13

Leaving the group turned out to be more of an affair than I was expecting, though given that my original plan was to just run off into the dungeon without so much as how do you do, that wasn't a particularly high bar to clear. Instead I ended up getting talked into a night of drinking, something Hestia coincidentally showed up to when we got to the bar.

If how cagey she got when I asked was anything to go by, she was either employing some kind of divine bullshit or just plain stalking me.

I, of course, studiously ignored the implications of that, and instead just found myself happy to have my bubbly Goddess around to carry the mood. Between the undercurrents of tension around me and Raul, Judith intermittently brooding and Ilya's naturally quiet demeanour, things could have gotten awkward real quick.

I can only carry a conversation so hard you know?

Despite all those issues, it ended up being a pretty good night all things considered. Alcohol proved itself once more as the great social lubricant and with enough of the stuff, even Ilya was joining in as we sang along with the tavern's… singer? Bard? I'll admit I don't actually know what to call the dude just randomly playing in the corner of most every bar, and I can't really ask without having people question what rock I grew up under.

Eventually we parted for the night and I let myself be dragged home by a sleepy Hestia, even letting her talk me into carrying her midway back. Was that the best idea given the whole maybe stalking thing?

Probably not, but I was drunk and happy, so a princess carry is what she got.

Some far away part of me could see another dimension to her efforts; that it was another 'promise', another way to keep me out of the dungeon for one more night. But with a warm belly full of beer and the glowing smile she gave me as I carried her back beneath the stars, I was content to do the easy thing and stay by her side a little longer.

Besides, I don't sleep; there was no way she could keep me forever muhahah.

At least, that was my thought process before she hit me with the divine puppy eyes and I ended up staying even more of the night, drinking and chatting until she finally ran out of steam and let me put her to bed. And then I stayed with her for a while even after that, half out of a sense of care and half because she was still gripping my hand as she snored away.

It was cute, but as the warm buzz of alcohol faded and my impatient leg got the better of me, I found myself craving the dungeon once more.

I lit a few candles before I left; warm, homely fires always seemed to make Hestia more comfortable, even in her sleep. Then I made sure she was wrapped up in her favourite blanket and double checked to make sure the candles were on stone and nowhere near anything flammable, before finally giving in to my instincts and whispering goodnight.

Her sleep laden voice called me an idiot in response… in weeb no less.

I laughed.

Hestia had probably thought she was being clever by pushing me into that promise with the Loki lot, she likely also thought she was being clever that night, dragging things out as long as she could manage before her soft mortal shell gave in to the urge of sleep. What she didn't realise was that I have a schedule.

One I literally cannot deviate from lest the world -maybe- burn, and thus my will is far greater than her divine puppy eyes.

So for all her efforts to keep me safe and out of the dungeon? I was about to return threefold with the gamer special; grinding in higher level areas until the light of morning and the need to sleep banishes you back to your bed. And the thing is I don't need to sleep.

From my perspective, the following week passed pretty quickly, from Hestia's perspective? Well, I'm not a midget Goddess with oddly large breasts, so I don't really know. But she did seem pissed when I started putting my stealth skill to the test ducking and dodging her attempts to stalk me. All the while I switched between running a genocide train on the monsters of the dungeon and fulfilling my obligations on the surface.

Obligations like dealing with the Loki familia's contract, my smith grinding, flirting with Tsubaki and taking Hestia out on totally-not-dates so she would stop refusing to update my Falna. That last part might have been a slight flaw in my plan to grind my way to victory, but I dealt with it with the grace expected of me.

All of which brings me to now, the eleventh floor where I was currently play-fighting with an Orc.

Orcs are rather dumb creatures. They were fast enough to surprise you with their swing speed, but that same speed didn't translate when trying to hit moving targets. It was like their bodies were fast enough, but their pea-sized brains struggled to comprehend what was happening.

As a Dex aficionado myself, I found that to be rather pathetic.

