33. Warmth after battle

The flickering candlelight barely illuminated the dim interior of the abandoned church. Hestia sat on the couch, her small hands clutching the fabric of her dress tightly. She had been waiting for hours.

She couldn't rest. Not knowing whether he was safe.

Orcbolg had gone off to battle Evilus alongside Loki Familia and other top adventurers. Though he was strong, he was still only Level 1. The thought of him facing such a dangerous fight made her chest tighten painfully.

He should have been back by now.

The city had begun to settle down after the battle, and yet—he hadn't returned.

Hestia clenched her teeth.

"Please... Please be okay."

She had tried to distract herself, to have faith in his strength, but the anxiety was suffocating.

And then—

Creak.

The sound of the church door opening echoed through the silent room.

Hestia's body reacted before her mind could process it. She bolted from the couch, dashing toward the entrance with all her might.

And then—she saw him.

Standing there, still clad in his battered armor, his helmet slightly dented, was Orcbolg.

His stance was steady, his body covered in dirt and dried blood, but he was alive.

Hestia didn't hesitate.

"Orcbolg—!!"

She launched herself at him.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his torso, her small body colliding against his chest with enough force to make him take a step back.

And then—tears.

"I'm so glad...! I'm so glad you're back...! I was so worried—" Her voice broke as she buried her face against his armor. The warm tears she had been holding back finally spilled down her cheeks. "I thought—I thought you wouldn't come back—!"

Orcbolg stood still for a moment. His hands hovered slightly, unsure of what to do.

He had seen people cry before. He had comforted survivors before. But this—this was different.

Hestia's grip on him only tightened, as if she feared he would disappear if she let go.

Finally, his arms moved.

He placed a gloved hand gently on her head, his other arm resting lightly on her back. It was an awkward, uncertain embrace—but it was enough.

"I'm back," he said simply.

Hestia trembled, her sobs quieting.

They stood there, unmoving, locked in silence.

Minutes passed.

Then, slowly, he was the first to move.

But Hestia refused to let go.

Realizing this, he sighed softly, allowing her to hold on a little longer.

After everything he had faced—after all the battles, all the dangers—this moment of warmth, of genuine relief...

It wasn't unpleasant.

The warmth of Hestia's embrace still lingered, but the exhaustion in Orcbolg's body was undeniable.

After she finally let go—reluctantly—she pulled him inside, insisting he sit down.

"You're covered in dirt and blood! You need to clean up!" Hestia fussed, hands on her hips. Her earlier tears were gone, replaced with a pout.

Orcbolg glanced down at himself. His armor was scuffed, and his gauntlets had dried monster blood caked onto them. He supposed he was a mess.

Hestia sighed, grabbing a small towel. "At least wipe your face while I heat up some water."

He took the towel without complaint.

As he cleaned himself, he could hear Hestia moving around in the background, heating water, gathering supplies.

It was… oddly peaceful.

After days of tension and battle, the quiet sounds of the small home—the crackling of a fire, the occasional footsteps—felt almost foreign.

When Hestia returned, she had a warm, damp cloth in hand. "Here, let me."

Before he could protest, she stepped closer and pressed the cloth against his cheek, wiping away the grime.

Orcbolg stiffened.

Her hands were warm, gentle.

"What?" Hestia tilted her head. "You always act tough, but you're bad at taking care of yourself, aren't you?"

"…I manage," he muttered.

Hestia huffed. "Yeah, yeah, 'I manage.'" She mimicked his voice playfully before continuing to clean his face.

Silence settled between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

After a while, she spoke again, her voice quieter.

"You know… I was really scared."

He looked at her.

She bit her lip. "I thought—I thought you wouldn't come back. That I'd lose you like so many others have lost their Familia members."

He didn't know how to respond to that.

Finally, he said, "I won't die that easily."

Hestia pouted, poking his forehead. "That's not the point!"

He blinked.

She sighed, lowering her hand. "I know you're strong. But even strong people can die, Orcbolg."

Her expression softened. "That's why… that's why I'm happy you came back."

Orcbolg was silent.

He wasn't sure how to handle this kind of concern. In his old world, people didn't worry about him. They feared for themselves.

But Hestia wasn't like that.

"…Sorry," he said at last.

Hestia blinked. "Huh?"

"For making you worry."

She stared at him, stunned, before breaking into a warm smile. "Well, at least you understand now."

Orcbolg nodded slightly.

Then, without warning, his stomach growled.

Hestia blinked, then giggled. "Okay, okay, I get it! You're starving!"

She turned toward the small kitchen. "Wait here. I'll make you something."

Orcbolg watched her go, a small, almost invisible smile tugging at his lips.

The scent of food filled the small church, carrying the comforting aroma of a home-cooked meal.

Hestia hummed softly as she moved around the tiny kitchen, stirring the pot with practiced ease. She occasionally glanced at Orcbolg, who sat at the table, silent as always, but noticeably more relaxed than before.

It was a rare sight.

Normally, he would already be preparing to return to the Dungeon, tending to his weapons or reinforcing his armor. But tonight was different.

Tonight, he sat still.

"Almost done," Hestia announced, turning with a bright smile. "You better eat everything, got it?"

Orcbolg simply nodded.

Soon, a steaming bowl was placed before him. It was a simple stew—meat, vegetables, thick broth—but it smelled delicious.

He picked up the spoon and took a bite.

The warmth spread through him, easing the lingering exhaustion in his body.

Hestia sat across from him, watching with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction.

"I knew it! You like my cooking!" she grinned.

Orcbolg paused briefly before continuing to eat.

Hestia giggled. "You're easier to read than you think, you know?"

He didn't answer, but something in his posture softened.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence. The battles, the injuries, the chaos of the past few days—all of it seemed distant now.

Then, after a while, Hestia spoke again.

"…So what's next?"

Orcbolg glanced up.

"I mean," she continued, twirling a strand of her hair, "you just helped take down a huge threat. Everyone must be talking about it."

He considered her words.

Evilus had suffered a major blow, but it wasn't over. Thanatos was still out there. And then there was that symbol—the one from his world.

There was more to uncover.

But…

Orcbolg set his spoon down.

"I'll rest," he said simply.

Hestia blinked. "Huh?"

He looked at her, expression steady. "For a bit."

For a moment, she just stared.

Then, slowly, her lips curled into a soft smile—one that was genuine.

"…That's good," she said, her voice lighter than before. "You deserve it."

She wasn't just happy about his words. She was happy because he had said them.

Because he was changing.

There was still work to do. Still mysteries to unravel.

But for now, he would rest.