, the deep scars carved into her body and soul refused to heal.
Even after being bathed in healing magic, the strain continued to burn her from within.
It was a clear sign she had reached her limit—a warning that she should no longer fight.

And yet, just like Cruz and Alicia, she gritted her teeth, wiped the blood from her nose with her arm, and raised her gaze.

Though the Dungeon was a place she truly never wished to return to again, her resolve turned toward it once more.

“I’m coming too…! I don’t want it to end like this! And besides…!”

Because she knew—the one suffering the most right now, the one who bore the responsibility they had all forced upon her.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Loki…!”

It was a pitiful sight.

Kneeling on the floor, face lowered, eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down in heavy drops—his figure was wretched, miserable, and heartbreaking to behold.

It was the end of a coward.

The final resting place of an ordinary man who had worn the mask of a “coward” for everyone else’s sake.

His fists, with nowhere left to go, clenched tightly against the cold floor.
Seeing him like that, Loki, kneeling on one knee before him, wore a pained expression and gently placed her hand on his trembling shoulder—then pressed down firmly, as if to steady him.

They were in the waiting room of the Dian Cecht Familia’s clinic.

The lamps had been dimmed; the room was faintly lit, wrapped in the stillness of night.

Having only received emergency treatment, Raul had come straight to Loki not long ago. The moment he stopped in front of his goddess, he collapsed to his knees, sobbing, apologizing again and again.

“I couldn’t save the Captain… Aki… Ais and the others! I abandoned Seneka and the rest—I killed them!!”

He confessed his sins before his god, unable to stop the flow of tears.

The “mask of a coward” had fallen away, leaving nothing but a powerless human.

Ordinary, unremarkable—no different from anyone else.
A man who showed weakness in pain, who cried for the sake of his comrades.

Just Raul Nord, and nothing more.

He cursed himself for his own incompetence.
He spat hatred at himself for letting his goddess' beloved children die.
He poured out his guilt for abandoning his comrades, his anguish for being unable to save them, begging for forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.

“……”

Before the young man whose long-suppressed guilt and regret now burst forth uncontrollably, Loki’s lips trembled as she pressed them together—then, after a moment, she drew him into her arms.

She didn’t care that his tears and snot soaked her shoulders and chest. Placing a hand on the back of his head, she pulled him close, holding him tightly.
She had never given such an embrace—not even to Finn.

This scene… was one Loki had known might someday come.

From the moment Raul was chosen to succeed Finn and the others.

She had never wanted this day to arrive. She had never even wanted to imagine it.
But if the day came when Finn and the others were gone, there was no one else who could shoulder their place but Raul.

Only Raul Nord, who could resist being intoxicated by heroism, had the potential to stand in that void—Loki and the others had known it from the start.

That was why Loki could not scold him. She had to accept him—completely.

Even if she were the only god left in the world, she had to praise him.

You did well. Thank you.

But not now.
Those words would not reach him in his grief. They might only deepen the wound that had already carved itself into his heart.

So instead, as she held Raul against her chest and felt his sobs shake through her, Loki whispered the one truth she could give him.

“I’m glad you made it back, Raul…”

You can rest now.

She murmured the words softly into his ear.

But Raul, his face soaked with tears, shook his head.

“I’m going.”

Like a stubborn child.

“I have to go.”

Or perhaps, like a knight—bound by oath, foolishly sincere, and unyielding in his vow.

“Back to the Captain… to all of them—one more time.”

The goddess, though all-knowing, could only clutch his hands as they gripped the back of her clothes.
Even she had no power to stop him.

The one who refused to stop—who could not stop—was the elf girl as well.

“I know full well how shameless it is to come begging for help from the academy that raised me. But please… lend us your strength.”

Southwest of Orario, anchored in the port city of Meren, was the massive vessel Hringhorni.

In the control layer—the lowest section of the Academy’s complex—inside a medical facility, Lefiya was standing before Baldr, the god of light, and her mentor Leon, pleading for aid.

She honestly couldn’t even remember how she’d ended up back at the Academy.

She only vaguely recalled Loki’s voice ordering that Lefiya be brought here, and the arrangements being made. The rest was a blur.
Her exhaustion must have surpassed its limits.
Still dressed in her tattered magic robe, she had been laid on a cot to rest—but the instant her eyes opened, she had shot upright, brushed aside her weariness and resentment toward the world, and threw herself into a desperate plea before Baldr and Leon, who happened to be present in the facility.

“Please! Help my Familia… help Ais and the others!”

“Calm yourself, Lefiya.”

“I understand your devotion to your Familia… but look around you. You’re frightening the Nanos.”

Leon’s words were steady, the tone of a teacher trying to contain the storm in his student’s eyes, while Baldr, eyes still closed, gave a gentle smile.

Lefiya froze, realizing what he meant.

Turning around, she saw the members of the Seventh Squad—the students known as the “Nanos”—standing nearby, their faces pale as they stared at her in alarm.

They must have rushed here out of concern after hearing she’d been brought in.
She hadn’t even noticed them until now. With a pained expression, she pressed a hand against her forehead.

“A student is a reflection of their teacher.”
How true that was.

Seeing her own students shaken by her desperation only showed how frayed she herself had become. The realization hit her like cold water.

“…I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

Once their instructor, Lefiya could say nothing more as shame and frustration welled up within her.

But the Seventh Squad immediately leaned forward, protesting in unison.

“Th-that’s not true at all! There’s no way we’d ever be disappointed in you, Lefiya! You’re always so beautiful and graceful, and even though you act all proper and composed, inside you’re blazing like fire magic, and you always give everything you’ve got, and right now—right now you’re just the same—!”

“Nano? I understand you’re trying to cheer her up, but… maybe don’t say everything you’re thinking.”

“Do you have any idea how many times we’ve shown you embarrassing sides of ourselves? Call it even.”

“She’s right! Luke here even challenged Lefiya to a duel once and got completely wrecked!”

“M-Millie!!”

Even now, Nano waved her hands wildly, full of energy, while the ever-suffering Cole tried gently to calm her down. Luke muttered gruffly, only for Milliria to loudly add fuel to the fire. Luke’s indignant shout rang out through the room—

—and Lefiya, who had been keeping her gaze lowered, slowly lifted her eyes. For the first time since returning to the surface, she smiled.
Just a little, faintly—but it was a real smile.

Seeing that, both the Seventh Squad and the two who had called them here—Baldr and Leon—allowed themselves soft smiles as well.

“You needn’t ask,” Baldr said. “The Academy will provide Orario with its full cooperation. In fact, we’ve already begun. Instructor Malik, the elven teacher, and several others have already entered the Dungeon to make preparations.”

“...Professor Malik and the others…” Lefiya whispered.

“We cannot afford to lose the Loki Familia,” Baldr continued. “Not when we stand at the brink of the world’s end.”

As Lefiya regained her composure, Baldr explained the situation, and Leon followed up with instructions.

“Now then, Lefiya, you will use the Purification Capsule. It will remove not only physical but also mental exhaustion that magic or potions cannot heal.”

The Purification Capsule, officially named Liferbelk, was an invention of the Academy—a sealed restorative chamber originally designed to purify the Drogma, the toxic miasma that emanated from the Dragon Valley, where the Black Dragon slept.

Now, its purification and regenerative properties were used to amplify natural healing.
A single day of rest within the pod could restore Lefiya completely—bringing her back to full, battle-ready condition.

Since it was still a prototype, the number of capsules was limited. But aside from the ones needed for Leon—who had just returned from the Dragon Valley—and a few female students, Baldr promised that every remaining unit would be given to the Loki Familia.

Lefiya, who had been about to negotiate for her comrades to receive the same treatment as herself, could only bow her head in gratitude before the god’s compassion—who had already seen through everything.

It was likely Loki had sent her to the Academy precisely for this reason—to make use of their inventions. Without the Academy’s technology and knowledge, the recently returned Loki Familia would never be able to rejoin the rescue force headed for the 60th floor. It would have been nothing more than a hopeless dream.

Now, with these pods, not only Lefiya, but Raul, Alicia, and the rest of the second squad could return to the Dungeon.

Even if it meant throwing themselves back into hell once more.

“When you awaken, study the magic techniques of the Academy’s senior elves. I’ve prepared detailed notes for you, and if time permits, they’ll even demonstrate the spells in person.”

“!”

“You’re the only one capable of using Summoning Magic, Lefiya. You’re also the only one who can still grow stronger in the little time we have left.”

“Thank you… for everything.”

Surprised by Leon’s offer, Lefiya could only answer with gratitude—there were no other words she could give.

Ordinarily, sharing one’s own magic—especially one’s trump card or finishing spell—with another elf was unthinkable. But the elves of the Academy remembered Lefiya: her excellence as a student, her contributions as a graduate who had returned to give lectures and seminars. She was one of their own, and so they offered her everything they could.

She felt deeply ashamed of herself for having been so desperate, so reckless in begging for help only moments before.
At the same time, she vowed to make the most of the power entrusted to her—to save her Familia, and above all, Ais.
She believed that doing so would not only fulfill their hopes, but bring the world one step closer to the ultimate goal: the defeat of the Black Dragon.

“I’ll entrust you with my magic too, Lefiya!”

“Millie…”

“So please… come back alive!”

—Lefiya, I’m entrusting this magic to you.
—Please… come back alive.

Milliria’s desperate plea overlapped with a memory—of her, the one who had once given Lefiya her precious barrier magic, looking at her with the same eyes.

Overwhelmed by a wave of inescapable nostalgia, Lefiya found herself placing a hand on her own shoulder, where once the ashes of farewell had fallen.

“Lefiya?”

She couldn’t afford to get lost in sentiment now.

And so, she suddenly pulled Milliria into a hug.

“L-Lefiya!?”

She just didn’t want anyone to see the expression on her face right now—one she couldn’t even understand herself.

Hiding her face against Milliria’s neck, Lefiya wanted to apologize—but she knew there was something else she had to say instead.

“Thank you, Millie. From the depths of my heart, I offer my gratitude—to you, my noble kin.”

“Ha—hawawawaa!?”

With her eyes closed and a gentle smile against Milliria’s neck, Lefiya’s voice carried the warmth of genuine affection.
Milliria instantly turned as red as a boiled octopus.

Seeing her flustered and trembling, Nano let out a shriek of jealous admiration.

“Miiii, that’s not fair! Nano wants to be hugged by Lefiya too~!”

“Th-this is hardly the time for that, you fool, Nano! This warmth belongs solely to me, and afterward I shall record every detail—three hundred sheets of manuscript paper if I must—ahh, she smells so nice—ahh, the bliss—it’s heavenly—hawawawa~!?”

“Luke, why is your face red too?”

“W-what are you talking about, Cole? It’s… it’s nothing… just your imagination!”

The Seventh Squad was as noisy and lively as ever.

This brief moment of warmth and laughter—the only peace they were allowed—brought Lefiya a fleeting sense of comfort.

While Leon watched the students with gentle eyes, beside him Baldr turned to Lefiya, who until recently had been unconscious, and spoke of the situation.

“To prepare for the rescue of Orario’s greatest faction, the Loki Familia, not only the Academy—but all of Orario—is now in motion.”

“Use all of Orario’s forces! Every Familia will fall under my command!”

The order came immediately after the report of the Loki Familia’s annihilation.

It was as if the command had been prepared in advance for the chaos that would follow.

The one who declared it, like a tyrant addressing the whole city, was Hedin Selland—a first-class adventurer of the Freya Familia.

A white elf with a mind said to rival Finn’s despite being only Level 6, Hedin was appointed supreme commander by the Guild and the consensus of the gods.
He announced the activation of a compulsory mission: “Rescue Operation of the Loki Familia.”

The city was stunned—then subdued before confusion could even take root.

The speed of response was overwhelming. Citizens were astonished, and adventurers, realizing they too were being mobilized, gawked in disbelief before rushing to follow orders.

A forced mission at the perfect moment.
It crushed the growing panic and drove the city straight into war preparations.

“I failed to prioritize Lady Freya’s safety over Lady Riveria’s defense. Then I will repay that offense here—by any means necessary.”

Hedin’s declaration was so composed, so absolute, that it felt both perfectly prepared and terrifyingly cold.

After that, there was surprisingly little disruption to morale.
If anything—

“Ah… we’re really about to become this sadistic elf’s pawns and suffer horribly, huh…”

—that resigned dread was more common, and adventurers moved with grim obedience, like slaves serving under a merciless tyrant.

Of course, not everyone kept their composure. Some were still panicked, disoriented by the sudden mobilization.
But not many.

Those deemed “capable” by the white elf had already received their orders even before Lefiya and the others made it back to the surface.
Preparations had been made in advance, and several units were already entering the Dungeon before the rescue was even officially declared.

“Ganesha Familia, move out! Rescue the Loki Familia survivors and provide retreat support—then immediately begin construction of a vertical shaft!”

The massive army of the Ganesha Familia, led by first-class adventurer Shakti, was the first to march into the Dungeon.

“What, we’re being sent in too!? You’ve gotta be kidding me, damn that White Demon Staff—Hildrsleif!”

From their base in the 18th floor settlement of Rivira, Bors and his crew were mobilized in an instant by the Guild’s messengers.

“Exterminate the vermin who dared to steal from Lady Freya! Cleaning up the Loki Familia’s mess is just a bonus! Move out!”

“Follow Van!”

The Freya Familia, of course, deployed as well. Every warrior except the first-class adventurers—the Einherjar—marched into battle.

“Well, well. My first trip into the Dungeon in a while, and it’s to clean up Finn’s mess? Come on, girls, move it!”

“Yes ma’am, Mama Aisha!! I’ll clear the way for big brother, meow!”

“I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna gooo! Nyaaahhh!!”

“Give it up already, you stupid cat…”

“Even in the Dungeon I’m still getting overworked like at the Hostess… yeah, this is where I die…”

“Get a grip, Heith!”

“Pull yourself together, Heith!!”

The Hostess of Fertility and its overworked healers and herbalists were dragged into the effort as well.

“Follow right after Ganesha’s lot! Is everyone ready!?”

After Lefiya and the others had returned to the surface, Aisha, Lenoa, and the other war courtesans of the Berbera also entered the Dungeon, along with a growing number of other factions.

This unprecedented speed was all thanks to Loki and her group, who had been watching the battle on the 60th floor through the Oculus crystal.
The moment communication with Finn’s team was lost and Raul’s group began their desperate retreat, Loki and the others had rushed to deliver all information to Hedin.
Upon receiving it, he immediately drafted the rescue plan and issued orders for a rapid mobilization—commanding the Ganesha Familia and other forces to prepare for combat and launch a Dungeon assault without delay.

In short, by the time Lefiya and her group were struggling to escape the Dungeon five days earlier, nearly every major adventurer in Orario—excluding civilians and lower-ranked fighters—was already in motion for the Loki Familia rescue mission.

“To come up with a plan like this in an instant and then actually pull it off… what kind of brain and guts does he even have!? Wait—why am I the acting commander!? All the horrible work got dumped on me!? Hedin isn’t an elf—there’s no way he’s an elf!!”

Hedin’s leadership was beyond exceptional. Even the girl Pallum—an ally respected by Finn himself—could only describe it as “demonic.”

Not in malice, but in how perfectly, ruthlessly efficient he was at dragging everyone into his plans.

The orders were distributed with cards labeled Sword and Shield.
Those who received the latter were already mobilizing, charging into the Dungeon in a full-scale offensive.

“F-Finn and the others… wiped out…?”

Amid the chaos consuming the city, there were those who froze.

One of them was the Guildmaster himself—Royman Mardeel.

The report was clear: Orario’s greatest faction, the Loki Familia—especially their first-class adventurers—had been left trapped on the 60th floor, their survival hopeless.

No matter how much wisdom the gods or Hedin himself could muster, that number—sixty—carried weight. It was an abyss.
Royman, who had served longer than almost anyone in the Guild save the gods themselves, knew exactly what it meant.
The odds of rescuing Finn and the others were almost zero.

All around him, Guild staff raced to support the adventurers.

The noise felt distant to Royman, as though time itself had stopped. Seated in his ornate chair, he began to tremble.

“I-I-it’s because I hid the information about Thalia's Ice Garden, isn’t it!? If I hadn’t proposed the Shaft Construction Project, those damn academics wouldn’t have revolted, the Faction Alliance could’ve pulled in Freya Familia and Hestia Familia, and Finn and the others would still be alive—!!”

If any god familiar with the situation were watching, they would have laughed, pointed at him, and said, “He’s not entirely wrong.”

Listing off every possible reason why his own actions might have doomed Finn’s party, Royman suddenly doubled over and gagged.

“T-the heroes-in-training…! The last hope of the lower world, built up over fifteen years—ruined! My fault! The lower world’s dream—gone because of meeeee!?”

“Rose! The Guildmaster’s breaking down again!”

“Leave him be, Sophie! He’s been like that for a while! If you’ve got time to worry, use it to help the adventurers instead!”

“That squealing pig voice box is unbearable! Even actual pigs sound better than this!”

Sitting in his chair, the “Guild’s Pig” wailed pitifully while two receptionists bickered nearby—one, a pale-haired elf with sharp words; the other, an older werewolf who simply sighed and called it “another episode.”
The elf clicked her tongue in a most un-elf-like way, clearly fed up.

As they said, this was Royman’s seventeenth episode.

No one bothered to comfort him. No one had time to.
In a crisis like this, a collapsing Guildmaster wasn’t anyone’s priority.

“N-no… no! Even if I’d done nothing, those muscle-brained Einherjar brutes would never have cooperated with Finn’s team! Once the Dragon’s Snore began, a split in our forces was inevitable! Even if Hestia Familia had gone too—even if Bell Cranel himself had gone with them—the unfinished hero, the Little Rookie, could never have changed the outcome!”

Again, any god who’d seen the carnage of the 60th floor would have said, “That’s… mostly true.”

Despite his theatrics, Royman’s desperate self-justification wasn’t entirely delusional.

He wasn’t one for noble guilt. His “episodes” were less about remorse and more about panic-driven self-preservation.

Royman carried scars—traumas burned deep.
He had seen the mighty fall, those once unshakable heroes who believed they could never lose—the gods’ greatest champions.
He had witnessed the annihilation of the Zeus and Hera Familias, crushed by the Black Dragon.

That day, Royman had learned what true failure meant.
He had tasted real despair.

And now that despair was returning.
It gnawed at him so fiercely that he broke down into another fit.

And Royman knew—no one would help him.
No one would comfort him or offer salvation.

He had long since realized, after nearly two centuries of life, that in the end, he could only pick himself back up alone.

Yes—Royman had no allies, only enemies.

“Enough already, Guildmaster!”

“Wha—!?”

And of course, one such “enemy” appeared.

Slamming a mountain of reports onto the table so hard that Royman nearly fell out of his chair was none other than the half-elf guild employee, Eina Tulle.

“Everyone’s running themselves ragged trying to support the adventurers! So please, Guildmaster—stop acting like a pig and work like a draft horse instead!”

“Wha— wha— what!?”

“How long are you going to hide in your own little world!?”

Her glare said it all: End your pitiful excuses and self-preserving nonsense already!

It was the kind of tone no ordinary receptionist should ever take toward the Guild’s highest authority. Royman collapsed backward, pointing at her with a trembling finger.

Eina’s friend Misha flailed beside her, panicking. The older elf and werewolf receptionists both covered their faces or stared toward the ceiling in disbelief.

“I stopped the entire orichalcum requisition plan myself! But you ignored every warning and still went ahead, making enemies out of the Academy! The reason we couldn’t spare more support for the Loki Familia is all your fault—every bit of it!”

“Tu… Tulle, you insolent…!!”

“Which is why—!”

Royman, trembling with rage and humiliation, tried to shout her down, but Eina leaned forward and raised her voice even louder, forcing him back.

“It’s time you take responsibility!”

“!!”

Those words made him widen his eyes.

“There’s so much more you can do than any of us! There are things only you, the Guildmaster, can accomplish!”

Eina was pleading—not for herself, but for everyone. For him to act, to do what must be done now.

Whether this failure would remain just that—or become a true failure, a despair—depended on him.
That was the lesson being shouted at him by a nineteen-year-old half-elf.

Yes, Royman had no allies.

The only beings who ever took an interest in him were gods who toyed with him for fun, or “enemies” like this—those who pushed him forward, just as heroes like Finn once did.

“You insolent girl!”

Shoved to move by someone so much younger—half-elf, at that—Royman’s face turned crimson as he stood up.

The endless loop of self-loathing and self-defense finally came to an end.

“I don’t need you to tell me that! I’ve been watching over Orario longer than anyone—besides the gods themselves!”

(Well, except maybe Fels, but no one was going to say that out loud.)

Eina’s brow furrowed as she met his glare. Royman had snapped out of it.

“We won’t let our heroes die!”

Eina’s lips curved slightly at his declaration. It was infuriating, but she let him go. Royman turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, stomping down the hall.

Misha, the elf, and the werewolf who had been frozen in shock now smiled faintly.

Failure always hurts—especially when it strikes right after you think you’ve succeeded.
But Royman, with nearly two centuries of life behind him, knew something else as well: that excuses and self-preservation never lead anywhere.

Even when trapped in despair, he knew what hope looked like.

It was those heroes who never stopped moving forward—those who mocked him, argued with him, and inspired him.
The heroes like Finn and his comrades.

“Uranus! Please—please, I beg you, save Finn and the others! If that’s what it takes to rescue them, I’ll offer up my life! So please… protect the hope of the lower world!”

Royman burst into the underground altar, throwing himself before the aged god.

It wasn’t a prayer—it was a plea so desperate it bordered on an offer of sacrifice.

“There’s no point in keeping the information about Thalia's Ice Garden secret any longer! In that case, send it to Loki—let her have it!”

Even after making his plea, Royman didn’t stop running.
He dashed through the corridors, sprinting, stumbling, forcing his overweight body—long unaccustomed to movement—to its limits.

Soaked in sweat, he finally began to rise from the depths of despair.

“I’ve never seen Royman like that before.”

In the Guild’s underground altar, Freya entered the Hall of Prayer just as Royman was leaving, glancing back with a faint smile.

“Oh my, it’s not Syr today?”

“Are your eyes broken, Demeter? Do I look like some city barmaid to you?”

She was dressed not in the robes of a queen but in a pale green uniform, as if she’d just come from her shift at the tavern. Demeter chuckled theatrically at the sight, and Freya narrowed her eyes in amusement, playing along with the act.

Many gods were gathered in the underground sanctuary—Demeter among them—drawn there to understand the crisis at hand.
Even the normally carefree gods had convened under the rule of Orario’s founder, Uranus, proof of how grave the situation had become.

But one by one, they began to depart.

“The children of the city are frightened. I’ll go speak to them before panic spreads.”

“I’ll join as well. With Ganesha Familia deployed, the city guard is thin. I’ll gather volunteers to prevent looting.”

“I’ll prepare potions and supplies. It won’t be much, but we’ll keep the front stocked.”

“Then,” Freya said softly, “Takemikazuchi, visit the smithy called Hinadori’s Anvil. Miach, go to the flower shop Dia Flora. You’ll find a kind dwarf there, a retired adventurer who adores him, and a few talented girls with nimble hands. They’ll be of use for patrols and alchemy. You’ll need people.”

Demeter, Takemikazuchi, Miach—gods forbidden from entering the Dungeon—nodded and immediately set off to do what they could.
With Freya’s guidance—her eyes seeing the colors of mortal souls and the essence of their talents—they answered with gratitude and left to take action.

As the room emptied, Freya walked to the far end of the altar, where Uranus sat upon his stone throne.

“Uranus. Just to confirm—Knossos is unusable, isn’t it?”

“Impossible,” he replied, eyes closed. “The Corrupted Spirit’s awakening has reactivated remnants of the old fortress. The flesh of the green labyrinth has begun to regenerate.”

After the fall of Enyo, the artificial Dungeon Knossos had come under Uranus' control—but it could no longer be used.
The direct route to the 18th floor was sealed once again.

It wasn’t that the regenerating “green flesh” of Knossos couldn’t be destroyed—it could—but by the time they cleared it, starting from the surface would be faster. That was Uranus' conclusion.

Freya sighed quietly, disappointed that her attempt to shorten the rescue time had failed.

“So in the end, we have to go with Hedin’s plan…”

She pulled from her pocket one of the two command cards prepared for the operation—the Sword and the Shield. Uranus watched her silently.

Noticing his gaze, Freya spoke without looking up.

“Is it that strange to see me taking the initiative?”

“…It is. Though, I have my suspicions why.”

Her tone didn’t waver, and neither did his. Freya smiled faintly.

Then she lifted her head, her eyes sharp and cold—sharper than any of her own children’s.

“They took my precious children from me… and I will make them pay for it.”

For that purpose, she would lend her strength—whatever it took.

For the three mighty Einherjar who had accompanied the Loki Familia into the depths, and for Ottar and Hogni, still missing somewhere below, the queen’s silver eyes burned with a dark, smoldering flame.

One by one, those capable of fighting marched forth.

Those who could not fight worked behind the scenes, racing to lay the groundwork for victory.

Even the gods themselves set aside their differences and united their will beneath a single banner.

The rescue of the Loki Familia.

And the destruction of the Corrupted Spirit.

To strike down the summoner of the world’s end lurking within the Dungeon, the city of Orario would not rest.

This would not be an untold tragedy lost to time, like the Mad War Saga of Orgia—
but a story worthy of a page in the Holy Epic, Oratoria.

A full day had passed.

Twenty-four hours since their miserable retreat.

In the waiting room of the Dian Cecht Familia’s clinic, Narvi sat on the sofa, her hands clasped together as she let out a deep breath.

“Are you scared?”

“…Of course I am. Saying I’m not would be a lie.”

Across from her, leaning back against the wall, stood Cruz.

Thanks to the Purification Capsules provided by the Academy through Lefiya, the three members of the Second Squad—including Alicia—had recovered enough to fight again. They weren’t in perfect condition, but close enough. The wounds left by defeat still weighed heavily on them.

Of the Loki Familia, only Lefiya and the Second Squad were scheduled to join Hedin’s rescue operation.

Narvi, who still couldn’t hold her sword for long without trembling, lowered her eyes.

“Not even during the expeditions… or Knossos… I’ve never been this scared before.”

She looked down at her shaking hands, admitting it openly.

Before, Finn and the others—the first-class adventurers they trusted most—had always been there.
Now, they weren’t. The heroes she admired, the ones she loved and looked up to, were trapped deep below in the dark. It was up to them—Narvi and her comrades—to save them.

They had to return to hell without their heroes.

“Aren’t you scared too, Cruz?”

“Of course I am. Same as you. But turning my back on the captains hurts worse than fear. And besides—”

Even he, the veteran among them, couldn’t claim to be fearless. But Cruz had already made up his mind. His spear rested on his shoulder, steady and ready.

Before Narvi could reply, multiple footsteps echoed closer.

“We’re going too!”
“I can’t just lie in bed doing nothing!”
“I’m scared, but… if I don’t fight now, I’ll never be able to call myself an adventurer again!”
“Alicia, please—let us help save Lady Riveria!”

They were the wounded members of the Loki Familia, their bodies wrapped in bandages, bearing the scars of the last battle. Men and women alike—elves, warriors—crowded around Alicia, their senior. Some clutched their wounds, grimacing through the pain.

Aside from Lefiya, who was recovering at the Academy, only four Purification Capsules had been available.

Selection had been cruel—based on total status values and Loki’s personal judgment. Those left out, however, refused to yield. They fought through pain and fear alike, demanding to reenter the depths.

Narvi looked at them—these comrades who were just as frightened as she was, yet driven by pride, bonds, and admiration—and her chest tightened painfully.

“Alicia… me too…!”

“Sharon, take care of everyone here. We’re just going ahead, that’s all. Right?”

Alicia smiled faintly as she answered.

She knew. They all felt the same.

They were scared. Their bodies shook. And still, none of them could choose not to fight.

Because they were adventurers—stubborn, reckless, and proud.

Because Narvi wanted to see her beloved heroes again—Tiona and the others she admired so much.

Biting down on her trembling jaw, Narvi finally gripped her sword.

She stood up, forced her usual bright smile, and resolved to carry the weight placed upon her.

“I’ll be back, everyone! I’ll fight like crazy out there!”

She would bear their fear, regret, and frustration—and go to save Finn and the others.

Hearing that, Sharon and the rest couldn’t hold back their tears. They were restrained by Amazoness comrades who’d rushed to stop them, ordered to remain on bed rest. Narvi turned her back to them and walked out.

“So this is what Loki meant by ‘dramatic,’ right? A perfect start, don’t you think? Once this is over, we’re definitely hitting Level Five!”

“Don’t force yourself too much. But yeah… keep that spirit.”

With her sword at her side and Cruz’s spear resting on his shoulder, the two of them walked forward together.

Cruz, the tall canine warrior towering over Narvi, gave her a reassuring smile—one that reminded her of the first-class adventurers she so admired.

“We can’t let Aki leave us in the dust, can we?”

Alicia, catching up from behind, smiled as she matched Narvi’s determined tone.

The three of them—Alicia, Cruz, and Narvi—stepped out of the clinic, pausing under the moonlight.
Alicia’s eyes softened as she looked back, her voice tinged with quiet sorrow.

“But surely… he’ll be the one who—”

“It’s done.”

The goddess had finished updating the final Status.

Inside one of the clinic’s vacant rooms, only the light of the moon illuminated the scene. Raul slowly rose to his feet and reached for his battle gear.

He wasn’t tall, nor built like a giant. To the eye, his physique seemed ordinary—yet beneath the fabric, every inch of him had been hardened through relentless training. Loki alone knew how much effort and pain it had taken to shape that body.

He was a man without natural talent, who had forced himself to reach the furthest limit of what effort could achieve.
If there was such a thing as the pinnacle of human perseverance, Loki thought, it was standing right before her.

“Level Five.”

The young man’s movements stopped for only a moment—but that was all.

Without a word, Raul turned, accepted the status sheet Loki handed him, and lowered his gaze.

Raul Nord
Level 5

Strength: I0 Endurance: I0 Dexterity: I0 Agility: I0 Magic: I0

Hunter: H Abnormal Resistance: H Escape: I → H

No new magic.
No new skill.
No new development ability.

There was no joy, no excitement.

The number he had once longed for—“5”—brought no emotion at all.

A faint, self-deprecating smile crossed Raul’s face.

“Lefiya, Alicia, Cruz, Narvi… they all got stronger. Their statuses rose a ton. But the only one who ranked up… is me.”

That meant Raul had overcome his ordeal—his “trial.”

The coward’s retreat, leaving Finn and the others behind.
The traitor’s desperate charge, costing the lives of Meluna and their comrades.

Those acts—the ones he despised most—were what gave his soul meaning, what carried him up the stairway of ascension.

If this strength was born from cowardice and betrayal, then what cruel irony it was.

Raul Nord had not reached Level Five as a “hero,” but as a man who had pushed cowardice and weakness to their extremes.

He could never be a hero.
To him, this number wasn’t a badge of honor—it was a ticket.

A one-way ticket to the 60th floor.

“Raul…”

“I’m heading out.”

He left the status sheet on the desk and picked up his weapons—a longsword and a short blade imbued with unbreakable properties, crafted by a certain blacksmith for the humans and catfolk who fought beside him.

As Raul fastened the blades to his waist, his eyes softened, as though remembering a part of himself that was far away.

Loki reached out a trembling hand—but stopped halfway.

Something in her told her not to move, that this moment was final. Her lips pressed tightly together as she watched him go.

The back that vanished through the doorway looked like that of a traveler bound for a farewell that would never see return.

She lifted her golden hair and climbed the steps one by one.

Three hours until the dungeon departure time.

After receiving the Academy’s thorough support and restoring her body and mind to a fightable state, and after Loki updated her status, Lefiya climbed the central tower of the city, Babel.

She wasn’t heading down toward the depths where Ais and the others were; she was aiming for the upper floors of the great tower where a certain adventurer slept.

“Excuse me,” she whispered so no one could hear.

So as not to disturb the world of dreams, she opened the door quietly.

This was Babel’s infirmary.

With the Dian Cecht clinic still overflowing with the expedition’s wounded, he was said to be here, recovering from his travels.

While Lefiya and the others had been heading to the 60th floor, he had been on his own adventure, too.

He had left the city, traveled north to the furthest reaches, and learned the terror of the Dragon Valley.

Not to put too fine a point on it, that was the place the Academy students feared most—the source of the end, where the Black Dragon slept.

There he had crossed blades with the strongest lion and fought a fearsome ancient dragon. He had defeated it.

He—Bell Cranel—like the wounded Lefiya and the others, had fought, rested, and prepared.

To regain the longing in their hearts.

“Such a peaceful sleeping face.”

On the moonlit cot with no lamp lit, the boy slept with his eyes closed.

Seen like this, he looked utterly innocent.

