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Part 1:
The 20th Floor of the Dungeon, known as the Great Tree Labyrinth, stretched out before them like the interior of a gigantic hollow tree. Everything, from the ceiling to the floor, seemed carved from a purple wood reminiscent of polished stone.
The group advanced across one of the natural bridges that crossed the central chasm of the floor. There was no immediate danger; the sounds of the dungeon were reduced to the echoes of their own footsteps and the occasional sound of wood beneath their shoes.
Bell walked ahead, his steps firm, his senses alert but relaxed. Despite the peaceful surroundings, the young man didn't let the calm lull him to sleep. The silence of the Dungeon was always deceptive.
He'd learned it the hard way: a moment of distraction was enough to turn everything upside down. Still, at that moment, he couldn't help but be swept away by the tranquility of his companions.
Behind him, Haruhime hummed a soft, almost imperceptible melody, with that sweet, downright cute tone that came effortlessly to her. Lena followed shortly after, her voice staccato, trying to match the melody but deliberately straying just to make her laugh.
Bell turned his face slightly and saw them. Both were smiling. Haruhime, with her eyes closed, seemed to float in her own world, while Lena, on the other hand, had that mischievous smile that always stole her attention. And right behind her, Mikoto walked with her hands on the handle of her katana, watching silently, although her face also wore a calm, almost satisfied expression.
The sight brought an inevitable smile to his face.
For a few seconds, Bell stopped looking ahead. He allowed himself to observe them, really observe them. He thought about how far he'd come. He remembered the fear of the first Upper Floors, when any shadow was enough to chill his blood. He remembered the pain, the exhaustion, the days when they could barely afford a potion… and the way, step by step, they'd found their place.
Now, there they were, walking inside a gigantic tree twenty stories underground, fearless, with no doubt. Not because the danger had disappeared, but because they knew that they could face it.
Bell's smile softened, but didn't disappear.
"How lucky I am," he thought, barely moving his lips without making a sound.
The glow from the walls illuminated his face with a blue hue. The reflection in his red eyes was clear, as if the very color of the Dungeon responded to it. The Hestia Sword clinked slightly as it touched his belt, and the metallic sound was lost in the echoes of the room.
He looked up. The wooden ceiling curved like an endless vault, and from its cracks sprouted crystalline roots that descended for several meters, gleaming with a faint glow. They reflected the distant buzzing of Gun Libellula, wolf-sized dragonflies that patrolled the open spaces. Closer, at the edge of the bridge, a Swordstag—a blade-antlered deer—lifted its head for a second and regarded them with those red eyes shared by all the monsters in the Dungeon. Bell held his gaze for a moment, then continued walking.
The group continued moving forward, and little by little the sounds of life on the floor mingled with the murmur of human voices. Haruhime continued singing; Lena responded with silly comments; Mikoto watched them from behind. Bell, at the front, was the balance between them: the one who had to listen, observe, and decide. That was the invisible burden of the leader, one that never stopped being felt even in the quiet moments.
But it didn't bother him. At least not right now.
He smiled again.
"Everything's quiet…" he murmured, barely audible.
No one responded, but Haruhime stopped singing for a moment and nodded. Mikoto looked up and scanned the surroundings. Lena just continued to smile.
It was a simple, almost mundane moment, but deep down, Bell knew that this kind of calm was what made the descent worth continuing. Every breath shared, every step taken together within the monstrous heart of the dungeon, was a silent promise that they still had a tomorrow to protect.
The peace of the place wouldn't last forever. None of them would. But as the echo of laughter continued to resonate between the walls of the Great Tree Maze, Bell decided not to think about that.
For now, he just wanted to enjoy the ride.
At least until the air itself seemed to stop.
Haruhime was the first to react: her ears perked up and the humming stopped dead. Bell didn't have to look to know something was changing; the feeling came from within, like a dull ringing behind his eyes.
A sharp, cold pulse pierced his temples. The [Divine Blessing of Danger Sense] activating left the alert in his mind like a bell that never stopped ringing. The pressure increased with their proximity: as they took a step forward, his head filled with a ringing that threatened to burst his ears.
He looked up and saw the shadow before the figure: a dark stain against the purple wood, too large, too still. The shadow grew, tensed, and finally, the silhouette emerged from the gloom.
Ottar was there, occupying the archway with the ease of someone who has always been too big for the world. There was no crunch of boots; his arrival was more of an absence filled with presence. His twin swords jutted out from his back like two columns of steel. For someone the size of a normal human, those blades were gigantic, but for him, they were perfect.
