The surroundings had lost all trace of what they used to be.
As if a carpet-bombing had scoured the place clean, there was no longer any sign of the arena's once-grand structures. What remained now was more like an emptied-out shell—hollowed to the bone.
At the very center, nothing could be found that still connected to "before." The only recognizable landmarks… were several "corpses" that had been mangled so badly they barely resembled what they once were.
Finn Deimne—the "Braver"—gasped for air. One eye was swollen shut, blood running down from his brow to drip onto the ground. One hand clamped over a half-numb arm. His legs trembled uncontrollably, as if the next moment would send him crashing to his knees.
The equipment that had once gleamed with pride was now nothing but wreckage. Even the hardened steel guards looked as if they'd been chewed through by deep-floor monsters—ruined, warped, nearly scrap.
He turned, forcing himself to survey the scene, and a bitter laugh escaped him.
He had expected a gap.
He hadn't expected despair.
The newly assembled "strongest" team had been annihilated. Besides Mia—half-kneeling in the distance—no one could still stand.
On Loki Familia's side, Riveria was out cold, her spirit exhausted beyond the limit before she'd been closed in on and dropped by a single heavy blow. Gareth had taken a "Gospel" head-on to protect them, and now his body was a web of crushed fractures—unconscious, motionless. Looking at them like this, Finn couldn't stop the thought from surfacing:
I shouldn't have brought them here.
Freya Familia hadn't fared any better. Hedin had ended up the same way as Riveria. Ottar still had awareness, but his body and will were both crushed under pain and damage so severe he couldn't rise again.
And their opponent—
That woman—
Her clothes were barely smudged at the hem.
She stood there leisurely, watching them… if "watching" was even the right word, given that her eyes remained closed.
Invisible, razor-edged attacks made of sound. A graze was enough to disrupt your state; a direct hit meant instant incapacitation. Magic was useless. Close-quarters only revealed the cruelest truth of all—
She fought like a vanguard more brutal than any warrior.
No blind spots. No weaknesses. No mercy.
Finn's greatest strength—his ability to analyze—had turned into a curse.
The deeper he dissected her, the more clearly he understood her power.
The more clearly he understood the gap.
The more hopeless he felt.
"A monster of talent."
The world really did have no wrong nicknames.
And the being before him was, without question, something they could never break through head-on—not with their own hands.
Alfia, meanwhile, felt only disappointment.
The grit in these so-called pillars didn't even seem to match her newly accepted disciple. The pressure she'd used just now was only about twice the intensity she'd used to train that boy.
Even her old friend—at their level—would never have collapsed like this.
And these people were supposed to be Orario's "strongest" going forward?
A deep, suffocating powerlessness coiled around her.
How could this rabble ever stand against that?
Against the terminal darkness—
The existence so absolute that even the "strongest" among them had fled in panic after a single contact.
What could these people possibly do?
Look at them.
What still lingered in their eyes?
A spirit softened by comfort. Souls lulled into a dream that would shatter at a touch.
How could such hearts shoulder the duty of erasing an absolute black?
Another possibility died inside her.
And as it died, something colder rose in its place—murderous intent.
If peace had corroded their courage and will, then she would add fear.
Perhaps fear would become the fuel that finally forced them to seek strength.
"Is this all you have?"
Her voice was calm—and that somehow made it worse.
"Your weakness is revolting. You lack the toughness to truly pursue power. You waste yourselves on petty authority games. Your voices are so discordant I can hardly stand it."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Give me one reason not to kill you."
"Otherwise, you have no reason to exist. Raising a flock of useless trash is less trouble if I simply erase you here and now."
A massive killing intent flooded the arena.
In an instant, even the two who could still barely move were helpless.
The posture she took—
This was a wide-area spell.
The remaining two were warriors. They had no way to protect the others from an attack like that.
Ordinary members who had survived by luck were already half out of their minds under the pressure, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.
"Gospel—"
Just as Alfia was about to release it, a frivolous, off-key voice cut in.
"Eheheh—could you wait a second, Silence? Pretty please?"