It was easy to forget, given his unbelievable deeds and burning rivalries, that he was one year younger than her—a boy of only fourteen.

When they met, she scolded him and he shrank back; she chased him and he ran. Maybe this was the first time she’d seen him so vulnerable.

Staring at his pale profile in the moonlight, Lefiya sat on the edge of the bed without making a sound, right beside him.

There was still time. She wanted to let him rest a little longer.

She glanced at the built-in clock and thought so.

“I wish he could always look this… calm.”

The word cute didn’t come to her—strangely, it didn’t fit.

The boy’s face, washed in blue moonlight, wore a serene, almost otherworldly air.

His hair, white as virgin snow, seemed the closest thing to the purity and innocence elves revere.

His limbs were still slender, almost girlish.

His lids didn’t flutter; his breathing was so soft it was almost unnerving, barely audible.

Drawn in, Lefiya unconsciously leaned closer to him.

She held her breath, stilled her presence, placed a hand on the bed as if to cover him, and continued watching.

Their heads were only a single head’s width apart.

If anything went wrong, she could ram her forehead into his in an instant.

For a boy his age, his eyelashes seemed unusually long—was it prejudice to think that odd for a male?

But Lefiya knew the truth: behind those lids slept a beautiful deep red—rubellite.

She also knew that Ais admired that deep red more than she did.

So, like a child, Lefiya felt a petty, performative jealousy.

“I need your strength.”

It was a strange moment.

At a distance she would never approach while he was awake, doing something she would never otherwise do, Lefiya found herself drawn to him—wanting that crimson rubellite as if it were something to possess.

The answer was already decided.

From the moment she came back to the surface and, in the flash of anger and scorching heat, found in him the source of hope, it was inevitable that the two of them would head toward that longing.

Like a jester’s merry tune leading her along, Lefiya had promised herself she would take his hand.

So now she had to watch over him like an older sister.

A sister? As if. The world would be upside down if she were the brother here.

“...I’m sorry.”

Sorry for dragging him into this.

Sorry for abandoning the object of our admiration.

The apology she needed to say stayed hidden deep in her chest.

There were so many things she would have to tell him once those eyes opened.

So for now she kept staring at his face.

“...It’s about time you woke up.”

She would have liked to let him sleep longer, but the hour was drawing near.

She leaned in and whispered.

Still he didn’t wake, so she took action.

Boop. Press.

She pressed a finger gently into his smooth cheek.

She kept at it—insistent, yet gentle—because she didn’t normally get to do things like that.

Still nothing. He kept snoring.

Then, like a sleeping beauty, his expression changed.

“When do you think you’ll get up?”

His brow knit as if he’d met someone he disliked in a dream.

She was sure he was dreaming—no conceit, just a plain thought.

Lefiya, looking down at him with a little smile, said again, soft enough to be a nudge.

“When are you going to stop sleeping?”

That whisper seemed to be all it took.

He breathed out.

He woke.

Knowing it, Lefiya drew back and rose from the cot.

She smoothed her skirt, tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear, erased her smile, and waited.

His lids opened.

The deep red rubellite they all sought revealed itself in his eyes.

“...Ugh.”

Bell woke.

His pupils flickered slightly as his senses came back to life.

For a moment he seemed to stare into the moonlit distance, mesmerized, then his eyes swung wide open.

“—!! Time! The rescue operation—!?”

He reacted much like he had when he woke at the Academy.

At that first shout Lefiya almost smiled.

But gentle moments were over. She swallowed her smile and spoke to the boy who had sprung up without noticing her presence.

“It’s not time yet. Calm down.”

As if he heard the chime of a bell, Bell steadied, then slowly turned toward her.

“Ah... you are...”

Was he confused, or simply unable to remember?

Lefiya answered the red eyes that looked up at her.

“If you’re still half-asleep, do you want me to introduce myself?”

She didn’t wait for his reply. She spoke plainly.

“I am Lefiya Viridis. I’m a mage of the Loki Familia, and I need your power.”

With a white blaze of magic to shatter ruin and strike back—.

The moment Bell awoke, Lefiya told him everything he needed to know.

That the Loki Familia had advanced to the 60th floor.
That what awaited them there was a nauseating “demon realm”—a nest of charm and parasitism that fed on adventurers.
That at its deepest point waited the “Corrupted Spirit,” and that fate had turned against them—Ais had been taken.
That, separated from their first-tier adventurers by the battle’s aftermath, they had been forced to abandon Ais and retreat to the surface, paying a terrible price to do so.

Entrusted by Leon—and volunteering herself—to act as messenger to Bell, Lefiya spoke in a voice stripped of emotion, though inside it felt as though a rasp were grinding against her heart.

Bell was silent through most of it, his expression changing from shock to disbelief to wordless numbness.
It was only natural. If their places were reversed—if it were before Lefiya had lost Filvis—she might have cried without understanding why, striking his chest with trembling fists.
Now, with her hair short and her grief hardened into resolve, she would only take time to swallow it and let that fury kindle her vow.

So she understood. Bell’s trembling was fine.
He was like her. They shared the same longing, like reflections of one another.

“Please,” she said softly, kneeling before him, “lend us your strength.”

Not like a knight before her queen—Lefiya was far from that.
She set aside elven pride, carved repentance into her heart, and bowed her head.
When she looked up again, she held out the scarlet card—the “Sword” command sigil, a summons to hell itself.

And just as she expected, Bell’s red eyes flared with light.

“I will,” he said. “But you have to lend me yours too.”

He took the card, nodded with conviction.

“Let’s save Ais and the others—together.”

Their departure, however, was not so harmonious.

“...”
“...”

Descending the endless staircase of Babel, not a single word passed between them—only the echo of their footsteps.

Preparation had been swift.
They had equipped the crimson “Spirit Master,” the prototype anti-spirit cloak forged by the Academy—a composite of every known spirit shroud—and the weapons Hestia Familia had provided, including the knife.
Behind the curtain of the infirmary, Bell had calmly armed himself, ready for war.

And now, silence.

“...”
“...”

Lefiya didn’t mind the quiet, but Bell’s awkwardness was obvious.
Still, breaking it seemed impossible.

Though Bell was her “hope” for rescuing Ais, they weren’t friends, not truly.
If anything, she knew she’d stood on the opposite side of him more than once.
And her own mind was still anchored in the 60th floor—burdened by the memory of that decision, that loss.

(You should say something… but what? Any story about this human just brings up anger and regret...)

She could almost feel her magic aura darkening like a storm cloud. Just when she was getting fed up with her own brooding—

“Uh, um, Lefiya—your hair! You, uh… you cut it! It looks really good!”

Bell blurted it out, his voice high and nervous.

Whether because he couldn’t bear the silence any longer, or because he simply wanted to break it, Bell looked over and forced himself to speak brightly.

With a strained smile.

And Lefiya—

“……………………”

—looked at him as though she were gazing upon the most pitiful creature in existence.

Even the kindest of saints, when faced with a lustful beast, could turn into a “Shameless Rabbit–Exterminating Saint,” ready to incinerate all perversion.
A great sorceress who had mastered the ultimate annihilation spell, Hyper Arcs Ray, born from love, fury, and sorrow.
Her stare carried the contempt of a yandere head maid squared—pure, concentrated disdain.

Of all people, you dared attempt to flirt with Lefiya Viridis?

Get a grip, useless rabbit.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Guh—gah!?”

The words struck sharper than any blade, piercing Bell right through the chest.

In Lefiya’s mind, the “Great Beast Rabbit Beyond”—the man infamous for confusing women everywhere—had officially plummeted to the lowest possible rank, crashing and burning into the depths of the earth.

“At a time like this, you’re flirting? What’s wrong with you? Did your brain turn into some kind of deranged flower field? We’re supposed to be saving Ais, and you’re trying to hit on me—how much of a menace to women can one person be!?”

“Obbh—bwah!?”

A merciless barrage followed.
Bell doubled over again and again, absorbing blow after invisible blow, his body wobbling dangerously close to tumbling down the stairs.

Lefiya sighed quietly, making sure he didn’t notice.

At Bell’s hopeless kindness.
At her own stubbornness.

“...I’m sorry.”

“...Huh?”

There was no deeper meaning behind it.

She only stepped down the stairs ahead of him so that, if he tripped and fell, she’d be there to catch him.

It wasn’t because she thought of herself as beneath him.

And yet—
the only words that left her lips were an apology.

“I'm the one who’s been brooding and making things uncomfortable… and yet you’re the one trying to ease the mood.”

“Lefiya…”

“But please, don’t force yourself to do things you’re not used to. I don’t even know how to react when you do.”

“Ah, right… okay.”

Step by step, they descended the staircase.

Word by word, Lefiya spoke honestly, letting her true thoughts slip out—until, before she realized it, she had pulled up the sediment buried deep within her heart.

“Do you… despise me?”

“Huh?”

“For leaving Ais and the others behind… for running away.”

That was the confession she had hidden at the very bottom of her heart—the same regret and torment she shared with Raul and the others.
More than anything, it was anger and hatred toward their own weakness.

Her slender legs stopped moving.

On the long staircase, ten or more steps now separated them.

At some point, Bell had ended up above, and Lefiya below.

His crimson eyes looked down at her; her sapphire eyes looked up.
Her expression did not change, her emotions frozen like crystal, waiting for him to speak.

She wanted to hear his answer—the words of the boy who shared her same dream.

At first, Bell’s eyes widened. He clamped his lips shut for a moment, then—

“…Do you want me to despise you?”

“What?”

He asked something so unexpected that Lefiya blinked several times in surprise.

Seeing her reaction, Bell gave a small, sheepish laugh and scratched the back of his head.

“Well… it’s just, it feels like looking into a mirror.”

“A mirror…?”

“I mess up a lot too. And sometimes, I almost want people to scold me for it.
When they’re kind instead, it just makes me feel even more pathetic…”

This time it was Lefiya’s turn to open her eyes wide.

He spoke humbly, saying that he’d gone through far more failures, more moments of shame than she had.
And that humility, that honesty—Lefiya knew it was true.

In that moment she realized again: Bell Cranel and Lefiya Viridis really were mirrors of each other.

As Lefiya listened with quiet solemnity, Bell began walking down the steps again.

“But,” he said.

He came to her level—then simply passed her by, descending further.

“Blaming you now would be wrong. I know that much for sure.”

He stopped and turned around.

Now, Bell stood below, and Lefiya stood above.

“Because you and your comrades came back for your Familia… and now you’re going back with us to save Ais and the others.”

His gaze was filled with quiet respect—praise for those who had fought and returned alive, for those who would soon march into hell again for their comrades, for their ideals.

Something so simple. So obvious.
And yet, Bell’s words made it feel anything but miserable.

“So, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t despise you, Lefiya.”

There was nothing eloquent about it—just the honest words of a boy with a pure heart.

And Lefiya thought, I really do hate you.

Even as her lips curved into a faint, blossoming smile.

“…It was foolish of me to ask you.”

She descended the last few steps, coming to stand beside him once more.

“I won’t say any more pathetic things. I’ll say it again.”

Meeting his gaze directly, with no hesitation or guilt this time, Lefiya spoke.

“Please… lend me your strength.”

“Yes!”

And with that, all the unease that had lingered between them finally vanished.

From the first floor of Babel, a human boy and an elven girl descended together.

Waiting for them were the strongest forces the city of Orario could muster—its top adventurers, knights, and Familia elites.

Hedin Selland, Allen Fromel, and the Gulliver brothers of the Freya Familia.
Leon Vardenberg of the Academy.
Ryu Lion and Sanjouno Haruhime of the Hestia Familia.
Asfi Al Andromeda of the Hermes Familia.

Alongside them stood Raul, Alicia, Cruz, and Narvi of the Loki Familia.

Together, they formed the main strike team—the core of the rescue operation.

It was, without question, the mightiest lineup Orario had ever assembled, even without the absent heroes of the Loki Familia.
The sight of such a gathering stirred excitement in adventurers, citizens, and even gods alike.

And through a magic device—the ocular crystal—Loki watched it unfold.

“The ultimate dream team of heroes, huh…” she murmured.

The crystal, a gift wrested from Uranus himself, allowed her to watch remotely through Raul and Lefiya’s link.
Yet, despite the spectacle before her, Loki couldn’t help but feel a hollow ache inside.

Her beloved heroes were missing.
And the fact that so many now gathered to save them—it was irony made manifest.

“If this bunch can’t win,” she muttered, half-smiling, “then we’re really out of luck.”

In the guild’s underground chamber—the Sanctuary of Prayer—Loki stood with other deities: Hermes, Baldr, Freya, and Hephaestus.
Each god represented a Familia with children still trapped below or now marching into the abyss.
Only Ganesha and the loudmouthed Dian Cecht were absent.

From here, the gods would watch their children’s progress and offer guidance when needed—
a true altar of divine prophecy for those lost in the dark.

“Don’t say things like that, pretty boy,” Loki snapped sideways at Hermes, who had made a light comment as he watched the grand receiver’s image.

Wiping her face roughly with her arm, she cast away her moment of sentimentality.

There was no room for tears or nostalgia.
A god’s melancholy was the most useless thing in the world.

So she licked her lips, drew in a deep breath, and whispered her words of faith and defiance—an unspoken prayer and a rallying cry.

“Go on, everyone. And make sure you come back—
all of you, together with Ais…”

Under her gaze, the adventurers began to move.

The moment arrived, and from Hedin’s lips came the command that would set the city’s mightiest into motion.

“…Time’s up. Move out.”

Under the pale blue light of the moon,
toward the cursed depths where evil itself awaited,
the Dream Party of Heroes—Orario’s final hope—set forth from the surface once more.

Chapter 2:
Irregular Festival

“Are you… my fellow recruit?”

Back then—at thirteen years old—she’d been sharper, more distant.

Among beastmen, their hair and tail are often collectively called their “fur.”
If that’s the case, then hers was like the stillness of a quiet night—black, sleek, and beautiful.
And above all, even at that age, she herself was… beautiful.

Thirteen-year-old Raul, faced with what could have been called a fateful encounter, was so stunned that he just stood there dumbfounded.

“Anakitty Autumn. Nice to meet you.”

“…Nice to meet you,” he managed to reply.
But Anakitty immediately narrowed her eyes suspiciously, clearly wondering if this clumsy boy could really handle being her equal.

That was how their first meeting ended.

She turned her back on him and walked away.
Her black, silky tail swayed behind her—alert, cautious—and Raul found himself watching it for a while.

Eight years ago, in the autumn, only two people joined the Loki Familia: Raul and Anakitty.

Just as she’d said, they were each other’s only peer recruit.

So, in those early days—when Raul was constantly overwhelmed by the unfamiliar life of the Familia—he’d steal moments whenever he could to talk with Anakitty.

The veterans around them, the upper-class adventurers, were monsters beyond comprehension.
Finn and the others were good people and easy to trust, but the leadership was too busy for a low-ranked newcomer like Raul to bother.
Their goddess Loki was chaotic and bizarre, and spending time around her usually meant getting caught up in some sort of scandal or disaster involving women, which his nerves couldn’t handle.
And Ais—who was younger than both Raul and Anakitty—was terrifying in her own way, cutting through monsters without pause.

In truth, he’d been scared—so scared that the only person he could reasonably talk to was the one person in the same position as him.

It wasn’t just fear; it was a kind of homesickness.

So when Raul, finding any excuse he could, kept showing up to see her, Anakitty eventually said:

“Don’t use me for your own convenience.”

That sharp, cold attitude—as Raul had thought of it—came from moments like that.

Like a proud cat, she was curt, sensitive to the subtlest shifts in others’ moods, and utterly incapable of sugarcoating her words.
(She’s still the same now—only back then, she was even less forgiving.)

“Just because we’re peers doesn’t mean you can lean on me. It’s annoying—and I hate it.”

It was as if she’d seen straight through him. Raul was mortified.

And yet, more than embarrassment, what filled him was guilt.

The word “use” hit him like a slap—because it was true, and he hadn’t even realized it himself.

His shoulders slumped. Raul apologized quietly, and turned to leave.

Perhaps he looked so pitiful—so defeated—that something in her softened. Anakitty’s lips curved into a small pout, her slim tail swaying, and then—suddenly—she grabbed the hem of his coat.

“…I don’t like being relied on,” she muttered, “but… we can exchange useful information.”

“…Huh?”

When Raul tilted his head, confused, she fidgeted and admitted,

“The seniors are too far above us. I can’t even tell what they’re doing. They’re hard to approach, and… the only one I can really talk to right now is Alicia…”

Her embarrassed confession—that she didn’t really have friends either—was, to Raul, genuinely adorable.

And so, from that day forward, their true partnership as peers began.

It was during Orario’s “Dark Era.”

The Evilus Faction wasn’t some remnant—it was at its peak.

Violence and chaos raged inside and outside the city, and evil was thriving everywhere.

Raul spent his early days pale with fear, constantly thinking “I came at the worst possible time.”
But Anakitty, despite trembling, kept her tail still and pressed forward with clenched teeth.
She was far more capable and adaptable than he was.

They were rarely sent to face Evilus directly—only to support the frontlines or assist Finn’s team.
Most of their time was spent in the Dungeon, training desperately to become useful to the Familia as soon as possible.

And throughout it all, Raul found himself watching over Anakitty.

During battles with monsters, when Ais' swordsmanship terrified him, or when Anakitty was caught off guard and in danger—he always kept an eye on her.

At first, Anakitty had been exasperated by his constant interference.
But when Raul threw himself in harm’s way to protect her, she finally realized—

He wasn’t a fool getting in the way.
He genuinely cared.

Anakitty bristled like an angry cat, her fur practically standing on end.

“You can’t even take care of yourself, and you’re worrying about someone else? That’s idiotic!”

Instead of gratitude for risking himself to save her, Raul was met with a furious outburst that made him want to cry.

Still fuming, Anakitty snapped at Ais—who, for once, actually looked intimidated by her—and insisted on treating Raul’s wounds herself.

She wouldn’t let anyone else do it.

She was exactly as Raul had thought—fair to the core.

She hated dishonesty, could seem cold and blunt, but her claws hid a quiet kindness.

By then, Raul had already come to understand her. She wasn’t pretending to be aloof or noble—she was simply forcing herself to stay strong, living each day on sheer willpower. Strong, but fragile in ways she never showed.

And that made it impossible to leave her alone.

“…Why did you risk yourself for me?” she asked later, her tone still sharp but softer at the edges.

If he had to give another reason… it was because she reminded him of a stray cat back home.

One that used to wander into his house for food. Out of all his siblings, that black cat had taken a liking to him. Clever, proud, and somehow fragile—just like her.

So Raul smiled, trying to reassure her despite the pain from his injuries.

And immediately got clawed across the face.

He went down groaning, clutching his cheek, while Anakitty’s face turned bright red with anger.

“Gya-ha-ha-ha-ha! Raul, yer killin’ me! That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all week!”

When Loki heard the story later, she burst out laughing, nearly crying from amusement.

His first serious wound—earned protecting his peer—wasn’t a medal of honor, not something to brag about.
He was patched up by the same girl he’d tried to protect. It was clumsy, awkward, and painfully Raul-like.

But Finn and the others had only smiled. Not mockingly—fondly.

And from then on, things changed.

Anakitty began to spend more time with him of her own accord.

To be precise, she started following him around with a half-lidded look that said, “If I don’t keep an eye on this idiot, he’s going to get himself killed.”

In the Dungeon, around their home base, even when they witnessed the terrifying battles against Evilus—she was always there.

“Raul, why did you come to Orario?”

About a year after they’d joined, the two began to share more personal stories.

By then, Anakitty had learned to trust him—and Raul had come to respect her deeply.

He told her honestly: he was a farmer’s third son, tired of the same uneventful days, wondering if that was all his life would ever be. So, chasing a vague hope—and maybe a bit of a man’s foolish dream—he made the biggest decision of his life and came to the Labyrinth City.

He expected her to laugh, but she didn’t.

“That’s nice,” she said, with a faint smile.

It threw him off so much that he finally asked about her past in return—the thing he’d always been curious about.

“…I guess I was running away,” she said quietly. “I thought… if I stayed where I was, I’d die. So I decided—before that happens, I’ll find something I really want… and take it for myself.”

Her words left him speechless.

For someone so composed, so capable, the admission felt like a glimpse into something fragile and painfully real.

Anakitty, despite her graceful bearing that could rival a noble-born cat, had grown up in poverty.

She came from the Empire—one of the great world powers. Her parents, both of noble birth, had died when she was young, and she’d ended up in the slums.

Tough and resourceful, she survived by disguising herself as a boy. But as her body began to mature, that ruse became impossible.

By then, “relatives” claiming noble ties appeared, trying to take her away. And worse, slavers—drawn by her beauty—set their sights on her too.

She never wanted to be alone, but she refused to live as someone’s tool.

Dodging capture again and again, she made a plan. A desperate one.

And one day, she ran—to the one place where nobles and slavers wouldn’t easily reach her: Orario, during the height of the Dark Era.

The only thing she hadn’t expected… was that the Familia that took her in would be Loki Familia, of all things.

Remembering how sharp and defensive she’d been back then, Raul felt a wave of guilt.

He tried to apologize for how naïve he’d been—but Anakitty didn’t let him.

“It was me who made things difficult. So don’t apologize. Raul, you keep seeing yourself as less than you are.”

At fourteen, the girl’s edges had softened; she smiled in a way she never had a year before.

And somehow, that smile became one of the reasons Raul kept pushing forward.

Together they lived through countless battles — through the Dark Era, through the terrifying Great War, through endless expeditions into the Dungeon, the very heart of an adventurer’s calling.

He found new comrades: Alicia, Cruz, Narvi — friends he could trust with his life.
He gained juniors like Lefiya, bright and talented.
There were losses, too, but Raul endured them all, walking side by side with Anakitty through every trial.

They both grew stronger. Taller. Wiser. The two thirteen-year-olds who once stood trembling at the edge of the Familia had long since become veterans.

One day, Raul asked her, almost casually:
“Did you ever find it? The thing you said you were looking for — what you wanted before you die?”

Anakitty turned back to him and smiled — soft, genuine, almost shy.

“Yeah. I think I did,” she said, her eyes on him.

──Why am I remembering this now?

As fragments of those memories flickered in his mind, Raul ran — part of the Strongest Heroic Band, the “Dream Party.”

“UOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Move, main squad!”

“Bring that damn Braver back home alive!”

The Dungeon thundered with the roars of countless adventurers — a battle cry turned war song.

Floor 20. The Great Tree Labyrinth.

Raul and his comrades of the main unit raced down the main path, flanked on both sides by endless lines of adventurers.

“They filled even the middle floors with this many people!?”

“What the hell’s going on in that white-haired elf’s head—!?”

“A mock shaft, huh? Damn good name for it!”

Behind Raul, Alicia, Narvi, and Cruz stared in awe.
The scene resembled a parade of knights charging into war, a living corridor of steel and courage.

But this was no parade.

The adventurers standing to the left and right were the walls — the living bulwark keeping the tide of monsters at bay.

This was Orario’s pseudo vertical shaft, the grandest operation in its history.

“It’ll take all of Orario’s army,” Hedin Selland, commander of Freya Familia, had declared.

And from that single sentence, everything began.

Appointed supreme commander after Loki Familia’s annihilation and Finn’s disappearance, the White Elf known to other factions as the heartless demon strategist devised one impossible plan:
A living, breathing elevator made of adventurers.

Not a shaft of orichalcum, as in the Guild’s earlier proposals, but a chain of fighters stretching from the surface to the deep floors — a path carved through the Dungeon by human hands.
The main unit would descend through this makeshift corridor, stage by stage, all the way to Floor 60.

It was madness.

But with no time, no other route, and no choice, even the doubters had to accept it.

Those who had once mocked Hedin’s efficiency now whispered that this insanity was the only way to reach the sixtieth floor, a realm so far below that even seasoned adventurers could barely imagine it.

To rescue Loki Familia, the city had to throw away reason itself.

This would be the first and last time Orario ever moved its entire army at once.

An unprecedented, full-scale assault — a single strike toward the abyss.

And with that, the descent began.

“Damn it! You can’t run in this damned Dungeon!”

“Quit whining! Don’t rely on the main squad!”

“Don’t you dare slow down, main unit! Keep moving—get those heroes back!!”

The “shield” units held their ground, roaring as they slashed through monsters that spilled from the walls.

Each one turned their back to Raul’s group, holding the line, their message silent but clear:

Don’t stop. Keep running.

Hedin had given a strict order: the main unit was not permitted to engage in combat until they reached the fiftieth floor.

Every second, every ounce of stamina mattered. What was demanded of Raul and the others was simple — an all-out sprint.

“Gyaah!?”
“Damn it all!!”

Even when comrades fell beside or behind them, they could not stop. They had to clench their fists, look only forward, and keep running.

Bell Cranel, the youngest among the rescuers, trembled as his resolve faltered. Behind him, Lefiya and the elf from Hestia Familia — Ryu Lion — touched his shoulder or waist each time he staggered. The boy bit his lip and forced himself onward, eyes fixed on Leon and the vanguard.

No one could call him naïve — not here, not now. The scene before them was beyond human comprehension. Guilt, fear, and grief had to be burned away and turned into fuel to keep moving.

Roars filled the tunnels.
“OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
“GRAAAHHH!! GUUURRRAAAAHHH!!”

The Dungeon itself screamed as the adventurers blasted a straight tunnel through its heart — a living vertical shaft. The entire underground shook with the fury of monsters swarming from every crevice.

It was a long-distance death relay — a “rescue marathon” that turned the Dungeon into a battlefield and a racetrack.
Those along the path split into two kinds: the audience — monsters surging in bloodlust to devour the runners — and the supporters — adventurers who stood their ground to repel the beasts and guard the sacred run.

The course had two halves: outbound and return.

This was no one-way mission. The runners would have to reach the sixtieth floor, rescue the trapped first-class adventurers, and then make it back before the Dungeon swallowed them whole.
The “shaft” had to hold through it all — no matter how many monsters poured in. Even temporary collapses had to be reversed before the main force returned.

No matter the cost.

While the shield units fought like madmen to hold the line, the sword-bearing main unit kept running.
Amid the chaos, Raul glanced at the back of Hedin Selland, who maintained a steady, unwavering pace near the center of the formation.

And he remembered.
What had happened before they departed from Babel Tower.

“I abandoned them… Meluna and the others. I left them behind…”

When the combined forces of Freya Familia, Hestia Familia, and the others had gathered, Raul had confessed — explained how the expedition to Floor 60 had gone wrong, how the Freya Familia warriors had fallen, how he had led the retreat.

He waited for anger — for fists or condemnation. Even death would have been understandable.

Narvi had tried to object, but Cruz and Alicia had only lowered their eyes. Raul stood ready to be judged.

Instead, Hedin dismissed him with a single, sharp command.

“Pathetic. If you have time to wallow, use it to sharpen your blade.”

Raul blinked. “Huh…?”

Hedin finally looked at him — a single, piercing glance, filled not with contempt but with cold practicality.

“Do not use me for your confession.”

The words struck him like a blow.

They were almost identical to something Anakitty had once said to him.

“I, and Meluna, and all of the Einherjar are warriors. Berserkers who lived only to fight — not to prove loyalty to our goddess, but because it was who we were. We chose to save you. Think — what meaning do you think lies in that choice?”

Raul’s breath caught.

Hedin, who hadn’t even been there, understood Meluna and the others better than he had himself. He was revealing the truth they could not say aloud — their final will.

“Raul Nord! You weren’t wrong!”

No… that wasn’t it.

“The elf of the Yenite Forest, the elf who governs wisdom — Meluna Slea — swears upon the Great Sacred Tree and declares this!— You are not mistaken!!”

At the very least, those were the words Meluna had spoken.

She was the only one who had affirmed and praised Raul’s decision.

The pathetic Raul, consumed by regret and grief, simply hadn’t let those words truly reach his heart.

“Don’t make me listen to your drivel, fool.”

Hedin spat the words without turning around, refusing any further conversation.

Then Raul realized something—what that back meant.

It was the same kind of back as Finn’s: the back of a commander who would never hand off responsibility to anyone else.

If anyone were to be condemned for Meluna and the others’ deaths, it would not be Raul. It would be Hedin Selland himself, who had ordered them to accompany the Loki Familia.

The most cold and proud of elves—he was fully aware of that truth.

The mighty warrior of the Einherjar, like Meluna and her comrades, would never allow Raul to become a wretched, broken man.

“Remove as many obstacles in the Dungeon as you can. Keep fighting.”

Still facing away, Hedin walked off, leaving Raul with one final statement.

“The strong warrior of the Einherjar values that above all else.”

It was, in the end, exactly the kind of words Raul needed to hear.

“Uooooooohhh!!”

Pulling himself out of the well of memory, Raul swung the sword in his hand in a wide arc.

He lunged at the monster that had slipped past the shaft defenders and leapt into his path, cleaving it cleanly in two.

He had held back a little, but it was still overkill—his control was imperfect. Don’t get drunk on that intoxicating sense of power, he told himself. Be cold—be like Hedin. Don’t misunderstand the meaning of his words.

(I want to rampage. Cut down every monster in sight. But not now. What we have to do isn’t vengeance—it’s rescuing the Captain, Aki, everyone!)

Balancing impulse against duty, Raul firmly chose the latter.

His eyes were sharp, his gaze fixed ahead; the human who kept running forward carried no hesitation. There was a definite weight, the presence of a Level 5. Seeing the change in him, Alicia and the others couldn’t help but stare, awed by the determination in his back.

(The main party’s pace… it’s too fast! They’re keeping this up? It’s insane!)

Meanwhile—

In contrast to Raul’s steady stride, Lefiya was the one whose lungs were screaming.

At the head of the formation were “Vana Freya,” Allen Fromel, and Level 7 Leon Vardenburg—the pace of the “main force” was on another level entirely. The scenery to either side blurred by so quickly it was hard to believe they were still in the Dungeon. They were tearing through floors at a pace that defied reason.

Even with the “pseudo-shaft” formed by other adventurers, from the perspective of an expedition into the deep floors, this speed was absurd.

“Anyone who can’t keep up can fall behind. I’m not slowing down for dead weight.”

What a hateful, arrogant remark from the “Vana Freya,” Allen Fromel—but he wasn’t wrong. At this rate, they might truly reach the 60th floor in less than two days.

Even Loki Familia’s great expedition had taken about five days to reach the 50th floor, and the return had been a desperate struggle filled with casualties.

Yet here, they were only running—and still, Lefiya, a Level 4, and even Alicia and the others were on the verge of dropping out. Sweat poured down her cheeks in thick beads.

(Bell Cranel…! He hasn’t even lost his breath!)

Glancing at the boy running slightly ahead of her, Lefiya stoked her own resolve through rivalry and managed to keep pace.

“Haah, haah…! L-Lefiya! You’ve got… the makings of a runner!”

Narvi shouted something between gasps, but the wind tore her voice away before it reached Lefiya’s ears.

Lefiya Viridis had certainly matured.

After the loss of Filvis Challia, after serving as an instructor guiding younger students, she had gained more perspective and composure than Bell.

But “matured” and “become an adult” were not the same thing.

She was still fifteen—only a year older than Bell. In a hellish march like this, without time to pose or hide her emotions, the blue flame she kept buried deep in her heart began to burn red again.

When something makes her conscious, she can’t help it. And honestly, after leaning over to stare at his sleeping face back in the infirmary—there’s no way she could claim she wasn’t conscious of him. No way. Shut up, shut up, shut up, she argued with herself in her mind. She was that desperate.

In any case—he really was Level 5!

A first-class adventurer, just like Ais!

Even with the anxiety, there wasn’t the slightest hint of fatigue in him, and that calm expression of his was infuriatingly cool—yet, right now, reassuring.

Not that she’d ever admit it out loud!

Her face flushed with heat, steam practically rising from her head as she ran. Ryu and Alicia exchanged glances at the sight, but Lefiya didn’t notice.

Among the rescue party, the mage with the lowest physical stats outside of magic used the fire of her feelings as fuel—and, with that, managed to keep up with the charge.

(But… Raul too…)

Even as Lefiya struggled to keep her pace, she couldn’t help but notice the human running nearly beside her.

From the outside, his expression looked cold—calm to the point of frost. Only his eyes burned sharp with focus.

She knew, though. Inside, the same fire swirled within him as in her own chest.
But the flame he carried now—felt deeper, fiercer, as if it burned from somewhere far beyond her reach.

Just before departure, he had ranked up—now, like Bell, he was Level 5.
And like Bell, he hadn’t lost his breath in the slightest.

“Haah!”

A monster screamed as Raul’s blade tore through it in a single precise strike.

The terrifying part wasn’t just his speed. It was that, even amid this relentless march, Raul was using it—testing and tuning his new status after the rank-up.

Though Hedin had strictly forbidden combat, he alone permitted Raul’s intervention. Raul himself knew it would not be condemned; he helped the defense units whenever they faltered, slaying stray monsters with uncanny timing so the “main force” wouldn’t lose even a second of momentum.