A fact that was probably obvious to anyone watching as I casually stepped aside and let the Orc's landform club rip through the air besides me. A short hop freed me from gravity's embrace as the club slammed into the ground and shook the earth. Ground pounds were so laughably common in games that I had the timing down from the moment one of these fat bastards first tried it on me.

These weren't Elden Ring mobs, they didn't artificially hold their attacks until the heat death of the universe and thus were as predictable as could be.

Landing silently, a byproduct of the inadvertent stealth training I'd been getting the last week, I calmly severed the landform weapon at the hilt. The material was tough and hard -it had to be to let Orcs slam it around all day long- so while cutting it in motion was possible, it was always best just to wait until it stopped.

…The first time I tried that, I didn't quite account for momentum as much as I probably should have and got a gutful of flying club as a consolation prize.

Stepping out of range as it tried to follow up with a clumsy grab, I added a few more small cuts to the multitude already littering its form. It turns out that if you start severing ligaments eventually these idiots will start to comprehend that you're a bit beyond them and try to run away. Severing their achilles' heels to stop this does not actually help, as they'll just try to crawl away from you instead.

Basically if you're looking to slow the fuckers down without actually killing them -or making people think you're a psychopath- you need to keep the wounds relatively light.

As for why you'd want to do that? Well I needed a cover and pretending that I was fighting monsters was just about the only acceptable thing I could do while stalk- following people in the dungeon.

It all started off innocently enough, I was just doing my usual mad sprint down to the twelfth floor hoping to run into the surprisingly elusive Infant Dragon, and failing that, do my normal grind. When instead I just so happened to spot something on my way down, a party of catgirls that was very clearly struggling with the floor, and to a budding hero like me?

Well, that's basically an invitation.

I'd found out the hard way that most of the time while trying to save people, you normally get there too late. When someone screams for help that generally means they've just taken a wound that necessitates that panic, as opposed to having the decency to recognise their impending mortality and give me a heads up. After that they normally don't last very long.

Hence the plan I'd only managed to put into practice a few times now; locate struggling party, follow until they start almost dying, and then rescue.

Flawless plan.

And if you think that just sounds like stalking but extra steps? Well you're not wrong, but this is unfortunately what heroics looks like without the power of endless optimism.

For this group I was hedging my bets between this going one of two ways. Either the group would fall apart under the pressure the Orc was applying to their frontline fighter, or the group would get Imped. Imps were tricky little bastards that often played dead, waiting for rookie adventurers to step close to them before mauling their feet, a distraction which would start a death spiral that normally ended with an Orc club to the face.

This lot definitely fell into that rookie checkbox, but their frontline also wasn't looking too hot, the black haired catgirl had been running on a half tank of gas even before they got into this current encounter. So really it could go either way.

As if fate was mocking me for my hubris however, something else entirely happened.

Namely that someone else began stalking the group, someone dressed in a white cloak that blended into the mists that defined this floor. If it weren't for my Dex stat being as cranked as it was, I doubt I would have even noticed him, which can only mean one thing; he was here for some shady shit

…Or heroics, I suppose; can't really discount that given I'm also wearing a white cloak. But the more likely option by far was that they were just dastardly rogues and that thought made me a lot happier, so I'm sticking with it.

I've been coming to these floors almost since I broke off from the Loki group, nearly a full week. I've fought countless Orcs, Hard Armours and everything in between. They were still fun, but… I've been pining for something new to fight.

And other adventurers would be just the thing.

I didn't even have to wait long.

Four more shady cloaks broke the mist around the first, gathering around what was likely their scout, my anticipation growing as I watched them move with surprising coordination. Almost immediately something flashed out from one of their cloaks and covered the distance between them and catgirls in a damn hurry. In fact that was faster than I could have thrown something.

Do they have more strength than I do?

My grin deepened just a little.

"MAYLENE!" The twinned screams of the catgirls broke through my little moment, bringing my attention back to reality. The object had found its mark, striking the tank of the catgirls as she was going to block. The distraction cost her and now her shield was flying out of reach, the Orc winding up for a follow-up strike that she likely couldn't weather with only her shortsword.

Huh, despite not getting actually Imped, she ended up getting Imped anyway.

