Welf was stronger than me. It was a fact that had become increasingly clear the deeper we descended into the Dungeon.
There was a stark difference in complexity between fighting the enhanced monsters of the 9th floor with metal and technique instead of fists and Blessing. The absolute minimum rank an adventurer's stats were supposed to reach before venturing down this far was still E—just as it had been on the 8th Floor—but the context of that requirement had changed. A steep jump in danger divided the two Floors into one where solo adventuring was feasible as a level 1 with middling stats—and one where it was not.
The monsters were the same creatures I had been facing for weeks now. Only stronger. Craftier. And far more numerous.
My armour, and the healing effects of Morsalis, had inadvertently distorted my perception of the threat the Dungeon posed, to the point where delusions of my survival being guaranteed had begun to creep in. After a pair of Killer Ants nearly bit off my hands, I had been forced to accept otherwise.
The fact that Welf had been exploring this Floor alone for so long was telling. As was the fact that none of the monsters that attempted to impede our descent had been able to endure more than one of his strikes.
"Cain."
My eyes slid open, locking onto the man sitting across me on the grassy plain. Phosphorescence from the tall ceiling illuminated the chamber, reflecting off the heavy Greatsword Welf had placed within arm's reach.
"What is it?" I asked, casting a quick glance at the moss-covered walls surrounding us. Deep cracks still marred their surface. Fewer than there had been when I last checked, but more than enough to keep the Dungeon occupied for a while longer.
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"Do you really still need to ask that?" An amused smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "It doesn't really get much more personal than sharing your greatest dreams and ambitions, does it?"
"What rank is your highest stat?"
Understanding dawned on me as the reason behind the hesitation in his usually boisterous voice became clear. The connotations were different, but many adventurers would sooner strip naked in front of the Babel Tower than show their status to anyone outside their Familia.
"I expect most of them to be D-ranked after today."
"I see."
A strange sense of incongruity spread within me as Welf speared another piece of meat from his lunchbox and lifted it to his mouth. His expression was contemplative. I had expected a stronger reaction.
"How long do you think it'll take you to advance one of them into B rank?"
"I'm flattered you think so highly of me."
His easy acceptance of my growth rate—which completely shattered centuries of established common sense—was odd, to say the least.
"But that's impossible to put a number on. Some days I improve faster. Others, slower."
It usually coincided with how much valis I earned.
A flicker of disappointment crossed Welf's face. He concealed behind his flask and took a long drink.
"However, with the way things are going, I should progress to the point where the 10th floor becomes manageable within a few days."
According to Rose, the immediate section beyond this point was an different world entirely. The Mist Labyrinth. The realm where level 2 adventurers were made.
Starting from the 11th floor, the minimum stat requirement jumped to B rank. It was a place not even those at the peak of level 1 could traverse easily. It was also the place both Mikoto and Welf had set their overly ambitious sights upon.
Welf lowered the flask and returned to his meal.
"I've been stuck on this floor for months now." An easy smile played on his lips. "Take your time. I can handle waiting a few more days."
The casualness of his words was almost enough to make me believe them, but I had grown up among far better liars. I could see the impatience inside him.
Mortal lifespans were finite, and the goddess he wished to surpass already possessed a head start measured in millennia. The transformative effect the blacksmith's development ability would have on his craft was his best chance at bridging that gap. Every day spent without it must feel like wasted time.
"Are you sure you don't want some?" Welf asked, lifting the lunchbox from his lap.
Plain brown rice, with a side of dried meat from some unidentifiable source. As was to be expected from Dungeon rations, it looked far from appetizing.
"I'm sure."
I rarely ate for anything other than pleasure these days.
Welf hummed thoughtfully as he withdrew the offer.
"That skill of yours really is quite something."
"As is yours."
The only reason he wasn't armed to the teeth with swords capable of drowning this entire section of the Dungeon in a sea of flames was personal preference.
"I'd trade it away in a heartbeat if it meant I could sustain myself purely on alcohol and slapping monsters around," Welf chuckled. A curious glint ignited in his pale blue eyes.
"Now that I think about it, your skill reminds me a lot of one that used to be pretty famous back in the day." His tone gained a solemn edge. "Deus Ambrosia. The trademark skill of the late level 7 adventurer: Gluttony."
