The stench of blood and decay filled the corridor.
The desperate cries for help had completely vanished.
All that remained on the fifth floor were dark red bloodstains and the faint remains of adventurers' bones.
The malice of the Dungeon far exceeded what Bell had imagined.
He had originally planned to escape during the chaos, while the Goblins clashed with the alchemists.
But he hadn't expected the monsters to pour out like a tidal wave.
Those crazed, despicable pursuers—he didn't feel the slightest pity for them. Judging from the sounds, no innocent bystanders had been caught up in the chaos either.
If the Dungeon truly possessed intelligence, then why had the monsters hidden themselves, waiting silently until now?
With an army this size, the Goblins hadn't advanced to the fourth floor—they were just sweeping through the fifth, over and over.
It was as if the entire nest had mobilized... for a single person.
Bell's train of thought stopped there.
In the wide corridor ahead, he spotted them—mutated forms.
Giant Goblins.
Just by eye, there were at least three.
Looming behind the dense black tide of lesser monsters, they resembled colossal, terrifying ghost ships. Their mere presence sent chills down his spine.
Bell was glad he hadn't tried to break through to the fourth floor.
If he'd gotten trapped between that monster horde and the giant Goblins, he would've been doomed.
A flash of steel grazed his forehead.
Bell had no time or energy to dwell on the threat of the giants.
He darted through the sea of monsters, hoping the Guild's reinforcements would arrive before it was too late.
Clutching Airmid in his arms, Bell sprinted toward the alchemy room.
He pushed through the swarm, ducking blades, sidestepping claws, forging ahead through the unending roar of monsters.
Airmid found her mind drifting to an old myth—one said to be the origin of many hero tales.
The Argo, a ship whose hull would never rot, whose prow could foresee the future.
In legend, it carried heroes and guided them all toward hope.
To the Dea Saint, the boy's clever, courageous figure overlapped perfectly with that divine ship.
Before they knew it, they'd reached their destination.
Bell glanced around the alchemy room. No Goblins.
It seemed their pursuers had either left no one behind in their frenzy to catch them, or had fled in fear after hearing the monsters.
"Airmid-san... Airmid… Dea Saint?"
Bell looked at the girl in his arms, feeling a bit awkward.
He was ready to set her down, but she just stared off in a daze, arms still wrapped around him.
Her beautiful violet eyes sparkled like stars—she seemed okay?
"Dea Saint—" Bell called again.
"Yes, yes, yes..."
Airmid quickly released him, her face bright red as she stepped down to the floor.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry! Please forgive my rudeness!"
The blush on her cheeks spread quickly, reaching all the way to her ears.
"Did I scare you earlier?" Bell asked while shoving the long table into place.
Judging by its build, it wouldn't stand a chance against a real monster assault—but it might stall them for a little while.
"Um... I wasn't scared."
Shame urged Airmid to turn her back to the boy, yet she still stepped beside the table, helping Bell push the long surface into place.
"Was that a sign of magical exhaustion?" Bell asked.
"Please don't ask anymore, Cranel-san." Airmid avoided the question.
As they pushed the table together, her hand accidentally brushed his right hand.
Like touching a thorny plant, the Dea Saint instantly recoiled, pulling her hand away.
Airmid had no idea what was happening to her.
Praised as the Dea Saint, jokingly called a top student by Naaza—she had always carried herself with near-flawless precision in everything she did.
But now, she was a mess, so flustered she couldn't even meet the boy's gaze.
She pressed both hands to her burning cheeks, letting the cold calm her nerves.
Only after Bell turned away did she realize how foolish she had been.
"Cranel-san, you're hurt!"
His back was riddled with claw marks—just looking at it was painful.
There was no way he could've escaped such a brutal monster wave unscathed.
He had endured everything in silence, just to spare her the pain.
How foolish of you, Airmid Teasanare.
Protect him? You've only been the one receiving his protection.
Airmid scolded herself and began chanting a healing spell.
"Wait."
Bell stopped her. "It's just a scratch. It doesn't affect my movement. You need to save your magic in case we need it later."
"A scratch...?"
Blood still oozed from his back. Even if it didn't limit his movements, that burning pain wouldn't just go away.
As a healer, Airmid understood this perfectly.
And yet—she couldn't argue.
She was just too weak.
She only occasionally joined suppression missions, always relying on potions. That's why she'd ended up like this.
If it were another famed healer, even without weapons or elixirs, they could've saved the boy with ease.
It was her pride in the Dea Saint title that had kept her stuck at Level 2.
Airmid hated herself for it. She clenched her fists, frustration clouding her face.
The Goblins' roars grew louder.
Bell reached over, gently lifting her clenched hands and unfolding them.
"Airmid-san, are you scared?" he asked softly, looking into her doll-like, beautiful face.
"Yes."
She was scared—of death, of the monster wave.
But what frightened her more... was the thought of this boy dying because of her.
"I'm scared too."
Bell placed his palm firmly against hers.
At the thought of those endless monsters and the terrifying mutated Goblins, his hands trembled slightly.
"Looks like we're the same, then."
His voice was like sunlight, warm and gentle, seeping into Airmid's heart.
"My dream is to become a hero... and spend my life surrounded by the smiles of many girls."
Bell spoke slowly, laying his heart bare.
It was the kind of wild, far-off dream that any adventurer in Orario would probably laugh at.
But Airmid could tell—he was serious.
She could feel his resolve and warmth flowing through their joined hands.
"I'll escape from here. And one day, I'll make that dream come true. What about you?"
"I..."
Airmid stared at the boy in silence.
What was her dream?
Once, she had hoped for a world without pain or illness.
But after all her time in Orario, she'd come to understand—that was nothing more than a beautiful, impossible fantasy.
She didn't have a dream.
She simply followed her heart, healing the wounded and bringing smiles to others.
"I want you to live."
Airmid finally voiced the feeling deep inside her.
"That's not a dream," Bell said with a gentle smile, releasing her hands and walking toward the entrance. "If you don't know yet, just think about it after we get out of here."
Airmid watched his back as he moved away.
At some point, her hands had stopped trembling.
She let out a soft, peaceful smile—finally aware of the emotions she could no longer suppress.
A dream.
So that's what it was.
As if glimpsing a distant future, the Dea Saint made her decision.