Between second-class and first-class adventurers—between Level 4 and Level 5—lay a gulf greater than any that came before. And Raul was managing that transition here, within this madness, controlling the surge of his new strength rather than being swept away by it.

Lefiya understood it, but she still felt a chill run through her—a sense of awe and unease that washed away even her rivalry with Bell.

“Lefiya, water!”

“Ah…! I’m fine, Raul! I can still—”

“You drink before you’re thirsty! Before you’re tired! Too late and it’s useless—drink now!”

Catching her condition with uncanny precision, Raul shoved a special hydration drink into her hands—a mix of water, potion, and fruit extract. Lefiya couldn’t argue; someone with his experience spoke from truth. Raul then moved forward, handing another flask to Bell, who accepted it gratefully.

“Raul, you’re really dependable!”

“…”

Lefiya had no words for that simple praise.

Raul continued distributing the drink to Narvi and the others, checking the entire party—especially the members under Level 6—with quiet efficiency. He acted like a veteran coachman who knew the back wheels were what kept the carriage alive.

Of course, Lefiya already knew Raul was dependable.

But this—this was something else entirely.

He was drawing on all the experience he’d gained supporting Finn during expeditions, easing the strain on Hedin without being told. That sort of poise—that awareness—had always been Anakitty’s strength.

Now Raul was filling her place.

No—more than that.

His precise balance, his detached calm, the almost mathematical rationality—he was wearing Finn’s mask as well.

The man they’d once felt they needed to support had somehow gone far ahead, beyond reach.

(No… if this keeps up—)

Before she could finish that thought, her earpiece—the magic crystal known as an Oculus—flared to life.

A god’s voice came through, steady and commanding.

“Lefiya. Don’t worry about Raul.”

“Don’t think about it. Just keep going. The best thing y’all can do now is maintain that speed.”

The voice came from the underground sanctum beneath the Guild headquarters — the Chamber of Prayer.

Upon the divine throne sat Uranus, quietly watching. This place now served as the gods’ “observation hall.”

“They haven’t slowed down even after reaching the 20th floor!”

“This is insane! At this pace, they’ll set a new record for reaching the 50th floor!”

Before a massive crystal orb set on a special pedestal in the center of the chamber, Hephaestus and Hermes raised voices of astonished admiration.

Though the orb allowed only one-way viewing, the footage received through the Oculus crystals carried by Lefiya’s group held the gods utterly spellbound from the moment the operation began.

“The Knight of Knights still lives up to his name, Baldr. He shines brighter than ever,” said Freya, her eyes soft with pride.

“If those words come from you, Freya, then Leon would surely be pleased,” Baldr replied politely.

“Oh? Not a scowl or a sigh?” she teased.

“Hah. He’s a reformed man now. And your warriors are still as formidable as ever. Aside from Leon, none of the Academy’s children could stand against them.”

Like old comrades from the heavens, Freya and Baldr conversed in calm tones.
Along with Loki, the two gods from the same divine homeland stood a step back from the orb, watching the movements of the Dream Party of Heroes.

Freya, naturally, had somehow convinced a Guild officer to prepare a luxurious chair for her — her elegance undiminished even in this subterranean hall.
Even the tavern uniform she wore, mismatched as it seemed, somehow radiated poise when she crossed her legs. The goddess of beauty’s charm was as unfair as ever.

“Geh—! More man-eating flowers!? There’s way too many, even for that bunch!”

“They’re the Corrupted Spirit’s lapdogs, what’d ya expect!? They’re breedin’ faster than mold!”

Here sat the divine command group — Loki, Freya, Baldr, Hermes, Hephaestus, and Hestia — serving as both observers and divine operators, issuing advice to the rescue force when needed.

“Wait—weren’t those the same monsters that popped up when Orario was in trouble!?”

Hestia groaned, recognizing the clusters of monstrous flowers on the screen.

They were the same horrors that had rampaged across the city during the Knossos incident.
Seeing them now crawling through the dungeon again, the tiny goddess made a face of disgust beside Loki, who was glaring intently at the battlefield through the crystal.

Veterans who had fought in that urban war managed to handle them, but those without such experience struggled terribly.
Even the weakest specimens of the species possessed tremendous power.

Just as Hestia lamented, these creatures had no business appearing in the Great Tree Labyrinth in such overwhelming numbers. When Raul’s group had fled from the 60th floor, they too had encountered the creatures — and according to their testimony, the swarms didn’t stop until the 27th floor. That meant the Corrupted Spirit’s influence had expanded upward by more than seven floors in mere days.

“That damn spirit’s been spreading its ‘tentacles’ even into this layer…” Loki muttered grimly.

Even assuming its main body lay entrenched on the 60th floor, the breadth of its dominion — its territory — was staggering.

When Raul and the others had retreated, those “iridescent monsters” had appeared like ambush troops, pursuing the broken expedition from the 58th all the way to the 28th floor — thirty entire layers of relentless pursuit.
For a spirit — no, for a monster — the Corrupted Spirit displayed terrifying cunning.

(Cunning… huh…)

As the main force advanced rapidly through the Great Tree Labyrinth, then into the Water Capital and the Underground Garden of Flowers, Loki fell silent, lost in thought.

The Alliance of Factions, prepared to perfection, had been outwitted.

And that meant Finn, and by extension Loki herself, had been outmaneuvered — even if the desperate situation on the 60th floor had forced their hand.

(“The Nightmare of the 27th Floor… yeah, we already knew the Corrupted Spirit’s influence had reached beyond the Deep Floors. But this—this is so clean, so perfectly timed, it makes me sick with rage…”)

Loki’s crimson eyes narrowed.

Even now, she still burned with hatred for the Corrupted Spirit—the thing that had stolen her children, her Familia, from her. She wanted nothing more than to erase it from existence.
But beneath that boiling fury, something else stirred inside her.

A different sensation—one she could barely put into words.

A sickening wrongness.

(This nausea… this stench in the air… I’ve felt it before. Not from the Corrupted Spirit… no—this is… like that damned god…Enyo—)

Her sharp mind, tracing that memory to its conclusion, saw again the mocking curve of a god’s smile—
but her thought was suddenly shattered.

“NUAAAAAAHHHH!? IT’S HERE AGAINNNNNNN!!”

“GUH—!?”

A scream so loud it could burst an eardrum ripped through the chamber.

Loki flinched, jerking sideways with a grimace, then immediately lashed out.
“SHUT UP, YOU LOUD LITTLE SHRIMP!!”

Her boot connected squarely with Hestia, who yelped “Agyan!?” as she clutched her round backside, nearly jumping into the air with tears welling in her eyes.

“But look! Look!!” she squeaked, pointing frantically at the crystal sphere.

Loki followed her finger—and her frown deepened.

Her brows knit together, her expression twisting with irritation as the scene unfolded before her.

“Again, huh… the worst kind of boss rush imaginable…” she muttered, voice low and venomous.

“Seventeenth floor boss, Goliath — confirmed!”

At first, it was just a faint sense of unease.

“Twenty-seventh floor boss, Amphisbæna, rampaging!”

That unease soon hardened into doubt.

“D–Demispirit!? A fragment of the Corrupted Spirit!?”

And by the time the enemy’s hated fragment appeared, Lefiya and the others had stopped thinking altogether.
They accepted it for what it was — something to be faced, not feared — shedding hesitation as they took on the faces of true adventurers, ready to conquer the unknown.

“Icicle Edge!”

“Uwooooooahhh!?”

A storm of massive ice blades rained down like a blizzard upon the jungle that sprawled across the floor — utterly out of place in this dense green labyrinth.
The surrounding dinosaur-type monsters screamed as they were skewered one after another.
Even the adventurers who had just started evasive maneuvers were caught in the spray of blood and frost, hurled backward by the explosive force.

In the next instant, a chain of thunderous detonations erupted — the dinosaur monsters’ volatile bodies going off like powder kegs, showering the area with ash.

“The Demispirit…!”

“It just showed up on the twenty-eighth floor! How the hell is it here already!?”

From far ahead of the main column, the defensive units — those trying to secure the route — were now engulfed in chaos from the blast of spirit magic.
Narvi and Cruz shouted in alarm as their massive backpacks rattled with each heavy step.

Their location: Floor 32 — the Canyon of the Jungle Maze.

The second Demispirit had appeared right before the passage leading to the next floor — the very bottom of the vast jungle labyrinth.
Lefiya and Raul’s eyes sharpened as they spotted it in the distance.

This was already the second of its kind. The same kind of creature that had tormented the Loki Familia so bitterly before — now reappearing as a mid-boss blocking their descent.

To say the situation was the worst possible would be an understatement.

(Not just the Demispirits! Even the floor bosses are respawning without intervals!)

Already, the seventeenth and twenty-sixth floors had seen their kings of the dungeon — Goliath and Amphisbæna — revived and rampaging.
Thanks to the Defense Teams’ desperate efforts, Lefiya’s group had managed to slip past, but the phenomenon was far too irregular.

It was as if the Dungeon itself had joined forces with the Corrupted Spirit, conspiring to stop Ais' rescue.
Even if that wasn’t literally true, every adventurer’s heart clenched with the same bitter thought.

Just as Loki’s voice had cursed earlier through the Oculus:
“The worst possible boss rush ever.”

“Ufufufu!”

Unaware — or uncaring — of their frustration, the Demispirit laughed.

Its lower half was a mass of tentacles bound together like coiling vines — similar in form to the female-shaped one they had fought in Rivira.
The “infant jewel core” embedded within it was unmistakably parasitic on a man-eating flower.

At the center of a wide clearing — a crater-like space where the jungle had been scoured bare by magic — the Demispirit sat waiting serenely.
Its grotesque lips curved in amusement as the main force raced toward it, beginning a new chant with sinister delight.

The nearby Defense Team was still too shaken to regroup.
At this rate, the main party would have to face it directly. Lefiya realized this the moment she clenched her staff—

“Forest, become the drawn bow! White frost, form a giant arrow! The arm that draws the string, embody the will of the sacred peaks—!”

“—!!”

A clear, commanding chant — a parallel invocation sharper and more polished than Lefiya’s own.

Alicia broke forward from the main line, even overtaking Allen and the other frontrunners.
With both hands, she conjured her weaponized magic — the Bow and Arrows of Great Frost — and loosed it with all her strength.

“Grace Sagittarius!!”

The massive arrow, brimming with condensed magic power, roared forth. Even at Level 4, the shot possessed force on par with a Level 5 bombardment.

The Demispirit reacted instantly, raising a wall of flesh woven from countless tentacles — but the frozen spear tore through it in a flash of light, stopping just short of the monster’s face.

Though the strike hadn’t been fatal, it had forced the enemy to break its stance and interrupt its chant.

“HIldrsleif! We’ll stay behind!”

“Cruz!?”

“Can’t just leave something this nasty to the other familias, Raul!”

“Narvi!”

Cruz leveled his spear, Narvi drew her blade, and both charged ahead after Alicia.

Leaving Raul and Lefiya’s shouts behind, they dropped their heavy packs along the main path and—without waiting for Hedin’s orders—moved to establish the most favorable battlefield on their own. Among them, Alicia’s judgment and execution stood out above all; ever since she’d occasionally filled in for Riveria as commander of the elf force, her experience was evident.

This was the kind of coordinated small-unit maneuvering the Freya Familia could never pull off—something born only from the Loki Familia’s years of training under Braver.
It was discipline, but also devotion.

“We’ve fought more Demispirits than anyone else! That gives us the best odds here! And more than that—among the main force, we’re the ones whose loss hurts least!”

Alicia’s cry said it all.

They were choosing to become the stepping stones—the foundation that would send the true heroes onward toward the real enemy.

It was like something out of a fairy tale, of knights facing a demon lord.

The boy who loved such heroic stories trembled.

Watching his comrades stand tall in elven pride, the golden-haired elf narrowed her eyes in admiration.

And the white elf—the tyrant-like commander who rarely praised anyone—made no mistake in his judgment. He didn’t scorn those who proved their worth.

“Uaaaahhh we seriously owe them for this! Please, please approve their plan, Lord Hedin, you merciless elf!!”

“Hey! Read the room, Supporter-girl!?”

Meanwhile, in the Guild headquarters, within the hastily assembled Command Chamber—the nerve center coordinating hundreds of Oculus across the Dungeon—Liliruca Arde, the Pallum of the Hestia Familia and acting field commander, let out a despairing scream that echoed through the room.

Another Oculus flared to life with Hestia’s own voice, the goddesses’ shouts overlapping in chaotic stereo, but Hedin ignored it all.

He accepted Alicia’s self-sacrifice.

“Pallums! Grab their packs!”

“““Us again!?”””

“Having this many sub-commanders must be nice, huh, Hedin.”

Grumbling, the younger brothers of the Bringar—Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer—snatched up the dropped packs with blinding speed. Their eldest, Alfrigg, followed right after, the only one to sense the burden weighing on Hedin’s mind.

As sub-commanders worthy of the title, the Loki Familia’s second unit chose exactly the tactic the main force needed most.

“Hail Dust!!”

“Advance!”

Alicia’s storm of magic fire burst from a rapid parallel chant, colliding with Hedin’s sharp command.

A torrent of ice and hail filled the Demispirit’s view, covering the battlefield in white and blue. Using that brief cover, the main force charged ahead like lightning—slipping through the defended passageway without losing a single fighter or moment of momentum.

“They’re amazing… the Loki Familia!”

“Of course they are!”

Inside the dim tunnel of the passageway, the white-haired boy and the elf girl traded words in awe, even as behind them—

Cruz and the others landed heavily after unleashing another wave of their magic blades, rolling to their feet with weapons spinning in their hands, ready for the counterattack.

“Yeah, we might’ve escaped that death-march marathon… but honestly, maybe we should’ve kept going with them. I said the other familias had it rough—but we’re just as miserable!”

“Give it up.”

“Even Hildrsleif didn’t object. This is our role. …It tears my heart out that we can’t go to Lady Riveria and the others, but—”

Narvi’s casual complaint was met by Cruz and Alicia without either of them taking their eyes off the Demispirit.

Just as they’d claimed themselves, their unit had always been a reserve—backup power within the main force. Ideally they would have been deployed after floor 50, when the fighting grew fierce. But with the current nightmare of a “Boss-Rush Hell” breaking loose across the Dungeon, neither Alicia nor Hedin hesitated to commit them early.

In truth, Alicia and the others wanted to descend to the 60th floor. They’d left too much behind in that hell.
Even so—

“Raul and Lefiya are down there. They’ll save Ais and Lady Riveria for sure.”

Alicia’s firm declaration, Cruz’s smile, and Narvi’s nod left no room for doubt.
This battlefield now belonged to them.

“So, we’re really fighting that same bastard again—without the Captain or the others?”

“Then take comfort in this: its mana feels weaker than any we’ve faced before. The pressure too. That gives us a chance.”

“Liliruca Arde! Report nearby forces!”

‘Right! Closest are the Ratri Familia and a few Hathor Familia units! I’ll order them to join you—!’

Before she could finish, the enemy’s crescent-shaped lips twisted—and its bombardment resumed.

The three split in unison, Narvi and Alicia circling wide toward the Demispirit’s flank while Cruz scooped up a fallen Oculus—likely from the defense team—and barked for more data.

Even without counting their experience against the Chromatic Monsters, the trio fought like ten veteran adventurers. To Liliruca, watching from the command room, they were the very image of hope—the second-class elites of Orario’s greatest familia, future captains in their own right.

Those who had been blasted away earlier by the Demispirit felt the same. Seeing the three return fire with such ferocity, wounded adventurers yanked their skewered shoulders free from shattered tree-trunks, poured potions over their heads, roared, and threw themselves back into the fight.

“We’ve gotta keep adventuring too!”

Carrying her comrades’ will, Narvi shouted—and the ragtag survivors followed.
With no “heroes” left among them, they would become the heroes themselves, burning with resolve to earn the title of Spirit-Slayers.

“Take care of the Captain for us, Raul! Lefiya!”

They drove their weapons into the screaming Demispirit, leaving their prayers with each strike.

“Cruz, Alicia, Narvi…!”

Behind them, in the main force that had lost its vanguard, Raul clenched his teeth.

He could only bear their wishes by pressing forward—facing ahead, not back.

The Dungeon was twisting its own laws, spawning monsters faster just to kill them. The Corrupted Spirit’s tentacles reached everywhere.
Suffering was inevitable. This entire rescue mission was built atop madness itself.
But Raul Nord understood that now.

So he too turned his back on his comrades—charging through every trial, toward Finn and the others trapped below.

“Please wait for us, Captain!”

Resisting the urge to look back, Raul plunged into the next layer of the abyss, carrying the hopes of the heroes left behind.

The wind howled.

The snow screamed.

It wrapped itself in cold, devoured warmth, mingled with the gale—
a blizzard that made even winter tremble and swallowed life whole.

Crack, crack—

The color white whispered.

It declared that no threat, no outrage, no rampage, no invasion,
no act of destruction or slaughter or domination would be permitted here.

Snap—snap—

The color blue spoke.

“All are equal. Let all things freeze.”

“Gah… ah… gii—!?”

The storm lashed against her, coating her body in frost,
until every inch of Tsubaki’s flesh turned to blue ice.

If any realm could claim to be the Kingdom of Frozen Death, it was this one.

Within that forbidden domain of absolute frost—
Tsubaki was trapped.

“Th… this is… really… bad… huh…?”

A vast space sealed in white and blue—
snow and wind devouring all.
She couldn’t see even a meter ahead;
the world had ended in a blur of ice.
Above her, probably, maybe, surely,
there was nothing but darkness deeper than night,
a blizzard-shrouded prison of ice.

Absolute zero. Absolute permafrost.

Here, nothing could move—
even the Dungeon itself seemed to tremble and fall silent.

(My limbs… freezing… lips won’t move…!
I can’t even shout!?
I’ve never bragged about my strength,
but damn it—I'm Level 5!)

Even the vessel of a first-class adventurer was silenced.

Fear curdled into cold, and cold into dread.

Something struck her foot and dropped.

Her ring finger—snapped off, frozen like brittle glass.

Her uncovered left eye tried to widen, but failed.
Eyelids sealed by frost, her vision was trapped in darkness,
her eyes able only to twitch beneath the ice.

She didn’t know how she got here.

No monsters. No movement.
Only this realm of blue and white that froze thought itself.

Like a mountaineer lost in a blizzard,
she’d tried to wander at first—
but after barely ten meters, her knees gave out.

It wasn’t just the body—
this place tried to freeze even her soul.

What was this space?

Was it really part of the Dungeon?
Or was it a nightmare?

How had she ended up here at all?
Her memory was hazy, everything before and after gone.
No sense of direction,
no sense of time.

Even the flow of life itself was being eroded
by the killing cold.

“—Ghh!?”

A strangled sound escaped her frozen lips.

A blade of pain stabbed into her temple.

(Something—inside me!?)

Her body was slashed all over,
a deep wound in her left shoulder.
When she’d first awakened here,
she’d packed snow onto it for first aid—
better frostbite, she’d thought,
than bleeding out.

That was her mistake.

Through her brown skin,
something that should never enter the body
flooded in like a tide.

(Wh—what is this…?
A corpse…? Blood…?
A shattered sword…?
Viscera and eyes…
Monsters—unknown—
a gaping pit—nonsense—
everyone—where—stop—help me—
don’t come—someone answer—
it’s not me—Aria—who—
Al—!)

And so, her sense of self began to collapse.

(Who am I? Me? I? …I…? What?? Stop—stopstopstopstop, it’s all mixing together, stop it stop it stop it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it, me me me me meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—!?)

Even behind her tightly shut left eyelid, it crept in—
blood, tears, grief, and destruction.
Memories that weren’t hers poured in,
flooding her mind.

A sharp pop sounded deep in her nose,
and crimson blood streamed down her face, freezing the moment it appeared.

The torrent of information was colder than any glacier,
and her mind began to lose balance—

“TSUBAKI!!”

A voice pulled her back.
The warmth of dwarven blood—half her own—gripped her body.

“Finn, I found her!”
“Riveria, over here!”
“Stay with us, Tsubaki!!”

A werewolf’s growl, a cat person’s cry,
and the chorus of beasts followed right behind.

In the midst of that chaos,
the fiery hands of a dwarf shook Tsubaki’s frozen body and soul.

“...Gareth…? I… no, I am…”

He shouted again and again by her ear, even slapping her cheek.
Her tears froze as they fell,
but she realized—her lips could move again.

“Don’t let the ‘Ice Garden’ swallow you too! Come on, say one of your usual sharp remarks!”

“…ugly old white-beard.”

“Good! If you can still say that, you’ll live!”

Frost clung to his thick beard, his face powdered white with snow—
and when she spoke those words,
Gareth gave her a small, exasperated smile.

Tsubaki managed the faintest grin in return—
and her consciousness slipped away.

“They managed to recover Tsubaki too…”

Within the same unchanging expanse of ice and storm, Tsubaki leaned unconscious against Gareth as Riveria worked to heal her wounds. Watching over them, Finn ran his tongue over his thumb in thought.

Their current location—believed to be somewhere between the 60th and 61st floors.

This place was a void within the Dungeon itself, a gap between floors that neither they nor even the “Corrupted Spirit” had ever known existed.

—After Finn’s desperate “throwing spear spell” clashed against the “Corrupted Spirit” that had absorbed Ais.

The shockwave between the monster’s barrier and Tír na Nog had shattered the floor beneath them, and the group fell into this rift.

Among those scattered in the fall, Finn, Riveria, and Gareth were the first to assess the situation. Despite the freezing conditions, they quickly regrouped.

More precisely, before the others like Tsubaki could be completely immobilized or lose their minds to the “mental corruption” spreading through the cold, Finn managed to locate Riveria, and the others gathered at her side. Even so, when Gareth came plowing through the snowstorm like a living siege engine, Finn could only sigh in disbelief.

Together, the three of them had managed to rescue the rest—Bete, who lay shielding a dying flame with his own burning body; Anakitty, who clutched Raul’s gifted sword Gatnerō as she barely held on to life; and finally, Tsubaki herself.

Even after that, they refused to stop searching.

“Riveria, can you activate another detection circle—Lævateinn?”
“Haa… haah…!! Even if I said it’s impossible, you’d still make me do it, wouldn’t you…?”
“Exactly. Please.”

Riveria wiped the sweat from beneath her chin, exhaustion far worse than the others’ showing in her face. She raised her long staff, Magna Alfs, vertically before her.

After a rapid, complex chant, a massive magic circle unfolded around them.

It was Riveria’s detection spell—capable of distinguishing humans from monsters with perfect accuracy.

In this blinding blizzard where even a meter ahead was impossible to see, the only reason Finn’s group had managed to reunite with so many survivors was because of the city’s strongest mage—so “convenient” that even a certain short Pallum and a rough dwarf liked to grumble about it.

Through the brilliance of Nine Hells, Riveria could adapt to any situation, even this one.

“…I have something, eleven o’clock direction! One signal—just one!”
“Can you identify who?”
“No! It’s completely engulfed! Most likely, someone’s been taken!”
“Distance?”
“About six hundred!”
“Six hundred… barely within reach.”

Six hundred meders—an easy distance for an adventurer under normal circumstances, but here, in this freezing hell, it was a knife’s edge. Finn’s low murmur betrayed his concern.

Without being told, Gareth hoisted Tsubaki onto his back. Bete glared into the storm, tail bristling. Anakitty, pale and shivering, still met Finn’s eyes with quiet resolve.

Looking around at this battered but unbroken group, Finn couldn’t help but think, with a faint, misplaced smile, What a good party. What a good Familia.

“Let’s move.”

And so, trusting in them, he gave the order.

The dark, frozen realm continued to rob them—of strength, of warmth, of will.

Even first-class adventurers could feel their lives being carved away by the howling snowstorm.

To an ordinary person, stepping into this place would mean instant death. The sight of Finn leading them forward through the blinding white resembled an expedition of madmen crossing the polar ends of the world.

“Finn! Enough—start explaining! Where the hell are we!?”

Riveria finally dispelled her magic circle. Following nothing but his extraordinary senses—and that uncanny intuition that bordered on divine—Finn pressed on toward the direction of “eleven o’clock.”

Bete’s patience snapped.

Up until now, they’d only been told to regroup with whoever they could find. They hadn’t been given any real explanation, and now the werewolf’s temper boiled over.

Even knowing it would waste precious stamina, Anakitty, who was following right behind Finn, spoke up.

"Because of the corrupted spirit’s influence, the dungeon turned into a kind of ‘demonic realm’… but is this what the dungeon originally was… the so-called ‘Glacial Domain’?"

Originally, the stratum spanning from the 59th to the 65th floor was known as the Glacial Domain.

It was an unexplored region even for modern adventurers — including the Loki Familia.

As Anakitty asked whether they were now suffering under the dungeon’s true, unaltered fury outside the corrupted spirit’s territory, the small back of the Pallum fell silent for a moment before replying.

"No… this is Thalia's Ice Garden."

Raising one arm to shield herself from the blizzard, Anakitty’s face twisted in pain — then shifted to confusion at the unfamiliar name.

Bete, too, frowned, hearing words he had never encountered before.

"An uncharted domain — no, a sealed domain — one that even the god Zeus and the goddess Hera failed to unravel. For now, that’s all you need to know."

"…!!"

Just hearing those two divine names — Zeus and Hera — was enough for the weight of this revelation to strike Bete and the others.

Their visibility was near zero due to the raging snowstorm, yet what little they could see revealed a vast carpet of white and blue. Here and there, shapes that might have been frozen rocks protruded from the ground — but upon closer inspection, they were all monsters turned to ice.

Massive lions, serpents, dragons… likely creatures that had strayed into this domain by mistake. Despite being deep-floor species that normally dwelled below the 60th floor, each one was sealed in ice and snow, utterly lifeless.

At the rear of the party, carrying the unconscious Tsubaki on his back, Gareth muttered under his frosted beard,

"No wonder Zeus and Hera abandoned their exploration… Neither adventurer nor monster could sustain life in a place like this."

Perhaps it wasn’t just extreme cold — but an endless cycle of instant freezing.

The fact that even Zeus and Hera had given up on conquering it meant that this “Ice Garden” was, without question, the most perilous area within the entire Dungeon.

And of all they brought back from their attempt, aside from a few minor relics, there had been only one thing.

Knowledge so closely guarded that not even the Guild’s upper echelons knew of it — only Uranus and a handful of others.

And yet, in this deathly realm that surpassed all known dangers, Finn’s party somehow managed to move forward — even if barely.

That was thanks to Riveria.

"──!! Ice! It’s coming again!"

From beneath their feet, a surge of blue and white swelled up — not the storm, but the ground itself rising and churning, as if it possessed a will of its own.

Anakitty’s warning came out as a near scream as the colossal wave of ice — like a tsunami, or the palm of some enormous giant — came crashing toward them.

At once, Riveria, standing at the center of the group, raised her arm and released a burst of pure mana.

“Suppress.”

The word wasn’t even a proper spell—no chant, no formal invocation. It was merely the release of pure, concentrated mana.

And yet, that alone caused the surging wall of ice to halt mid-motion, shatter into countless fragments, and crumble back into frozen earth.

“Haa… haa…!”

“Are you alright, Riveria?”

“Do I look alright…?”

“A foolish question. My apologies.”

Gareth called out from behind, but Riveria—usually the picture of composure and precision—snapped back at him with labored breathing and an uncharacteristically harsh tone.

Of all the members in the party, none were suffering more than Riveria.

Even as a Level 7, she was drenched in sweat in this glacial cold—a fact that made the others realize something terrifying: the strongest mage in Orario was on the verge of mental collapse.

Neither Bete nor Anakitty had ever seen her reach this point before. No matter how dire the situation, Riveria’s Mind—the source of her magical strength and composure—had always remained unshaken. She was second only to Finn in intellect, and as the party’s core rearguard, she understood better than anyone that a mage’s mental breakdown meant the collapse of the entire formation.

And yet, Riveria Ljos Alf was clearly being pushed to her very limits.

Anakitty felt the same chilling sensation she had when they lost Finn during the first Knossos battle—like a cold, unseen hand tracing the outline of her life.

“…Aki. Give this to Riveria.”

Finn, having halted their advance, handed her the last remaining Mind Potion. Anakitty blinked in surprise, then nodded quickly, rushing to Riveria’s side to offer it.

The high elf princess took it with trembling fingers, gulped it down, and her slender throat moved faintly as she forced herself to swallow.

“…How the hell is the old hag managing to control a place that even Zeus and Hera couldn’t conquer?”

“She’s not controlling it,” Finn replied calmly. “She’s resonating with it.”

“Don’t play word games! Explain!”

“This is the only part of the Dungeon that shares a connection with the High Elves. That’s why, thanks to Riveria, we’re still holding on.”

Even though Bete’s tone bristled with irritation, Finn ignored the hostility and simply stated the facts.

A hidden section of the Dungeon—a sanctuary tied to the High Elves.

It was an absurd concept, one none of them had ever heard of before. The more Bete thought about it, the more uneasy he became, but seeing that Finn and the others had no time to elaborate, he clicked his tongue in frustration.

Right now, knowing what this place was mattered less than surviving it. Every heartbeat and every breath drained their strength. Even a single second wasted on explanations could mean death. Once Riveria regained enough stability, Finn immediately ordered the group to move again.

“The snow and ice keep attacking—just like inside that damn corrupted spirit’s body!”

“It may be part of the Dungeon, but this is ridiculous!”

The assaults of ice and snow came in waves, each one silenced only by Riveria’s bursts of mana. Though less organic than the “demonic realm” on the 60th floor, the Dungeon here was alive—its landscape itself turning against them. Bete and Anakitty could neither contain their irritation nor hide their exhaustion.

Now, their formation revolved entirely around Riveria.

Her constant emission of mana weakened the surrounding blizzards, thinning the storm just enough for them to move forward. Without that, they would’ve fallen just like Tsubaki had before being rescued.

If not for her royal High Elf Skill—which allowed her to convert ambient magic particles into Mind—they would have been finished long ago.

Watching her relentless struggle, every member of the party (save the unconscious Tsubaki) shared the same thought:

This ice… it’s the same as that wall of frost that caused Ais to be taken by the spirit.

Fixing her gaze on Finn’s back and forcing her frozen legs to move, Anakitty couldn’t help but recall the true reason they were all trapped in this frozen hell.

(Ais being absorbed by the corrupted spirit... and at that moment, Riveria shouted something—“Celdia.” That name… I’m sure Alicia and Lefiya mentioned it back on the 18th floor… the name of the royal high elf saint?)

The distant memory that surfaced was from the return leg of their previous expedition.

More than seven months ago, when the party had been forced to make camp on the 18th floor, during the exchange of information that included Welf the smith—and even Bell, who had come and gone—the word “Celdia” had been mentioned.

(Celdia… a place connected to the High Elves…)

Ais and the “ice wall.” Riveria and the “frozen garden.”

Something about them brushed together in her mind, yet refused to connect.

Exhaustion clouded her thoughts, leaving Anakitty frustrated that she could not piece it together. For now, she could only stop chasing the answer.

This “Ice Garden” reacted to Riveria’s magic—to the royal high elf blood passed down through generations.

For now, they could only accept that this was that kind of domain.

“If Riveria wasn’t here, what would’ve happened to us…”

“We’d be frozen solid—made part of the domain itself,” Finn replied. “Still, thanks to this supernatural area, the corrupted spirit can’t reach us. That’s the one thing in our favor.”

No sooner had he said that than a thunderous crash erupted to their right.

Anakitty’s eyes snapped toward it, only to see something enormous cascading downward like a broken waterfall—frozen man-eating flowers and giant worms, now statues of ice. The massive creatures, once living deep-dungeon species, shattered upon impact into splinters that scattered a storm of snow and dust.

They must have been scouts sent by the corrupted spirit. The enemy had already sensed this domain—but every attempt at intrusion was being repelled, preventing them from pinpointing Finn’s team.

The corrupted spirit, knowing it had failed to finish off the adventurers of the Loki Familia, was surely gnashing its unseen teeth in fury.

A blessing in misfortune. A miracle survival.

The kind of “absurd good luck” every adventurer needed—Finn could feel it as he looked up into the endless white above.

“Still,” he muttered, “unless we regroup with the others and find an exit—or the ‘key’—we’ll be running on fumes soon enough…”

His glacial-blue eyes narrowed as he stared into the blizzard ahead. Cutting every ounce of waste, Finn pressed on.

And then—

“…! Amid!”

Guided by the compass of Riveria’s magic circle, they found her.

The sight stole even Anakitty’s breath away—the Saint Frozen in Ice.

A girl stood sealed within thick, azure ice, her eyes closed in frozen repose.

The pillar stood about five meters tall—so massive and perfectly clear that it resembled a giant crystal coffin.

While Anakitty rushed forward, Finn and Gareth exhaled deeply, as though finally released from a long strain.