It had been over fifteen years since the Zeus Familia was decimated and driven out of Orario. And yet, the admiration ringing through Welf's voice as he spoke the adventurer's alias was unmistakable.
"You don't have to eat the monsters you kill, but they still give you stat boosts."
"My advisor said the same—" My lips parted as surprise struck me silent.
"Don't look at me like that," Welf chuckled. "Trust me, I understand wanting to keep a skill hidden… but you really weren't trying very hard to be secretive about it."
He was right. I wasn't. Rose was convinced all of Orario would descend upon my Familia like so many packs of ravenous hounds the moment my skill became public knowledge, but my allies did not deserve to be painted with that same suspicious brush.
"No wonder you're so confident about surpassing every hero whose ever lived." Welf cupped his chin between his fingers. "If I remember correctly, Gluttony reached level 7 in his thirties. Your skill might actually be more ridiculous than his."
"Don't you think that's a bit much? I'm not even level 2 yet." And there was no telling how my Blessing would change after I ranked up.
"You've been an adventurer for two weeks, and the only thing you need to level up after today is some high-quality Excelia," Welf retorted. "At this rate, going from the peak of level 1 to level 2 shouldn't take you more than a few—" An amused smile lingered on his lips as he considered me with an upturned brow. "One month?"
"Perhaps."
Welf's gaze hid neither envy nor greed. Instead, it shone with simple, genuine support and appreciation. A strange warmth settled in my chest. It was a feeling I had rarely encountered outside the church basement and my advisor's office.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask you too," I began. "Have you heard any… bad rumors about the outskirts lately?"
Welf blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic.
"The ruins of Old Orario?" A spoonful of rice disappeared into his mouth. He hummed thoughtfully. "Can't say I have."
I did not let my disappointment show. It was to be expected. Today was the first time I had heard about them too.
"Why?" Welf asked. "What did you hear?"
The agitated whispers of the many different groups I had passed on the way from the Guild Hall to the Babel Tower rang through my mind. Eavesdropping was not one of my usual habits, but they had been difficult to ignore with how loudly they had been conversing.
"That there's something shady going on out there. People in the streets were talking about hearing sounds of fighting and screaming."
"The church your familia is based in is located in that district, isn't it?"
My fingers tightened around my knees.
"It is."
"Is that why you've been so quiet all day?"
So he noticed. I had indeed spent the majority of the past few hours in my own head
"Yes."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Welf said. "If you heard about it out in the open, this is unlikely to be adventurer business. It's probably just some civilians getting up to mischief."
My brows drew narrowed. "How can you be sure of that?"
"There are plenty of adventurers who have it out for each other, but none of them would be foolish enough to let things escalate to the point people started talking about it in the streets." Welf set his cutlery aside and reached for his Greatsword. "That's an easy way to start a Familia War—or get fined into oblivion by the Guild."
"That isn't—"
I noticed it only moments after Welf did. The faint sounds of rock cracking and the dark shadows stirring at the edges of my vision.
"So much for taking a break," he grumbled, a forlorn expression tugging at his features as he glanced down at his meal. He would not get another chance to finish it for at least an hour. Not until we defeated this next tide of monsters and cleared the room all over again.
"It's fine."
I pushed myself to my feet and curled my fingers around the pommel of my sword.
"Finish your food. I'll take care of the first wave."
Welf's voice lifted with gratitude as he offered me a quick nod and stuffed another spoonful of rice into his mouth. "I'll be with you in a minute."
"I can handle more than a minute."
My blade gleamed beneath the bright light cast by the ceiling as I pulled it from its sheath and turned to face the emerging monsters.
"Sit back and enjoy the show."
The enemy were Kobolds. There were only three of them. For now. Soon, more monsters would come. They would not stop spawning until every wall was scarred with holes, forcing the Dungeon to return to its passive state.
The Kobolds snarled as they advanced, their clawed feet tearing into the grass-covered floor beneath them.
They bore a strong resemblance to their lesser cousins on the upper floors, but none would ever mistake them for the same kind of creature. They were taller—taller than me. Their bodies rippled with bulging muscles, while their vulpine faces were snarling with malice that belied their true cunning.