I was already moving before the club reached her, my sword casually dipping into my Orc's neck in a blur of speed, its head popping off for an instant before it exploded into dust. Without pause, I broke out into a dead sprint across the field.

As I cleared the three quarter mark the other two panicked, charging in to attack instead of helping their friend back off. Frowning, I adjusted my stride, trying to predict how their distraction would change things.

Together they managed to fend off the Orc's strike just as I cleared the distance and blurred into the fray.

Grabbing catgirl number two by the collar, I yanked her down and ducked myself as my sword whipped out to catch the Orc's return swing by the wrist, the long blade severing it cleanly. The fat pig screamed in pain as the momentum of the club carried it over mine and the catgirl's head before flying off into the mist, her struggling against my hand suddenly stilling as realisation set in.

What could only be described as 'surprised catgirl noises' broke out, and immediately strained the smile on my face as I was reminded once again that Danmachi catgirls were fucking psyops made by weeb gods.

Ignoring them as best I could for the moment, I slipped the throwing knife I kept in my vambrace into my free hand and let it abruptly speed up my sword. The air sung as its arc carried it back around to rip straight through the chunky boy's belly, the force involved blowing the Orc off its feet in two pieces. Which, considering one of these fat bastards is three metres tall and half that again at the waist, is a pretty good feat.

Blending my movements together I flicked the knife across the field and into the last monster, a Bad Bat; the little fuckers were monster supports that would let off a disorientating cry to stun adventurers. Their flying, support type nature meant that they were fragile enough that even though my thrown weapons didn't benefit from my one-handed skill, the sharpness they got from my smithing was more than enough to punch straight through its leathery body.

Slowing to a stop, I let myself bask in the moment as catgirl number two collapsed onto her ass with a stunned expression on her face, her friends looking equally surprised and just a touch awed.

Perfect dynamic entry.

I took a moment to flash them my most heroic smile -I practiced it extensively in the mirror- before turning towards the source of my true anticipation.

They didn't disappoint.

"Who are- NYA!" One of the catgirl's words died in a squeak as a second throwing knife blurred out of the mist and sparked off my just drawn dagger, landing at my feet with a thud.

"We can talk later… for now, your lives are in danger." I spoke with a suitably dramatic panache.

Ever since I saw the first episode of Bleach, I've wanted to pull off the 'mysterious stranger who comes out of nowhere and helps you fight against a threat you're not ready for'. For that reason alone I love these brigands, whoever the fuck they are.

"So… a wannabe hero wants to offer himself up to the Altar of Knowledge." A slow, mocking voice reverberates out of the mist, his tone almost perfectly villainous. "Well, who am I to say no to this blessing?"

It took a phenomenal amount of willpower not to grin.

"I figured from the moment I saw you skulking about that you were up to no good, but attacking other adventurers?" I dropped a technical truth -the best kind of truth- as I leveled my sword at the figures stepping out from the mist. "I'm going to need a damn good explanation."

Please don't explain anything, just come at me.

"Are test animals owed an explanation?" He shot back with sheer and raw condescension. "No, their role is to get in the cage and die!"

I wasn't sure about these metaphors, but the delivery sure was great. And, even better, I had my own suitably dramatic role to play here.

"You think we're animals…?" I hissed with just the right amount of disbelief. " I won't let you get away with this!" I shouted indignantly, really trying to sell that shounen protag special line.

"You don't have a choice. You two, deal with him." The cloaked figure signalled his men as he slipped back into the mist, sending a pair of bruisers in my direction armed with what looked like a quarterstaff and a club. "...The rest of you, take the girls."

The part of me that wasn't trying to grin like a loon saw behind the intent of this group pretty quickly, the blunt weapons, the obvious choice of words. They were here to capture, not kill, which implied a larger organisation and perhaps… a conspiracy.

Burying the smile that threatened to erupt onto my face with a fake grimace, I faced off with my approaching foes and tried to tune out the panicked whisperings of the catgirls.