Bell felt the pressure rise another notch and his senses immediately shut down; the Divine Blessing gave him warnings, but the pain at the base of his skull was real. Almost a migraine. He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. He didn't want to think the wrong way, but the tangle of possibilities soon followed: Ottar here meant Freya, or her Familia, or something connected to the Goddess. The feeling grew like a bad omen, and with each step Ottar took toward them, it became more distinct.
Lena, having not heard Bell's reasoning, now had another reason to be afraid. Ottar's presence triggered memories untethered by reason: the night the Ishtar Familia was massacred, the blood burning in the crowd, her own escape with her heart shattered.
She didn't need proof, only the form of Boaz, the form of his strength, for the memory to become vivid. She thought of the people she finally thought she had recovered: the warmth of a new family, the trust she had begun to build. The idea that this could be ripped away from them again stabbed her in the throat. Small, clumsy tears escaped her eyes without her being able to stop them. It wasn't a clear conscience; it was pure fear.
Instinctively, Lena stepped in front of Haruhime. She didn't think. She acted. Her sword rose, not in a crushing stance, but like a wall. Protecting was such a profound reaction that she didn't even remember why she felt it; she only knew that the renard should stay behind her. Haruhime, still and trembling, looked at Lena with eyes that knew only gratitude.
Ottar didn't speak. He just stared. That stare wasn't searching for words; it was searching for a bodily response. When he got it, he didn't hesitate: he launched the attack.
What followed was a clean, brutal movement, the kind of attack that requires no announcement. The two blades swung in a wide, low line, splitting the air with a whistling sound that echoed in the wooden vault.
The blade passed the height where Bell had been a couple of seconds before. Bell reacted on instinct. His [Divine Blessing of First Sight] aided him, causing his muscles to obey with the precision of someone who has been pushed many times toward survival.
He leaned, rolled sideways, and the blade grazed his cheek. He felt the heat of the cut on the back of his neck; several strands of his hair were loosened in the wind from the chopping block and fell onto the board. The blow—more than the cut—was what came next: the impact of the blade against the wood. The bridge creaked violently.
CRACK!
The section beneath their feet splintered, and a gaping hole swallowed the spot where they were standing. The shock wave pushed the three closest to them forward without discrimination.
The physics of the moment was merciless. Lena was the first to be thrown; her body described a forced arc and fell toward a lower bridge, hitting the wood with her shoulder. She grunted, struggled to her feet, smelled blood and rage, and looked up with compressed hatred.
Mikoto wasn't so lucky on the way back: her foot was thrown out of position, and the push sent her into a controlled fall onto another walkway below; she rolled, her katana sinking into the wood to brake, and was covered in golden dust from the moss.
Haruhime, on the other hand, was inches away from falling completely: a quick instinct led her to grab onto a wooden outcrop just as her hands closed. She was left dangling in a position that left her suspended like a sack on a coat rack. A burning pain shot up her arm; the force of the jolt was so painful that her vision blurred for seconds, but she didn't let go.
Up top, Bell rolled and propelled himself backward, planting his feet where the stable wood had been. His hands trembling, and the Hestia Sword was released with a movement that started from his waist and reached the hilt in a clean gesture.
His breath burned in his chest; the buzzing in his head was like a drumbeat in the background. He looked at Haruhime, at Lena, at Mikoto: bodies scattered, each in a different place on the wooden structure.
Ottar repositioned himself without haste, as if nothing had happened. Facing Bell, the feeling of weight on his skull was more intense: the blessing didn't close; it only warned. Despite that, the boy felt he had to speak. Words wouldn't ease the situation, but they were a way to put an end to it: a humane reason in the face of the monstrosity of force.
He looked at Ottar with the kind of concentration that doesn't require shouting to prevail; there was fatigue, but also determination.
"I know why you're here," Bell said, his voice firm despite the trembling running through his body. "And for what it's worth… I'm sorry. I regret making Freya cry."
The statement wasn't seeking absolution; it was an attempt at recognition. Ottar's expression didn't change. The openness didn't last. Bell knew that an apology wasn't a bargaining chip against someone who had come with swords.
"But…" Bell continued, raising his voice just enough to make it resonate, "I won't let you hurt my friends."