They halted their approach once they had crossed half the distance separating us. The two monsters on the corners pushed the more aggressive-looking beast between them forward and stepped back. It barrelled toward me with a bloodcurdling howl.
A familiar calm smothered my thoughts as I met the monster's charge with a far more measured gait.
Thick strands of saliva dripped from between the Kobold's teeth as it snapped its jaw where my head had been a heartbeat earlier. Moving quickly, I bent around the attack and slapped my palm against its furred shoulder.
The faint hunger that had stirred within me while Welf ate, along with the slight stiffness in my limbs, melted away like ice before a roaring flame.
The remaining two Kobolds growled in barely restrained rage, clearly dissatisfied with how quickly I had dealt with their sibling. Perhaps they wanted to see me fight first to get a better idea of my strength before facing me themselves.
Perhaps I was giving them too much credit.
The Kobolds howled like frenzied wolves as they rushed at me. A charge I met head-on. My vision narrowed, my focus sharpened until the monstrous duo was the only thing that existed in the world.
The proven path to defeating multiple opponents was to move faster than they could keep up with and face them one at a time. Unfortunately, not only were they stronger than me, they were also faster. I would need to catch them off guard.
Moments before our bodies collided—and they inevitably ran me over—I leapt upward, ten feet into the air. My body twisted sharply mid-flight before I braced my legs and landed closely behind them.
The Kobolds had abruptly halted their charge. The fastest of the two was already turning around—but the initiative belonged to me now. I took a wide step forward and crashed my foot into the back of the slower beast. It stumbled, but there was no time to exploit the opening. The other monster had finished its pivot and was closing in to bite my face off.
Moving on instinct alone, I snapped my left vambrace upward, jamming it between its drooling teeth. Our gazes met for a fraction of a second as it bit down heavily on my armored arm. The Kobolds' eyes were hateful—burning with cruel and alien intelligence.
There had once been a short period of time when I had feared the implications of my Blessing. I was afraid that the source of my growing power was the souls of the people I killed. The Dungeon had assured me otherwise. Monsters like this did not have souls.
I tightened my grip on my blade, pouring my full strength into driving it into its bare, human-like chest.
My strike met unexpected resistance. I had pierced its magic stone. Not giving myself time to mourn the loss of the crystalline treasure, I tore my arm free from its slackening jaw and wrapped both hands around the hilt.
The Kobold gave one final scream as I gritted my teeth and tore my sword through its body until the blade burst from the other side. It emerged in a gruesome shower of gore and bodily fluids.
I did not spare the dying beast a second glance. The last monster had regained its balance. Moving with my momentum, I spun into a sharp pirouette and drove my blade upward into the kobold's snout.
Blood gushed from the wound like a crimson fountain. It was not enough. My sword traced a shallow half-moon as I brought it down—and then up again—to slash across the dense muscles protecting its stomach like fleshy armor.
The monster desperately swiped at me with its clawed hands. They did not even come close to connecting. My first strike must have blinded it. I dodged them all and cut cleanly through its jugular.
A morbid sense of curiosity rose from within me as the Kobold collapsed to the floor, drowning in its own blood.
Once it had died, I stepped forward and carefully retrieved the magic stone it left behind. If using Morsalis destroyed them, they had to be what truly fueled my Blessing.
"I see you're making good use of your armor's durability."
The world around me expanded. Sounds and colours surged back into place with my waning focus. There would be a brief moment of respite before the Dungeon birthed its next batch of monsters.
"What's the point in having it if you don't use it?" I shot back, glancing down at the sleek vambrace encircling my arm. It was coated in a thick layer of saliva, making it glisten beneath the bright light, but not a single scratch marred its dark surface.
Even in the depths of the 9th floor—where only high-ranking level 1s dared venture—not one monster had managed to damage my armor.
"Well said," Welf chuckled as he slung his bag across his shoulders. "Anyway, I've been meaning to ask this."
His expression sharpened with intrigue.
"Who taught you to fight?"
"Nobody. I'm self-taught."
"Yeah, I thought so."