"Nothing personal kid…" One of the brutes spoke up with a surprisingly intelligent voice. "If it makes it any better, just know we-"

"-Shut up." The other cut in with a harsh look. "You know the protocol."

"It's fine." I spoke with a confident, boyish tone. "You won't be succeeding here anyway."

The second turned his gaze towards me with a dismissive grunt. "You're outnumbered kid."

"And you're outmatched."

It wasn't arrogance but rather simple observation; the club was made of solid metal and the weight of it was clearly slowing down goon number two. As for the guilty goon, his staff was made of wood, which meant my sword was going to go straight through it unless it was made from some incredibly expensive elven bullshit. And given the cheap ass clothing he was dressed in, I doubted it.

From their gait I could tell their speed was maybe the same as mine at most, so unless they were hiding their stats…

This fight was already over.

The only point of tension was the leader, the man had disappeared. And while that could mean a lot of things, if he was the kind of squirrely thinker I had him pegged as, then his plan should be to observe the anomaly in the situation -namely me- before striking from ambush once he's got enough information on me to be confident.

The counter to that would be to hide my strength and act my dramatic heart out against these goons before pulling an uno reverse card once he engages.

Obviously I wouldn't be doing that.

"Sorry but…" I began, interrupting the diatribe the pair had started while I was thinking. "I'm not going to hold back."

Boredom as ever was my greatest weakness.

It was why I was here in the first place; I'd been hunting this floor and the next for almost a week facing the same threats that I'd already countered day after day. I came here looking for Infant Dragons for a reason.

I want to fight something strong, I want to fight with my life on the line and their leader might just be my first taste of that in a while.

So like hell was I going to cut that short with some cheap trick.

The pair started in surprise as I exploded into motion, crossing the distance between us almost instantly, my sword thrusting towards the staff wielder's heart in a blur of silver.

The man was almost as fast as me and when faced with something coming at you that fast to centre mass? He took the logical option and blocked.

My blade cut through that wood like butter.

Blood, red blood practically exploded from the man's torso, painting my silver blade and parts of my armour in dark hues.

I blinked, before throwing myself back, ripping my blade free of the man's torso as a club crashed down where I was just standing, a cloud of debris exploding out.

The staff wielder fell back in a fit of bloody gasps, his staff forgotten as he desperately ripped into his pack for a potion. Almost no potion could save you from a punctured heart.

Skidding to a stop I fell into a defensive stance as I analysed the new situation, bloody sword raised before me. Or at least I intended to, instead my eyes were locked onto the dying man, choking out his last bloody gasps as he failed to even raise his potion to his lips.

I'd always found those scenes of protagonists throwing up or throwing temper tantrums over their first kills to be strange. Emotions just didn't work like that for me or hell even for my entire family.

We were the type to barely even grieve after the loss of one of our own. We'd go through the motions, wear the black clothes and stand morosely with others in the cemetery, but never once had I seen a member of my family cry. Emotions were just something we didn't do, not outwardly at least.

We all wore masks of our own creation, and after a certain point it became hard to tell where the mask stopped and we began.

The idea that something like killing could have such a profound impact that it would cause instant breakdowns was therefore, something I found laughable. And yet… I couldn't take my eyes away from the corpse.

"First time killing you little shit?" The goon demanded angrily, when I didn't reply the man snorted dismissively. "Fucking Tom, getting taken out by some brat that hasn't even wetted his sword yet and leaving all the work to me."

"What a fucking joke." He huffed, before he lifted his club and stared at me with lethal intent. "Just give up brat, little heroes like you aren't cut out for this kind of work."

I paused for a second at his words, then snorted, then cracked up. As if anyone would just let themselves be kidnapped and as if I was a 'little hero' like Bell.

Being a hero was just my mask, a convenient act that served as a path to fame and therefore power. The power I needed to make up for the impulsive ass decision I'd made just by coming here while letting me enjoy myself along the way. I wasn't Bell, a kid so stupid he'd forgive people who outright tried to murder him without so much as an apology.

I was Elric and my morality has a lot less anime bullshit and rainbows stuffed into it.