“It weighed on me, prioritizing who to search for first…” Finn murmured. “But we finally found her.”

“Aye. Once this lass can wield magic again, she’ll ease Riveria’s burden, at least on the healing front,” Gareth replied.

Ever since they’d been struck down by the corrupted spirit, after it gained the power of “wind,” and fallen into the Ice Garden, Finn’s team had made finding Amid their top priority.

They had finally secured the healer — the party’s lifeline.

“…She’s actually alive?”

“This isn’t like with Tsubaki. Amid probably chose to accept the freezing.”

While Bete grimaced at the sight of the girl sealed in ice, Riveria—her breathing still unsteady—stepped closer to Amid. Finn, watching the situation carefully, took over the explanation in her stead.

“She must have sensed how unnatural this ‘icebound state’ was — something that corrodes not only the body but the mind. So she cast an enchantment on herself. To keep her life tethered.”

Indeed, inside the pale blue ice, faint white light shimmered around Amid’s body — her own magic at work.

For a Level 2 adventurer alone in the Deep Floors, without allies or protection, it had been hopeless. Accepting the ice was the only way she could survive.

Ironically, the same ice that trapped her had preserved her torn and battered body, preventing it from worsening. She was in suspended animation.

Riveria pressed her palm gently to the ice, releasing a thread of magic.

Crack.

With a sharp sound, the azure prison shattered — shards scattering like fragments of glass.

Amid’s limp body tumbled forward, and Anakitty rushed in, catching her before she could hit the frozen ground.

The women let out a breath of relief.

Meanwhile, behind Finn, Gareth murmured quietly:

“Just like nine years ago.”

“This isn’t the Lower Floors, though,” Finn replied.

No one else there understood what that meant — save for the high elf glaring out into the frozen expanse of the “Ice Garden.”

“I’ll assess our situation.”

After the battle with the Corrupted Spirit, Finn and his party, who had been operating without rest or sleep, finally took their first break — a short rest and briefing.

They set up a temporary base.

To shield themselves from the raging blizzard that ignored all laws of nature, they used the frozen corpses of monsters as windbreaks — grotesque, icy statues that for once served a useful purpose. With Gareth’s immense strength, the giant bodies of dragons, serpents, and worm-like beasts were arranged in a rectangular formation. Above them, Riveria’s staff, Magna Alfs, was wedged between the gaps of the ice. The High Elf’s stored magic radiated outward, forming a dome of pale light that encased the area — an improvised igloo of snow and mana.

At its center, a fire burned — conjured by Bete using his dagger-shaped magic sword.

As fuel, Gareth drew out a brick of Dwarf Charcoal — a dungeon survival tool designed to burn hot and long even in small amounts. As the faint smoke drifted up through the opening above and escaped into the freezing air, it scattered as shimmering diamond dust — a sight that only seemed to irritate Bete further.

“Of those who fell into this ‘Ice Garden,’ we’ve recovered Tsubaki and Amid. That leaves…”

“Tione and Tiona… and Hogni.”

“Tiona probably didn’t fall. Right before the floor collapsed, I saw her get blown sideways by the blast from those damned ‘Ais replicas.’”

“That Dark Elf bastard got himself wedged into the wall like a joke. Don’t know if he’s still breathing, but if he is, he’s somewhere above us.”

“And… Raul’s group…?”

“They’re fine. I saw them getting thrown clear of the chamber in the last moment. I can guarantee that much.”

Starting with Finn, then Gareth, Riveria, Bete, and Aki spoke in turn before the discussion came back around to Finn.

Sitting in a rough circle, the adventurers exchanged their information quickly and efficiently. Aki let out a faint sigh of relief but immediately steeled her expression again. Raul and the others might not have fallen into the Ice Garden — but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been cast into their own hell.

From her perspective, with no way to know what was happening outside, it was an unavoidable fear.

“No contact with Loki or the others… In this kind of place, a snow mountain would be seven hundred times more forgiving. Looks like we’ll have to survive on our own.”

Finn lifted a shattered Oculus crystal and gave a weary shrug.

From there, they reviewed supplies — food, water, equipment, and magical tools — in precise detail.

Weapons and gear were acceptable. Finn was the only one without his main weapon, and everyone still had healing potions secured in their holsters.

As for provisions, Aki’s role as both skirmisher and supporter had proven invaluable — she had the most supplies on hand.

Divided among seven people, the amount wouldn’t last long — for ordinary people. But these were First-Class Adventurers. Their endurance against hunger and thirst was legendary, said to survive “a week on dew alone.” Even in this extreme cold, they would persist through sheer resilience.

“Amid’s case aside, we can stretch our supplies for six days,” Finn declared — a firm conclusion meant to strengthen morale, especially Aki’s.

Tsubaki and Amid, both rescued, now slept in a coma, wrapped in Gareth’s cloak and Finn’s waistcloth — a Salamander Wool fire-spirit weave with high resistance to the cold. Riveria had used her healing magic on them, but neither’s condition could yet be called stable.

(Ordinarily, I’d want to resume searching immediately and find Tione… but that’s impossible right now. Amid’s condition takes priority — hers and Aki’s both.)

Finn didn’t say it aloud, but he would have preferred to continue the search.

However, now that they’d recovered Amid — the one whose survival had been most uncertain — he had no choice but to establish a temporary base, both for rest and for her stabilization. Forcing the group onward could mean losing her — a scenario too grim to consider.

A fighter and a healer.

The vitality of a First-Class Adventurer weighed against the fragility of a Level 2 priestess.

Placed on the scales, Finn — as commander — could only tip them toward the latter.

(I swore to become a hero who never abandons anyone… and yet here I am, forced to wait. The burden of a leader never gets lighter.)

For a moment, he wondered if his urgency to continue the search was because Tione was among the missing — but he dismissed the thought. Finn Deimne knew himself too well.

Even if their positions were reversed — if it were Bete missing instead of Tione — he would have made the same call, for the same reason: preservation of remaining strength.

Probably. No — almost certainly.

Pointless thoughts swirled in Finn’s chest, and he let out a quiet sigh deep inside.

(Tione… I won’t ask for forgiveness. Just wait for me. You’d say it yourself, wouldn’t you? That you can’t die until you become my wife.)

Sentiments like that were nothing but self-indulgent sentimentality — maybe because he’d seen her broken and bloodied by those “Ais replicas,” or maybe because he was getting weaker.

The man who called himself a “hero” clung to the belief that choosing the harshest path was proof of his resolve.

Finn ran his tongue over his thumb — his old habit when deep in thought — and steered his mind back on course.

“Riveria, how’s your mind holding up?”

“It’s draining… endlessly…! I know this is the height of weakness to admit, but if we remain in this ‘Ice Garden,’ I won’t be able to fight properly in the next battle…!”

Riveria’s breathing still hadn’t stabilized. She confessed the truth plainly, without pride or excuse. The “battle” she referred to wasn’t with lesser monsters — everyone knew she meant the inevitable rematch with the Corrupted Spirit.

“Even with your recovery ability, it’s no use?”

“I said even with that, I’m barely hanging on!”

Gareth mentioned her Development Ability that let her passively regenerate mind energy, but the High Elf snapped back, flicking her jade-green hair and shouting with uncharacteristic frustration. The dwarf, who had seen her fiery temper back when she’d still been the “reckless princess,” muttered, “She’s in bad shape…”

That exchange alone proved how little composure Riveria had left.

“Sorry, Riveria, but for now we’re staying put. We’ll hold position until we confirm any sign of rescue.”

They all knew what Finn meant: they were surviving here only because Riveria’s magic was sustaining the barrier. Even the Corrupted Spirit couldn’t reach this place — but that survival came at the cost of her mind. If they tried to push onward and launch another assault on the 60th floor now, they’d be annihilated. None of them needed to be told.

“If your spear lands clean this time, maybe we can finish that thing off once and for all…”

“Even if we managed to kill it, there’s still sixty floors between us and the surface. We wouldn’t make it back. Right now, we can’t escape the Dungeon on our own.”

Finn’s response to Aki’s suggestion was firm, final. Even in the best-case scenario, victory would only delay their deaths. The base camp on the 50th floor had already fallen — if they couldn’t regroup with Sharon and the remaining expedition forces, there was no way home. And in this situation, Aki knew Sharon’s group couldn’t possibly stay behind waiting for them.

A heavy silence spread — the kind of silence born of grim understanding.

But one person refused to stay quiet.

“We’re going after Ais. Now.”

It was, of course, Bete.

He glared at Finn with defiant fury, as if daring him to object.

In his amber eyes burned the memory of the battle — of the girl he’d failed to protect, swallowed by the Corrupted Spirit before his eyes.

The unspoken grief, humiliation, and rage that everyone had buried for survival began to spark again — a wildfire threatening to ignite inside the ice walls of the Ice Garden.

The “Ais replicas” born from the Corrupted Spirit.

The last, fleeting glimpses of Tiona and Tione — both likely lost.

All of it was poison to the hearts of those still alive.

Bete wasn’t the only one seething. Even Riveria, who had been at her limit moments ago, now gripped her hands tight to suppress the inferno rising inside her chest. Nearby, Tsubaki, half-conscious, clenched her teeth hard enough to creak.

Their love for their comrades — the desperate will to avenge them — was beginning to turn inward, threatening to consume them.

That impulse was the first step toward ruin for the Loki Familia.

And to that, Finn replied — calm but unshakable:

“Raul will bring the rescue team.”

“—!!”

Those words, firm as iron, silenced the storm.

It was not blind optimism, but conviction — absolute faith in Raul Nord.

Aki lifted her face sharply, eyes wide. She had all but resigned herself to believing that Raul’s team would never make it back to the surface. But Finn’s tone — that certainty — declared her fears baseless.

“There’s no denying we’ve suffered losses,” Finn continued. “But Raul has Lefiya with him, Ottar will be holding the retreat route, and Fels has arranged support from the Xenos. They’ll do it.”

Because Raul Nord — the man who had stopped drunk on heroism — would see it through.

Aki alone understood the weight of that belief. She had seen that moment on the 50th floor when Raul had changed — when he’d let go of self-pity and chosen to fight forward.

(I have to believe too…)

Please, be safe.

Her trembling hands pressed over her chest as if to hold her pounding heart still — a prayer whispered into the cold.

Meanwhile, Finn took another step forward — his voice sharp with resolve.

“When Raul’s rescue team makes contact, we strike. A full counteroffensive.”

“—!!”

“We’ll slay the Corrupted Spirit… and bring Ais back.”

The Loki Familia’s expedition wasn’t over.

They would not retreat. They would not escape. They would fight again.

That was Finn’s declaration — his “hero’s resolve” sharpened into strategy.

Even Aki drew in a sharp breath. In this impossible situation, Finn wasn’t giving up — he shared Bete’s burning fury, yet wielded it with purpose. He would seize the one chance at victory and turn despair into battle.

“Tch…”

Bete bared his fangs — then fell silent.

The feral energy that had threatened to explode vanished.

He’d understood: there would be a reckoning. Just not yet.

(...Even after reaching Level 5, I never got complacent, never let my guard down.
But still… I’m the weakest one here.)

Aki felt shame weigh on her heart.

The moment she caught herself thinking, Once Raul arrives, we’ll be able to go home, she wanted to bite her tongue.

Gareth let out a knowing grin, Riveria released a long breath to steady herself after nearly being swept up by the wolf’s reckless fervor, and Tsubaki gave a dry laugh as if to say, Here we go again, already anticipating the hardships ahead. Amid, her strength still recovering, slept soundly — the saint preparing in her own way for the coming battle.

No one called the hero’s resolve “reckless.”

Even setting Ais' rescue aside, the defeat of the Corrupted Spirit was the only path to survival.

For those exiled to this frozen hell, there was only one viable strategy left — to strike in tandem with the rescue force Raul would lead down from above.

“As soon as we finish this rest,” Finn declared, sweeping his gaze across the gathered faces, “we start searching for Tione — and for the exit from this ‘Ice Garden.’ We’ve got mountains of work ahead of us… be ready.”

A crooked, fearless smile curved across his face.

Once again, the hero refused to let his comrades drown in despair.

It was clear to everyone present — this was the kind of man who could stand beside Ottar the Boar and Leon the Lion as their equal, a true hero.
The Loki Familia believed in that light with everything they had, and the briefing came to an end.

As Aki struggled to calm her pounding heart — still stirred by the courage that now filled the air — each member settled in, trying to rest their weary bodies within the snowbound shelter.

Only Riveria remained awake.

Her jade eyes pierced through the dark ceiling of the icy dome — past the storm, past the cold — to glare at the corruption that held her student captive.
Determination burned in her gaze like green fire.

“Wait for us, Ais…”

A sword.

A spear.

An axe.

A staff.

A shield.

Countless weapons were driven into the wasteland.

The desolate scene stretched endlessly to the horizon, like a field of uncountable gravestones.

The sky was shrouded in pitch-black darkness, with the light so far away.

What a sad, cold sight, she thought.

The cracked, broken weapons said nothing. They didn’t tell her where everyone had gone.

It was a world far removed from happiness — a world unbearably cold.

—In that dream, the young Ais slowly blinked, then timidly sat up and looked around.

Where… am I…?

Around her stretched the same darkness as in the dream.

Maybe she was still dreaming — trapped in that same abyss.

What confined Ais was a cage of ice, allowing her to go nowhere.

Scattered across the icy floor were several books, opened carelessly. Near her small hand, one lay open — its pages depicting the graveyard of weapons from her dream, though the young Ais failed to notice.

…Ah…

Outside the cage spread a pool of red.

A spring formed from the crimson tears of many “friends.”

The wind — no longer listening to Ais — howled and laughed, lifting red droplets into the air, scattering them across the darkness like mocking sparks.

And within that pool of blood… the dolls of her friends still lay submerged.

Tiona… Tione…

One was missing an arm. Another’s body was full of holes, their limbs twisted and broken.

Seeing her sisters’ dolls like that made tears gather in Ais' eyes, her chest splitting with pain.

She knew it was her fault. The wind that now howled and raged had destroyed everything — her fault, and the fault of that power.

Even wanting to go to them was futile — the ice cage would not let her leave.

No matter how she grabbed at the blue bars or screamed, it was useless. One of the sisters’ dolls sank with a wet sound into the pool of blood, disappearing beneath the surface.

The young Ais began to hate the cage of ice that imprisoned her.

Because of it, she had been separated from everyone — unable to save them, unable to escape.

And yet, at the same time… she understood.

She was alive because of this cage.

The moment she realized that—

A shock struck.

Eeeee…!?

Something huge was pounding on the ice cage from above.

It slammed again and again, cracking the ceiling, shattering the ice, trying to swallow the small Ais whole.

The huge thing cackled, licking its lips with a wet, slithering sound.

Ais trembled violently, hugging her body, curling herself up as tightly as she could.

She wanted to cry for help—but she couldn’t.

If anyone came to rescue her, they would be destroyed by the terrible wind and that huge thing, just like her “friends” who now lay sunken in the bloody pool outside the cage.

So Ais held back her tears, squeezed her eyes shut, and could only bow her head like a helpless little girl, doing nothing.

“Are you crying?”

The sudden voice echoed—not from above, where the huge thing loomed, but from below.

Ais froze. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

The blue ice beneath her… and beneath that, faintly visible in the dark depths.

A voice—beautiful, gentle, like that of a mother—spoke, asking where her tears had gone.

Ais' lips trembled as she tried to whisper, Who…?

But before she could—

“—If we become one, it’ll feel so good, Ariaaaa~~~~?”

The thing sleeping in the darkness below revealed its true nature in an instant.

A hideous, twisted laugh.

Three glowing eyes blazing with madness.

A lump of despair unlike anything she had ever seen.

And the most terrifying of all—
it carried a radiance that was identical to Ais' own.

Ais' eyes opened wide to their limits, and she screamed—her voice tearing through the silence like ripping silk.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!

Something was there.

Below.

The most terrifying being in all this world.

To meet it meant the end of everything.

Even as powerless, ignorant, and delirious as the young girl was, crying and screaming in panic—
she still understood one thing, one absolute truth.

She must never meet that thing.

Chapter 3:
Those Who Return

The key to constructing a pseudo-shaft (an artificial vertical passage) isn’t just manpower — it’s also about deliberately destroying parts of the dungeon’s regular route.

By breaking structural points at minimum intervals along the normal path, the dungeon’s regenerative system prioritizes rebuilding itself rather than producing monsters. Until repairs are complete, monster spawning temporarily halts.

Trying to destroy everything to carve a shaft all the way down to the 50th floor would be absurdly inefficient — no one knows how long that would take, and they certainly don’t have the manpower for it. (Not to mention, after the “Calamity” incident, even someone like Lili, who knows what happened, would never dare attempt such large-scale destruction.)

Still, this selective demolition method at least prevents sudden monster assaults along the main route — all for a bare minimum of effort and sacrifice.

Liliruca had been painstakingly giving out these detailed, nagging instructions — so much so that the adventurers were getting irritated — when a new report arrived that almost made her faint on the spot.

“Wh-What!? A Demi-Spirit, on the 44th floor…!?”

Inside the Guild Headquarters Operations Room,
the girl known as Little Marshal, the “Great Commander of the Pallums,” rolled her eyes back for a moment before immediately roaring:

“How many times is this now!? How many of those cheating, catastrophic monster bastards are thereeeee!?”

“Uh, ummm… how many was it again, Einaaa~!?”

“Three! Floors 28, 32, and now 44!”

“44th floor — the Freya Familia has engaged a Demi-Spirit!“

Misha, counting frantically on her fingers, almost in tears, relayed the news. Eina, already scribbling the communications log and passing it to a group of Academy volunteers to post on the giant status board, didn’t even glance up as she shouted the report back.

Across from them, a beautiful elf with light-violet hair — sitting perfectly upright despite the chaos — declared the start of battle with a storm-like intensity.

Even the black-robed mages — veterans hardened by countless crises — screamed at the sight of the spectacle. The Guild’s grand operations hall was packed wall to wall with Oculi, the crystal orbs transmitting live images from every floor. Reports shot across the room in real time, forming a second battlefield entirely separate from the Dungeon itself.

“B-But, but! Arde’s orders and tactics are amazing, aren’t they!? She’s holding down a Demi-Spirit with just the forces on site!”

“Of course they are! Do you have any idea how many times I’ve traded blows with that cheating disaster of a monster!? I know its every trick, every weakness—and even then, I never wanted to fight it again, damn it!!”

“But I was complimenting you—why are you yelling at meee!?”

Misha, now reduced to Lili’s personal secretary, tried to praise her commander’s skill, but Liliruca, who had been frantically issuing order after order, was one emotional spark away from combustion. The young pallum shouted without taking a breath, while the human receptionist burst into tears at being scolded by someone half her size.

(I know all too well from the Knossos hell—when Finn gave me command of the “second front”! That freak of a monster that uses magic! The utter nonsense! Gods, it’s the absolute worst!!)

The memory of the Knossos nightmare surged up again. For Lili, that battle against a Demi-Spirit had left a scar deep enough to count as trauma. Yet it also meant she knew the enemy better than anyone alive.

Now, in a far larger operation than that fateful Knossos offensive, she was proving her worth — issuing precise orders and adapting instantly to shifting conditions. Her past combat with the “Polychrome Monsters” was the greatest weapon she could bring to the Operation: Rescue Loki Familia.

(Of course, Lord Hedin must have factored that in when he dumped all this responsibility on me!)

Yes, the elf-like devil himself — Hedin — had appointed her interim commander of the Defense Corps, fully aware of her competence. Grinding her teeth, Lili pounded a tiny fist against the desk.

“Concentrate the mages on Point K’s cliff line! Full incantation barrage! Keep that Demi-Spirit’s attention fixed and stretch your firing range to the limit!!”

"Do not command me, pallum! The mighty Einherjar will not bow to your pathetic magic orders!"

“She says that’s what they said—!”

“Oh, is that so!? Is that really so!? If you’re fine letting Lord Bell get torn apart out there—he’s already pressed ahead, by the way—then don’t come crying to me when he can’t make it back because you all refused to prepare properly!”

"…Tch. Lask! Remilia! Deploy on the cliff and form ranks! Not that I care about Bell or anything!!"

Even the proud half-pallum warlord Van — commanding the Einherjar on the 44th floor — fell silent after her verbal onslaught and ground his teeth before relaying her orders.

The receptionists around Lili stared in awe. To think she’d just brow-beaten an Einherjar into obedience.

“What are you all staring at!? Get back to work, double-time!!”

The clerks scrambled. Ignoring them, Lili bent over the table, calculating with feverish intensity.

Rude, stubborn, impossible to handle — but the Einherjar were unmatched in sheer strength. Like Lili herself, they had survived the hell of Knossos; now, on the 44th floor, they were holding their ground against a Demi-Spirit without yielding an inch, even pushing it back like Alicia’s team on the 32nd.

A nearby elf with pale-violet hair, in charge of that crystal feed, sighed quietly in relief — but Lili could feel no such comfort.

(There’s no way that’s the last one… right?)

Her gut twisted. The “worst boss-rush imaginable,” spawned by the Demi-Spirits’ multiple appearances, wasn’t over yet — she could feel it.

And intuition, when it came to the Dungeon, was rarely wrong.

From here on, the Defense Corps’ numbers would only dwindle. Beyond the final relay point — the 50th floor — everything depended on Bell’s main force. If a Demi-Spirit appeared before them there…

“Are Lord Bell and the others really going to be okay…?”

There was no more strength to spare, no reinforcements left to call. The Defense Corps’ collapse was only a matter of time.

Even here on the surface, far from the Dungeon’s depths, Liliruca could feel the ticking of the world’s final hour — and her heart pounded in terror of what was coming.

(A monster—)

The wyvern’s wings beat against the stale dungeon air.

Thanks to divine intervention — the surviving Xenos who had been waiting for the main force on the 38th floor — Raul and his squad were now riding them through the open subterranean sky. They were soaring swiftly through the Dungeon, drastically reducing both manpower and travel time needed to build the “pseudo vertical shaft.”

Their current destination: the 49th floor, the Great Wasteland—Moitra.

A vast open space that Loki Familia had passed through countless times during their expeditions — and the den of a mighty Floor Boss.

High above that boundless wasteland, Raul repeated the same thought that had seized his heart moments ago:

(They’re both monsters…!)

Spread out below was a scene of two overwhelming beings locked in single combat — a “true monster,” the Floor Boss, and a “monster among adventurers.”

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!!”

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!?"

The adventurer’s name was Ottar.

Summoned by Finn as a hired ally, the strongest warrior of all — the Top of Orario. He had remained in the Dungeon for more than a week since the main force’s retreat, unrelentingly locked in mortal battle with the Floor Boss, the embodiment of “supremacy.”

“He’s absurd…!!”

A muttered whisper fell from the lips of a golden-haired elf flying ahead.

Before their eyes, the second Balor—born from the Dungeon’s rampant irregularities after the first had been slain—was being crushed under the sheer might of that boar-like man.

Even the flying Xenos shuddered in fear before the display. Leon, Bell, Lefiya, and the warriors of Freya Familia alike could only watch in a blend of awe, terror, and disbelief.

But Raul felt something else — envy.

(If only I could become a “monster” like him… a monstrous hero like that…)

If he were that kind of hero, then perhaps—he could have saved Meluna, saved his friends—

The thought surfaced, but Raul immediately shook it off.

He no longer clung to futile “what-ifs.”

Finn’s voice echoed in his memory:

“Raul, don’t lose yourself in heroism.”

He finally understood what that meant.

He knew what he could do — and what he must do.

“Hildis Vini”

“------------------------”

He did not flinch even as the heavens themselves split apart from Ottar’s devastating strike and the entire Moitra wasteland howled with the Floor Boss' death scream.

With that golden brilliance blazing behind them — as if Ottar himself were commanding them to go — the main force passed through the 49th floor.

Beyond the long corridor awaited the final rendezvous point Hedin had designated — the 50th floor.

“We’re back…!”

The words came out choked with exhaustion, relief, and disbelief all at once.

After their nonstop aerial journey from the 38th floor, the wyverns had reached their limit. Their wings faltered as they drifted through the air, finally crash-landing onto a massive slab of rock near the floor’s center.

The impact was heavy enough to nearly count as a crash. One by one, Bell, Lefiya, and the others were thrown from their mounts, hitting the ground alongside Raul — but all landing safely, ready to rise again.

“This place…”

“Our base camp. Or rather—our former base camp.”

Lefiya’s voice was calm but carried a buried weight as Bell looked around.

The sight before them was exactly as Raul remembered it. Broken tents and overturned supply cargoes littered the area—remnants of the expedition’s retreat.

The wreckage stood as a bitter monument to their defeat.

Raul and Lefiya alone, the only two from Loki Familia to make it back here, shared the same boiling storm of emotions—grief, guilt, and a rekindled will for vengeance.

“You finally made it, kid! And Ryu too!”

The voice that greeted them came from the defenders still holding the 50th floor base—people of renown in their own right.

Among them stood Shakti, captain of the Ganesha Familia; members of Freya Familia’s healer unit “Andhrímnir”; top instructors from the Academy District; adventurers of Hathor Familia; and even Mia and her staff from The Hostess of Fertility.

“Brother! You came to save us, nyaaa!”

“Stay back, you idiot cat!”

The sibling banter between Anya and Allen cut through the tension, a strange flash of normalcy amid the chaos.

Raul couldn’t help but feel awe.

All around him were powerful adventurers—levels four through six, nearly matching the famed “Dream Party” of heroes. Their ranks covered nearly every role: warriors, mages, healers.

The only thing missing was a smith. And that, Raul knew, was exactly why Hedin had ordered the main force not to fight during the descent. Their stamina and mana could recover, and broken items could be replaced—but worn weapons could not be reforged down here. To preserve the performance of their armaments for the 60th floor, they had been forbidden to engage in combat until now.

These warriors—Shakti’s vanguard—were the elite of the “Defense Force,” the very front line maintaining the pseudo shaft to the lower floors.

Yet even for them, holding the line was the best they could manage.

“My apologies, Hedin. This is as far as we can go. Extending the shaft beyond this point is impossible.”

“I expected as much. So long as you didn’t fall short, that’s good enough.”

Shakti’s report came laced with frustration. Deep down, she likely wanted nothing more than to press onward herself and join the rescue of Finn’s group—but Hedin neither praised nor blamed her. He simply accepted the result as satisfactory.

“…Shakti. On the way here—did you come across any of our comrades? The expedition team’s bodies, I mean.”

“...No. I led the vanguard myself, and saw none. My subordinates haven’t reported any either.”

Seizing a brief lull in the monster attacks, Raul approached her as the others tended to wounds and prepared for the next engagement. His question hung heavy in the cold dungeon air.

Even if they had found the bodies, recovery would have been nearly impossible—Shakti added that much before falling silent.
Raul, too, said nothing more and only thanked her quietly.

(No bodies of Meluna and the others…)

On the way here, every time they passed a familiar stretch of corridor, he’d caught himself scanning the area—hoping and fearing to see those faces again. The twenty-one elves who’d fallen during the retreat, scattered across twenty-one battlefields. He had searched for even a trace of them.

But there had been nothing.
Not a fragment, not a remnant.
At least, not anywhere he could find.

This was the Dungeon—where monsters devoured corpses like hyenas feasting on carrion. He didn’t want to picture it, but the possibility was real: the beasts’ fangs leaving not even a single strand of hair behind.

And yet… the fact that Shakti’s force—who’d rushed in right after the collapse—had found no remains at all…
It felt wrong.

(Maybe I just want to believe it’s strange… because the truth hurts too much.)

He wanted to mourn them, if it were possible.
To bring them home, to bury them properly.
But he knew what Hedin would say.

(If you’ve got time to grieve—use it to save Riveria and the others.)

He tightened his open hand into a fist, forcing down the surge of emotion before it became noise in his thoughts.

Raul realized bitterly that he had never truly known Meluna and her kin.
They’d only understood one another in the hellfire of that last battle—too little, too late.
He didn’t know their favorite songs, their laughter, or their fears.

But somehow, he could still hear their proud voices answering him:
Don’t stop here. Keep going.

“Just as Hildrsleif, predicted—this is the front line of the Defense Force…”

“Then that means…”

““““We finally get to cut loose.””””

After conserving their strength for so long, the main party—the “main force” of the expedition—was finally moving into combat readiness.

Ryu from the Hestia Familia spoke first, and the Gulliver Brothers of the Freya Familia each hefted their weapons with a grim grin.

Then, by Hedin’s order, another figure joined them: Heith Velvet, Vana Mardoll—a healer on par with Amid, hailed as one of Orario’s two supreme healers.

She had been transferred from the Defense Force to the main party—a staggering decision that only underscored the gravity of what was coming.

“Aaah, I’m going to die. Seriously going to die. Overworked to death… Hedin, may you explode into glitter…”

Even in the midst of exhaustion, her sardonic mutter drew a crooked smile from Raul. He couldn’t help but think, So there really is someone other than Perseus who can work under conditions like this.

And then, under Heith’s weary but capable hands, the nearly collapsed wyverns stirred again—
the beasts that would carry them to the deepest floor of all, reborn and ready for the descent to the 60th layer.

They wouldn’t allow the exhausted wyverns to just keel over—they forced them back to life.

“Until we reach the real thing on the 60th floor, I’m going to use these kids as dragon-taxis. Wake them up when it’s their turn~”

“““Gua!?”””

In exchange for the wyverns’ shrieks, Raul and the others were able to continue their aerial movement.

Raul glanced at the distant connecting path to the next layer while observing how Amid, called the “Silver Saint,” was different in comparison to the “Golden Witch,” whose skills drew quiet admiration.

(They’re oddly calm—)

Raul thought so. They would be diving back into hell again, thrown once more into a vortex of suffering, and yet there was no show of strain—only quiet motion, driven by the small flame burning deep inside them.

He caught Lefiya’s eye.
They nodded at one another.

That alone was enough.

“You could stay behind for your sister’s sake, Allen,” someone said.

“As if. I’m going to pick up those heroes, run over the enemy in a pack, and if I don’t, that idiot will only make things worse,” Allen shot back as Alfrigg and the others teased him.

Only now did Raul understand why his gaze kept being pulled to that pair. In those catfolk siblings he’d found someone who reminded him of a precious person of the same race—someone he wanted, more than anything, to protect.

“You mustn’t die,” he said quietly.

“Huh?”

Raul had unconsciously stepped closer and spoken. The old Raul would have been too afraid to approach; this version of him had no room for petty fear or inferiority. He was simply compelled—driven to speak as if to send a message to someone not there.

“Don’t die.”

Allen’s eyes—cool and clear—met Raul’s. He gave no reply, but his back’s slight motion said everything he needed to say:

—Don’t do anything unnecessary.

—No need to tell me that.

Raul understood, and he fell silent.

“──Ooooooooohhh!”

“Three feminine types! Approaching from the west!”

“We’ll take those! Main party, move out!”

Their short, quiet intermission ended.

What appeared were those loathsome “female-formed” monsters. The elves—unfazed, as before—began long incantations and unleashed a massive barrage.

A single “female-type” monster’s body split open—an explosion of corrosive liquid burst out, raining down even to the giant slab of rock below.

They had already accepted the risk of casualties—the “signal to advance” had long since been given.

Led by Allen sprinting ahead on foot rather than on wyvern, the main force launched at full speed, flashing past another female-type struggling in agony from injuries.

Amid the battle cries of the defense unit, they plunged into the 51st floor.

“The shackles of restraint are gone. Go wild, beast.”

The moment they entered the graphite-colored great labyrinth, Hedin’s command echoed from above the wyvern. Allen accelerated at once.

“Out of my way.”

“Gaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!?”

“Carnivorous flowers—Violas! Giant insects—Virga! A whole swarm—!”

“Caelus Hildr.”

The fastest silver spear mowed down a herd of Black Rhinos.

Raul, using the search skills drilled into him by Finn’s unit, quickly reported the presence of enemies, but before even a second had passed, Hedin’s precise magic shot obliterated them.

As expected—instant annihilation.

The path ahead cleared, they immediately moved on, following the faint trail Allen had carved before disappearing from sight.

The formation and unit handling were so unlike the Loki Familia’s methods that Raul fell silent for a moment.

Even with wyverns as mounts, the rhythm and flow were completely different. He reminded himself he needed to adapt—switch tactics.

The Loki Familia’s style of coordinated precision, almost like a mathematical equation, had no place here. For this team—the “Dream Party,” the strongest heroes alive—the focus was on the overwhelming strength of the individual.

(This isn’t the real battle yet. Hell starts on the 52nd floor.)

He fixed his gaze ahead toward the region known as the “Dragon’s Crucible,” one he’d passed through many times before.

A week ago, it had terrified him—but now he felt nothing.