The confession was as short as a taut bow. Bell didn't offer negotiation: he offered a limit. He said it in a voice he wanted to be clear to Haruhime, to Lena, to Mikoto more than to Ottar. In his words lay the promise he'd made to himself since he first wielded the Hestia Sword: to protect his Familia, no matter the cost.
Ottar growled a dry sound and attacked more fiercely. Bell responded with everything he had: not enough to match their strength, but enough to hold the line, to show his companions he wouldn't run. The promise to protect shone in every breath. In the mouth of fear, there was a certainty: as long as he could, he wouldn't let anyone break that.
The wood still creaked beneath their feet; the fighting raged across the center of the bridge like an isolated storm.
When Ottar slashed again, Bell felt the impact on his forearm; the shock burned, but he kept his grip. There were no grand heroic gestures left, only fragments of will that added together.
At the edge of the hole, Haruhime clutched the cloth with her remaining good hand and, in a small voice, murmured, "Bell-sama… be careful." The voice reached him like an anchor.
Bell met his gaze, and in that exchange, he found the answer he needed. It wasn't a call to glory, but to endurance. He clenched his jaw, adjusted the position of his feet, and moved forward again.
The air became pure blades. The clash between Bell and Ottar was no longer measured; both accelerated. The rhythm broke into a flurry of metallic flashes, blows that could barely be followed with the eye.
The two figures moved in the glare of the light, shadows that seemed to multiply. Ottar advanced with a precision that betrayed years of experience; every cut, every shift in stance was the movement of someone who knew battle not as an art, but as its own language.
Bell tried to match it. The Hestia Sword traced silver arcs in the air, searching for impossible openings, trying to maintain its distance. Sparks flew as their blades clashed again; the vibration rippled through the bridge like a roar beneath his feet. Bell felt the air compress, the weight of the Boaz pressing down with each attack. His body was responding at its limit: divinely blessed reflexes, rigorously trained instinct, everything that was his and all that he had worked very hard to earn.
For a moment, he thought he'd found an opening. He twisted his body, lowered his center of gravity, and slashed upward, seeking the giant man's flank. But Ottar, as if reading his intent, pivoted on one heel and let the blade pass inches from his side. In the same movement, he raised his leg.
Even though Bell tried to dodge, even with the help of his Divine Blessings, he still wasn't fast enough.
The kick landed directly on Bell's side.
The impact was a thunderclap that emptied his lungs. Bell felt the air escape from him with a harsh sound, and his vision immediately blurred. He was thrown backward, his back hitting the deck, and he rolled to his knees. Pain shot through his body, like fire in his ribs. For a moment, he thought something had broken; he breathed, and the burning was so profound that he believed it had.
He gritted his teeth. Sweat trickled down his forehead. The sword trembled in his hand, but he didn't let go. He stood up again.
Ottar was upon him again. Bell stepped forward to avoid being swept away by the momentum of the next attack. He parried the blow with a sword crossing and shifted its trajectory to the side. The steel roared as they collided; the sound was so intense that the air vibrated between them. The Boaz didn't even move a step. Bell, however, felt his legs sink slightly into the wood.
He tried to counterattack. A quick slash to the shoulder, another to the thigh, then a twist intended for the abdomen. All three connected… barely. The Boaz's skin was marked, a faint, superficial trace. The result was frustrating: not even the edge of the Hestia Sword could fully pierce that natural defense.
Bell understood the instant the echo of steel died: Ottar was holding back. He wasn't using his full strength. He didn't need to. The difference was brutal, tangible, and yet the Boaz showed no arrogance, only an almost animal-like coldness, the calm of someone who has been fighting for so long that violence has become his natural response.
Bell swallowed. His body ached all over, every muscle strained, his side throbbing as if he had fire under his skin. But he didn't step back. If Ottar was testing him, he would respond.
His gaze hardened. He adjusted the position of his feet, raised his sword, and held it out in front of him.
"I can still go on," he muttered, almost to himself.
The Dungeon winds blew between them, carrying dust and shards of wood. Ottar lowered his head slightly, accepting the challenge without a word.
And Bell, with the full weight of pain still in his body, moved forward again. Not because he believed he could win, but because behind him were the people he was meant to protect. That, at that moment, was worth more than any difference in strength.
…
The metallic echo of combat filtered through the tunnels like distant thunder. Riveria and Ais advanced through the end of the nineteenth floor, their footsteps muffled by the wooden floor. Ais was the first to stop, her ears barely perceptibly pricked, her gaze fixed ahead. The sound repeated itself: CLANG! SHING! CRACK!… It wasn't the roar or the growls of a monster. It was the sharp clash of steel against steel.