The interruption stopped a near-certain massacre.
The invisible strike slammed into the ground around them instead—shaving a whole layer off the earth as if the arena floor were paper.
Finn's blood ran cold.
That power was far beyond what she'd shown earlier.
She wasn't even fighting seriously…?
But in truth, it wasn't the voice that "stopped" her.
It was that she chose to stop—using the voice as an excuse.
Alfia turned her head.
A red-haired tomboy had appeared at the scene.
"Goddess… Loki," Alfia said, her brow tightening as she spoke the name.
"That's me! The lovable Loki, at your service!"
The woman smiled with her usual squint-eyed charm—yet her body had already placed itself in front of Finn and the others without thinking, as if shielding them by instinct.
Even she was tense.
Because the person before her wasn't something you could measure by "normal" standards.
"Silence," Loki said, sounding almost sheepish, "I know this is a bit much, but could you let them go? Just this once. Consider it a favor—Goddess Loki owes you a debt."
For a long moment, Alfia said nothing.
Then she turned and walked away.
Loki blinked, then seemed to understand—and followed.
"Loki…" Finn rasped, unable to stop himself. The danger hadn't vanished. Not really.
"Don't worry," Loki waved back over her shoulder. "Trust your goddess, yeah?"
And then she disappeared after Alfia.
No one knew what they said.
But half a day later, a message of shock and dread swept across Orario:
Zeus Familia and Hera Familia have disbanded.
When the strongest pillars collapsed overnight, the city's heart shook.
People panicked.
Then Loki Familia and Freya Familia declared:
All members of Zeus and Hera Familias had been expelled from Orario for misconduct.
From that day on, the two goddesses' familias would stand at the top of the city.
"What kind of joke is this…?"
"Backroom deals—how can the strongest just dissolve…?"
"Is the great god Zeus… and Lady Hera… abandoning us?"
The strongest authority, which had guarded the city for a thousand years, crumbled in an instant—triggering a chain reaction like a spiritual earthquake.
Doubt. Confusion. Grief. Betrayal.
The poison seeped into every corner of the city.
From today onward, Orario became dangerously unstable.
In some remote, shadowed corner—
At an Evilus hideout, several figures wrapped in black cloth were gathering, plotting.
"Ha—hahahaha! Yes! Finally! Finally! The moment we've been waiting for is here! Those monsters are gone!"
A crazed voice rang out. The speaker was wrapped up like the others, but his clothing was noticeably finer—more elaborate.
His behavior, however, was pure lunacy.
He couldn't help it.
The sword hanging over their heads—the blade that had kept them caged—had finally been removed.
With the greatest restraint gone, everything they wanted was within reach.
No one could stop them anymore.
The new top familias—strongest at Level Six.
No longer untouchable.
No longer invincible.
Without overwhelming force looming over them, those adventurers who hesitated and worried about "consequences" had no chance against true malice.
From now on, Orario would be their playground.
"My lord… what about our arrangements?" a subordinate asked, forcing the words out. The situation had changed; plans needed to adjust—better to ask while the master was in a good mood.
"How long until completion?" the lunatic asked, voice sharpening.
"Ten days until full connection."
"You have two days," he snapped. "Fail, and don't bother coming back. That Astraea lot will be returning soon—how could we miss an opportunity this perfect? You understand, don't you?"
"Y-yes. We will complete it—at the cost of our lives."
"Good. Hahahaha… finally. Finally…"
He leaned forward.
"What about the people planted in the Dungeon? Don't tell me something went wrong."
"Please rest assured. Another lord is overseeing that side. After an expedition like this, their losses will be enormous. They won't be coming back."
"Excellent—hahahaha!"
"Activate every plan. No mistakes. Don't show your hand!"
"Yes!"
Darkness fell quiet again.
But the people above had no idea—this brief stillness existed only so the next wave could deliver despair far more brutal than the last.
They couldn't know.
Because simply staying alive already consumed everything they had.
Elsewhere, the gods' own scheme had hit an unexpected fault line.
"Ouranos—what is this? It isn't time yet. Did the plan move forward?"