Unlike Lefiya, whose power as a pure rear-line mage made her indispensable, Raul, newly ascended to Level 5, wasn’t even counted as part of the fighting force. He knew it. What was expected of him wasn’t combat, but guidance—he was a living map, a navigator who knew the way to the 60th floor. That was why Hedin deemed him worth bringing along.

He drew a clear line between what he should do—and when he must step forward—and began mentally preparing for the coming sniper attacks that would start from the 58th floor.

Once the cross-floor bombardments began on the 52nd, there would be no rest. He braced himself for that… and then—

“Laa───…………a────…………────Araa”

The sign of an irregularity announced itself.

Even through the crystal eyes—Oculi—it was clear that not only the adventurers but also the gods watching beyond had fallen unnaturally silent.

He could imagine the gods’ faces twisting.

No logic. No data.

Only instinct—understanding what it meant for an irregularity to occur below the 50th floor.

Raul and Lefiya, veterans of the Loki Familia, felt the alarm blaze in their minds faster than anyone else in the party.

A heartbeat later, as if to answer that alarm—crimson runes flared to life across the ground below.

A blinding flash split the darkness—

────────────────────────────────

Every face—Hedin, Leon, Alfrigg, Dvalinn, Berling, Grer, Ryu, Lefiya, Heith, and Raul—was painted in red light.

Raul understood immediately.

All predictions had been betrayed.
Hell was beginning.

Then, like the roar of a great war trumpet, the ground exploded.

“—Astraea Record!!”

Before everything could be annihilated, Ryu’s scream cut through the blast.

The invocation of the “Star’s Sanctuary”—a powerful barrier spell that enveloped the entire party in the glow of stardust.

But it shattered almost instantly.

“—gh!?”

The ground swelled like a massive landmine, erupting upward—an inferno bursting forth with killing intent.

The crimson flames obliterated the “Star’s Sanctuary.”

Ryu’s magic had blunted the worst of it, sparing them from total destruction. That alone was worthy of praise.
Yet the remaining shockwave still carried overwhelming power.

Shattered rock sprayed like buckshot, and a storm of flame raged outward. The veteran first-class adventurers reacted on instinct, narrowly evading the blast. Raul moved faster than his skill should have allowed—Lefiya survived by sheer luck.

Only one person was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Ugh—!?”

“Bell!?”

The hail of stone and the explosion’s force slammed into Bell’s wyvern.

The creature’s wings and chest were pierced clean through, dissolving into ash as Bell was hurled off into the distance.

Ryu’s desperate cry reached nothing—he vanished far behind the main force in an instant.

“Don’t stop!!”

“Bell, run!!”

The first command—from Hedin—was for the entire party.
The second—from Leon—was meant only for Bell.

But there was no room for either.

A second red magic circle bloomed—too soon, too close.
The follow-up bombardment threw everything into chaos.

“—!?”

With shock frozen on their faces, the adventurers saw Bell disappear beyond the wall of fire.

To escape the blast radius, the main force broke away at full speed.

The boy was cut off—separated from the rest.

“Bell!!”

Ryu’s voice rang out again and again—until, in the very next heartbeat,

someone moved.

“—!!”

It was Lefiya.

“Lefiya!”

“Go on ahead, Raul!”

She leapt from her wyvern, landing hard on the scorched ground.
Ryu turned in shock as Lefiya cast one quick glance toward Raul.

They both knew exactly what had to be done.

So neither of them hesitated.

Facing the abnormality before them, everyone understood the moment when they must step forward—when hesitation was no longer allowed.

For Lefiya, that moment had come.

Because to strike back—to launch their counterattack—they could not afford to lose the white flame that was Bell Cranel. The elf knew that better than anyone.

The young man watched her go. The girl turned her back to her comrades.

“Your journey isn’t over yet, Bell Cranel—Ais is still ahead!”

And with that shout, Lefiya’s lone adventure began.

“Lefiya! Are you seriously doing this!?”

“My body just moved on its own!”

“Then I guess it can’t be helped—wait, what am I saying, you idiot!?”

“This isn’t the time for comic routines!”

Separated from the main force, Lefiya veered onto a different route, and the crystal communicator in her breast pocket lit up.

On the other side came Loki’s thunderstruck shout and Hestia’s frantic cry.

Ignoring the two goddesses’ uproar, Lefiya traced the map of the floor engraved in her memory with her own swift legs.

“I don’t like it either! But I’ll do it!”

It was a declaration of will she could never have made eight months ago—
not the same timid Lefiya Viridis who once shrank back, unable to even cast magic, afraid of holding Ais and the others back.

A lone level-4 mage shouldn’t have stood a chance exploring the 51st floor alone,
yet the Lefiya who now volunteered to “go bring Bell back” charged ahead without hesitation.

“Please… I’m counting on you, Elf girl!”

Catching the determination in Lefiya’s voice, Hestia placed her child’s fate in her hands.
Beside her, Loki tore at her hair, groaning, “Aaaah! That’s the last thing I wanted you to learn from Ais!” while the goddess of the hearth began guiding Lefiya through the routes with even greater precision.

“By the name of the shining line that unbinds—!”

For a mage, being unarmed on this floor was the same as suicide.
So Lefiya immediately summoned her weapon—the elf’s wand and rod that could repel the monsters’ invasion.

“Graaahhh!”

“Arcs Ray!”

Three Black Rhinos appeared before her—
but the moment they did, a single shot of blinding light obliterated them before they could even scream.

Even as she moved forward, the elf kept chanting.

“In the name of Wishe, I beseech you!”

She wasn’t holding anything back.
Not her magic, not her mind.
Even her dual-casting skill, Double Canon, was unleashed from the start.

Losing Bell meant losing their chance to reclaim Ais, and to defeat the Corrupted Spirit.
Lefiya had no proof—but her instincts screamed it was true.
So she gave everything she had.

“I can’t believe how much trouble you cause!”

Thinking back to how she herself had once dragged Ais' team down on this very floor, she couldn’t help but let a faint, wry smile touch her lips.
Because, ironically, now she could finally pass on what she’d learned from Ais and the others—through her own actions.

Believing that what she had received from Ais and the others would save Bell—and that saving him would, in turn, become the foundation for rescuing Ais herself—Lefiya raised her voice.

“Fusillade Fallarica!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Is this elf girl’s magic as crazy as my own elf—uh, I mean, Ryu’s!?”

“Don’t you underestimate my idiot magician, shorty! And Lefiya, take that right turn! The boy’s being guided that way too!”

“It’s a little late to bring that up—who are you calling idiot magician!?”

As Lefiya sprinted forward, unleashing a torrent of blinding mana blasts, Hestia’s panicked shriek echoed through the crystal link, while Loki—unable to resist boasting about her own child—barked directions in between laughter and irritation.

The divine connection wasn’t one-sided. Through his own crystal device, Bell too received the gods’ voices—literal divine guidance that now strengthened their chances of survival.

With that blessing fueling her, Lefiya found confidence amid the chaos.

(The entire dungeon’s a mess—those massive bombardments are wiping everything out before I even reach it!)

The rain of super-charged blasts shook not only the floor but the entire stratum itself, annihilating monsters before they could even appear.
It was destruction, but for Lefiya it was a blessing in disguise—less interference meant more time to focus on her spellwork.

With the gods’ instructions chiming through the crystal, Lefiya—the lone mage challenging the 51st floor without Ais—turned reckless desperation into momentum, seizing this fleeting opportunity to push forward.

“Murmur, young leaves—brighten the green, stretch and climb! Grow to the sky, feed the flowers, color the forest!”

Her voice wove the rhythm of her kin’s song, summoning magic gifted to her by her junior at the academy, Mililia, before they had departed the surface.

“And bind them! Restrain the savages! This is the forest shrine you guard!”

As her chant reached its crescendo, the air shimmered—
and, just as Lefiya had hoped, something began to stir far ahead in her line of sight.

Lefiya caught sight of the boy—his legs trapped by the tendrils of a man-eating flower, about to be swallowed whole by the crimson sigils glowing beneath him.

At the perfect instant, she unleashed her spell straight toward him.

“Silver Vine!”

A lash of green light shot forth, wrapping around Bell’s wrist and yanking him upward like a hooked fish, pulling him clear of the explosion’s reach.

“Yes!”
“We did it!”

As the monsters vanished into the roaring blaze, Bell tumbled across the dungeon floor, gasping. Ignoring the cheers of the gods echoing through the crystal link, Lefiya seized his hand without hesitation and pulled hard.

“Run! Hurry!”

“L-Lefiya!”

Their eyes met—her emerald against his ruby—and without another word, they broke into a sprint. Bell stumbled for a moment, then fell in behind her.

As she expected, another barrage erupted behind them, painting the floor in red light. The situation was still hellish—yet, somehow, it felt lighter now.

Because she had found the flame of hope again.

“Why are you here!?”

“I came to save you! That’s all!”

“By yourself!?”

“Is that a problem!?”

“N-No, not at all!”

Even now, in the middle of disaster, they were yelling back and forth like always. It was absurd—and for some reason, that absurdity made Lefiya feel at ease.

“But why…? To leave the main force all alone—!”

The answer was obvious.

“I won’t let you die!”

“—!”

Her voice was fierce, unwavering.

“I’ll never again leave someone behind and keep walking forward!”

Such a simple vow—and yet it was everything. Without it, there would be no way to endure what was coming.

Bell stared at her in stunned silence for a moment, then smiled.

“Thank you… for saving me, Lefiya.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She hadn’t done it for his gratitude, and yet—hearing it made her heart skip. She turned her gaze forward, pretending not to notice the warmth rising in her cheeks.

“We’ll give up on rejoining the main force! From here on, it’s just us—we’ll head for the fifty-eighth floor!”

“Yes—wait, what!?”

“Why that reaction!?”

“S-Sorry!”

And yet, the moment Bell pulled the ladder out from under her, Lefiya couldn’t help but flare up in irritation.

Even through the faint hum of the Oculus crystal, she could feel her divine guardians’ exasperation radiating from the other side. Drawing a deep breath, she gathered every bit of training and experience she had gained from the Loki Familia and poured it into this moment.

(I know I’m still lacking—painfully so. But if I’m still immature, then I’ll just grow from here.)

It wasn’t only her seniors who had taught her that—it was the members of the Seventh Squad, Luke and the others. The lessons from her seniors and juniors both lived within her, guiding her to this resolve and this perspective.

She immediately began recalculating.

A normal reunion with Hedin’s unit was impossible now—completely out of reach. That left only the reckless method she had once attempted with Tiona and the others: descending through the “Dragon’s Crucible” by plunging straight down the vertical shaft created by the dragon’s bombardments.

It was a shortcut through the labyrinth’s “Dragon’s Pit,” a deadly freefall through an unstable tunnel of molten rock and dust. A suicidal tactic—yet one that could shave hours, perhaps days, off their route.

But the current Dungeon, writhing under this irregular phenomenon, was no longer the “Dragon’s Crucible” she knew.
And that was exactly why she would take the risk.

They had to reach the fifty-eighth floor quickly—or Ais and the others would wither away before they arrived.

(There’s still a chance. Professor Leon and the Freya Familia must already be pushing toward the fifty-eighth floor—they’ll strike at the source of this irregularity.)

Neither Hedin nor Leon, both shrewd and clear-headed, would ever allow this chaos to continue unchecked. And those indomitable Einherjar of Freya’s—they would never sit idle while their fighting spirit burned.

Lefiya’s instincts proved correct.

Running alongside Bell, cutting down every monster they met as they dashed through the shattered corridors of the fifty-first floor, she finally found the opening she’d been waiting for.

The ceaseless bombardments had obliterated everything in their path. No monsters remained. The Dungeon, prioritizing regeneration of its structure, had ceased birthing new ones.

When the encounters stopped entirely, Lefiya stepped toward the gaping pit before them.

“Hah… hah… L-Lefiya?”

Bell, winded and unfamiliar with the floor’s terrain, stared wide-eyed at the sheer drop yawning before them.

Still peering into the darkness below, Lefiya announced her plan.

“We’re jumping.”

“…Eh!? W-What!?”

“Straight to the fifty-eighth floor.”

“—!?”

“The bombardments are slowing. The intervals are longer. That means Vana Freya and his forces must’ve reached the fifty-eighth floor and are engaging the source of this.”

Bell’s reaction was exactly what she expected—almost nostalgic, really.

Watching him fluster and panic was like looking back at her own reflection from six months ago. A strange, tight feeling pressed in her chest, and her lips twitched into something between a smile and a grimace.

“Veil Breath.”

Just as Riveria once did, she layered defensive magic over both of them. Then, methodically, she blasted every suspicious point that reeked of hostile energy with beams of radiant light.

After that, she continued chanting, inscribing a small auxiliary magic circle over her wrist. Only once the preparations were complete did she pull out a vial of shimmering potion and drink.

Her mental energy, nearly depleted, began to refill—readying her for what came next.

“We’ve cleared out enough monsters that nothing’s spawning nearby. Finally, we can make the drop.”

As Lefiya said this, Bell’s eyes widened in sudden realization.
He must have understood—she hadn’t been running aimlessly. She had deliberately moved through the Dungeon to trigger its recovery cycle, calculating the moment when a temporary “gap” would open.

Her crimson eyes gleamed with a sharpness far beyond the novice boy he once met. The thought left him feeling oddly out of place.

“Y-you really think we can jump from here!?”

“I’ve done it plenty of times with Tiona and the others. We’ll be fine.”

Lefiya’s reply was calm, unwavering.

She didn’t look at the boy, who was now fumbling for words, but kept her gaze fixed on the vast, dark hole that led straight down to the fifty-eighth floor.

“I don’t want to waste another second. We have to reach Ais as soon as possible.”

“But… if I slow you down—if I mess up and something happens—!”

At last, the boy voiced the fear in his heart.

—Ah.

Lefiya couldn’t help but think, You really don’t have to be like me, even here.

She didn’t want to admit it, but she couldn’t deny it either: the two of them were alike.

Back then, she too had feared dragging Ais and the others down.
The thought of causing failure, of being the reason for loss, had frozen her legs and silenced her voice.

So this time, Lefiya smiled softly, where he couldn’t see it.

She didn’t scold him for his fear or mock his hesitation.
Instead, she turned to face him—the one still rooted to the ground—and said the only thing he needed to hear.

“I did it. So you can too.”

Her sapphire eyes shone with quiet certainty.

“—”

Bell’s words caught in his throat.

Because Lefiya Viridis—the one who understood him better than anyone—believed in him more than he believed in himself.

“Isn’t that right?”

Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

Not as a friend.
Not as a comrade.
Not as an exasperated older sister figure.

But as a rival who had watched him grow every step of the way.

“…Yeah.”

Bell’s fists clenched tight.

There was no more fear in his voice, no trace of self-doubt.
His hesitation vanished, and his shoulder rose to stand beside hers.

“For the first time… I don’t want to lose to you, Lefiya.”

“You’re late. I’ve been thinking that for a long time.”

Her teasing reply made him grin, their smiles mirroring one another perfectly.

No more words were needed.

With staff and knife in hand, they looked down into the roaring maw of the dragon’s domain.

“Let’s go.”

Together, they leaned forward.

The terrible cry of dragons echoed up from below, greeting the reckless pair who dared to descend.

And with that, they dove—
into the blazing depths—
to begin their own adventure.

Time rewound.

“Bell—Thousand Elf!”

Separated from Bell, Lefiya had leapt from her flying dragon to pursue him. Ryu’s voice trembled with regret as she strained to see the pair vanish into the fiery chaos below. “You must not go as well, fool,” Hedin had ordered her sharply—strictly forbidding any pursuit.

Raul said nothing to console her.

Instead, he spoke the one spell he knew could make her look up again.

“They’ll be fine.”

“…?”

“Please, believe in Lefiya.”

He guided his mount closer and spoke with steady conviction.

“That girl’s far nobler than me—closer to a true hero. She’s someone who can banish doubt itself. She is the Thousand Elf.”

Ryu’s pale blue eyes widened, fixing on him. For a few moments, she said nothing. Then, quietly:

“…I think I finally understand why Braver relies so much on you.”

“Then… maybe tell me after this is all over,” Raul answered with a faint grin.

“—Hedin. There’s something below us.”

Ryu’s inner turmoil ended the instant Leon’s warning came.

Hedin’s composure wavered—Bell and Lefiya’s absence clearly gnawed at him.

“They never cease to be troublesome… that damned ‘spirit.’”

Behind the rapidly advancing main force, massive bombardments still howled toward them.

Casting a brief glance back, Hedin gave his orders.

“Split formation. Three squads. Stay together and you’ll be nothing but targets.”

He didn’t allow even Ryu time to respond before issuing the next command.

“The Foolish Rabbit and the Thousand Elf are included—while one squad draws their fire, the rest will advance straight to the fifty-eighth floor.”

No god present raised an objection. It was ruthless and pragmatic—exactly the plan Lefiya herself had imagined.

The four Pallum brothers, long accustomed to the White Elf’s cold efficiency, didn’t even flinch.

Ryu scowled at the complete lack of cooperation among this group—each force only using the others as tools rather than fighting as comrades—but the adventurers obeyed regardless.

The Gulliver brothers broke off as one unit, vanishing down a separate tunnel. Hedin, as expected, took the most dangerous path alone.

And when Heith, her voice dragging from exhaustion, suggested to the stone dragon Gros, “Let’s just follow Hedin or Alfrigg’s path for now and meet them later on the fifty-eighth floor, okay…?” the drake could only stare in disbelief before rumbling forward—reluctantly following the trail of lightning where monsters had already been obliterated.

As the “Dream Party”—that supreme band of heroes—scattered to regroup, Raul alone turned his eyes not downward toward the fifty-eighth floor, but sideways into the dark.

“…Gale Wind. Knight of Knights. Come with me.”

“H-High Novice?”

While Hedin and Heith veered east, and the Gulliver brothers—shadowed by Asfi and Haruhime, who had been trailing invisibly since leaving Babel—headed west, Raul called out to Ryu and Leon, who were steering their mounts south.

They reined in their flying dragons at once, whipping around toward Raul, who was steering northwest instead.

“We were ordered to proceed to the fifty-eighth floor,” Ryu said. “Where do you intend to go?”

At that moment, Raul still didn’t have a clear answer—only a conviction.

“Is this detour truly necessary?” Leon pressed, his tone as even as a knight’s verdict.

Facing two veterans whose strength dwarfed his own, Raul didn’t avert his gaze.

“It is. I need you both with me.”

No hesitation, no vague words—only certainty.

“…Understood. I’ll follow,” Leon said at last, eyes steady.

It felt, somehow, like trust—trust in Raul himself, but also in the mentors who had raised him: Finn and the others.

Ryu still looked torn, anxiety for Bell flickering across her face, but she yielded in the end. Raul nodded his thanks and veered sharply from the main route, leading them toward a massive chasm descending into the dark.

He had a feeling—something not as refined as Finn’s famed intuition, but closer to an insect’s tremor before the storm.

It was an unease rooted in observation: every floor they’d crossed, every Demi-Spirit they’d fought, every so-called “endless boss rush.” It all felt deliberate. There was a pattern—a necessity to these calamities.

He voiced that suspicion through the Oculi crystal linked to the gods above.

“Bull’s-eye,” came the divine reply.

And then, simply:

“Raul—trust your judgment.”

The debate among the gods gathered at the underground altar had split cleanly in two.
Some argued that time—the speed of piercing straight through to the 58th floor—was the key to victory.
Others claimed that the results gained by detouring through other routes could prove more vital in the long run.

Raul, however, chose neither faction.
For this moment alone, he decided to trust in his own instincts.

And they were sharp—sharper than ever before in his life.
It was as if Finn himself had possessed him.

He saw it. He caught it.

“GyaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”
“DROP ITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!”

The scene unfolded on the 54th Floor, midway through the Dragon’s Urn.
At the far northwestern edge—a zone known as the Pantry—a hidden battlefield raged.

There, the Xenos fought for their lives.
Many were grievously wounded—some missing limbs entirely—yet they hurled themselves at the colossal enemy before them:
a Demi-Spirit, parasitically wrapped around the main graphite-colored quartz pillar of the floor.

“Guaaah!”
“...You—you're surface-dwellers!?”
“The Loki Familia—and Miss Gale Wind!?”

The ones who noticed them first were Fia, the harpy, and Rhett, the redcap.
Their bodies were battered, their breaths ragged, but the spark in their eyes burned on.

Raul’s expression twisted as he took in the sight.

—The Xenos had vanished after aiding their retreat to the surface during the great collapse of the 50th floor.

He had feared they’d been wiped out.

But then, he remembered what Gros, the gargoyle traveling with Bell, had said:

“We know not the fate of the others… but under Fels’ orders, they should be assisting elsewhere.”

From that overheard line, Raul had formed a hypothesis—
that the Xenos were still fighting, somewhere, unseen.

And now, before his very eyes, that belief was proven true.

Moreover, the pattern of the Demi-Spirit appearances couldn’t be ignored.
Three had already emerged between the 28th and 50th floors.
There was no fixed rhythm to their appearances, but…

—By all logic, another one should be here.

Just like a certain pallum strategist girl, Raul had arrived at the same conclusion through instinct.

(If I line up all the clues...)

Including their previous retreat battles and the relentless waves of attacks on the 50th floor,
it was almost impossible to believe there wasn’t a Colorful Monster Plant—a “Nae Flower”—somewhere nearby generating these entities.

And all the while, the ones who had been holding the Demi-Spirits back—
the ones buying time for the main forces—
were none other than the upper-class adventurers of the Defensive Unit,
and Alicia’s squad, who had separated from the main host.

Then—if a Demi-Spirit truly lurked within this sector,
and if some unseen ambush party had been holding that horror back in a floor that no longer had its central shaft—
Raul could only think of one possibility.

It had to be the Xenos.

That was the hunch that took root in his mind.
And it proved correct.

He had made it in time.
He hadn’t let the same Xenos who once saved them be slaughtered in silence.

“So this… this was the meaning of our detour!”
“Exterminate it, High Novice!”
“Yes, sir!”

Raul leapt from his drake’s saddle.
Beside him, Ryu and Leon drew their blades and slid into casting stance.
While the battered Xenos stared in disbelief, Raul fired volley after volley of magic swords—forged under the marks of Hephaestus and Goibniu—from atop his mount.

The barrage drew the monster’s attention, buying the precious seconds the elf and the knight needed to ready their counterstrike.

“Luminous Wind!”
“Blaze of Round!”

The Demi-Spirit’s scream tore through the floor:
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!”

Level 6 and Level 7 power—pure overwhelming force.

With the harried Xenos joining in, the tide turned instantly.
Now unrestrained by Hedin’s earlier order to conserve strength, Leon’s and Ryu’s full-release attacks smashed through the Spirit’s defenses.
The battle that had seemed desperate just moments before was over in a flash—
the abomination felled before it could even invoke a single great spell.

Raul had no hero’s finish to boast of.
He had no knight’s sacred strike, no elf’s stardust radiance—
only the act of reaching these monsters in time, of helping them survive.
But perhaps that alone repaid a fragment of the debt he owed to those “monsters with reason.”

“Is our detour finished now, High Novice?”
“Yes… thank you.”

“Then we shall move on.”
“Go ahead. I… have something I need to say.”

He nodded to Leon and Ryu, eyes turning toward the ragged, blood-streaked creatures staring back at him.

Ryu mounted her drake first and soared from the Pantry; Leon followed a heartbeat later.

Here at the fringe of the floor, Raul would be safe enough.
No bombardment would reach this far, and the dungeon’s spawn rate had dropped to a crawl.
A short delay—one man lingering behind—would cause no harm.

As he watched the two disappear down the corridor, Raul slowly turned back toward the stunned group of Xenos.
Their eyes—human and inhuman alike—were fixed on him, uncertain.

“…May we call you Mr. Raul?”
“That’s fine.”
“Then, Mr. Raul… why would a member of the Loki Familia come to our aid?”

“Because I didn’t want to forget the debt we owe you. And… because I thought it was necessary.”

“How wonderful, Rhett! You see? This is what true harmony between the surface and us looks like! Love and peace, surely spreading even beyond Bell and his friends!”

The Redcap, Rhett, blinked in disbelief at Raul’s sincerity, still searching for any hidden meaning.
Beside him, the half-bird Harpy, Fia, spun in the air with a battered body, her wings fluttering with innocent joy.

Raul ignored the whisper that came through the Oculus—something about “that cute half-bird girl’s too innocent for a monster”—and focused instead on these two articulate Xenos, using them as his point of contact. Together, they exchanged what information they could.

“Lyd, Wiene, and Asterius went down toward the 60th Floor. The poet-bird Rei is on an errand for Fels. All of us are acting to help the members of the Loki Familia.”

“We sensed something bad brewing, gathered whoever we could from the others scattered around the area, and decided to fight here. We knew something terrible was coming.”

“…Thank you.”

Those were words Raul would once have hesitated to say to a monster. But now they came out naturally.

“What will you do now?”

“We’d like to offer reinforcements, but our people are too wounded. We plan to head for the Cadmos Spring on the 51st Floor to recover.”

The Cadmos Spring—Raul knew it well. The Loki Familia had once taken gathering quests there; the waters were prized by the Dian Cecht Familia for crafting high-grade healing items.

There was nothing to object to in their plan.
These weren’t beasts acting on instinct—they were thinking, planning, caring for one another.

He handed several spare potions to Rhett and Fia.
He still had plenty left—packed tightly into the saddle bags of his drake—and the Gulliver Brothers were carrying the rest along with Cruz’s supplies.

“Thank you, Mr. Raul.”
“Our kin will be overjoyed. To think we’d one day be saved by someone other than Bell and his friends…”

“UBOAAA!!”
“THANK YOU!”

Even those who couldn’t speak fluently—the massive troll, the half-snake Lamia—voiced their gratitude in broken words.

Raul… didn’t know what kind of face he was supposed to make in return.

But these beings—more honest than humans, unafraid to show joy, anger, sorrow, or delight, and above all, the very monsters who had so often helped them—made Raul narrow his eyes as though he were gazing at something brilliant.

“I don’t know if this will be of any use to you… but as a token of our friendship—”

At that moment, they pressed something into his hands.

Raul hadn’t helped them expecting gratitude, and for a second he looked troubled, unsure how to react. But he accepted it anyway.
In a place like this, where no one knew what would happen next, anything might prove useful.

“I’m out of time. I have to go.”
“Understood! Please, may fortune favor you!”
“We’ll silence this prism-beast plant completely, then follow and lend our strength soon!”

He left them there—those battered, determined Xenos who still had a battle to finish—and mounted his drake once more, spurring it onward.

“Loki.”
“Yeah, what is it, Raul?”

“My body just… moved on its own. Like the captain, when he gets that feeling in his thumb.”

“…”

“The Xenos were already there before me. Maybe… maybe there was no point in me butting in.”

“That ain’t true. If you hadn’t shown up, those Xenos might’ve been wiped out instead of standin’ there talkin’ to ya.”

“…You think so?”

“At the very least, that old geezer Uranus, sittin’ comfy on his throne, probably owes ya thanks right now.”

Their voices traded back and forth through the Oculus.

Raul’s lips moved faintly, though he wasn’t really looking for reassurance. Even so, Loki’s words—her approval—meant more to him than he’d expected.

He was happy, he realized.
But that same driving force inside him—the one that had kept him moving since the expedition began—didn’t allow him the luxury of basking in it.

Through the same Oculus, he received new reports: Bell and Lefiya were safe. The worry that had lingered in his chest finally faded.

And so Raul, surrounded by the silence settling over the shattered expanse of the “Dragon’s Urn,” pressed on toward what awaited ahead.

And then—

A deafening scream tore through the depths.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa────!?"

By the time Raul and the others reached the 58th floor, the battle was already nearing its end.

“Uchide no Kozuchi!”
“Varian Hildr!!”

The source of the entire Irregular Phenomenon—the colossal, multi-headed dragon-type Demi-Spirit Hydra—had already lost eight of its heads.
Its monstrous body convulsed under the combined onslaught of Haruhime’s forbidden Level-Boost enchantment and Hedin’s thunderous divine lightning.

And yet, beyond that, an even greater abomination still remained.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!”

“───────────────”

Raul froze at the sight—something he had never seen, something that could only be described as a calamity incarnate.

The Destroyer: Juggernaut.

Before this nightmare stood a single elf, a lone warrior who refused to yield.
With the jet-black muffler she had received from Bell, she deflected the monster’s terrifying claws—each one a blade that could tear through adamantite—and with her indestructible Durandal, she shattered its brittle frame piece by piece.

Every slash, every step of that battle was a miracle of precision.
Where the Juggernaut’s overwhelming speed should have rendered her helpless, she met it with even greater movement; where its Magic Reflection should have made spells useless, she answered by detonating the starlit orbs orbiting her body, countering each reflected strike with her own.

She had seen through it all—the unknown had become known.
The once-invincible calamity was being cornered by the adventurer who had transcended fear itself.

And in that blinding instant of motion, her blade—wreathed in the radiance of a Level-Boost—found the creature’s core.

“Ghh—!?”

“──Flame Blossom, Alveria!!”

A surge of crimson fire burst forth through the star-forged sword, a divine conflagration roaring to life as the tempest elf unleashed everything she had left.

The blow mirrored that of a fallen comrade—
a strike worthy of the family she had once stood beside.

Engulfed in roaring flames from within, the Destroyer, Juggernaut let out a final shriek before its body shattered into countless fragments and vanished into dust.

“Haa… haa…!”
“Lion!”
“Lady Ryu!”
“Oi, don’t tell me you’re worn out already, Allen.”
“This guy’s not a marathon runner, he’s a sprinter.”
“He needs an interval or he’ll start panting in seconds.”
“Expecting stamina from a cat is just wrong.”
“Your eyes rotten or what!? You damn pipsqueaks wanna get crushed!?”

Ryu, sword plunged into the ground and barely standing, was quickly approached by Asfi—her Invisibility lifting as she ran—and by Haruhime, who had been carried in her arms, clutching a pouch of potions.

Nearby, the Freya Familia’s group—having annihilated the Demi-Spirit that had infested a horde of Valgang Dragons—was exchanging their usual barrage of insults.

Ryu’s injuries weren’t fatal. Aside from a deep gash on her shoulder, most of the damage lay beneath the muffler—fingers and arm bones likely fractured. She grimaced in silence as Asfi’s tools mended her wounds.
Allen and the others were mostly unharmed, but their stamina and Mind reserves were drained to the limit; they downed restorative potions one after another.

(…No Lefiya, no Bell Cranel, no Knight of Knights, and no Vana Mardoll.)

Through the Oculus, Loki quickly explained: Bell and Lefiya had arrived earlier at the 58th floor and advanced with Leon and Heith toward the 60th—serving as the vanguard unit.

As Raul listened, he realized what that meant—he had arrived late. Again.

Guilt flickered for only a moment. Looking around at the devastation, he knew there had been nothing more he could have done. The scorched landscape was unrecognizable: the floor torn open, cliffs overturned, the entire terrain reshaped as if by a meteor storm. Ash and embers drifted through the air like volcanic soot.

No monsters moved. Not a single Valgang Dragon, not one Chromatic Beast.
All annihilated—by Hedin’s hand.
Only the gray remains of the fallen blanketed the cavern floor like snow.

Even now, Raul understood clearly: though his level had risen, there was nothing a mere High Novice could add to a battle fought by legends.
Not self-deprecation—simply truth.

“Cough… here’s a mind recovery magic potion.”

“Ah—yes, thank you. Um… High Novice sama…?”

“If that’s a mouthful, just call me Raul.”

“Yes, Raul sama.”

“And one for the All-Master Perseus, too.”

“…I left most of the fighting to Ryu and the others… no, you’re right. I’ll take it.”

Raul had chosen how to help—by tending wounds and restoring strength.
He opened the pack lashed to his wyvern’s saddle, handing out what everyone needed.
Asfi hesitated at first; she and Haruhime had stayed in the rear as escorts and healers, and guilt weighed on her. But when she met Raul’s steady gaze, she accepted the potion without protest.

Down here, hesitation killed.
Even a small drain of strength could turn “I’m still fine” into the scythe of death itself.
Whatever her renown as Perseus, Asfi recognized that the Loki Familia’s High Novice had logged more time than anyone at these depths—and followed his judgment.

Raul handed recovery items to Gros, the stone-scaled gargoyle who had been guarding Haruhime as well. When Raul mentioned Rhett and the others, the creature rumbled,

“I SHOULD OFFER THANKS … BUT I DO NOT KNOW WHAT FACE TO MAKE.”

Raul smiled faintly. “Same here.”

The floor remained eerily still. No new monsters were being born; the damage was too severe. For now, the 58th floor had become a temporary safety zone.
A moment’s rest—rare and precious—was possible.

“Move out. We’ve no time to linger.”

Once Raul’s supplies sped up the re-arming, Hedin’s order came sharp and cold.
All except the pure supports—Haruhime and Asfi—rose to their feet, armor scorched and torn, but ready.

They descended from the silent 58th floor into 59.