Riveria sensed it too, frowning. "That's not a normal fight" she thought, her instinct telling her something was off. Ais, without saying a word, started running.
Riveria sighed briefly, adjusted the staff she was carrying, and followed her.
The air thickened as they approached the end of the corridor leading to the next floor. The magical pressure was palpable, like a vibration running through their skin. When they reached the entrance to the twentieth floor, what they found made them stop immediately.
A formation of figures waited in front of the entrance, blocking the way. The executives of the Freya Familia.
Allen Fromel, the black-haired werecat, was the first to turn his head toward them. He had his arms crossed and a lopsided smile that inspired nothing but contempt. Beside him stood Hedin Selland, the golden-haired, sharp-eyed Elf, with his usual haughty bearing, while the Dark Elf Hogni and the four Gulliver Brothers completed the line.
The tension became immediate.
Riveria felt a pang in her stomach. Not from fear, but from the discomfort that their presence caused her. The energy emanating from the members of the Freya Familia was unusual. They were strong, each of them capable of sweeping away most Adventurers in Orario. And yet, seeing them together was strange... disturbing.
"What a surprise to see you here," Riveria said, with forced calm. "May I know what's going on?"
Allen gave a short, dry laugh. "What do you care, Princess?" he replied in a mocking tone, his golden eyes flashing with a hint of aggression.
The air seemed to thicken. Before Riveria could respond, Hedin spoke.
"Apologize, Allen," the blonde Elf said in a cold but controlled voice, looking at Riveria respectfully. "I regret my companion's rudeness, Lady Riveria. However…" He paused briefly, considering her words, "we cannot offer you any details. It is an internal matter for our Familia."
Riveria narrowed her eyes, her fingers tightening on the staff. "An internal matter that sounds public enough," she replied. The echo of the metallic clangs grew louder with each second, accompanied by vibrations that made the wooden floor creak.
Allen snorted. "You have no idea what's going on, so stay out of it."
"Allen." This time Hedin's voice was firmer. "Hold your tongue." Then, looking back at Riveria, he added with forced politeness, "Please let us handle this. We don't want to involve you."
The four Gulliver Brothers stepped forward in unison, further blocking the path. One of them, Alfrigg, the one with the light blue eyes, spoke with tense seriousness. "No one passes."
Riveria maintained her composure, but her jaw tightened. She couldn't forget the "misunderstanding" from earlier. The Gulliver Brothers... those four who had left her on the brink of death for something that never happened. Freya had simply left without warning, and Riveria had paid the price for other people's paranoia. Remembering that moment made her stomach churn, but she masked it with a neutral expression.
"I see you're still as… coordinated as ever," she murmured in a subtly charged tone.
Dvalinn, the most impulsive, frowned. "Was that sarcasm, Elf?"
Before the situation could escalate, Hedin raised a hand, controlling the brothers with a single glance. "It's not worth it. Stand your ground. Our priority is not to argue."
Ais hadn't said anything until that moment. But her body radiated a restrained tension. Her golden eyes were fixed forward, toward the end of the tunnel where the noise of the fight continued to grow. Each clash of metal made her clench her fists a little tighter.
She knew it. That sound… that pattern of knocking.
"Bell," she murmured, almost imperceptibly.
Riveria heard her, and a slight chill ran down her spine. If Ais was right, and Bell Cranel was fighting on that floor… then the fact that the Freya Familia was blocking the way couldn't be a coincidence.
The silence between the two groups grew heavy. Only the echo of the fight in the background broke the air, accompanied by the faint flickering of the lights on the glowing moss.
Riveria raised an eyebrow. "What if we insist on passing?"
Allen bared his fangs in a ferocious grin. "Then we'll drag you back," he said in a low voice, a tremor of anticipation in his tone.
Riveria didn't move a muscle, though her hand was already resting on the staff. Ais stepped forward, her eyes fixed on Allen's, the air around them vibrating with a barely contained aura.
Hedin sighed, a mixture of irritation and resignation. "Please," he said, with an almost exasperated calm. "There's no need for this."
But the tension didn't ease. The entire atmosphere seemed to be charged with electricity. People's breaths became short. In the background, the metallic rumble of combat continued to echo, ever faster, ever closer.
Riveria didn't need to be a fortune teller to know: something very big was happening up ahead. And the Freya Familia was trying to cover it up.