My brows arched as I stored the magic stone in the pouch hanging from my hip.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You don't fight like any swordsman I've ever seen."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not necessarily," Welf mused. "It's clearly working out for you, but you might want to look into finding a teacher anyway. Fighting monsters is different from fighting people—especially if they also happen to wield a sword."
He wasn't wrong.
The only adventures I had ever fought were the unfortunate party that pass-paraded me—and that barely qualified as a fight. I had caught them by surprise with my skill, and their minds had been far from clear. If it had been just my blade against theirs, it was entirely possible that they would have beaten me.
Mikoto was another example. There was an unmistakable artistry to her movements that mine simply lacked. Even if our stats were equal, it was clear who would emerge victorious.
"Do you have one?" I asked. "A teacher, I mean."
"I did, for a while." Welf shrugged, tightening his grip on the greatsword. "But that was a long time. These days, I'd rather allocate my time to practicing how to make swords than learning how to use them better."
"… I'll think about it."
The walls around us cracked in unison, each giving birth to a trio of overgrown killer ants.
The world became stark and empty once more as I rolled my shoulders, turning my back on Welf's side of the room.
"But for now, I think I'll stick to what I already know."
——————
Goblins were the weakest monsters in the Dungeon.
In adherence to that fact, it did not surprise me that their enhanced relatives posed the lowest threat out of all the monsters on the 9th floor.
A relieved sigh slipped from my lips as the Goblin I held suspended by its throat disintegrated into black mist. It was the first time I had allowed myself to use my blessing since killing the first Kobold.
That was hours ago.
Although Welf's 'welfare' discount had reduced the price of both the armor and the cape to a fraction of their true worth, it was still going wipe my savings clean. For the first time in weeks, I needed magic stones more desperately than Excelia.
The sounds of battle behind me continued as I stepped toward the moss-covered wall and strained to pull my sword free.
Only then did the goblin I had skewered finally come undone. The monster had been in the process of being born, half of its green body still embedded within the wall.
Throwing my sword in the heat of battle was the reason why I had been forced to kill the remaining two goblins in a more hands-on manner than I would have preferred.
A quiet breath escaped me as I retrieved the monster's magic stone and cast a quick glance toward Welf's ongoing battle.
The last wave of monsters was always the largest. To reduce the chance of me being overwhelmed, the blacksmith had deliberately attracted as much of their attention as he could. It was a gesture I did not feel was necessary but appreciated nevertheless.
Welf's expression was carved from steel as he cut through the goblin horde with contemptuous ease, painting the grass beneath them red as limbs and heads flew with every swing of his sword.
The 10th floor had to be something else if someone like him was wary of entering it.
"Damn it all," Welf grumbled as he finished off the last monster. "I really don't like goblins."
"How come?" I asked, pushing my sword back into its sheath.
It was now time for the least exciting part of being an adventurer. Scouring the dirt for magic stones.
Welf's tone brightened with good humor as he mirrored my actions.
"It's a bit embarrassing, but the first time I reached the 8th floor, I almost died to one of them."
He snorted, as though unable to believe it himself.
"There I was, enjoying my lunch when suddenly the wall I was leaning against tore open and two ugly hands clawed at my back."
"I'm starting to think we've all been there," I chuckled. "On my first day in the Dungeon, one of those bastards tried to rip my throat out with its teeth. It just dropped on me from the ceiling. I didn't even know was an option at that point!"
It was the closest I had come close to dying in this world. All the Goblin needed to do was step away after the initial strike. With nothing to kill with reach, not even my Blessing would have been able to save me.
"Fuck Goblins," Welf scoffed.
"Fuck Goblind," I agreed. "Though I have to admit, I'd rather face a dozen of them than suffer a single Purple Moth."
The pain of the skin melting from my face had been almost comparable to burning alive.
"You're not the only one," Welf said with a shudder. "Trust me. There's a reason why Abnormal Resistance is one of the most popular development abilities."
"That's something I prefer not to think about."
I straightened and swept my gaze across the grassy plain in search for any magic stones I might have missed. There were none.
"Once we level up, level 1 monsters like Purple Moths won't be able to harm us anymore," I added.
Welf offered me a quick thanks as I stepped toward his side of the room, gathering his share of magic stones into a small pile.