These chucklefucks were most likely mass murderers, if allowed to escape they'd almost certainly continue to kidnap and kill, and those deaths would be -at least partially- on my head.

Capturing them and taking them topside was an option, but it came with far more risk and it'd ultimately come down to a 'he said, she said' in front of the Ganesha familia. They'd go free if this world had any sense of 'innocent until proven guilty'.

Killing them was therefore the only correct option. I knew this, I knew it when I put my sword through his heart, and it was that certainty that let me rip my gaze away from the now dead goon and focus instead on his friend.

The man was almost dismissive as he walked towards me, so sure of his judgement that I was… panicking? That he charged towards a foe that had tore through his friend in a matter of seconds.

That confidence didn't wane as I leaned out of the way of his swing, so reminiscent of Orc clubs that I barely even had to give it a thought. It didn't even wane as my parrying blade cut down towards him.

And -despite myself- I could feel why.

Even with my certainty that this was the correct action, a part of me still wanted to pull the strike, to not end this murderer's existence.

And in that moment that seemed to drag on forever, I couldn't help but feel disgusted by my own weakness.

"Just a kid after-" His overconfidence died a quick death alongside my hesitation as several inches of blade that could cut through stone tore through his shoulder and split his heart. "all…"

The arrogant goon went down in a shower of blood, and the last thing he likely saw was my cold stare.

Ah, I'm supposed to be acting right now aren't I? 

Let's see… a hero who just tragically had to kill some bad men would be… sad at having to sacrifice part of his innocence? Hm, maybe a thoughtful frown with an undercurrent of steel?

Standing over the corpse of a man I'd just butchered, I took a long moment just to get my expression back in order. My brother would have laughed at me for getting so flustered.

Shaking it off, I turned to reassess the field.

The leader hadn't reappeared, the catgirl named Maylene was still down, some kind of paralysis? And the final two brigands were pressing her friends hard, apparently not aware that the tides had turned.

Casting the blood from my blades I moved to help, but before I could something tickled against my awareness, like the tip of a dagger dancing across my spine. A second later I heard it, near silent footsteps blazing towards me.

Spinning I caught the leader's strike on the tip of my blade before immediately having to reassess. He was strong, stronger than I was and momentum was on his side. I angled things so his dagger ground down my blade making it easier to handle the force even as it forced me back. It wasn't enough however, and I ended up having to throw my parrying knife behind the block.

I was open.

His second knife split my cloak and scraped off the armour beneath, buying me enough time to plant my boot in his chest and separate us.

Skidding to a stop, I looked my opponent over with a calculating eye. He was unhurried, his breathing even, he was even stopping to do that weeb thing of pushing up his glasses with the palm of his hand.

He had knives that could stand up against even the enhanced edge of my sword, he had the edge in strength and probably speed. He definitely had more experience than me, though my Skyrim Skill likely made up for that gap in combat proficiency.

Glancing down at my sword I saw exactly what I expected, traces of a sickly yellow substance tracing down the edge. Poison almost certainly, likely what took down that girl Maylene.

"It's a poison of my own making if you're wondering, hero. A neat little concoction that only responds to my antidote I'm afraid." The man monologued with an almost cliche smile. "I'm afraid that little girl will be like that forever without my help."

I ignored his words and instead just focused on the man in front of me. This man could kill me, and more importantly… this man wanted to kill me, I could practically taste the intent rolling off of him.

With a slow, deliberate spin of my blades, I settled into a new stance, body tensing as everything came into focus.

Normally my mind was all over the place, errant thoughts and distractions dragging me all over the place. It's why I came to love the dungeon, to love the thrill of combat in the first place. When my life was on the line there was this sudden clarity, these heart pounding moments of celerity that let you just exist in those fleeting eternities.

But they were just that, fleeting, and like a junkie I often found myself chasing that high.

This man could kill me and because of that I couldn't help but grin as the world came alive around me, time slowing as my Dex stretched my perception to the max, letting me enjoy this feeling for just a little longer.

His face twisted in confusion as my act slipped but I couldn't bring myself to care; the only thing that mattered right now was this very moment.