…
The air burned with the constant clash of steel against steel. Bell moved restlessly, his breathing becoming increasingly ragged, though his gaze remained steady. Sweat trickled down his forehead, mixing with the dust falling from the destroyed bridges around him. Each thrust from Ottar shook the wood of the labyrinth, each impact echoing like thunder trapped inside the hollow tree.
Up until that point, Bell had managed to stay on his feet. He hadn't taken another blow since that brutal kick, though the memory of the pain still lingered in his side. Every movement felt like a stabbing pain, but he didn't let up. The Hestia Sword moved with precision, searching for openings in the unwavering, [Absolute Defense] of Orario's Strongest Adventurer. However, the results were clear: mere small cuts, insignificant to someone like Ottar.
It was a battle of attrition, and Bell knew it. Every minute that passed brought him closer to the limit. His breathing was a reminder of the effort it took to stay alive against this man-shaped monster. Ottar, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. His expression was the same as the beginning: serene, cool, appraising. Not a drop of sweat stained his forehead.
Bell took a step back, panting. No progress… he was just barely holding on.
His fingers tightened on the handle. Sparks flew as they crossed weapons once more.
CLANG!
The sound reverberated, and the impact caused the bridge beams to crack a little more.
Bell tried to read the next move, but Ottar stepped forward, twisting his body with impossible power. Bell's sword barely blocked the blow, and the force pushed him back several meters.
The young man broke his fall with a knee to the ground. Pain shot up his arm, but he didn't let go of his weapon. "What does it feel like?" Ottar asked in a deep voice, devoid of mockery. "Fighting without hope of victory."
Bell didn't respond. His gaze just hardened.
Then, suddenly, Ottar stopped. He took a couple of steps back, his eyes fixed on something behind Bell.
The young man tensed, confused. "What…?"
A reddish light began to reflect off the surfaces of the tunnel. At first it was a faint glow, then a blaze that filled the air with heat. A stream of fire interposed itself between the two warriors, like a living wall of dancing, roaring flames.
Bell involuntarily raised an arm to shield himself from the burning wind, but when the silhouette loomed in the fire, an involuntary smile formed on his face.
"You're here…" he murmured, relief in his voice.
Yharon's roar echoed throughout the floor. His presence filled the air, and the temperature rose several degrees at once. The flames surrounding him curled upward, almost touching the violet wooden ceiling of the labyrinth.
Ottar watched him without moving, his gaze fixed and serious. "Even with your Dragon," he said gravely, raising his twin swords again, "that won't stop me from teaching you a lesson."
Bell sat up slowly, his silhouette illuminated by Yharon's fire. The air vibrated with energy. For the first time in several minutes, his breathing steadied. He felt the warmth enveloping him, giving him strength.
Bell raised the Hestia Sword, the blade glowing with orange highlights. "Then let the second round begin."
Ottar responded with a slight nod, almost a gesture of respect, before moving forward.
Fire roared, steel clashed again, and the very air seemed to burn between the three.
The flames roared like a living storm. Yharon let out a bellow so mighty that the walls of the labyrinth seemed to vibrate; his fire, a burning torrent that turned the air red, surged toward Ottar. The Boaz moved with the precision of a seasoned predator, dodging the first torrent with a sideways leap. The scorching heat licked at his skin, and for the first time, his footsteps left blackened footprints on the purple wood of the floor.
Bell didn't miss a beat. While Yharon covered the front, he moved between the gaps of fire, attacking from the flanks. The dragon and the adventurer complemented each other instinctively, as if they shared a single will. Each burst of fire from Yharon forced Ottar to retreat or block with his swords, and when he did, Bell was already there, slashing swiftly, seeking the weak spot the fire couldn't reach.
The air filled with smoke and sparks. Heat waves distorted the combatants' image, making them look like ghosts engulfed in fire. Ottar grunted as Bell's blade struck him in the forearm, a minor wound but enough to stain his skin with blood. It was the first time Bell had managed to significantly mark him, and that small victory felt like a glimmer of hope.
Ottar, for his part, didn't seem bothered. Rather, his gaze hardened, as if the heat had awakened a spark of respect in him.
With a sudden twist, Ottar plunged one of his swords into the ground, using the other to deflect a direct burst of flame. The flames split in two directions, crashing against the tunnel walls and igniting the dried moss growing on the wood. The entire place began to smolder, the fire running like veins of light through the living structure of the labyrinth.