The god in a cowboy hat had lost his usual easygoing air. His face was hard, serious.
He had to be.
What had just happened nearly shattered everything they'd been building.
On the throne, the ancient god sighed. The one questioning him was an essential partner—some truths had to be shared.
"It was Hera," Ouranos said. "It seems she has a new intention. I don't know the details. I can't tell whether this change will prove good… or disastrous."
"Tch… what is that goddess doing? At a moment like this…"
The handsome god at the foot of the throne bared his teeth, frustration and fear twisting together.
He was terrified that she'd simply snapped and walked away.
If that happened, it was over.
"Freya and Loki made some very loud moves," someone muttered.
"So what now?" the cowboy-hatted god pressed. "What's coming next will be dangerous even for my kids."
Ouranos exhaled.
"Hermes. For the time being, focus your attention on the Astraea Familia boy. You may find… something unexpected."
It wasn't only advice—it was also a reward for that boy's actions. In times like these, information mattered above all else. And Hermes and his people excelled at gathering it.
"The Astraea boy… Xien, the one they call the Walker of Abundance? The kid who keeps producing 'miracles'?" Hermes frowned. "Isn't he just a healer?"
Ouranos' voice remained steady.
"I will only tell you this: he is more special than Hera's. A being not bound by fate."
Hermes' heart jolted.
Not bound by fate?
That was something even heroes, even dragons, even gods themselves couldn't claim.
And yet—
He saw Ouranos' expression: calm, and utterly serious.
"…Understood," Hermes said at last. "I'll make contact and see. I just hope the next stretch doesn't kill too many. If sacrifices are necessary for hope, so be it—but meaningless deaths should be avoided whenever possible."
"I agree," Ouranos said quietly.
Hermes left.
After a long silence, Ouranos spoke again.
"Well? Can you confirm it?"
At his words, a strange, weighted response echoed—an unusually resonant cadence.
"There's no mistake," said Fels. "He truly possesses that kind of power—the power the Dungeon desires."
Fels had reached that conclusion by assembling everything he'd seen and heard.
The abnormal drop rates.
The way the Dungeon seemed less inclined to excessively punish him when he was alone.
The almost "inevitable" encounters.
The unnaturally intense attachments he inspired.
All of it pointed to one thing:
To the Dungeon, that boy was different.
What it felt toward him was not hatred.
"Then…" Ouranos asked, "can he help us?"
"He should be able to," Fels replied after careful thought. "But the corresponding ritual formula will take time. I need to design it properly—so we can convert that attraction into something we can use."
The goal was simple and absolute:
Suppress the Dungeon. Prevent monsters from overrunning the surface.
Not with divine authority, like Ouranos did now—but with a gentler approach. If they could use the power the Dungeon craved as a soothing influence, the effect should be no worse than the current method.
Perhaps even better.
Ouranos sounded satisfied.
"Good. Then what would be an appropriate reward? Fame? Wealth? Authority?"
He had experience. To ask an adventurer for help, you offered what adventurers sought.
And as the true hand behind the Guild—and an ancient god—Ouranos could grant almost anything.
"…Resources," Fels answered. "Enough resources to make him stronger—enough to help him grow quickly."
"Oh?" Ouranos' brows lifted. "You believe he's the type who pursues power?"
"No," Fels said. "In his eyes, power is a tool. It's simply the tool he needs right now."
"And what do you think he truly pursues?" Ouranos pressed.
Fels hesitated only briefly.
"If I'm not mistaken… it's protecting the members of his familia—the ones he can call 'family.'"
"You mean the foundation of his pursuit of power is protection?"
Ouranos stroked his beard, surprised—then, remembering the nature of the power the boy carried, also not surprised at all.
"Yes," Fels said. "So I intend to pass on part of my knowledge to him, in the form of a reward."
Ouranos' heart stirred. He hadn't expected such a short observation to lead to a decision like that—especially from a subordinate with Fels' standards.
But he didn't object.
"I see. If you've decided, then do it. Let us see what comes of it."
"Ah—!"
....
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