The next layer, which Raul remembered as part of the Glacial Domain, had been warped by the Corrupted Spirit’s influence into a vast crimson forest.
The air was thick with dense magic, and enormous red-black spores floated like mist, dyeing everything the color of dried blood.

At its center sprawled an immense magic circle—a pattern once four hundred meters across—now charred and half-erased.

Lefiya’s trail was obvious; she and Bell had already burned the sigil to ash.
No sign of regeneration. The collapsed green-flesh pillars looked like the wreckage of some desecrated cult temple—

—or, Raul thought grimly, like a launch pad.

He wasn’t a genius.
If he truly had been, Lefiya would’ve seen this the same way.

But at that moment, Raul Nord was sharper than he had ever been in his life.

There was no trace of the clumsy, ordinary “High Novice” left.

The moment came when the scattered fragments in his mind clicked together — points connecting into a single, clear line.
While Ryu and the others kept their attention fixed on their surroundings, unaware, Raul quietly asked the gods through the Oculus.

“Shuvalt.”

Only that one phrase came back through the Oculus.

“...”

Raul quietly clenched both of his hands.

Crossing through the center of the floor, they found the flying dragons Lefiya’s group had left behind waiting near the connecting passage.
They were the very same dragons that Hedin and Alfrigg’s team had once ridden.
To keep them from being caught up in the battle against the multi-headed Hydra-type Demi-Spirit of the Spirit, they had been entrusted to Lefiya’s party.
Now, once again, those flying beasts would serve as mounts for Hedin and the others.

Just before departure, the party put to good use the intelligence Raul’s group had brought back.
Using Asfi’s magic tools, they applied anti-Charm protection to every member in advance.

(Finally… we’re back—)

It had been exactly one full day since the rescue operation began and they had first set foot into the Dungeon.
For the first time since then, Raul’s steady heartbeat carried warmth and tension, thudding with heat beneath his chest.

Haruhime and Asfi were tense, their breathing shallow.
Gros glared ahead, his stone face unreadable.
Ryu, Allen, Alfrigg, and Hedin had long since discarded any trace of fear.

Together, they advanced into the fissure-like passage that served as the connecting route—
and Raul stepped forth into the 60th floor, where every promise, every vow, awaited fulfillment.

The first thing they felt was a warm, nauseating wind—so thick with magical energy it made them want to vomit.

Next came the realization—this was a graveyard of monsters.

“Dragon bones…”

The 60th floor had transformed completely from the sight Raul remembered.

During their last advance, the area had been a grotesque yet otherworldly expanse of pale blue flesh—walls, floors, and massive pillars of cold azure tissue.
Now, it resembled a yellow-brown cavern, like a gigantic stalactite cave.

The surfaces of the floor and columns carried a texture that resembled diseased growths rather than stone—an organic, tumorous grotesquery. The ceiling stretched easily fifty meters high, the chamber extending nearly a kilometer into the distance.

What stood out most, however, were the dragon fossils embedded within the columns and floor.

Some were the size of whales, while others still had scales or organs clinging to them—half-fossilized remnants of long-dead beasts. Each and every one had a “Sword of Flesh” driven through it, making it clear what this place was.

A graveyard of dragons—no other words could describe it.

It felt almost like a physical manifestation of someone’s innermost heart.

“Disgusting…” several of the party muttered in unison.

“They got beaten by this kind of dungeon?” one of the brothers sneered.

“The reports didn’t mention this… Raul, what do you make of it?” Hedin asked.

“It’s changed,” Raul replied quietly. “From the last time we were here.”

The four brothers grimaced, Allen snorted in disdain, and Hedin’s sharp gaze swept the surroundings.

The once “holy” blue underworld had turned into something unspeakably vile.

“So this is where the Sword Princess and the others are…” Ryu murmured, her voice fading into the wind that swept through the tunnel.

Even that single current of air clawed at Raul’s heart.

It was a familiar wind.

Ais' wind.

What must Lefiya have felt when she arrived here first?
Was she able to keep her composure?
Raul himself felt his veins ready to burst.

The breeze stirred their hair and rustled across the countless dragon corpses that littered the floor, a current so thick with magical essence it nearly made him dizzy.

Clenching his teeth where no one could see, Raul endured it.

From the Oculus, Loki’s voice echoed into his mind:

“You know this already, Raul—but same as during the first assault, this disgusting dungeon’ll throw up chunks of flesh and bone to attack you. …But the Corrupted Spirit’s too obsessed with Ais right now to fully defend itself. Keep your eyes open—and charge straight ahead!”

From the Oculus came information worth its weight in gold.

Nodding to Loki’s command, the main force urged their wyverns forward, accelerating through the cavern.

“—Enemies incoming!”

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!”

Carrying Haruhime in a princess hold, Asfi, flying with her Talaria boots, called out the warning.

The prismatic monsters—already aware of the vanguard’s intrusion—were swarming to intercept.

Giant centipedes (Vilga), man-eating flowers (Violas), and those accursed parasitic spiders (Varasite) all surged forward from the depths like a living tide, determined to drive the invaders back.

The sheer mass of the oncoming wave—well over a hundred strong at a glance—struck Raul with an uneasy sense of déjà vu.

“Caelus Hildr!”

The same kind of thunderous assault—lightning soldiers annihilating a horde.

There was no trace of mercy from the thunder spirit; the grotesque tendrils of the Corrupted Spirit met no forgiveness.

Still astride his wyvern, Hedin thrust out one arm—unleashing a blinding storm of lightning.

“───────────────────────────!!”

Not a single creature escaped annihilation.
Every one of the monsters was obliterated by the ultra-precise, wide-area bombardment.
Their bodies erupted in shrieks and fragments of charred meat.

Hedin’s power—wielding the longest attack range and greatest Mind reserve in all of Orario—shone in full force.
A true specialist for extermination warfare.

As the wyverns sped past, the air behind them filled with clouds of searing ash.

They pressed onward—deeper, ever deeper into the dungeon.

At the vanguard, the “chariot” that led them—moving even without a mount—radiated irritation at how quickly the Thunder Tyrant was clearing the path.

“W-wait, we’re charging way too far in! Isn’t this the enemy’s stronghold!? This is like, the worst possible place to be!?”

“Those cocky heroes are dying out there, right?”

“Then there’s no time to waste.”

“We go forward.”

“Anyone chickening out!?”

Asfi, drenched in sweat, looked half-panicked at their reckless advance—but the Gulliver Brothers, perched atop their wyverns, barked out their usual nonsense.

No enemy resistance, no objections from allies—nothing could slow them down.
This was the hallmark of the Freya Familia’s assault: a full-frontal blitz driven by overwhelming individual might.

(But no—it’s not just that.)

Raul muttered to himself inwardly.

Their incredible pace wasn’t simply thanks to the wyverns’ wings or Hedin’s power. It was also the result of the advance team’s achievements—the groundwork laid by Lefiya and her group, who had ventured ahead and gathered invaluable intelligence on the demon realm.

“Push straight through! Behind the fourth pillar—there’s a nest pocket where monsters lie in ambush, be careful!”

“Ryu, two hundred meters ahead—shoot the flower field above us! It’s trying to charm you with a waterfall of glittering pollen!”

“We’ve already mapped this area! Leave navigation to me!”

Through the Oculus, a constant stream of tactical updates and reconnaissance data poured in from the gods—turning the unknown into the known.

Even Loki’s earlier warning about the dungeon’s direct attacks must have come from the advance team’s findings.

Like the pioneers who once carved open uncharted frontiers, Lefiya and her comrades had granted the main force the blessing of discovery itself.

(Lefiya… thank you.)

Before long, the main force had already cleared the first vast chamber and advanced into a narrow canyon-like corridor.

They were moving at less than a quarter of the time the advance team had needed.

At this rate, Raul thought, they would soon catch up to Lefiya and the others.

But then—he froze.

“...Freya.”

“Raul.”

The terrain itself hadn’t changed.

But the floor and pillars were now embedded with countless golden orbs—radiant gems pulsing faintly with life.

Amid them, long hair fluttered in the wind—dozens of girls, naked as the day they were born.

“That’s… the Sword Princess!?”

“Ahhh! S-such indecent exposure—someone, please, cover yourselves at once!”

“What are you babbling about!?”

“The Sword Princess' duplicates… the ones the High Novice mentioned!”

Asfi blinked in disbelief. In her arms, Haruhime turned crimson to the tips of her ears.
Flying beside them, Gros roared in confusion, and Ryu’s face contorted in unmasked disgust.

The Corrupted Spirit had created copies of Ais—replicas born from its twisted power.

Those same false girls had once drowned Tiona and Tione in a sea of blood, shattering countless minds in a grotesque banquet of madness. That nightmare, that hell which had unfolded in the deepest chamber of the demon realm and scarred them all, seared itself again across Raul’s mind.

(Golden hair…! They’re becoming more like the real Ais!)

In his memory, the earlier “copies” had borne blue hair, their color echoing the gems embedded in the flesh around them—a sign that they were fakes.
But now their hair shimmered gold, and aside from the empty, fragile smiles on their faces, they were indistinguishable from the real Ais Wallenstein.

And that meant only one thing—Ais' absorption was continuing.

Raul’s eyes widened. The next instant, an overwhelming storm tore through the cavern.

“Guhhhhhh!?”

“Waaaaaaah!?”

“...Tch.”

It was the same chaotic tempest that had once brought the Loki Familia to the brink of annihilation.

Asfi’s winged boots and the wyverns’ wings alike were caught in the vortex, nearly sending them plummeting to the ground.

Hedin immediately countered with thunderbolts—but every single strike was thrown off course.
The copies of Ais stood untouched, their bodies whole, their lips curved into faint, innocent smiles.

Even Hedin’s flawless precision faltered; the aim of his lightning was skewed, and his instant-kill assault failed to land. The elf clicked his tongue in frustration.

The main force had now entered its first true battle on the 60th floor.

“Pathetic.”

That single, disdainful word cut through the roar of the storm.

Amid the howling winds, Allen vanished—his body blurring out of sight.

Using the legs of the fastest man alive, he sprinted straight into the heart of the tempest.

As the crosswind missed its mark, the copies of Ais tilted their heads in confusion—only for Allen to already be gone.

In an instant, he had launched himself to the ceiling, his speed so tremendous that the dungeon itself warped in alarm, the very walls reshaping into the gaping jaws of a grotesque dragon in an attempt to devour him. But by the time it reacted, the man had already vanished from sight.

Like a silver lightning bolt falling from the heavens, Allen dove straight down.

The false Ais’ looked up, eyes wide, frozen in disbelief—just as he descended upon them like judgment itself.

“I’ll crush you flat.”

“—!?”

A burst of shredded flesh and scattering golden hair.

Ignoring the violent gales as though they were nothing, the feral cat of Freya Familia tore through their ranks, rending the fake Sword Princesses apart in a storm of claws.

It was over in a single strike.

““““For once, I agree with the cat.””””

The counterattack had begun.

The fake Ais’ screamed, thrown into confusion, and the storm of wind weakened. Taking advantage of the opening, Alfrigg and the others leapt from their wyverns and charged in—spears, hammers, axes, and swords thrusting and cleaving with flawless precision, shattering the replicas one after another.

“Ais… and the others…”

Raul couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow at the sight.

When the copies of Ais had first appeared, even the furious Tione hadn’t been able to kill them so effortlessly. Like Tiona, hesitation toward striking down the image of a comrade was inevitable for the Loki Familia.

But the Freya Familia had no such weakness.

They could cut down the replica of a comrade—or even their own mirror image—without the slightest hesitation.

That was the mark of the Einherjar, the warriors of Folkvangr, who lived and died for battle alone.

If an imitation of Ottar himself were to appear, Raul was certain they’d slay it gleefully.

Even knowing that these grotesque copies were mere abominations spawned by the enemy, seeing one Ais Wallenstein after another burst into clouds of ash and blood made Raul grimace.

Beside him, Hedin coolly resumed his wide-range bombardment now that the firing lines were clear, while Ryu—having missed the start of the melee—wore the same troubled expression.

“Man, those Freya kids don’t hold back at all! But damn, they’re fast—really fast! Not even the monsters can get close! At this rate, they’ll catch up to Bell and the others in no time!”

The voice over the Oculus carried a mix of awe and relief, echoing through the stormy cavern.

In conquering this “demonic realm,” Raul had believed that the copies of Ais would be the greatest threat—but the brutality of Freya Familia proved him wrong.
They continued cutting down the imitation Aises and the chromatic monsters that accompanied them, advancing through the jeweled corridors so quickly that even Hestia’s cheers filled the Oculus link.

But then—

“Stop.”

The cheerful din from Hestia’s voice was cut short. Baldr’s calm tone followed, and then Loki’s.

“We’re splitting the party here.”

“…!? What do you mean, Lady Loki?”

“Freya’s group is doing fine for now, but this floor is beyond dangerous! It’s worse than any dungeon we’ve ever faced! Dividing our forces here is suicide…!”

At that command from the gods, Hedin raised his hand to halt the wyvern squadron.
Allen and the others, who had been sprinting across the ground, frowned and stopped in their tracks.
Ryu blinked in disbelief, while Asfi leaned forward, unable to stay silent.

In truth, there was no one analyzing this “demonized 60th floor” more cool-headedly than Asfi.
As the All-Purpose Adventurer, second only to Haruhime in level, she compensated for her lesser power with constant vigilance. Every feature of this place—its monsters, its traps—was potentially fatal, a string of death triggers waiting to be stepped on.
If that ridiculous “Undying Rabbit” were at the front taking every blow, fine—but even the so-called Strongest Heroic Party would crumble instantly if one gear slipped out of place. Cold sweat ran down her back as she evaluated the risks.

“We’re only managing this because we have advance intel…! Without it, how the scouting team made it through, I can’t begin to imagine!”

Despite her protest, the gods’ voices remained composed.

“You’re right, Asfi—it’s a suicidal move. But there’s no other way. Listen carefully.”

“There are two routes ahead. One, you’ll keep following Lefiya’s team to rendezvous with them—call it the Sword Princess Retrieval Route.”

After Hermes explained, Loki continued, her tone firm.

“And the other route aims to regroup with Finn and the rest of the expedition still deeper in—the Hero Convergence Route.”

“!!”

Everyone except Hedin reacted immediately, surprise and unease flashing across their faces.

“We didn’t tell Lefiya’s team about this. Recovering the Sword Princess remains the top priority.”

“The Corrupted Spirit made these paths deliberately, but we gods can tell—there’s another passage it wants to hide.”

Baldr’s and Hermes' voices overlapped. Then came the rustle of paper—the sound of a map being unfolded. Asfi recognized it instantly.

“We’ve overlaid the demon-realm map—charted alongside Bell’s advance—with the original 60th-floor schematics provided by Royman. Combine that with the records left by Zeus and Hera of the Glacial Domain—”

What emerged was a revelation:
a hidden route, not part of the official dungeon structure, but running between the layers themselves—a secret passage Royman had kept buried all this time, the deepest and most forbidden knowledge of all.

Royman had handed the document directly to Loki, and Hermes deftly held it up beside his own copy for comparison.

“—See that fleshy wall diagonally to your left? Yeah, that’s the spot.”

Guided by the easygoing voice of the elegant god, everyone turned their eyes toward a section of the living wall that looked no different from the rest.

Then the goddess of beauty gave her command.

“Fire, Hedin.”

“Varian Hildr.”

Without hesitation, the thunder mage unleashed his spell.
The torrent of lightning tore into the pulsating wall, burning it away until what lay beyond was revealed—
a massive hole descending into the depths below.

“What in the world…!?”

“A hidden route leading into the former Unexplored Domain. Think of it as the ‘backside’ of the dungeon—the entrance to Thalia's Ice Garden.”

“The backside? And… Thalia?”

As the passage opened, a wave of cold air swept outward—chill enough to bite through armor and skin alike.
Haruhime flinched, wrapping her arms around herself as her tails shivered, while Ryu furrowed her brow at Hermes' explanation.

Loki spoke up before anyone could ask further.

“Not long ago, Bete regrouped with Lefiya’s team. That confirms Finn’s group is still alive and stationed somewhere deeper ahead.”

“—!”

“See how this thick meat wall was hiding the tunnel? It’s camouflage. The Corrupted Spirit, though wounded, is still alive—and it’s on edge. It’s terrified that Finn and the others might recover and join forces again.”

Raul was the first to react, his eyes widening.
Asfi and the others could not look away from the gaping hole now revealed before them.
At last they understood.

The ceaseless “wind” that had been blowing from the inner depths—it wasn’t natural airflow.
It was bait.
A trap meant to lure them toward Ais, using her as the lure, and to draw them away from Finn’s location.

The Corrupted Spirit feared nothing more than the reunification of the two forces—the main host and the expedition remnants.
Even now, it was likely watching from somewhere within the demonic labyrinth, grinding its unseen teeth in frustration under the divine gaze that could not be deceived.

“Join with Finn’s group,” Loki’s voice declared through the Oculus.
“Then together, crush the Corrupted Spirit from both sides.
That’s our best—and maybe only—chance to take down this damned dungeon.”

That strategy had originally been devised by Finn himself, even though he was not present.

With the minds of god and child—parent and familia—aligned as one, no one raised any objection.
Now that it was confirmed that Finn and his team were alive beyond this point, abandoning them was simply not an option.

Under Hedin’s command, the group was swiftly divided.

“Loki… Lefiya is still headed toward Ais, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“Then please let me go to where the Captain is.”

Raul’s request was accepted without hesitation.

Hedin, Ryu, Asfi, Haruhime, and Gros would join the ‘Ais Recovery Route’, chasing after Bell and Lefiya.
Allen, Alfrigg, Dvalinn, Berling, Grer, and Raul would take the ‘Hero Convergence Route’, aiming to reunite with Finn’s party.

The latter group held the bulk of the front-line power—an intentional decision by the gods.
As for the recovery team, Leon, Bete, and that wild “lawless zone” of a boy named Bell were enough to balance their lack of heavy attackers.

“There’s no time. Move out immediately.”

As soon as the reorganization was complete, Hedin’s unit departed.
Mounted on their flying dragons, the Ais Recovery Team set off, following the trail left behind by Lefiya’s group.

Meanwhile, Raul and his companions entered the closing flesh wall of the newly revealed passage.
The air within was unnaturally cold, thick with a damp, malignant chill that made the dragons growl uneasily.

Ignoring their fear, Allen dashed ahead, his speed setting the pace. Alfrigg and the others followed close behind—Raul among them.

They advanced along the path that led into the narrow rift between the 60th and 61st Floors.

(Let’s go.)

To reclaim everything.

No matter the cost.

And from within the crystal orb of the Oculus, the watching god said nothing—only gazed silently at the young man’s determined face.

Chapter 4:
Question from the Frozen Prison

“Captain, if you had to choose between ‘the one you love’ and ‘world peace,’ which would you pick!?”

Here we go again, he thought.

The question came suddenly from Tione, who had been helping—or more accurately, interfering with—his paperwork. Finn let out a small, weary smile.

It was a peaceful afternoon at their home base.

“If the person I love is included in that world peace, then I’d choose the latter, I suppose.”

“Nope, that doesn’t count! You can’t cheat like that! If you choose your beloved, the world is destroyed. If you choose the world, the one you love dies!”

“That’s… pretty extreme. And kind of grim.”

Even as he continued sorting documents with his usual multitasking focus, Finn could tell she wanted a real answer this time. Tione leaned over the desk with dangerous enthusiasm—her ample chest swaying close enough to brush his bangs—leaving him no choice but to set his quill aside and look up at her.

Tione loved these “tests.”

She was always throwing questions like this at him—little traps designed to wring out some declaration of love. In truth, all they ever did was put Finn in an awkward position. But she’d keep coming at him with every trick she could think of until he gave her the words she wanted to hear.

This time was no different. He sighed inwardly, thinking about how to end the “romantic interrogation” and get back to work.

Should he give an answer that would satisfy her? Or play it clever and deflect the question?
If he humored her too much, she’d only get bolder next time, and he could already imagine the chaos that would follow.

Resigned, he rested his cheek against his hand—completely unaware that the corner of his mouth had softened into a faint smile.

“If choosing the world means the one I love has to die,” he began, “then could that really be called world peace?”

“Huh?”

“True peace, by definition, should include everyone who lives within the world. If there’s even one exception—if one life is excluded—then it isn’t real peace at all, is it?”

“T-that’s…!”

“So here’s my answer. I’ll choose not a false peace that demands sacrifice, but a true world peace—one that guarantees the happiness of the person I love as well.”
He straightened, brushing his hand toward the pile of documents. “Now then, I’ve answered. Let’s get back to finishing this work, shall we?”

“W-wait, wait, wait! That’s not what I meant, Captain!”

Flustered, Tione snatched away the papers, the ink bottle, even the quill from his hand—her face puffed up with frustration as Finn’s calm smile deepened.

Finn could only chuckle wearily as Tione glared at him with a face full of wounded indignation.

“You’re so unfair, Captain! How can you not understand a girl’s heart—that I want you to choose me even if it means throwing the world away!”

“I make it a rule not to take hypothetical questions too seriously.
And besides, the way you’re putting it makes it sound like you’re the one I love. I’d rather you didn’t jump to conclusions like that.”

“All women want the man they like to throw everything away and choose them!”

“Are you even listening to yourself?”

Still clutching a stack of documents, Finn sighed as Tione all but stomped her feet in protest.

It was exhausting. The paperwork never got done.
And yet… there was a part of him that cherished this ordinary, ridiculous routine.
Admitting that didn’t irritate him at all—it simply was what it was.

“…Then tell me this, Captain. If it were between a woman and your ambition… would you still choose your ambition?”

Her tone shifted suddenly—gone was the fiery Amazoness, replaced by a girl looking up at him, shy and uncertain.

Really now.

Finn hid a gentle thought behind his composed smile.

“Most men, I think, would choose the happiness close at hand over some distant goal they might never reach.”

“I’m not talking about most men! I’m talking about you, Captain!”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

“….”

When he asked that with the same faint smile, Tione lowered her eyes and fell silent.

He knew he’d disappointed her.
He also knew that, because of moments like this, he’d probably never find a wife.
But as a hero, he couldn’t compromise.

“If being with a woman means settling for the kind of happiness everyone else has,” he said quietly, “then no—I can’t choose that.”

Finn was a Pallum who could cut ties when he had to.
He could feel sorrow when things slipped from his grasp, but when faced with a choice, doubt and hesitation never bound him.
That had been decided the day he took the name Finn Deimne.
He had even buried his first love that way.

Reaching for another sheet of parchment, Finn resumed his work.

Tione, still watching him, puffed her cheeks out childishly—so much like her sister Tiona that he almost smiled.

“You’re such an idiot, Captain.”

He pretended not to hear her, letting the soft scratch of the quill fill the room.

—Love and the world. Woman and ambition. A cruel pair of choices.

If that impossible dilemma were ever truly thrust upon him, what answer would Finn Deimne give?

Back then, his answer was already decided—
long before he ever crossed paths with the Xenos.

Why was he remembering this now, of all times?

Perhaps it was just another kind of mirage—a trick of memory stirred up by the cruel environment of the Ice Garden.
As he trudged through the blizzard, Finn couldn’t tell for certain.

“Captain! We’ve found Narvi and the others’ packs and tools!”

“Well done, Aki.”

They had been exploring within the Ice Garden for what felt like ages, ever since setting up the temporary igloo as their base.
It was, without a doubt, the harshest environment they had ever encountered—worse than any floor they had conquered before.
And yet, his companions still followed him, believing in the victory, hope, and courage that Finn showed them.

For a moment, he wondered what would happen if he ever failed to live up to that image—if the “hero” they placed their faith in were to crumble.
He wasn’t foolish or immature enough to blame this dangerous thought on the resurfacing memory of Tione.
It was simply an undeniable realization.

The moment he called himself “Finn Deimne the Hero,” he had bound himself to an eternal curse—
the curse of constant choice.

“We found a spare Durandal weapon and some tools! Water and food too—though only a little!”

“Durandal weapons are damn big things! Even this insane cold hasn’t broken it. Should still serve us well against that filthy spirit, eh, Finn?”

“…Yeah. The longer we’re trapped in the Dungeon, the more valuable an unbreakable weapon becomes.”

Despite the raging storm, Anakitty used her beast senses to locate the supplies, and Gareth approached, taking the long silver spear—Durandal’s “Spear of Roland.”

He caught the faint pause in Finn’s reply, of course. But rather than comment, Gareth just gave a glance and tossed the weapon over.

The spear skidded across the snow, kicking up white powder.
Finn deftly nudged the shaft’s butt with his boot and caught it midair, slotting it into his hand.

He didn’t need to make a show of “refocusing.”
He simply had to—there was no room for distraction. Letting Gareth or Riveria notice any lapse would be unacceptable.
Especially here, where even a flicker of weakness could unravel their morale.

In less than a second, Finn had returned—once more, not as a man, but as the hero, Finn Deimne.

“Even Aki’s been pulling her weight, and yet that damn Bete… he still ran off on his own.”

Gareth grumbled to shift the mood, his breath fogging in the cold.
Anakitty gave a small, uneasy smile; the dwarf’s long sigh was clearly aimed at the absent werewolf.

“Finn, I’m going.”

It had been right after they found a crevasse—a fissure that served as a possible exit from this frozen hell.
The moment their path to retreat was secured, Bete had said those words and leapt out into the blizzard beyond.

Not out of a selfish desire to escape.
Of course not.

He was going to rescue Ais—and Tiona as well.
Even if they bickered endlessly, the werewolf’s words carried the unspoken resolve to bring her back alive.

Gareth had tried to talk him down, but Finn hadn’t stopped him.

He actually thought Bete had shown remarkable restraint up until that point.
And in any case, they needed a scout to assess the situation beyond the Ice Garden—to learn whether any rescue parties had reached them from the surface.

“That’s why,” Bete’s amber eyes had said, “the rest of you handle the other one.”

Finn had met that gaze—and nodded.

What they’d given Bete, in exchange for allowing him to act alone, was a pair of “Twin-Wing Magic Tools”—a device of Asfi’s own invention.
If either of the paired charms was shattered, the other would flash with light—a signal between two distant users.
It was indispensable for expedition parties, where small squads often had to split up in the Dungeon’s depths.

—And now, that very signal was glowing in Finn’s pocket.

“…! The paired magic tool—it’s shining!”

“Bete must’ve found something!”

“Tiona, or perhaps—”

Finn pulled it out in silence, while Anakitty, Gareth, and a sweat-soaked Riveria each voiced their own guesses.

“Raul and the others have arrived,” Finn said flatly.

His certainty left no room for doubt.

The rescue operation he had anticipated—either through an improvised vertical shaft or via a reckless, large-scale “Dungeon-breaking advance”—had come roughly a day earlier than he’d expected.
He didn’t know how they had done it, but it had to be Hedin’s work.
More than that, Raul and his team had fought their way here for their sake.

It had been half a day since Bete’s departure.
Now, amidst the frozen wastes of the Ice Garden, the first true glimmer of hope had reached Finn’s group.

“…I’ve found something as well,” Riveria announced.

Despite her fatigue, she continued to maintain a glowing magic circle, sweat dripping down her face even in the numbing cold.
She extended a slender finger, pointing into the blizzard.

Without any mapping tools and with the blinding snowstorm preventing proper charting, Finn unfurled the map that existed only in his mind—the one he’d been mentally building since their arrival.

The place Riveria indicated was the very center of the domain, an area Finn had intentionally avoided:
a nexus of dense, distorted mana—a white and blue source, where the storm itself seemed to be born.

“We’re heading there. Now.”

There was no hesitation.

Reinforcements from the surface were on their way.
He’d made a promise to Bete.
That meant only one path remained: to find the other half of the twin sisters—Tione Hyrute.

Like a ship guided by a distant lighthouse, the party pressed forward through the storm.
Gareth carried Tsubaki on his back, while Anakitty cradled Amid as they trudged through the deep snow.

And then—she was there.

“…Tione…”

In the center of a ring of frozen blue crystal giants—like an eerie stone circle—
an Amazoness hung against an icy pillar, head bowed as though crucified.

At the sound of her name, she slowly lifted her face.
Her eyelids parted—and the eyes beneath gleamed with a light of distorted blue, stripped of all sanity.

“What the hell… is this?”

‘Change is the Dungeon’s only constant.’

If every adventurer agreed on that truth—and even the gods themselves acknowledged it—then this new “shift on the board” was, in a sense, something Raul had always anticipated.

Having taken a separate route from Lefiya’s team, Raul and the others—Allen, Alfrigg, and the rest—descended a steep, cliff-like passage leading deeper into the 60th Floor.
And there, at the end of that descent, the sight awaiting them spread before their eyes.

A grotesque labyrinth covered in purple flesh.

Up to this point, it looked no different from the “Demonic Realm’s” deepest sector they had first invaded.
The problem lay elsewhere—on the surface of that purple flesh.

Across the floor, walls, and ceiling—etched into every corner—ran countless lines of light of unknown design.

They resembled geometric patterns… or perhaps circuits.

Allen frowned and voiced his suspicion. The Alfrigg brothers quickly followed.

“Hey.”
“These markings…”
“I recognize them.”
“They’re the same as in that artificial labyrinth—Knossos—”

“The Sixfold Spirit Circle.”

It was Raul who spoke the decisive words.

The group turned toward him at once, as though struck by lightning.
Their feeling of déjà vu—Raul confirmed it.

His sharp eyes swept across the surroundings, and his calm voice left no room for doubt.
Just as he said, the exact same city-annihilation formula that had once been inscribed throughout the artificial labyrinth Knossos was now laid upon this place.

The air itself was so saturated with mana it could make one dizzy—yet Raul’s expression didn’t waver.
Only great beads of sweat traced down his face, betraying the gravity of what he understood.

Within the crystal of the Oculus, even the gods themselves offered a silent confirmation.

“High Novice… you—”

“What is it you know?” the four brothers demanded, their voices overlapping.

“I don’t know anything for sure!” Raul shouted back. “But I’ve had a bad feeling—this whole time!”

Ignoring their questioning glares, Raul kicked his heels and urged his flying dragon forward.

“…Know your place, fool,” Allen snarled.

He immediately overtook Raul, unwilling to let the newly promoted first-class adventurer take the lead, and kept the so-called novice right behind him. The four brothers followed suit, the group reforming their battle order as they advanced through the grotesque passage.

A man without particular talent or lineage, whose skill set seemed painfully ordinary—he was the embodiment of mediocrity.
Even now, Allen and the others couldn’t understand how someone like Raul had ever climbed to Level 5.
When they first heard of his promotion, they had doubted their own ears.

First-class adventurers didn’t reach that rank simply by persistence.
Effort alone could never take you there—if it could, Orario would be overflowing with first-class heroes by now.

To reach that level, one had to overcome trials, endure despair, and survive through the kind of hell that crushed all but the truly exceptional.
So then, what kind of hell had this unremarkable man clawed his way through?

Allen gritted his teeth, frustration rising. He barked over his shoulder, his tone laced with contempt.

“What the hell do you mean by a bad feeling!?”

“The demi-spirits!” Raul shouted. “Five of them! We’ve run into five separate ones before getting here! It’s not random—there’s no way it’s random! It’s too perfect! It’s been bothering me the whole time!”

The 28th, 32nd, 44th, 54th, and 58th Floors.

Even counting the ones Allen’s group hadn’t directly encountered, five demi-spirits had appeared—each on a different floor, each seemingly unconnected.

The spacing was irregular, the placements inconsistent… yet Raul’s instincts told him it had to mean something.

The number of demi-spirits alone rivaled the “Orgia Saga.”

Normally, creating even a single Demi-Spirit required the cultivation of a “Fetal Magic Stone,” a process that demanded enormous time and resources.
If they could be mass-produced so easily, the decisive battle in the artificial labyrinth Knossos would never have taken so long to come.

Even the remnants of the Evilus faction — even Enyo — had been forced to spend immense time and effort preparing their stage.

Yet now, suddenly, a massive deployment of Demi-Spirits had appeared here.

It could be explained away by saying that the “Corrupted Spirit,” empowered by absorbing Ais the Sword Princess, had gained supernatural strength — enough to multiply its offshoots in a short time.
But that alone didn’t sit right with Raul.
Something deeper was at work — a purpose, a design, a grotesque malice.

He could feel it in his bones.
This battlefield wasn’t random — it was constructed.

It couldn’t just be dismissed as “the worst kind of boss-rush.”

Among all the familias, only Raul — and likely the commander Hedin — had arrived at that suspicion.

“So then,” Raul shouted over the roaring wind, “if there’s another Demi-Spirit waiting for us here — on the 60th Floor — what does that mean!?”

Or worse — what if the Corrupted Spirit itself served as the final replacement for the missing piece?

The “Sixfold Spirit Circle.”

Six in total — meaning six minus one equals five.

That was Raul’s deduction — deceptively simple, yet chilling.