Bell seized that moment. He ran through the embers, the heat enveloping him without harming him, and launched himself at Ottar.
The Hestia Sword clashed with the Boaz's steel. Ottar spun around, deflecting the blow, but Bell was already preparing the next one, propelled by the air current Yharon created with each beat of his wings.
The Dragon's roars mixed with the clash of metal filled the entire floor. It was a symphony of fire and steel, a duel between the human who challenged the limits and the warrior who had defined them.
In the distance, Ais Wallenstein stopped dead in her tracks. Her body tensed, and her eyes widened slightly. The presence was unmistakable. That heat… that energy… it was the Dragon. The sensation coursed through her like an electric current, awakening something deep within her. It wasn't fear, nor alarm, but a familiarity that enveloped her in warmth, as if that fire were part of her.
"Riveria…" she murmured, barely audible.
The High Elf looked up at her. Ais was no longer looking at her; her attention was fixed ahead, where the air trembled with the force of the battle. Riveria frowned. She, too, felt magical energy churning in the air, a whirlwind of power that belonged to neither of them. And if she had to guess… perhaps it was that pet Dragon that Bell Cranel seemed to have pulled out of nowhere.
Before she could say anything, Ais took a step forward. And then another.
"Ais—"
But the swordswoman had already made up her mind. She spun around, grabbing Riveria by the arm. "I'm sorry," she murmured softly, before saying in a firm voice "Tempest."
The wind erupted beneath their feet. A whirlwind formed around them, kicking up dust and leaves. Riveria barely had time to open her mouth before the ground disappeared beneath them. The air wrapped around them tightly, and they quickly rose, propelled by Ais's Magic-enhanced jump.
"Ais, what are you doing?!" Riveria shouted, trying to steady her breathing.
"I'm sorry," the girl repeated, her voice cracking in the wind. "But I can't stay here."
From below, the figures of the Freya Familia turned as they saw them rise. Allen was the first to react. His expression twisted into a snarl of fury, his cat ears flattened. "Tch! Damn meddling blonde!" he roared, raising his spear.
The four Gulliver Brothers moved instinctively, but the height was too high. The gale-force winds whipped up by Ariel made it difficult to even stand.
Allen gritted his teeth and looked at Hedin. "Knock them down!"
The Elf didn't move. His gaze remained calm, almost bored, as he watched Ais and Riveria disappear across the ceiling of the apartment. "I'm not going to do it."
"What did you say?!"
"I repeat," Hedin said, not bothering to look at the cat man. "I will not attack them."
Allen clicked his tongue in frustration, but didn't press the issue. He knew the Elf well enough to know that arguing with him was a waste of time.
Hedin sighed, crossing his arms. "What foolishness…" he thought. "Even among us, only a few understand when it's unwise to act. If Ottar is involved, interfering is tantamount to suicide."
His eyes followed the spot where Ais and the High Elf princess had disappeared for a moment longer. And if that fire is what he thinks it is… then things are about to get a lot more complicated than expected.
Meanwhile, Ais and Riveria landed on one of the upper bridges on the 20th Floor. The heat greeted them like a wave. Riveria was still processing what had just happened, her hair whipping around in Ariel's residual winds.
Ais, however, already had her gaze fixed on the horizon. On the horizon of the tunnel, flames could be seen, shadows moving through the embers, and a winged figure roaring furiously. Yharon.
Bell was there.
Riveria sighed, resigned. "I guess there's just no point in stopping you anymore."
Ais didn't respond. She took a step forward, the hilt of Desperate in her hand trembling slightly. The sound of the fire resonated in her chest like a drum. Her heart pounded with a mixture of urgency and something else… something she couldn't quite define.
Ais didn't hesitate. As soon as she saw the fire engulfing the battlefield, her body moved instinctively. Ottar's figure was a wall, a presence impossible to ignore amidst the flames and the clang of metal. The swordswoman accelerated, her silhouette becoming a golden flash that cut through the air like lightning.
SHING!
Her sword swung down hard, seeking the Boaz's flank. But Ottar spun around, crossing his twin swords just in time. The impact resonated with a deep echo, a vibration that rippled through the wooden bridge and raised sparks of fire around it.
Ais took a step back, the wind lifting her golden hair. Ottar watched her with a neutral gaze, though a hint of annoyance was evident in his frown. She had been quick, even by his standards.
