The goddess hadn't foreseen this outcome.
"Bell…"
She gazed at the white-haired youth through the Divine Mirror, whispering softly.
Mortals of the Lower World were far too fragile—one misstep, and they lost their lives.
Without the restraint of divine interference, the boy stood no chance against the mercenary.
It was the first time Freya had ever seen a soul so pure, so white. She didn't want him to die here.
"Bell."
Run.
Leave everything to that Elf girl.
Freya was startled by the weight of her own concern.
That ache in her heart swelled, rising uncontrollably—until it burst, transforming into an overwhelming, possessive desire.
"Bell… Bell…"
Freya's expression turned feverish, her divine beauty tainted by a fragile, obsessive madness.
The boy wouldn't retreat.
He didn't even know the Elf girl's Level.
All he knew was that he had to protect the Chienthrope girl.
Unshaken resolve, unhesitating advance—this was the source of his radiance.
Freya understood it deeply. The boy had accepted this battle to the death.
"Bell!"
Amid Freya's half-crazed divine will, the boy stepped forward.
He had only one chance.
During the brief moment when the mercenary had broken through the godly interference but hadn't yet regained full control, Bell would decide everything.
As he rushed in, he hurled the silver dagger.
During their previous clash, he had already noticed—that weapon, taken from the enemy, was useless against the mercenary's armor.
Rather than let it hinder him, he would use it as a distraction—to open a path to victory.
A silver streak flew like an arrow.
Bell followed close behind.
His target was still the gap in the silver armor—the same weak point that had once shattered weapons and seemed impenetrable.
He believed Chloe's short blade would pierce that iron wall.
Clang.
The mercenary didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his left arm and blocked the dagger perfectly.
A scratch marked the armor's surface.
But in doing so, his arm obscured his vision.
That was exactly what Bell had waited for.
Gripping his sky-blue dagger, he lunged to strike at the gap—just as planned.
A longsword slashed out.
—!
He had to dodge!
Bell abandoned his attack, twisting his body to the side with all his strength.
The silver blade howled through the air, slicing past his ear.
Even that near miss carried enough force to freeze the warmth in his blood.
He'd been read.
Even blinded, the mercenary had anticipated and delivered a killing strike.
He had planned it all along.
That guarded parry—blocking his own sight—was bait, a trap to lure Bell into attacking.
Sweat rolled down Bell's forehead, cold as ice, matching his grim focus.
The silver blade swept horizontally.
He didn't have time to retreat—he could only lean back, barely avoiding it.
The sharp wind pressure cut across his face.
In that flawless motion, the mercenary had shaken off the last remnants of the anomaly.
Bell's chance of victory was gone.
He didn't know exactly what had changed, but one thing was clear—the mercenary had regained his full strength.
A reckless attack now would only mean death.
Bell wasn't a fool.
He quickly retreated, positioning himself behind a gambling table piled with potions.
His role was the [Bait]. With victory slipping away, buying time was wiser than charging forward blindly.
The next instant—the distance vanished.
Potions spilled, shards of glass scattered, the heavy wooden table stood in between...
The mercenary ignored it all, charging like an unstoppable bull, destroying everything in his path.
Potions splashed and shimmered, glass crunched underfoot, the table split cleanly in two.
Bell had hoped to use the table as cover, drawing the mercenary into a prolonged chase by exploiting his injured leg.
But that naïve idea had become his own grave.
This charge—was nothing like before.
This charge was fiercer, faster.
Bell dodged to the side, but the mercenary was right behind him.
Even though he could see the movement clearly, he couldn't evade the crushing blow.
Knowing it was useless, Bell still raised his arm to block.
It felt like being struck by a hammer weighing a thousand pounds.
The force slammed through his entire body. After a split second of numbness, agony exploded in his arm.
His mind went blank.
When he came to, the rushing air was dragging him backward.
The roar of the wind pierced his ears, mixed with the sound of shattering wood as tables splintered one after another.
Pain radiated from his back, sharp and relentless.
He had been sent flying.
Crashing through several tables, Bell came to rest amid a heap of broken wood.
Pain screamed from his arm and spine, as if the two were competing to see which could hurt more.
He couldn't tell which won.
All he knew was that standing felt impossible.
His arm twitched uncontrollably, his whole body trembling in pain—even lifting his head felt like too much.
He gasped for breath, tasting iron and blood in his mouth.
A faint breeze passed through the wrecked hall.
For no clear reason, Ryuu's image came to mind.
Enough.
As the weak [Bait], he had stalled long enough.
Now it was up to the Elf girl.
As long as they escaped, this pain would have meaning.
Time to rest.
...
Rest?
If he fell here, where would the mercenary's next strike land?
An image flashed through his mind—
The kind, righteous Elf girl lying in a pool of blood.
Those who offered help shouldn't have to pay that price.
No matter how tragic things became, Bell refused to let that happen.
Stand up.
His body didn't respond.
Get up.
His limbs moved only an inch before the pain made him cry out.
Bell roared inwardly.
If you dream of being a hero, then don't fall here.
If you want to protect their smiles, then bear everything for them.
Bell Cranel was a man who would become a hero.
If he couldn't rise now—then when?
Stand up!
Heat surged through his body as his burning soul ignited every fiber of his being.
Slowly, he stood.
The mercenary waited quietly a short distance away, as though expecting it.
The wind rose again.
From the back of the hall came the merchant's screams.
The mercenary paid them no mind.
His attention was fixed solely on the boy who stood opposite him—the one walking a path he never could.
...
Ryuu had successfully rescued Naaza.
Amid the chaos Bell created, the merchant and one subordinate had moved Naaza into the escape tunnel.
Once they recovered the formula, rebuilding would have been inevitable.
But that plan crumbled under the Elf girl's unwavering sense of justice.
The escape route had cost them precious time.
Suppressing her unease, Ryuu lifted the weakened Naaza onto her back and rushed toward Bell's location.
Outside, the rain still hadn't stopped.
Guided by the scarred man's confession, Riveria led Eina toward the ruined casino.
On the way, they encountered Miach, who had been out gathering materials.
When he learned Naaza had been kidnapped, the god joined the rescue without hesitation.
If things went too far, he was ready to use divine power to save his Familia.
By the time they arrived, the casino was already a wreck.
The Divine Mirror watched in silence.
Freya's expression grew distant.
That pure white soul was too radiant, too beautiful.
Like a gentle beam of sunlight, it poured into her divine heart—a heart that had been dry since the moment of her birth.
"Bell..."
She reached out to touch the Divine Mirror, as though she could feel the warmth of his determined face through the glass.
Elf, God, Human, Chienthrope...
No one knew how this story would end.
But all eyes were on the boy.
...
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