"Boy, answer me one question."
The mercenary tossed a potion toward Bell.
There was a vast difference between their Statuses. This was his concession—and the only way to confirm who was right and who was wrong.
"Aren't you afraid?"
His voice twisted along with his scar, unnaturally distorted.
Bell drank the potion. He didn't know what kind of tragedy the man had endured, but he understood one thing—he had to respond to that conviction.
As fellow failures of the Dungeon, the man had neither reason nor desire to tamper with the potion.
"Of course I'm afraid. But that doesn't change anything."
Bell answered honestly.
Both knew they were moments away from clashing, yet they shared that fleeting, silent calm before the storm.
"Is that so?" The mercenary smiled bitterly.
"Fear is a talent. It keeps adventurers alive. Keeps them from dying for nothing."
He understood that truth better than anyone—that's why he'd retired.
The boy's light burned too brightly, stirring envy in his chest. If he had possessed even half that fire, he might never have sunk into the darkness.
Jealousy. Regret. Resignation. Sorrow... All those emotions tangled together, dwelling inside that battle-worn body, until they shaped him into something monstrous.
The calm before the storm vanished.
In an instant, battle erupted again.
...
Trembling.
That was Eina's first sensation.
The mercenary swung his longsword. The white-haired boy, battered and scarred, met him head-on.
Their figures overlapped in a blur of motion, their ferocity shaking the air itself. Each slash of the silver blade made Eina's heart jump.
She had never seen anything like it—her eyes brimmed with tears. She instinctively shut them, unwilling to witness the carnage. Yet fear couldn't make her look away.
Bell dodged another killing blow. Each time he moved, the silver light seemed to carve into his very being.
Before her eyes, this was no illusion, no ghost of fallen adventurers—this was real.
She wanted to cry out, to cheer for him, but she was afraid her voice would break his focus.
As she trembled, she realized again how cruel she had been—to tell him to give up on his dream of becoming a hero.
She would have to apologize. Otherwise, the guilt would never fade. She had to believe in him—because she was completely captivated by that figure before her eyes.
Hang in there...
Keep fighting...
The half-elf girl offered her silent prayer.
Beside her, the emerald eyes of the Nine Hells glimmered.
"The weakest adventurer, huh…"
Riveria murmured softly.
She had been ready to chant a spell, but the scene before her left her breathless. Who could have imagined that a rookie everyone dismissed as useless could fight like this—a flawless rhythm of attack and defense?
As a Level 6 adventurer, Riveria could see every detail. The mercenary's sweeping blows, strong enough to crush stone, kept missing. The killing strikes that should have ended the battle were deflected by precise, controlled movements.
The clash of metal rose and fell like a melody, echoing through the hall.
The exchange didn't stop.
Silver light thrust, swept, and cleaved, drawing shining arcs through the air. The sky-blue glow flickered faintly, like a firefly's flame—fragile, yet unextinguished.
By all logic, the mercenary should have dominated completely. He held the advantage in strength and speed both.
But this wasn't a one-sided slaughter.
Bell exploited the armor's weight and the injury on his opponent's leg, slipping again and again into blind spots. This wasn't newfound power—it was skill, honed through countless trials.
The Nine Hells had witnessed many great deeds in her long life, but this boy—he was the first to shake her heart.
It made her truly feel how vast the world was.
In Bell, Riveria saw possibility. Not the same kind of growth that both comforted and worried her in the Sword Princess, but something raw and unknown—something that drew her in.
If the other members of his Familia saw this... what would they think?
The werewolf would no doubt act tough, then storm straight into the Dungeon, fuming with frustration.
The dwarf, inspired by this momentum, would volunteer to clear obstacles for the youth.
Even the Sword Princess's expression, usually as calm as still water, would ripple with surprise.
And then there were the Amazoness sisters.
The younger one, untethered and yearning for a hero, might just fall for the youth outright.
As for the shrewd Pallum captain, he would lick his fingers, already calculating the boy's worth.
Of course, these were only speculations.
Riveria had no intention of sharing this secret.
It was her discovery—a treasure she called the Unknown.
"Bell Cranel."
Riveria committed the name to memory. The proud elf felt as though she had returned to the forests of her youth, her gaze utterly captivated by the deadly duel before her.
A bitter wind swept through the hall. The two combatants' surging fighting spirit pierced the heavens, unquenched even by the torrential rain.
The mercenary's roar echoed like a hound from the depths of hell, making Naaza flinch. Before she could comprehend what was happening, the Elf on her back froze in place.
Ryuu paid no mind to her own expression. For an instant, she considered abandoning Naaza and rushing to the boy's side. But the Chienthrope girl's trembling stopped her. Or perhaps it was her own. Ryuu couldn't tell.
Bell was fighting for both of them.
The sense of justice she had long buried had been reignited by the boy, pushing her to take action. And yet, she had hidden her true rank, placing him in danger.
Avoiding conflict and concealing her identity had always been second nature to Ryuu, a principle she had lived by without question. But in this moment, that conviction felt like a bitter sickness, taking quiet root in her heart.
If she had revealed her rank, the boy wouldn't have been swept into this raging, terrifying battle. He wouldn't be enduring such excruciating pain.
Guilt tugged at Ryuu's lips. She wanted to shout—to tell him she had already rescued the Chienthrope girl, to urge him to flee. She wanted to become a swift breeze, to fight beside him.
Yet Ryuu remained motionless.
A repulsive selfishness gnawed at her heart. She wanted to see how the battle would end. She wanted to see his righteousness take flight.
Ryuu's heart pounded with every one of his strikes.
Dodge, block, roll...
Amidst the mercenary's relentless onslaught, Bell still found openings to counterattack. Each desperate exchange was like the flutter of a butterfly's wings—fragile and fleeting, yet together powerful enough to stir a storm.
We can win.
That short promise echoed in the Elf girl's mind.
"Bell!"
Freya cradled the Divine Mirror as if embracing the sun.
Her brows arched in delight, her expression twisting with ecstasy. Her heart was drenched, her body aflame. Even her soft gray hair quivered faintly.
She wanted to claim him as her own. She wanted to offer both body and soul to him.
For the first time, the Goddess of Beauty—untouchable, unfathomable—revealed her divine will.
Freya acted not as a goddess, but as a young woman, reveling in this strange new emotion.
"Bell..."
"Bell Cranel."
"Cranel-san..."
"Bell!"
A silent cheer pierced the heavens, as if shaking the very sky.
Swords danced—and the battle reached its end.