Rivered and his colleagues moved toward the center, where a priest of light and hope stood at the front, bathing everyone in the radiance of the Goddess of Pure Thoughts.
"Hunters and explorers of the unclaimed lands, we thank you for your protection. May the Goddess stay with you."
The priest raised both his hands in the air as he began reciting the hymn.
The rest of the crowd clasped their hands, closing their eyes as they bowed slightly.
Rivered followed suit.
The golden light touched his skin, rejuvenating him in its glow. He felt calm and collected, as if he had been born again in the holy presence of a divine being. He felt loved and cared for, his anguish and pain dissolved.
His heart no longer harbored the malice and grudges that had weighed him down.
Such was the light of the Goddess.
Rivered smiled faintly, his lips curling upward. He was blessed.
Soon, the awarding ceremony commenced, with the chief guest being the king of Avarath, the mountainous kingdom.
His small kingdom was devoted to the Goddess, and thus, when asked, he couldn't refuse to attend.
The announcer began calling out the names of the explorers who had triumphed in the Night Championship, one by one.
"Vigrath the Wrath-Incarnate, from the house of Homunculus, Clan Yorwkisa."
A tiny man with a handlebar mustache slowly stepped forward. He bowed before the king as the medal was placed around his neck, then shook the king's hand.
Next, the announcer called,
"Avatar the Godless, from the house of Scythe, Clan Yorwkisa."
A man with brown hair and dark skin stepped forward, his attire unlike any other. He wore a single piece of fabric wrapped around his entire body. The king placed the medal around his neck as well.
Once again, the announcer declared,
"Sugo Dio, Clan Yorwkisa."
A blonde man, dressed in black garments, approached. His stark white eyes carried a hazy, milky gaze. Unlike the others, he bore no title or house. With broad shoulders and a firm stance, he stepped forward and received his medal.
Finally, the announcer declared,
"Rivered Callahan, Clan Yorwkisa."
A man with neck-length hair, his eyes a dark blue reminiscent of the deepest ocean, and his hair a striking blend of black and grey. He was lean and thin, with a long, sharp face, wearing an expression both naive and cunning.
He approached the podium and accepted the medal from the king.
He looked at the crowd chanting their name.
For the first time in history, a group of mercenaries had managed to defeat the trained knights of nobles in conquering the dungeon.
He closed his eyes, and he was back in that place.
The Night Dungeon, where the sky remains eternally dark, and even the faintest light on the ground is devoured by the creatures of the night.
He remembers the battle they fought, the enemies they defeated together, and the companions who set out with them but never returned, having perished in the chaos of the battle, amidst unavoidable circumstances and surprise attacks.
He saw the bodies of his friends and monstrous figures on the battlefield, sorrow etched across his face.
His heart trembled at the sight, but he blinked and opened his eyes again.
The crowd was celebrating, the roar of joy filling his ears, drowning out the nightmare that had haunted him.
He smiled and waved to the cheering crowd as he stepped down from the podium.
---
Yondesa Travern, Koitea Town.
"Rivered, you should get married now. You're already getting old, and there won't be any women left even if you win the championship," Sugo said, beer in hand, already drunk to the brim.
"Don't tease him. This man is a saint. He wouldn't touch women, would you, Rivered?"
The table erupted in laughter as the others joined in, their hands clutching beer mugs, clearly drunk.
"You do not need to concern yourself with my affairs!" Rivered, slamming his beer jar on the table.
The table in front of them was laden with an assortment of delicacies the town of Koitea had to offer. From dargon lizard to Witroches insectile, every kind of monster meat was served here. The town, governed by the Beastman ruler King Gorosh, was a welcoming place for all, offering food rarely found in the main capitals.
Vigrath raised his cup, "For the glory of the Yorwkisa!"
The rest raised their cups in unison, cheering as they clinked them in the air. Some beer spilled, and the waiter sighed in resignation.
They celebrated all night and slept in the tavern itself.
The owner didn't stop them either, as they were destined to become heroes venturing into the unknown to save mankind.
He looked at them, pity crossing his face as he whispered, "Rest well, heroes."
Suddenly, a ragged, creaking and wheezing voice broke the quiet, "There are no heroes, none at all. Everyone is a fool, a fool dancing on graves. There is no life, no... I saw them. There is no savior from them."
The owner's face twisted with disdain.
He frowned as he grabbed the drunkard by the collar and threw him out of the tavern. The drunkard hit the ground with a thud, landing face-first.
"Go bother someone else, Roger!"
The poor man stumbled to his feet, making his way toward the city's central plaza.
The Night Patrol stopped him several times, but when they realized it was old Roger, they let him go.
"Don't cause trouble, Sir Roger," one of the knights said as they helped him stand and placed him on a bench.
Yet, as soon as they departed, Roger moved again, staggering toward the Statue of Purity.
In the central plaza stood a statue of a Goddess, said to have blessed the land with eternal peace and love.
It was modeled after a woman in white robes, her head adorned with a radiant golden crown. Though she appeared ordinary, her expression carried a hint of kindness.
Roger knelt before the statue, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed uncontrollably.