"So the only reason why people would still choose Abnormal Resistance is if poisonous monsters are even more common on the middle floors."
"I've never been there, so I don't know about that second half," Welf said, "but the first bit isn't necessarily true. There are many poisons that don't care about levels." Sensing the question on my mind, he turned toward me. "Have you ever seen a Blue Papilio?"
"The healing butterfly?"
"Yes."
"Not in person."
Welf nodded, as though he had expected the answer. "Blue Papilio are extremely weak—to the point the Dungeon barely spawns. They're too easy to kill. And yet, the powder they release is a well-known potion ingredient that works on everyone, no matter their level."
I hummed in response. Buying and consuming potions was one of the many inconvenient necessities of an adventurer's life my Blessing had allowed me to bypass.
"Are healing abilities really that rare?" I asked. "How come everyone is so dependent on potions?"
Welf snorted as he secured his bag across his shoulders.
"People with actual healing magic—or skills—are far rarer than even mages. I wouldn't be surprised if Dea Saint earned more than most First Class adventurers, despite only being level 2." An amused light danced in his eyes. "Familia from all over the world would be tripping over themselves trying to recruit you if your skill worked on other people too."
"I guess there's a silver lining to everything," I mused, watching with interest as Welf emptied one of his blue Mind Potions.
They supposedly took the edge off remaining in a constant state of intense focus for hours at a time. In the Dungeon, death lurked around every corner, and hid within every shadow. I did not blame him for wanting to keep his mind sharp.
Our conversation flowed easily as we exited the third room we had cleared since lunch and passed into one of the adjacent tunnels. Rose had shown me drawings of some of the lower floors, so the fact that they increasingly resembled worlds upon themselves was not something I had been unaware of.
But seeing truly was believing. The 9th Floor was far from the size of a country, like some of the deeper floors, but it was still noticeably larger than the ones that had come before. The ceilings were higher. The rooms more spacious. The corridors connecting them shorter. The grass-covered ground made it difficult to believe that we were still in the dungeon.
It never took long for something to remind me of that fact.
"Is this your first time seeing a corpse?" Welf asked as we rounded a corner into a dead end.
"No."
Five human bodies lay arrayed neatly on the ground before us. Some were less damaged than the others, but all of them had been stripped of nude.
"Why are they naked?"
"The people who killed them stole their equipment," Welf replied.
"But why the clothes?"
The sight of nudity, in the Dungeon of all places, somehow made the scene feel even more wrong.
It was like seeing someone walk through a blizzard in nothing but their underwear.
"It's like I told you," Welf sighed. "Adventurers know better than to settle their differences in Orario, Instead, they do it down here."
His voice took on a somber edge.
"Most of the time, the Dungeon gets rid of the evidence before they're discovered."
"We can't bury them here," I muttered. "We'll have to bring them up to the surface."
Dead bodies were notoriously difficult to carry, and the route out of the Dungeon was always more contended than the descent. We were in for a long journey. Hestia was going to be sick with worry by the time I returned home.
"We can't," Welf said.
"What?"
"We don't know what Familia they belonged to, nor what kind of trouble they were involved in, nor how their people will react to this."
"Are you suggesting we leave them here?" I asked incredulously. "Gods can't be lied to—they'll know we had nothing to do with this."
"Maybe they'll thank us for bringing proof that their Familia members were murdered." Welf released a slow breath. "Or maybe they'll jump at the chance to drag a blacksmith from the Hephaestus Familia and a miraculous young rookie—who somehow made it all the way to the 9th floor during his second week as an adventurer—into their mess."
His blue eyes burned with a knowing kind of sadness. He spoke as though he had seen a situation like the one he was describing play out before.
"Is that a risk you're willing to take?"
I promised Rose that I would stay out of trouble until I reached level 2 at the very least. Even if it were only a distant possibility, getting dragged into a Familia war was not something I could afford.
Not as I was now.
An unpleasant sensation coiled in my chest as I turned my back on the dead end.
"Let's go."
Perhaps if I was stronger, my choice would have been different.
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AN: If you enjoy my writing and want to support it—there is more on Pa/tre/one/Jaeven.