Allen and the four brothers bristled, irritated by the logic.
They couldn’t stand that this “ordinary” man was speaking with the confidence of a prophet.

“Wait—just wait a second,” they snapped.

“The Sixfold Spirit Circle — it’s a circle, right?
If the Demi-Spirits were scattered across different floors, not on the same plane, how could you possibly call that a ‘circle’?”

As they barked questions, Allen and the others swung their weapons, cleaving through waves of parasitic spiders bursting from the walls.

Raul’s reply came sharp and breathless:

“The sky…!”

“What?” the group shouted in unison.

“The Corrupted Spirit said it!” Raul roared. “We all heard it before — ‘I want to see the sky!’”

He was recalling the words spoken by the white-haired demon, Olivas Act, back on the 24th Floor.

Or perhaps it was the monologue of the beautiful yet accursed girl, Filvis, during the battle in the artificial labyrinth Knossos.

Across countless encounters, hints had been dropped — fragments of the Corrupted Spirit’s true wish, its ultimate goal.

A goal that the brothers of Gulliver did not and could not know.
Only the Loki Familia, who had fought the remnants of Evilus and the underground forces of the Corrupted Spirit itself, had pieced together that vital fragment.

Grinding his teeth, Raul forced the words out, his lips twisted with bitter realization.

“If you wanted to break through every layer of the Dungeon from the 60th floor all the way to the surface…! Then instead of arranging them horizontally, I’d line them up vertically to maximize piercing power!“

“—!”

All four of the Gulliver brothers went wide-eyed.

Not overwhelming destruction spread over a wide area — but a concentrated, focused piercing force.
That was the key, the one requirement the Corrupted Spirit needed to “see the sky above.”

Could it really alter the scale of such an enormous ritual?
Could it extend its magic array all the way from the 60th to the 28th floor?

Those questions — the technical “how” — no longer mattered once they reached the 59th floor.

“The magic circle on the 59th floor…! It looked like a launch pad to me!!”

As the words left Raul’s mouth, Allen’s speed increased — instinctively, almost in panic.
Raul pushed his exhausted wyvern harder, shouting over the roar of wind and wings.

“To open a massive hole straight through the Dungeon — that’s what it’s for! A Wish Engine!“

— The Wish Engine, Shuvalt.

That was the answer the gods had given Raul when he had asked.

Just as the name implied, it was a vessel designed to fulfill the Corrupted Spirit’s wish.

And that wish — to see the sky from the surface — required the very thing Orario and its gods had always feared most:

The reappearance of the Dungeon’s Great Hole.

Under normal circumstances, the man’s theory would have sounded absurd — pure fantasy.

And yet, Allen and the brothers of Gulliver gave no sneering laughter, no dismissive spit of contempt. Only silence.

“Lady Freya…”

‘He’s right.’

The calm, unhesitating confirmation from beyond the crystal lens froze the air.
At least this much was now certain: the gods’ readings and Raul’s intuition were aligned.

Allen’s eyes widened for the first time.

And in that instant — the moment the “absurd theory” became proven truth — a tangible wave of urgency coursed through the entire party, every member now moving to match the pace of the man who had sensed it first.

“This floor’s the same as Knossos…!?”

“They’re not trying to destroy a city— they’re trying to blow up the entire Dungeon!?”

Even for Allen’s group, who had served as the second offensive in the final battle against the artificial labyrinth Knossos, the sight and the sensation were horribly familiar. They had been drenched in that same dense, explosive magic power — the kind that could wipe Orario off the map.

And now, as if to confirm Raul’s entire hypothesis, the deeper they went, the more of those red-black spores—the same as on the 59th floor—began drifting through the fleshy tunnels. Allen’s brow furrowed tightly beneath his sand-colored helm, and the faces of the dwarven brothers grew even grimmer.

This “hidden route” was no longer just a passage. It was becoming another altar, identical to Knossos.

‘After completing the full ritual array, it must’ve set up that launch pad on the 59th floor sometime after absorbing Ais — after Raul’s team had already retreated,’ Loki’s voice explained from within Raul’s crystal.
‘The Corrupted Spirit was obsessed with Ais alone, so it couldn’t risk wiping out Finn and the others prematurely.’

The sequence of events made sense.

But the dwarves still weren’t satisfied. Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer barked in turn:

“The launch pad on 59’s been destroyed!”

“And the Demi-Spirits on every floor — all smashed to pieces!”

“So the Six Rings shouldn’t even activate, right!?”

‘It’ll still activate,’ came Hermes’ quiet response.

‘Even if it’s lost the piercing power needed to open a shaft to the surface… once the incantation completes here on the 60th floor, it could still detonate half the Dungeon.’

In other words — if it detonated, every single adventurer on the 60th floor would be obliterated.

Beyond the “final deadline” tied to Ais' absorption, yet another countdown to extinction had begun to tick — one that even Allen and his kind could not ignore.

(Why didn’t Lady Freya tell us about the Six Rings?)
(That damned elf didn’t notice either? No way, that fool had to know.)
(Was there no point in telling us? Or…)
(No — that’s not the issue right now.)

The problem wasn’t the scheme of the gods.
It was the fact that the common man among them — that plain, unremarkable human — had seen farther ahead than any of them, and had kept it to himself.

Dvalinn, Berling, Grer, and Alfrigg exchanged sharp glances as their thoughts aligned. The irritated cat simply gave voice to what they were all thinking.

“You bastard, why the hell didn’t you say that sooner!?”

Raul’s reply was immediate — as if it had already been prepared.

“No one would’ve believed a hunch from me!”

His opinion of himself was painfully low.

“I’m no Braver! Not some damned hero!”

It was a habit of his — to measure himself against true heroes and always come up short.

“But even so… I was the fastest!”

He acknowledged, without denial, that the “Strongest Dream Party” — that impossible group of legends — had already been moving at the absolute limit of speed.

Reaching the 60th floor in a single day.
No sane person would call that possible.
To push them harder, to drive them into reckless overextension, would have been the act of a fool. They were already racing against Ais' looming absorption — and to introduce yet another countdown to annihilation might have fractured their unity entirely.

No matter what anyone said, the “Strongest Party” had been moving at their maximum possible speed.

“The Freya Familia! The Knight of Knights! The Gale herself! The front line’s been fighting like demons — carving the path open as fast as anyone could! That’s why we hit top speed! So if we’re gonna make the party move any faster… then it’s on us — the useless backliners who can’t fight worth a damn!”

That was why Raul had kept quiet — why he’d devoted himself to the unglamorous shadows.

On the 54th floor, he’d located and destroyed a Demi-Spirit to delay the activation of the Six Rings.
On the 58th, he’d personally overseen the supply coordination — forcing through the recovery work and eliminating every “reaper’s scythe” that could’ve stalled their march.

All so the heroes ahead could keep running without hesitation — without ever slowing down.

Even before he had clearly understood the nature of the Six Rings, Raul had already been watching everything — Lefiya, Bell, every corner of the party — lending a hand where he could, even with something as mundane as distributing water. Quietly, steadily, methodically, he had been improving the group’s overall pace.
It wasn’t glamorous. No one expected him to stand out. It was simply what the “High Novice,” the embodiment of the ordinary, was supposed to do.

“You are the lubricant of the heroic party… we gods recognize that.”

Those words of praise from the goddess Freya, carried away by the howling magical wind, never reached the man himself.
But the warrior in the chariot — clutching the crystal orb tightly in his hand — could feel their truth.

For the “heroes,” who were fated to be wounded more deeply than anyone else, what they desired most — what they needed most at their side — was someone who supported them.
Someone who would not condemn them, would not throw stones, would not cry, but would simply push their battered backs onward with steady, warm hands.

The “coward who could never be a hero” had spent his life doing just that — supporting the advance of heroes.

“I don’t know everything — I don’t understand half of what’s going on! But I do know what I have to do!!”

Raul was no Finn; he didn’t possess a strategist’s mind, nor could he grasp the meaning and malice behind the grand “design” before them.
But right now, he was sharp.

That sharpness — that clarity — was something beyond reason or logic. It was the kind of instinct that skipped every step of the process and still landed squarely on the correct answer. Raul himself couldn’t explain it; it was a frightening, unearthly feeling.

“I learned everything — everything — from the Captain and the others!!”

This was the sum of all the teachings passed down by Finn and his comrades.
Those lessons had borne fruit; his senses were now honed to their utmost, every nerve alive and open in every direction.
He no longer thought of the future — all that mattered was this battle, this single moment, where he would pour out everything he had.

“……….”

The eyes that once saw him as nothing but a mediocre man — Alfrigg, Dvalinn, Berling, Grer, even Allen — now looked upon him as something else entirely: someone essential to heroes.

At last, Alfrigg and his brothers understood.
Why Finn and the others had always kept this man close.

And Allen finally admitted it.
That this “ordinary man,” for the sake of saving the heroes alone, had forced open a door that no fool could ever reach.

Screams echoed —
“Gishua!?”
“Gyaaaahhh!”

Allen cleaved through the carnivorous plants ahead in an instant, while Alfrigg and the others covered Raul’s flanks, cutting down ambushes from every direction.

The once-proud, untouchable Einherjar — who had never deigned to acknowledge the High Novice — now moved around him, forming a formation with Raul at its center.

Their pace surged faster and faster, the sound of evil chanting growing louder from the depths ahead.

The rhythmic wingbeats of their flying dragons filled the silence between the men.

“Hey,” three voices — Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer — spoke in unison.

Then Alfrigg opened his mouth.

“You… planning to die?”

He said it flat out.

Alfrigg had touched upon it — the death’s shadow clinging stubbornly to the young man’s face.

There was no tact, no hesitation. Even now, when they had finally acknowledged Raul’s worth, none of them — not Alfrigg, not his brothers — felt any sentimental attachment. They simply voiced what everyone, from Loki to Lefiya, had already sensed: the smell of death trailing him.

“………”

Raul said nothing.
He didn’t have to. They all knew.

This clarity of his — this superhuman sharpness that bordered on the divine — was only borrowed.

He had drawn upon everything a person might spend an entire lifetime cultivating — flashes of insight, moments of brilliance, the explosion of intuition — and spent it all here, in this one adventure.

Such a thing demands payment. And when the time came, the debt would be collected in full.

The “scythe of death” he’d taken from the party — the omen that had once stalked them — was now resting gently against his own throat.

Allen didn’t look back. Didn’t even spare him a fragment of attention.
“You’re the one who decided to keep running.”
That was all his broad back said to him.

Alfrigg’s question hung unanswered in the air.

Raul never gave his reply.

Like light trapped inside ice, thrashing violently to escape, countless shards of brilliance flickered within the girl’s eyes.

From a single glance, every adventurer present — even Finn himself — understood that she was no longer in her right mind.

“Tio… ne…?”

Anakitty’s trembling voice called out to her. There was no response.

The Amazoness' body was in shambles. Her entire form was covered in wounds, ravaged by the assault of the “Ais copies.” Deep lacerations had frozen over in pale white and azure frost, her skin flaking like scales where the cold had bitten through.

More than anything—her limbs.
Twisted by the power of “wind,” Tione’s arms and legs had lost all meaning of joints, wrung and distorted like rags squeezed dry.
Pinned against an icy pillar in that grotesque posture, she looked less like a living being and more like a public display after torture… a completed execution upon a frozen scaffold.

Anakitty, who had been struck speechless by the pitiful sight, felt her despair quickly overwritten by terror.

The surrounding blizzard began to coil around the girl like a vortex, clinging to her body—and then, crack-crack-crack.

With a chilling, crystalline sound, new limbs of ice began to form where her arms and legs should have been.

In the blink of an eye, they took shape—monstrous ice arms and ice legs.

Each arm was longer than a greatsword, fingers sharp and blade-like;
each leg a massive column of frozen mass, heavy enough to crush anything beneath them like a mace made of pure frost.

As the adventurers stood frozen in shock, the brown skin that had been fused to the pillar peeled away, tearing in long, blood-red strips.

The girl’s body tilted forward—and in the next instant, fell.

A thunderous thud split the air, shaking the snowfield as colossal blue feet—those inhuman ice legs—struck the ground, throwing up a storm of white powder.

She landed on all fours—those warped, slender ice arms gouging deep trails into the snow—and slowly, the figure that looked like Tione raised its head.

“…How pathetic. Complicated stuff doesn’t matter.”

The voice was hers—raw, familiar, and unmistakably alive.

Her voice carried no inflection—flat and hollow, like a broken phonograph.

Within her clearly deranged eyes, fragments of blue light flickered faintly.

“So just kill them, right?”

“—!!”

The assault came in that instant.

It was overwhelming—blinding speed, crushing force.

Her target was Gareth.

In that split second, Gareth hurled Tsubaki toward Anakitty and crossed his arms in front of him.

Finn, matching his speed with godlike reflexes, intercepted the blow of the ice-born warrior.

The attack itself—they withstood it.

The dwarf’s defense, as unyielding as a fortress gate of steel, did not break. Finn’s spear struck into the ice creature’s blow, sapping its momentum.

And then—

That was when it began.

From the point where Tione’s ice arm made contact, the creeping frost began to spread toward Finn and the others.

“Ghh—!?”

In an instant, the freezing invasion sought to bind their movements, turning flesh and armor alike into solid ice.

Reacting on instinct, Gareth swung his massive fist and sent Tione flying, while Finn abandoned his Spear Roland, and leapt backward to escape the encroaching frost.

“This ice curse…! This is bad!”

“Riveria!”

“Pacify!”

The three leaders reacted in perfect unison. As the creeping frost climbed up Gareth’s massive arms, threatening to turn him into a frozen statue, Riveria thrust out one arm and unleashed a single, sharp command infused with magic.

The freezing spread halted instantly, and the ice cracked apart like a breaking eggshell, flaking away in brittle shards. But beneath it, the skin on Gareth’s arms was already covered in frostbite, the nerves numbed, and his thick arms trembled from the damage.

Meanwhile, the figure of Tione—bouncing across the snowfield like a heavy sphere—landed on all fours. With her twin ice arms and legs, she began to leap around the battlefield like a beast, movements wild and erratic.

“I can’t believe this…!”

Anakitty’s trembling voice slipped from her lips, thick with shock.

The twisted limbs that once couldn’t even twitch or stand—Tione’s broken hands and feet—now moved with impossible grace. Wrapped in a monstrous ice armor, her body leapt and struck with speed and power that far surpassed what she had ever shown in life. She bounded between the surrounding stone circle pillars, kicking off one and slamming into another, the air cracking with each impact as she darted around the field like a raging storm.

Compared to this, even the prismatic monsters of the Demon Realm seemed almost cute—this was a threat beyond reason.

“She’s… an ‘Ice Warrior’ born from the Ice Garden itself!”

“…Then does that mean I—one wrong move and I could’ve become that thing!?”

Behind Riveria, who muttered her grim analysis, Tsubaki stirred faintly in Anakitty’s arms, her eyes fluttering open as she groaned. What she remembered wasn’t just the pain in her body—it was the mental corruption that had come with it.

It felt as if a torrent of foreign information—or rather, a flood of cold energy—had been forced into her mind. The memory made her spine tremble, and she shouted hoarsely,

“It was like something—no, some cold force—was pouring into my body! Riveria, what is this place!?”

“…Whoever created this domain embedded a specialized magical system into it,” Riveria answered without looking back, her voice tight. “A system to protect this space itself!”

“It pours fragments of the intruder’s memories into the Ice Garden and turns them into familiars—no, into guardians!”

“What—no way…!”

Riveria’s explanation made Anakitty’s blood run cold. Tsubaki’s face twisted in disbelief, her inner voice screaming that it was too absurd to be real.

And yet, even as they tried to comprehend the inhuman horror before them, the guardian-born Tione showed no mercy.

“Damn it—this freezing curse is too much!” Gareth roared, his thick arms already streaked with white frost.

“And we can’t even fight back without hurting Tione!” Finn added sharply, tightening his grip on his weapon.

The air exploded with roaring impacts, the sound of ice shattering again and again—no sparks this time, only the glitter of flying frost filling the battlefield like a blizzard of shattered glass.

A shadow with flowing black hair cut through the storm like a streak of blue lightning, crossing again and again in front of the dwarf and the pallum.

Gareth clenched his half-numb hands and met the attacks head-on, gritting his teeth as the frost creeping over his armor gnawed deeper with every impact. The realization struck him hard—a dwarf’s resistance to cold was poor. Even if the blows didn’t kill him, once that frost swallowed him whole, he’d end up just like Tione—frozen, bound, and finished.

Beside him, Finn countered with calculated precision. He slammed a magic sword against the shaft of his Durandal spear, sending a burst of flame surging down the tip. The fiery thrust shattered Tione’s ice-forged limbs in a blaze of steam and sparks—

—but the moment the fragments hit the snow, the ice itself writhed like a serpent, reshaping, reforming. New arms, new legs—Tione’s monstrous body rebuilt itself from the frost around her.

Unable to strike at the girl herself and trapped in a deadlock that defied every tactic he knew, even Finn’s brow furrowed in rare frustration.

“Riveria! Can you hit her with magic!?”

“Impossible! She’s too fast! And—damn it—she’s reacting to my blood! She won’t come near me! I can’t get a clear shot!”

The ice armor that now reinforced Tione’s body had boosted her agility to absurd levels—she moved beyond the reach of common logic, beyond human limits.

Her power now rivaled that of a Level 7 monster, far beyond what an ordinary adventurer—or even a god—would call sane. Were the deities watching, they would’ve been screaming by now.

Riveria’s lips tightened; the creature recognized her not as prey, but as something to avoid. She was being excluded from the “target list.”

Then Finn’s eyes flicked toward Gareth and Anakitty. No words—just a glance.

They understood instantly.

Gathering up Tsubaki and the still-unconscious Amid, they retreated toward Riveria’s position. If the guardian refused to approach the elf, then her vicinity was the safest ground they had left.

But—

“Don’t talk fairy tales in this age, princess.”

The corrupted Tione’s voice echoed—a twisted mockery of her own. Her pupils flared with shards of blue light, her tone cold and mechanical, every word sounding like an alien thought bleeding through a broken vessel.

And then—she moved.

Her body blurred into motion, faster than before, using the ice pillars and frozen monsters as footholds to propel herself. Each kick cracked the air; each leap drew a perfect arc through the storm.

Within seconds, she was circling them—Riveria and the others—tracing a widening ring around the center of the stone circle, the air pressure shifting, the ground trembling as her movements grew faster—

faster—

until the blizzard itself seemed to rotate around her, slowly, deliberately, like a spiral forming the eye of a storm.

Terrifyingly, waves of ice and freezing wind began to close in—

as if a tidal surge and storm were crashing down from all directions at once.

Riveria’s eyes flew open in alarm, and without hesitation, she released her magic in a radiating burst.

The instant Riveria’s magic touched the encroaching frost and cold waves, they dissipated into mist—

but in exchange, the spell mercilessly drained her mind and spirit.

“Ghh… uuuuhhh…!!”

“Riveria!?”

“Finn! We’re losing ground here!! At this rate, Riveria will be spent before we can do anything!!”

“Tch…!”

A faint jade glow surrounded Riveria’s trembling body as she let out a pained groan.
Anakitty quickly caught her, while Gareth pressed urgently, his voice taut with strain.
Frost had already begun to creep across Finn’s own cheeks; his breath came out white as he glared sharply at Tione’s figure darting through the storm.

“Where in this world does paradise even exist?”

“A fleeting dream.”

“Is the little one still crying today?”

“Then why don’t you just become her mother yourself?”

“That spirit’s no good — all it did was give us two brats.”

“Damn that fool, Al…”

“No — the foolish one is you, Ivel.”

Fragments of voices danced through the air and vanished one after another.

With eyes that shimmered with countless imprisoned lights, Tione fixed her gaze upon the intruders—Finn and his companions—while her body traced violent circles through the air.

What kind of dream was this corrupted girl seeing now?

It was no longer Tione speaking—perhaps “someone,” or rather “many someones,” had taken hold of her lips, filling the frozen garden with a chorus of disjointed, senseless words.

“This damn world…”

“One day, the hero’s dream will end.”

“Then love and the world—only one can be chosen.”

And yet, among the words that scattered through the air, one struck directly at the center of Finn’s heart.

“──────”

The cold, merciless blizzard and the lifeless glow of those twin eyes awakened a memory—one tied to that very girl.

—Captain, if you had to choose between the one you love and the peace of the world, which would you take!?

The question he had once brushed aside now pierced straight through his heart.

His pulse quickened. It was an illusion—a hero should not be shaken by something so trivial.

And yet, unable to save even a single girl before him, those words cut deeper than any blade.

Like a tragic hero forced to choose, Finn narrowed his emerald eyes.

While Finn and his party faced the girl imprisoned within the Ice Garden,
Lefiya was confronting that girl’s other half—

—in the worst possible way.

“……a… ah…”

A dull, heavy sound rang out—fists striking flesh, bones cracking.

Monsters screamed, their blood and entrails spilling across the stone.

Every sound of destruction came from the shadow of the girl.

Whether it was hatred toward monsters or a lingering instinct to protect the Ais of her memories,
no one could tell.

Before Lefiya and Bell’s eyes, she continued to pummel and tear apart the monsters—
mangling the corpses long after they had already stopped moving.

The shape was wrong.

Her back arched at an unnatural angle.

Her movements were wrong.

Though the monsters were long dead, she kept destroying the remains.

“……a… ah… uu…”

That shadow had two arms and two legs.

Bare hands, bare feet, and a long pāreo wrapped around her waist.

Her skin was bronze, and her hair—short, brushing the nape of her neck.

Her hair, the same glossy black as her sister’s, was matted with dried crimson blood.

And attached to her back was something deeply, terribly wrong.

Tubes, veins, and petal-like growths—foreign organs that no Amazon warrior should ever have.

Lefiya had already understood.

That she was no longer human.

Just like Alicia and Narvi, who had been parasited on this very 60th floor.

“……………………Tiona…”

Lefiya’s lips trembled, her face paler than Bell’s, her voice fading to a whisper.

The figure slowly turned around.

“...uh…”

Her clothing, her pāreo, everything was soaked in blood.

Her limbs—torn, skinned, and exposed—told of how many monsters she had beaten to death.

“...suu…”

On her bare stomach, a grotesque flower had bloomed.
Her right arm was swollen with slick membranes and warped, claw-like ridges running from elbow to wrist.

From her back sprouted brown tubes, not unlike tendrils—
a blasphemy against the divine Blessing once engraved there.

“...I… suu…”

And finally—her face.

It was torn apart by despair.

Covering her eyes bloomed two enormous, grotesque flowers.

“Ai… suu…”

Before the boy who nearly collapsed to his knees, and the girl whose eyes welled with tears—

the parasite-ridden Tiona stood, still calling Ais' name.

An ending so cruelly ordinary, so pitiful,
for sisters imprisoned by ice and monsters alike.

“…Finn?”

“Captain!?”

The moment he shut his eyes and opened them again, Finn had already stepped away from Riveria and the others.

He cleaved the oncoming surge of ice in a single vertical flash of his spear, shattering it down the middle. The instant he broke free of Riveria’s protective magic, the savage blizzard struck him full force—snow and wind gnawing at his body like teeth.

Tsubaki and Anakitty shouted his name behind him, their voices striking his back like thrown stones, but his feet did not stop.

Gareth’s stare cut into his cheek, wordlessly asking if there was any hope in what he was about to do.

There wasn’t. Every decision that lay before him had always been nothing but a gamble between life and death.

But thanks to Riveria, he’d been given enough time. Observation time was over.

If Riveria’s mind were to collapse from exhaustion here, it would cripple them in every battle that followed.

That was why the fight had to be decided—now, swiftly and without hesitation.

And the “warden’s” question still hanging in the air demanded an answer as well.

“Tione… still as conceited as ever, aren’t you? Do you really believe you’re my love itself? Even the goddesses who’ve tried to ensnare me never said something so bold. You truly are something else.”

“Everything is broken, falling to ruin. There is no such thing as ideals”

“Then you already know which I’ll choose—between you and the world.”

“—Captain!”

Through the roaring blizzard, Anakitty’s voice cracked with panic. She had seen it—the unshakable resolve in Finn’s back.

The black cat cried out, unwilling to witness which side of the scale the brave’s hand would finally tip toward.

“Love or the world. Have you found your answer—?”

Tione’s joints creaked as she circled him, the shards of light flickering in her eyes locking onto a single target.

Fixating on the lone fool who had stepped forward, she leapt.

“—Celdia”

The icebound limbs came crashing down—feral speed wrapped in a monstrous “ice armor.”

Finn met the charge head-on, his spear carving through the storm itself as it tore a line through the air and struck true.

There was no room for restraint.

The blow shattered the ice-forged arm along with the bones beneath it.

But even as the frozen shell broke away, the exposed brown arm immediately seized him.

Twisted, broken, and yet still moving, it wrapped around him with unnatural strength—

—and then came the bite.

A beast’s embrace, teeth sinking into his flesh at the neck, searing agony bursting through his nerves.

It was no longer the act of a warrior, but of an animal stripped of all reason.

Within a heartbeat, Finn’s small body began to freeze over—entombed in eternal ice.

“Finn!?”

“Finn, captain—!”

Riveria’s eyes flew wide beside Gareth as Tsubaki cried out.

Facing the end in creeping frost, another voice stirred—Amid’s.

Her consciousness, still hazy and drifting between dream and waking, reached forward through the blinding cold.
The arm she raised trembled, light gathering in her palm—the beginnings of a Dia Fratel, the perfect healing spell meant to defy the curse of the frozen domain itself.

But—

“Stop!”

A slender elf hand seized the priestess' arm.

“Lady Riveria…!?”

Amid’s eyes went wide as Riveria, her own jade irises fixed unwaveringly ahead, held her back.
Standing beside Gareth, she alone seemed to understand what that insolent little pallum was planning.

Half his body already encased in ice, fangs buried in his neck, frost crawling up his skin—

Finn smiled through bloodied lips.

“Celdia? Never heard of her. Sounds like a troublesome elf—don’t mistake me for someone else.”

His crimson-stained eyes gleamed.

“I’m the knight that girl’s head-over-heels for.”

And then—

“O crimson spear, pierce the brow of he who offers his blood!”

With those words, the unquenchable scarlet spear erupted forth—drawn in a single, blinding motion.

“Hell Finegas.”

The magic of Battle Frenzy was invoked.

Also known as the Mad Spear.

The vast “fragments of information” that had been trying to invade Finn’s insides through the freezing—
were repelled by that ferocious surge of will.

“!?”

Even the blizzard could not blow it away.

Even freezing could not freeze it.

Not even the absolute zero of white and blue could swallow it—
as the Scarlet Spear let out a roar.

Upon the face of the “Guardian of Ice” that Tione had become,
for the first time, an expression of astonishment appeared.

“And besides,” Finn declared in a tone that was cold yet carried a clear heat,
“I’m already sick of that kind of question.”

Crack!

Crack, crack!

The heightened Status began, unbelievably, to carve cracks from within the ice itself.

“To throw one side away— if I were that kind of man, you wouldn’t fall for me again, would you, Tione?”

His tone was calm and composed, his gaze fearless.

Even while using the battle-frenzy magic Hell Finegas, he remained unruled by its bloodlust.
The reason was precisely because of the freezing itself.

It wasn’t as simple as pouring cold water over a heated head to calm down—
but rather, the impulse of the Crimson Spear was being diverted to resist the external corruption,
and by offsetting it, he had managed to keep his sanity while forcing his Status to surge upward.

Above all, Finn possessed a Skill— Noble Brave (Bravery of the Heroic Heart).

Its effect: High Resistance against Mental Corruption.

A Rare Skill that had manifested from the very moment the god Loki bestowed his divine blessing—
it was the very foundation of Finn’s being.
Not even the Ice Garden could violate the heart of a hero.

Through the simultaneous activation of his Crimson Spear Magic and Bravery Skill,
the Pallum who had discovered this new state poured everything he had into that revelation—
and into the astonished Guardian before him: the girl standing in his way.

“So listen closely. I’ll choose everything.”

The crimson-eyed hero had already shed the shell of a mere manufactured hero.

After meeting the Xenos—
after witnessing that white-haired boy who stood as the heretic hero—
the boy named Deimne had already decided.

He would no longer be the one forced to choose between two sides of a scale—
he would be the one to break the scale itself.

“You, Riveria, everyone. Love and the world! I’ll take it all without throwing a single thing away!!”

His voice, rising with heat, might have been fueled by the magic of Hell Finegas.
But it didn’t matter. Such details were trivial.
The world—no, you—had better listen well.

With a will that refused to freeze, that instead blazed ever higher,
the hero let out a roar.

“If you’re not greedy enough for that— you could never become a hero!”

In the next instant, Finn shattered the ice—and, seizing Tione’s stunned face with both hands, pulled her close—

—and stole her lips.

“──────────────────────────────!?!?!?!”

Her eyes flew wide open to their very limits.

The flood of memories that had been corrupting her mind was swept away entirely—
drowned in a blinding surge of emotion: shock, confusion, disbelief, joy, and an overwhelming explosion of passion that overloaded everything in an instant, burning through the infection as if the link itself had been short-circuited.

Kiinnn! Kiiiiin!—sharp, ringing sounds like shattering glass echoed as shards of frozen magic burst apart.

Bachibachii!!—brilliant blue sparks crackled wildly around Tione’s head.

It was as if a pure and proper saint had been forcibly made to read an indecent romance, her mind exploding in scandalized cries.

The countless “fragments of light” that had ruled her eyes scattered like fireworks—
and her once frostbitten, lifelessly beautiful face flushed bright red, blazing with life once more.

The beastlike kiss continued, devouring the girl’s lips without restraint.

Then—it exploded.

It was as if the Ice Garden itself and the girl within it screamed in unison; a blinding flash of blue erupted from every inch of Tione’s body.

The icy armor still clinging to her legs shattered into glittering fragments.

The freezing infection was cut off, if only for a moment.

The ice pillars that had been consuming them both tilted backward, collapsing as though a dominant beast had forced its prey down beneath it, dragging the girl with them as they fell.

A massive cloud of white vapor rose into the air.

Through the smoke, Finn immediately pushed himself upright—still straddling Tione—and wiped away the silvery bridge that connected their lips with a rough sweep of his arm.

Whirling toward the stunned onlookers—Anakitty, Tsubaki, and the others—he shouted:

“Riveria!!”

“──!! ‘Pacify!’”

Snapped out of her shock, Riveria instantly reactivated her magic. Extending one arm, she unleashed a burst of radiant power.

And with that—it was over.

The freezing that had been momentarily halted tried frantically to reclaim the “Guardian,”
but the moment Riveria’s jade-colored magic enveloped Tione, the icy curse submitted to its power and was completely severed.

The ice arms, the ice legs, and even the “memories” that had polluted the girl—all of it vanished.

The once-furious blizzard now echoed only as a dry, hollow wind, like a fading winter breeze.

“…Couldn’t you spare us from having to watch such a steamy scene, you troublesome little Pallum?”

“Steamy scene? Don’t make it sound obscene. It was a perfectly pure and wholesome act, wouldn’t you say?”

While the women were still frozen in shock, Gareth approached with an exasperated look.

Finn promptly got off the girl and, wearing the smug grin of a “prince who just awakened his princess,” had the gall to chuckle as if nothing had happened.

A short distance away, the ever-chaste and actually pure saint, Amid, had just awakened—
and was now blushing furiously from her neck to her ears, covering her downturned face with both hands.

Even though her body ached all over, Tsubaki couldn’t resist the urge to laugh—
clutching her stomach, tears streamed down her face as she wheezed out a fit of hysterical laughter.

Anakitty wore the uneasy expression of a subordinate who had just witnessed far too much of her superior’s private affairs;
yet, with her cheeks faintly flushed, she couldn’t help but sneak glances at the scene again and again—
her tail swishing back and forth in soft, rhythmic puffs.

Riveria, bound by the chaos of the situation, could say nothing to reprimand anyone—
her expression was simply… complicated.

“…‘I’ll take good care of you.’ I did promise that, didn’t I? Consider this your ‘reward.’”

Though unconscious, Tione’s face was flushed deep crimson, steam rising faintly from her body despite the domain of absolute zero surrounding them.

Looking down at her, Finn—rarely one to relax—dropped down beside her with a casual, almost improper ease, resting one knee up.

Anakitty and the others, shaken from their embarrassment, hurried toward him.
While they approached, Finn gently lifted a strand of the girl’s long black hair in his hand.

“And besides… you’d say you prefer this kind of hero, wouldn’t you, Tione? The one who saves everyone.”

As if he could see through everything, the hero pressed a light kiss to her dark hair,
and whispered softly—not into her ear, but for her alone to hear.

He was burning.

“FIRE BOLTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!”

At the very same moment the brave hero shattered the frozen curse and saved the Amazoness girl—
another boy was burning his own body away to save the other.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!?”
“GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!?”