Bell, seeing her, couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. "Miss Ais!" he gasped, but still on guard with his Hestia Sword.
Ais turned her head slightly, a brief smile curving her lips. "I arrived just in time," she said calmly, though her eyes remained fixed on Ottar.
Yharon roared behind her, spreading his wings and unleashing an arc of fire that momentarily separated the combatants. The air grew thicker, thick with heat and tension.
Riveria arrived a few seconds later, landing on the edge of the scorched bridge. Her robes fluttered in the hot air, and her green eyes scanned the scene: Bell, Ais, the Dragon… and in front of them, Ottar.
The High Elf's heart sank. She gripped her staff, ready to intervene, when a sound behind her alerted her.
"We're here," a hoarse voice announced.
Riveria turned quickly. From the tunnel entrance, a group was advancing steadily: Allen in the lead, the four Gulliver Brothers behind, Hedin walking with his calm demeanor, and Hogni, drawing his sword, seemed to shift into a more confident stance. The firelight illuminated them from below, casting their shadows against the purple walls of the Labyrinth.
Riveria's chest tightened.
Allen smiled at her, a sharp, almost amused smile. "Are you really that nosy, or do you just want to come watch the boy die?"
Riveria frowned. "I didn't come here to watch anyone die."
Before Allen could respond, Hedin stepped forward. "I advise you to stay out of it. If you don't… well, I'm afraid we'll have to take steps neither of us would like."
"On the sidelines?" Riveria replied, with a coldness that cut through the air.
Riveria took a half step back, positioning herself with her staff raised. Her mind rapidly analyzed: "Three Level 6s and four Level 5s. If I face them even, with Ais and the Dragon, we wouldn't last long. And that's leaving Ottar out of the equation."
The sound of battle behind them echoed again. Yharon's roar echoed, and a wave of heat rippled across the bridge, causing the dry leaves around it to ignite.
Ottar frowned at the arrival of the group. The gleam in his eyes changed, a visible annoyance peeking beneath his impassive expression. He knew exactly what their presence meant.
His gaze shifted slightly to Bell and Ais, still guarding against the dragon. "Tsk."
He hadn't come to kill Bell Cranel. His intention was simple: to test him, to forge something within him through pain and reinforce the idea in his mind that he should NOT hurt his Goddess. But if the Executives intervened, that lesson would turn into a bloodbath. "Idiots" he thought. "They don't understand anything."
Yharon roared again, unleashing a blast of flame that Ottar blocked with a sword clash. The flames engulfed his arms, but he withstood the heat, taking a step back and twisting to release the pressure.
Bell, seeing the distraction, moved next to Ais. "We have to keep him near the fire" he said, his voice tense but firm.
Ais nodded, darting to the left as Bell attacked from the right. Ottar deflected both blows with precision, his body moving like a war machine, his balance intact despite the combined attacks.
The wood floor split with each impact. The heat increased, and embers floated in the air like fireflies.
Behind them, Riveria continued to pay close attention to the movements of Freya's group. Allen twirled his spear in his hand, his cat-like tail twitching impatiently. "I don't know about you, Hedin, but I'm tired of waiting."
"I know," the Elf replied without looking at him, "but if you intervene now, you'll end up dead."
Allen glared at him. "What makes you think I care?"
"That you're still breathing," Hedin replied calmly.
Allen growled, the Gulliver Brothers tensed, and Riveria felt the air thicken with pure tension.
Up ahead, Yharon's fire roared again, reflecting in the eyes of everyone present. Ottar traded blows with Bell and Ais, his body moving through the flames with the precision of a warrior who mastered every fiber of his being. Bell resisted, his sword trembling from the force of the clashes, but his resolve remained intact.
Ais spun with impeccable speed, slicing through the air in precise bursts. Her sword, Desperate, and Bell's Hestia Sword crossed trajectories, coordinating almost wordlessly.
Ottar blocked a downward blow from Ais, then a side slash from Bell, and pushed both of them back with a force that made the bridge vibrate.
Yharon responded immediately with a roar, sending a blast of flame that rose like a wall between the three combatants.
On the other side of the spectrum, Riveria kept her guard up. If Freya's Executives took one more step, she knew she'd have no way out. But she wasn't going to back down either.
The embers fell slowly between the two groups. The fire illuminated their faces, their gazes tense, their weapons ready.
The air smelled of burnt wood and impending battle.
[A/N: I haven't forgotten about the rest of the Hestia Familia, I just have something planned for them.]