After drawing the parasitic creature out of the girl’s body and into his own,
he attempted to incinerate both himself and the abomination together.

“Bell Cranel!?”
“Y-you—!?”

Lefiya, and even Bete who had already joined her, had given up hope on saving Tiona.
But Bell—foolish, reckless Bell—refused to give up,
and, like a certain other hero, smashed through the balance of reason itself.

“UAAAAAAAaaaaAAAAAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaaaaAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!?”

The skill that had manifested within the boy: Anti-Charm.

Its effect—
“During charm possession, physical and mental strength recover continuously and indefinitely.”

In other words, so long as he was bathed in the same charm powder of the Demon Realm that once tormented the entire Loki Familia,
the boy’s body would heal endlessly—
an unyielding flame of life, blazing even as it devoured itself.

He turned his own foolishness into a weapon.

Pouring fire continuously into his own body, screaming in agony,
he used that raging inferno to purge the monster that had transferred from Tiona into himself.

The price he paid to shatter the balance—
a punishment far harsher than the frozen hell Finn had endured.
A searing purgatory where even hellfire itself felt lukewarm.

“Ah—”

Lefiya saw it.

She saw the brilliance of that life—
a boy drowning in an ocean of pain so unbearable it defied reason,
his body devoured by unimaginable flames,
and yet his will never wavering as he resolved to save the girl.

She saw the living proof of a hero who walked the same path as the brave one who chose to forsake nothing.

“BURNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!”

Even as his throat was scorched to cinders, the roar he released
ended it all.

Trapping the dying screams of the parasite within his body until the very last moment,
the boy—turning his entire being into a sacred furnace—
incinerated the magic stone that had tormented Tiona.

The “roots” that had spread through his nerves were burned away, every trace of ash inside him annihilated—
his blackened, charred body collapsed to the ground, limbs splayed wide.

“—Tiona! Bell Cranel!!”

Snapping out of her daze, Lefiya looked up at the sparks rising into the air and immediately sprinted forward.
Bete followed right behind her.

The sight awaiting them—
the boy collapsed beside Tiona—was unbearable.
A scene of devastation, his body seared so completely it resembled a burnt corpse more than a living person.

But then, from within that ruin, a light like the eternal flame of the gods began to glow.
Before their eyes, his skin—his entire body—was miraculously restoring itself.

“Vana Mardoll—heal him!”

“I—I understand the sentiment, but… is that even necessary!?”

“Just do it!!”

Leon shouted as he stopped in his tracks beside Lefiya, while the healer Heith faltered in confusion and Bete barked furiously.

Lefiya dropped to her knees, reaching out—
but hesitated for an instant, unsure whether to touch the girl or the boy first.
Then she chose: the boy who had fallen to the brink of death.

From Tiona’s body, now freed from the parasite, the grotesque flowers and tubes had already vanished.
Believing she was safe, Lefiya reached toward Bell—but before she could touch him,
the boy’s fingers twitched faintly.

Startled, Lefiya froze.
His hand drifted sideways, trembling, as if searching for something…

Searching for her hand.

“Tio… na…?”

He couldn’t even open his eyelids.
He could barely hear.

And yet, even now—
instead of worrying about himself, the boy strained only to confirm the girl’s safety.

Moved by pure instinct, Lefiya took Tiona’s limp hand and guided it toward his.

Barely conscious, her body in tatters no less than his,
Tiona let Lefiya guide her—
and her trembling fingers weakly closed around the boy’s hand.

“What… is it, Argonaut…?”

Tiona smiled.

She coughed between her breaths—yet still, she smiled.

Turning her head to the side, she looked at the boy lying right beside her.
Tears streamed down her face, but her lips curved gently as she laughed.

The boy, too, managed to move his lips—just a little.
A clumsy, faint smile.

Lefiya’s deep blue eyes could no longer hold back.
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

(How… how utterly human…)

Once, Lefiya had been ready to give up.

When she saw Tiona suffering, possessed by that parasite,
she couldn’t think of any way to save her.
Like Bete, she’d thought—at the very least—they should release Tiona from her pain.

But Bell… Bell had refused to surrender.

He’d thrown himself into the fire, shattered the scales,
and burned away every ounce of despair with his own body.

Clutching her chest, tears welling in her eyes, Lefiya realized something—
something that pained her to admit, yet she couldn’t deny:
her intuition had been right all along.

That white light—
if she followed it, if she kept faith in it—then Ais and the others could be saved.

Beside her, the scarred wolf kept his gaze fixed on the boy,
while within Lefiya’s heart, a new spark of hope began to burn.

“—We’ve grown tired of the gods’ manufactured heroes.
Even we gods, and this very world itself, must long instead for one thing—
a hero yet unknown.”

And thus—

Just like during the chaos that once surrounded the Xenos—the so-called heretical beings.

Deep within the underground altar, where she watched everything unfold through the crystal eye Oculus, Freya smiled softly.

“The Heretical Hero who can shatter the scales themselves.”

Freya and Hestia’s group knew of the boy’s feat—how he had endured the inferno of hellfire—
but they did not yet know of the valor of the brave man who was imprisoned within the frozen hell, Cocytus.

And so, in their place—
the heavens themselves offered praise.

The Hell of Flame, and the Hell of Ice.
The Conqueror of Flame, and the Conqueror of Ice.

The twin sisters whose lives could only be saved by surpassing two opposing infernos—
their salvation was won through those two who bore the title Heretical Heroes:
the human and the pallum who defied the balance of the world.

To those two—who stood as contradictions made flesh—
the heavens gazing down from above bestowed their boundless admiration,
pouring it down in silver threads of moonlight.

“Tiona’s been saved…! Raul, hurry!!”

Meanwhile—

The goddess Loki, forced to demand transcendence even from a man who could not reach herohood, gripped the crystal Oculus that reflected the young man’s face.
As the countdown toward annihilation drew ever closer, a note of urgency escaped her lips.

Chapter 5:
Absolute Despair

His thumb was throbbing.

As if counting down each passing second hand on a clock.
As if marking the approach of an inevitable extinction—the ticking of the final countdown.

“Amid, don’t overdo it…!”

“No, I must! Captain Finn put his very life on the line—and what’s more, he kissed Miss Tione, not once, but with a full-blown smooch, a kiss leading to another smooch, all to save her! As a healer, nay, as a woman of pride, I cannot stand by while being incapable of even performing mouth-to-mouth, much less a proper kiss! For the honor of all healers, I will heal her wounds myself…!”

“Don’t compete over something like that! That’s not the point here!!”

After rescuing Tione from the “Ice Garden,” the noisy treatment efforts were underway under Riveria’s supervision, with Anakitty and Amid taking the lead.

Flat on her back and still unconscious, Tione lay beside Amid, whose face was still flushed red. Struck by Finn’s devotion—or perhaps by the reckless “Hel Finnegas Kiss Attack” that saved Tione—the saintly healer had thrown herself into the task with wild determination, paying no mind to her own exhaustion.

Anakitty, equally red-faced, tried in vain to calm the overly fired-up saint.

Even though Riveria’s magic shielded them from the raging blizzard, the women’s chatter echoed busily in the background. Apart from them, Finn stood silently, lowering his gaze from his right hand—then slowly looked upward.

“Finn, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t tell me… more bad news?”

“……”

The dwarf and elf, both long-time companions, noticed the change in the pallum’s demeanor immediately.

Ever-vigilant Gareth scanned their surroundings as he asked, while Riveria—still unsteady and breathless—added her own question.

Finn didn’t answer.

He simply continued to stare upward—
as though his thoughts had already drifted to another battlefield beyond their reach.

“…Gareth. Riveria. End Tione’s treatment. Emergency care will suffice.”

As he finally spoke, Finn’s voice carried the weight of urgency—
a man moved by something unseen.

“From this moment—move. We don’t have a second to lose.”

"Out of my wayyyyyyyyyyy!!"

The voice tore through the roaring chaos as the multicolored monsters blocking the path were crushed in a headlong charge.

They were in a vast cavern — the very route that once led to the “Unexplored Region.”

Now, however, it was the domain of the “Corrupted Spirit,” its walls grotesquely overrun by pulsating violet flesh. As they advanced, the number of glowing “lines of light” multiplied endlessly, their poisonous radiance revealing how deeply they were all bound together under one monstrous, malicious ritual.

Riding his wyvern through the fleshy cave, magic sword in hand, Raul shouted over the din.

“Has that damn cat still not stopped it!?”
“What kind of ‘war chariot’ does he think he is!?”
“He’s the one who ran off ahead, damn it!”
“Enough whining! Clear the path, brothers!!”

Even the mighty Gulliver brothers — who cut down monsters like weeds — couldn’t hide their growing panic.

The entire “demonic realm” was trembling.

Raul and the Alfrigg brothers knew this feeling all too well — the overflowing magic, the pulse of destruction.

The Six Circles of the Spirits.

The great ritual that would return all things to nothingness was moments away from completion.

Sweat flew from their skin, instantly whisked into the wind as they urged their wyverns forward — until they burst out into a vast, open chamber.

“—!!”

A long, rectangular hall stretched before them.

The “lines of light” crawled across every wall and ceiling like glowing veins, forming murals of intricate geometric madness. Hideous monsters — Vilgas the giant insects, Violas the man-eating flowers, Parasite Spiders — clung to the walls in swarming clusters, making the place look like a grotesque breeding colony.

But what made the scene truly nightmarish was the lack of solid ground.

Only a few narrow, fleshy bridges — like hanging walkways — extended from the walls toward the center, eight in total, suspended over an endless, abyssal darkness below.

And at the heart, where those bridges converged, a massive magic circle bloomed.
There stood the Demi-Spirit.

“A bulb!? No… a tulip bud!?”

Lale’s bud. The other name for tulip.

The multicolored mass, its petals tightly sealed, was exactly as Raul said — a colossal, radiant bloom that overlapped its seven-hued “shields” in layers, forming an impregnable, absolute defense stance.

And hidden within that shielded blossom was undoubtedly the main body of the Demi-Spirit.

Determined to pierce through, the first to strike — Allen — became a blur of intersecting slashes, unleashing a relentless storm of thrusts.

“Trying to play turtle, huh!?”

He kicked off the fleshy bridges, the walls, even the writhing man-eating flowers — rebounding like a ricocheted bullet, attacking from every direction. It was a storm of spears so fierce that even a floor boss, let alone any monster or adventurer, would have been shredded to pieces.

“──── Sing, O Light of Salvation──── Lament, O Heavens────”

Yet it endured.

Even as countless blows from Allen’s lightning-fast strikes battered it from all directions, the tulip-like “activation device of the Six Circles” withstood the assault — swaying, trembling, but never breaking.

The flower’s petals, being torn apart in real time, were shredded like paper clawed by a furious cat, and from the cracks between them light began to spill out. It was the raging magical energy and the grotesque pulse of an incantation radiating from within the Demi-Spirit, hiding inside the shield of petals.

Even Allen’s full-force assault couldn’t bring it down — this “defense-focused” Demi-Spirit refused to fall.

Realizing the situation instantly, Raul barked orders, and the four Gulliver brothers — who had already dismounted their wyverns — sprang into motion.

“Stupid cat!!”

Alfrigg, Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer — all at once, they scattered and lunged.

Taking the four cardinal directions, they closed in on the Demi-Spirit in the center, forming a perfect cross as they swung their long spears, war-hammers, battle-axes, and greatswords.

Using Allen’s relentless strikes to their advantage, they targeted the now-weakened sepals — the base of the “flower shield.” Like master craftsmen, they struck precisely and with overwhelming force.

A creak — the stem bent.
A snap — four petals and sepals split and broke away.

“Uooooooooooohhh!!”

From below, deep within the endless abyss beneath the hall, hordes of monsters spewed corrosive fluids and flung their tentacles upward. But ignoring everything, Allen sprinted straight through, his silver spear blazing, and finally ripped through the last two remaining petals in one sweeping strike.

Combined with the brothers’ coordinated assault, the final barrier crumbled away.

Revealed before them — a grotesque yet eerily beautiful female form.

At the center of the magic circle — a colossal altar — stood the Demi-Spirit, her long hair writhing like living tendrils. She was already battered and bloodied from head to toe, yet even so, her lips twisted upward into a chilling smile.

“Open, descend — O Empyrean!”

The glow intensified — it was reaching its critical point.

And then Raul, riding his wyvern at full speed, leapt forward.

“Make it in timeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!”

He thrust forward the magic sword he’d received from the smith-god Hephaestus — the blade once wielded by Tsubaki.

The longsword-shaped magic weapon pierced straight through the Demi-Spirit’s face — and fired.

At point-blank range, the energy exploded inside her. Her head and torso ballooned grotesquely under the pressure — but even as her form distorted, the creature’s smile never faltered.

“Ah… ha—”

It was over.

Allen, who had been about to strike again — the four brothers, who had prepared to finish the job — even Raul himself, illuminated by the blinding radiance before his eyes — all of them froze in place.

The altar activated in exchange for the Demi-Spirit’s life.

No miracle could occur now.

Will, vow, hope — all the pretty words were about to be reduced to ash. The great ritual was complete.

“Heavens— Catastro— ph—”

The world ignited in light.

Allen’s face, the monsters’ faces — all were swallowed in a shining brilliance.

Everyone on the 60th floor — and even the gods watching through their crystal Oculus — stopped moving.

And in the next instant, a colossal pillar of light erupted, powerful enough to obliterate an entire floor of the Dungeon.

Downward — not upward.

“—What!?”

Faces that had been paralyzed by the certainty of death — Allen’s, Alfrigg’s, and the others’ — were suddenly painted once more with shock and disbelief.

The ultimate divine judgment, thought to be aimed toward the heavens — a reenactment of the Orgia Saga, which once sought the destruction of Orario — was, against all expectation, unleashed downward, into the depths of the Abyss.

The structure of the vast hall, where almost no footholds had existed, now revealed its true purpose — as though the entire chamber had been remodeled for this very moment. The torrent of destruction was directed straight below. The countless prismatic monsters swarming in the deep were annihilated without exception, and the tremendous shockwave blew Raul, the wyverns, and Allen’s group away like leaves in a storm.

“Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!?”

Raul’s scream blended with the roar and tremors shaking the very Dungeon itself.

The aftershock — more than enough to obliterate a city — spread far beyond the point of impact, reaching even those nowhere near the epicenter.

“What is this shaking!?”

Lefiya and the others, who had been tending to Tiona’s injuries, stumbled and nearly fell as the ground quaked violently beneath them.

“Auuuu!? This—this awful shockwave! Keep this nonsense confined to Knossos, please!”

Further behind the vanguard, Haruhime, Asfi, and the others — who were being held back by a relentless flood of prismatic monsters and Ais replicas — were also engulfed in the chaos.

Whether mounted on wyverns or not, the violent surge of magic rising from below sent shockwaves through their bodies, throwing everyone off balance. The “winds” released uncontrollably by the disoriented Ais replicas created a zone of pure danger — a chaotic battlefield born of chance.

“HIldrsleif! What’s happening!?”

While Ryu maintained a protective sanctum barrier to shield her allies from the enemy’s wind magic, Hedin had already leapt from his wyvern, his gaze fixed dead ahead. Even as the chaos deepened, he took precise, lightning-fast shots, striking through the gaps between the faltering Ais replicas.

Neither Lefiya, Bell, nor Bete — who had split off from Finn’s group — nor Ryu, Haruhime, Asfi, or Gros had any idea what was truly happening.

Even Hedin and Leon could not see the full picture.

But—

(If Lady Freya and the other gods said nothing beforehand… then that can only mean one thing.)

The White Elf continued his barrage, unfazed.

(Our task remains unchanged — “Retrieve the Sword Princess.” That must be the will of the gods, pure and absolute!)

The lion-maned knight beside him did not waver either.

No matter how perceptive or intuitive they were, even they could not surpass the foresight of omniscient gods.

For these two — the commander and the knight — who stood as the gods’ pieces upon the board, there was no thought of doubt, no notion that this might be a divine mistake.

And then—

“…The spell wasn’t meant to kill us, the main force…?”

The reason the gods hadn’t insisted on pushing harder to stop the Six Circles—the reason they’d lowered the priority of that divine “move”—was because they had already seen the truth.

Landing on what remained of the shredded flesh-bridges or the connecting corridors of the great chamber, Alfrigg and the others soon realized it as well. They peered down into the abyss that stretched beneath them, swallowed in darkness.

“The blast was directed downward…”

“Was it targeting the 61st floor?”

“No… not that far.”

“…The Loki Familia’s main force.”

Alfrigg, Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer finally understood what lay below this pit—who was there.

The missing Loki Familia.

And though they didn’t yet know it, that place was the nearly impregnable “Thalia's Ice Garden.”

This long vertical hall—the one they stood within—had been an addition carved into the Dungeon’s structure by the Corrupted Spirit itself, a newly constructed shaft mirroring the adventurers’ own. From here, the spirit had been dispatching countless prismatic monsters upward. But, unable to personally enter the absolute-zero domain where Finn and the others fought, it had lost patience—resorting to brute force.

In other words, it had chosen to annihilate Finn’s group along with the entire Ice Garden by unleashing the Six Circles.

The true target of the ritual wasn’t Raul and the “main force” at all—it was the complete eradication of the Loki Familia.

Those who had nearly slain it with the Tir na Nog—Finn and his comrades—were the highest-priority threats in the Corrupted Spirit’s eyes.

“What—you mean we weren’t even worth its attention!?”

Even as every monster clinging to the walls—once headed toward the Garden—was obliterated by the blast’s aftershock, Allen trembled in fury and humiliation.

The Corrupted Spirit’s priority list was clear:

1. Absorb Ais.
2. Eliminate Finn and his “spear.”
3. …Everything else.

The Freya Familia, equal in power to the city’s largest faction, wasn’t even considered a real threat.

Grinding his teeth, Allen seethed as the truth sank in—the spirit had willingly passed up the chance to annihilate them, just to destroy the Loki Familia below.

Meanwhile, Raul, who had been thrown onto one of the bridges with his wyvern, slammed a clenched fist against the fleshy floor.

“We didn’t make it in time!”

He was the only one among them who had even suspected the ritual would target Captain Finn’s group.

Whether the spell had been aimed at them or not didn’t matter anymore—
the moment they’d failed to stop it, Raul knew they had already lost.

He couldn’t even feel relief at having narrowly escaped death.
Grinding his teeth harder than Allen, Raul immediately pulled out his Oculus crystal.

“Loki! What about the captain and the others!?”

“They’re alive! They’re alive! Their blessings are still active!”

After long moments of static—likely caused by the massive magical surge from the Six Circles—Loki’s voice finally burst out from the crystal, loud and strained.

For a heartbeat, Raul froze—then let out a long, shuddering breath.

“Haaahhh…”

He expelled every last bit of air from his lungs, his entire body trembling—not from relief, exactly, but from the release of all that unbearable tension. The wyvern beside him, equally exhausted, licked his shoulder as if to comfort him.

“Raul… what you, Alicia, and the others did wasn’t in vain,” Loki said.

The current Six Circles ritual had been vertically oriented. Each Demi-Spirit placed on the different floors had been key to its output and efficiency.

In other words, by defeating those Demi-Spirits, Raul, Alicia, and the Xenos they had allied with had weakened both the power and scale of the ritual.
That, Loki explained, was why Finn’s group had managed to survive—and why their sacrifices had meaning.

When Raul had chosen to detour on the 54th floor to eliminate one of the Demi-Spirits, the gods themselves had debated his choice.
Was it better to take the “detour,” delaying and weakening the ritual?
Or to pursue the “shortest route,” risking everything to stop the Six Circles directly?

Raul had chosen the former—and in the end, his decision had led to Finn’s salvation.

“Besides,” Loki continued, “the Demi-Spirits along the way were too busy fighting adventurers to chant properly. The Shuvalt was tryin’ to compensate for that, but it was a forced and sloppy adaptation.”

“Right,” added Hephaestus from behind her. “The Corrupted Spirit’s goal—aside from capturing the Sword Princess—was to breach the surface and see the sky. The High Novice said as much. It wasn’t originally aiming to target Braver, but rather to carve an enormous tunnel to the surface.”

This conversation took place in the Guild Headquarters’ Underground Altar.
Behind Loki, both Hermes and Hephaestus spoke as they watched Raul through the Oculus.

By the time they had seen the state of the 59th floor—through the eyes of Bell, Lefiya, and the vanguard—the gods had already deduced that the Six Circles wouldn’t be fired upward toward the surface.

Everything pointed to that conclusion:
The ritual formation was different from the standard “launch pad” structure.
The damaged magic circle had been left unguarded, unrepaired.
And the Shuvalt installed on the 59th floor wasn’t an artillery platform at all—it had been repurposed as an accelerator, channeling magical energy toward the shaft where Raul’s group now stood.

The Tulip-type Demi-Spirit had taken over the chanting, channeling the ritual downward—firing it straight from the 60th floor into the depths below.

“A… plan?”

Hestia, listening quietly from the side, repeated the word that had fallen from Hermes' lips. Then she fell silent for a few seconds, the gears turning in her mind.

Finally, she spoke—addressing something that had bothered her ever since the start of the rescue operation.

“Hey… I’ve been thinking. All this—the endless boss battles, the elaborate setups along the way… wasn’t all of that prepared by—”

“Yeah,” Loki spat, cutting her off. “By that damn Enyo. All of this was that bastard’s parting gift before gettin’ sent back.”

The name left her mouth like venom, every syllable dripping with disgust.

Over four months earlier, the Loki Familia had wiped out every last Plant up to the 30th floor as part of their preparations for the Knossos operation.

And yet, despite that, even Finn’s group—Loki included—had failed to detect the Demi-Spirits that later appeared from the 28th floor onward.
That alone was proof enough: this wasn’t the work of some mindless Corrupted Spirit.

It was the handiwork of a monster that planned ahead.
The final legacy of Enyo.

Hence, all of this had been part of a scheme—one devised by a cunning third party.

It was likely that Enyo, had planted those Demi-Spirits within the “Unexplored Region” that even the Xenos knew nothing about—or perhaps hidden them inside the regenerating dungeon walls after massive destruction. The intention: once the war in Knossos had wiped out the adventurers, the monsters would immediately flood the surface, ushering in a new orgy of chaos.

“Enyo was said to have struggled to control the Creatures, those humanoid monsters,” said Baldr. “I agree with Loki—it’s one of the gods pulling the strings. Outsmarting a god would take another god, not a mere monster.”

At the same time, this setup had likely served as insurance for the underground factions—like Revis and the others—to prevent another civil war. The Corrupted Spirit’s wish to “see the sky” had simply been repurposed into a means of reaching the surface.

That explained why Alicia’s group had been able to handle these Demi-Spirits at all. Their strength had been far inferior to the six “perfect” Demi-Spirits used in the Knossos War. Back then, Enyo had poured his true forces into Knossos itself, leaving these buried ones as mere starting points.

“In Enyo’s grand plan,” Freya summarized, “the Six Circles in Knossos were a decoy. While Ottar and the others focused on destroying it, he planned to annihilate all adventurers with the Magic-Dragon Bomb.”

“What!? That was the plan!?”

“Shut yer trap, short-stack,” Loki snapped.

“If our Academy District had intervened in the Knossos battle,” Baldr asked, “how do you think it would have gone?”

“They wouldn’t have let you interfere,” Hephaestus answered calmly. “That’s what Demeter was for. She supplies food far beyond Orario. If they’d triggered a fake famine using her power, your District would have been too busy managing that crisis to intervene.”

“…I see. Truly, Enyo was both shrewd and meticulous,” Baldr admitted, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple.

Recalling the war with Enyo, Freya frowned in grim recognition, while Hestia’s uneasy face made Loki click her tongue in irritation. Hephaestus' response had confirmed what they all dreaded—Enyo had indeed been a true evil god.

“In any case,” Loki went on, scratching her fiery hair, “that damn Magic-Dragon Bomb could only blow everything above the 11th layer of Knossos. It couldn’t destroy Babel or carve a crater deep enough to reach the Dungeon itself.”

She shifted the topic back to the present.

“The Demi-Spirits that showed up now were probably meant to act after the Knossos battle—to open that ‘great hole’ right after the war ended.”

And the Corrupted Spirit had repurposed those very devices—those slumbering Demi-Spirits left dormant on each floor, hidden from adventurers and Xenos alike—forcing them awake and using them as power sources for this reckless Six Circles activation.

Right after Raul’s group retreated from the Demon Realm, those devices were awakened.

The Schuvalt that had been meant as the “launch platform” on the 59th floor was reactivated. The Corrupted Spirit, fearing Finn’s group, redirected it—installing a separate cannon directly above Thalia’s Ice Garden.

The Demi-Spirit on the 58th floor had been modified into a Hydra-type, optimized for offense to wipe out the Xenos rebels, while the one hidden deep on the 60th floor had been reconfigured into a Tulip-type, optimized for defense and absolute ritual execution. Enormous magical resources had been poured into both.

Listing the sequence on her fingers, Loki muttered grimly,
“That’s the real timeline, I’d wager.”

Then, closing her hand into a tight fist, she growled,

“Always making trouble, even when he’s gone… that damn fool.”

Even after being banished back to Heaven, Enyo’s handiwork continued to torment them.

Just imagining him up there, laughing with a glass of wine in hand, made Loki’s blood boil.

Truly—Enyo had been the most troublesome and infuriating enemy they had ever faced.

“…Don’t blame yourself, Raul,” Loki finally said, her tone softening. “Thanks to you and the others, Finn and his team managed to escape by the skin of their teeth.”

“If the blast radius had been just a little wider, we’d have been done for.”

Behind the calm discussion among the gods, Gareth let out a heavy sigh—half relief, half exhaustion—as he looked back at the collapsed passageway behind them.

They now stood in a section of the dungeon where the air was warm and damp—the flesh labyrinth.

After enduring the extreme trials of Thalia's Ice Garden, Finn’s party had finally escaped.

“Yer thumb sure is handy, as always,” Gareth grumbled.

“No… you said it yourself, didn’t you?” Finn replied, glancing at his hand. “If that blast had been any larger, we would’ve been swallowed whole.”

Following Finn’s command, the expedition team—having rescued Tione—abandoned full treatment and immediately withdrew toward the exit they had discovered earlier. Though the forced march had placed a severe strain on Riveria, they’d managed to escape the colossal bombardment that had aimed to obliterate the Ice Garden itself, slipping away by the narrowest of margins into the Demon Realm of the 60th floor.

“That’s why…”

“It’s thanks to Raul and the others,” Anakitty finished his thought softly, placing a hand over her chest.

Finn gave a faint nod, eyes narrowing with quiet understanding.

If the massive cannon blast had been intentionally weakened—just enough to avoid annihilating them—then it could only mean one of two things: divine intervention from the gods, or the desperate efforts of the adventurers fighting their way down to them. There was no proof, but both Finn and Anakitty knew in their hearts that it was true.

That Raul and the others were risking everything to save them.

Still stiff from the lingering cold, Anakitty clenched her right hand against her chest.

Her lips moved, barely whispering words that no one else could hear.

“I want to see you.”

“We managed to escape, aye,” Gareth muttered, “but what about Thalia's Ice Garden itself?”

“It’s either been destroyed completely,” Riveria answered between deep breaths, “or engulfed by the blast and fallen to an even deeper floor…”

“Most likely the latter,” Finn murmured. “I can feel it—the key’s influence. My blood’s stirring…”

Gareth and Finn both turned to look down the path they’d come from—now blocked by heaps of pulsating flesh. It was an utter collapse, a dead end.

Incomplete though it had been, the Six Circles of the Spirit had consumed the Ice Garden whole. Whether it still existed or had sunk into the abyss below, none of them had any way to confirm. Trusting the High Elf princess' instincts, they decided to cast thoughts of that forbidden domain from their minds—for now.

“Amid, how’s Tione’s condition?” Finn asked.

“Give me a little more time,” Amid replied, her voice steady but focused. “Now that we’ve escaped that freezing hell, I can finally perform proper treatment. She should recover to a stable state soon.”

Kneeling beside the still-unconscious Tione, Amid was performing her domain magic, Tuired Well.

As expected of Orario’s highest-ranking healer, her mastery was nothing short of extraordinary — layered atop that domain was the universal recovery magic Dia Fratel, and Tione’s twisted limbs had already returned to a state that could be called “normal.” Deep within the Dungeon, there was likely no one else capable of such a feat; every adventurer present could only look on in awe.

Within the shimmering sacred spring lay not only Tione on her back, but also Tsubaki and Riveria, each half-submerged, one knee raised. They were all benefiting from Tuired Well’s restorative aura, which slowly replenished both stamina and Mind (spiritual energy).

Freed from the merciless blizzards and killing frost, Tsubaki and Amid were finally regaining their strength. Riveria, too, was recovering from the constant mana drain she had endured within the Ice Garden, her abnormal sweating and shortness of breath gradually easing.

(But the bigger problem is the Mind, not the body.)
Even with Amid’s magic and Riveria’s Healing development ability, the recovery was like pouring water on a hot stone — nowhere near full restoration. Tuired Well could steadily restore Mind, but Riveria’s capacity was immense, far beyond comparison. Before Amid could even refill a tenth of that enormous “tank,” she herself would collapse from mental exhaustion. Riveria’s Healing ability offered semi-permanent regeneration, but its effect was small — Amid’s magic still provided more overall recovery.

Their morale was also waning. They had been trapped in the Dungeon for nearly half a month, with no true rest — “relaxation” was nothing but a dream. The situation, though momentarily improved, could hardly be called favorable. The Ice Garden had tormented them relentlessly, yet it had also shielded them from the Corrupted Spirit’s grasp. Now that they were free, those same tendrils would once again come hunting for them.

Under such conditions — with neither he nor Gareth, despite both being Level 7, anywhere near their best — Finn gathered his thoughts quickly and spoke with the commanding tone of a leader.

“From here, we strike back. We’ll coordinate with Raul’s group, who have already entered, and launch a pincer attack on the Corrupted Spirit. This is where we end it.”

“…! Yes, sir!”

There was no retreat left. All that remained was to maintain morale and seize whatever chance at victory they could. Resolute, Finn’s words reignited their determination, and Anakitty answered firmly.

Tsubaki and the others, catching his gaze, raised their hands in a shared smile.

“We’ve been in this together from the start,” Tsubaki said. “Win or lose, we finish this by moving forward.”

“I told ye, we ain’t losin’,” Gareth grumbled. “Ye talk too much.”

“I’m no adventurer,” Tsubaki replied cheerfully. “There are things more important than winning or losing. If I had the proper tools here, I’d love to try forging a weapon under extreme conditions!”

“Enough, woman. You’re too stubborn to die — that much is clear,” Gareth retorted.

Their banter, half weary and half amused, drew a faint smile from Amid despite her fatigue. Riveria closed her eyes, then rose from the sacred spring — calm, composed, and ready once more for battle.

Finn and his group began moving once more.

“…Ugh…”

“Tione? Are you alright?”

“Aki…? Where… are we…?”

As they marched in formation, Tione—who had been carried on Anakitty’s back—slowly regained consciousness. While helping her piece together her fragmented memories, the party pressed onward, refusing to linger in one place. The Dungeon, indifferent to mortal concerns, was no place to rest.

Their surroundings were unmistakably part of the Demon Realm—a region they had already traversed once before.
However, unlike the icy blues and purples they’d known, the walls here were sheathed in dark red flesh, pulsating and wet, like the inside of a monstrous womb. It was a scene that could only belong to the Final Dungeon.

Finn led the group, leaving Gareth to guard the rear. True to his reputation as an elite scout, he advanced with silent precision, eyes scanning every shadow.

(…No monsters.)

The absence of movement gnawed at him. The fact that nothing was happening—that no threat appeared—was itself a warning.

This place was essentially inside the Corrupted Spirit’s body; there was no chance their presence had gone unnoticed. Yet not a single man-eating flower appeared, not even a stray beast. Perhaps Raul and the others were pressing the attack so fiercely that the enemy had no attention to spare… but that theory didn’t sit right. After unleashing that catastrophic strike upon the Ice Garden, why would the enemy suddenly ignore them?

From her position in the center of the formation, Riveria had already noticed it too. Gareth, in the back, surely had as well. The same uneasy silence pressed on them all—so unnatural, so heavy, that even breathing felt loud.

(If I had to guess… our “execution ground” is already prepared.)

The fleshy corridor stretched on as a single, straight path.
There was nowhere else to go—no forks, no detours—only one direction forward, as if the Dungeon itself were leading them.

And then—

“This place…”

They arrived.

“This is…!”

“It’s feeding on Ais' wind! Damn it!”

From deep within the Demon Realm, a furious gale of magic howled outward, making Bell’s and Bete’s hair stand on end like beasts sensing danger.

(It’s like… the wind itself is in pain! Am I imagining this? No—!)

Lefiya, who caught sight of the eerie current at the edge of her vision, felt the same dread twist through her heart.