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. 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 even 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 puppy eyes.
So for all her efforts to keep me safe and out of the dungeon? I was about to return threefold with the twenty-first century 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 sleep.
From my perspective, the following week passed pretty quickly, from Hestia's perspective? Well, I'm not her, 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 on the next few floors of the dungeon and fulfilling my obligations on the surface.
Obligations like dealing with the Loki familia's contract, my smithing work, occasionally 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 you win some you lose some.
All of which brings me to now, the eleventh floor, where I was currently play-fighting with an Orc.
Orcs are pretty dumb creatures. They're fast enough to surprise you with their swing speed, but that same speed doesn'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 appreciator myself, I obviously 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 media 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 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 these guys 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 socially acceptable thing I could do as I took a page from Hestia's book and dabbled in a little bit of what I'd begun to call creative heroics.
See, 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. And well, 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 a 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 rescuing people looks like without the power of endless optimism and friendship. So if I wanted to spread the good word of my heroics throughout the masses for power and profit, then I needed to do some -maybe- questionable things.
In this particular case I'd spotted a group of catgirls clearly struggling with the floor as I was heading down to the twelfth floor for my usual grind. It'd been like twenty minutes since then and if I had to guess I wouldn't have to wait much longer.
The group looked like they would either fall apart under the pressure the Orc was applying to their frontline fighter or they'd get Imped. Imps being these tricky little bastards that often played dead, waiting for rookie adventurers to step close to them before mauling their feet, a distraction that normally ended with an Orc club to the face.
And while this lot definitely fell into that rookie checkbox, 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.
Hence I gave it like fifty-fifty odds… or I would have, if fate didn't decide to mock me for daring to have an opinion by throwing a curveball.
Said curveball was definitely some divine irony shit too, what else could call spotting someone else stalking the same group I was, 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 that 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. And while they were still fun, 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.
Were they stronger than me?
My grin deepened just a little.
"MAYLENE!" The twinned screams of catgirls rang out as the object found its mark, striking the tank of the catgirls just as she was going to block. The distraction cost her and her shield was now 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. Either way that was my cue.
I was already moving before the club reached her, my sword casually dipping into my own Orc's neck in a blur of speed, its head popping off for an instant before with a flex of my inventory, it exploded into dust.
Without pause, I broke out into a dead sprint across the field.
As I cleared the halfway 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 the charge would change things.
Together they just barely managed to hold off the Orc's second strike as I cleared the distance and skidded into the fray.
"Get down!" The group froze instead at my shout, likely unable to process another hazard on the field after already being surprise attacked. But that's fine, just a small adjustment.
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 rapier 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 abruptly stilling as realisation set in.
What could only be described as 'surprised catgirl noises' broke out, and immediately strained the smile on my face. The Gods were not subtle when they made catgirls.
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 forces 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, always feels pretty damn good.
Blending my movements together I flicked the knife across the field and into the last monster, a Bad Bat; support-type monsters that would let off a disorientating cry to stun adventurers. Their flying, backline 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 a little as catgirl number two collapsed onto her ass with a stunned expression on her face, her friends looking equally surprised.
Textbook dynamic entry.
"Sorry to intrude, but it looked like you needed some help." I said, flashing them my most reassuring smile before letting it slip in something more grim as I turned towards the source of my true anticipation.
They fortunately didn't disappoint.
"Eh? Wait who are-!" One of the catgirl's words died into a squeak as a second throwing knife blurred out of the mist only to spark off my sword, landing between the girl's feet with a dull thud.
"Later, right now your lives are in danger." I spoke with a bit of suitably dramatic panache. I'll admit, I've always wanted to play the mysterious saviour and for that chance alone I love these brigands… whoever they are.
"So, a wannabe savior desires to offer himself up to the Altar of Knowledge." A slow, mocking voice reverberates out of the mist, his tone so perfectly villainous that I almost immediately fucking lost it. This might be the same world where the primary antagonists literally named themselves 'Evilus', but holy shit they really do just walk around like this. "Well, who am I to say no to this blessing?"
It took a phenomenal amount of willpower for me to not grin.
I should play into this shouldn't I? I should definitely play into this.
Thinking quickly, I forced myself to calm down and respond. "...From the moment I saw you skulking about, I knew you were up to no good, but attacking other adventurers?" I dropped a technical truth -the best kind of truth- and raised my sword towards the figures stepping out from the mist. "I'm going to need a damn good explanation."
Nailed it.
Also 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!"
Well, I wasn't sure about these metaphors, but the delivery sure was great. And, even better, he was giving me my own suitably dramatic role to play here.
"You think we're animals…?" One of the girls cut in even as they backed up warily, looking for all the world like they didn't have a clue what was going on. Which was fair given that even I was just kind of winging it here.
"If you think I'm just going to let you take them then you're out of your mind." I declared, really trying to sell that shounen protag special line; gotta respect the classics sometimes.
"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 focusing on my impending fight saw through the intent of this group pretty quick; the blunt weapons, the obvious choice of words. They were here to capture, not kill, which implied a larger organisation and perhaps even a conspiracy.
Which was something I could get giddy about investigating later, right now I faced off with my approaching foes and tried to tune out the panicked whisperings of the catgirls.
"Nothing personal…" 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."
"And you're outmatched."
That 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. Which, given the cheap ass clothing he was dressed in, I doubted.
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 he looked like, 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 a reverse card once he engages.
So 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 is 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. It was why I typically spent my time wandering the floors looking for an Infant Dragon.
I want to fight something strong, 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 potentially cut that short with a 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 seemed to be 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. But 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. It didn't fit with my understanding of the world, of emotions themselves. To me they just didn't work like that and they certainly didn't seem to for my entire family. I don't think I've ever seen one of us so much as cry.
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 Draugh, 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, 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.
Acting the hero was just what I did, 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 who I was and my morality was quite a bit more harsh.
These fucks were most likely mass murderers, if allowed to escape they'd almost certainly continue to kidnap and kill, and those deaths would -at least partially- be on my head.
Capturing them and taking them topside was an option but one that came with far more risk, risk that I wasn't about to subject the catgirls to.
Killing them was therefore the correct option. I knew this, I knew it when I put my sword through that guy's 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 dagger 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.
"Just a brat 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…"
He went down in a shower of blood, and the last thing he likely saw was my frigid gaze.
Standing over his corpse, I took a moment to fix my expression; my family would have mocked 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 sword before immediately having to reassess. He was strong, far 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 thing, 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. A neat little concoction that only responds to my antidote I'm afraid." The man monologued with a dastardly smile. "I'm afraid that little girl will be like that forever without my help."
I ignored his words, ignored the morose feeling of my first and second kills that was… clinging to me in spite of my best efforts, 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 his intentions as they rolled off of him.
So with a slow, deliberate flourish 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 as yourself for a while.
But they were fleeting by nature, 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 get excited 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 I missed my cue to respond, but I couldn't bring myself to care; the only thing that mattered right now was this very moment.
-
About a week of timeskip has passed since the last chapter as covered in Elric's internal dialogue. His stats will either appear in the next chapter, or the one after that depending on how things shape up.
Oh and I'll also be speeding up the pace of the story from here on out.
Like if you liked it and have a good one bois.
-
Glossary
Catpeople
One of the mortal races of Danmachi who have cat-like ears and tails. They boast higher proficiency in agility and dexterity than most other races, and can generally be seen opting for some kind of Dex-based build. Elric suspects that their very existence and particularly their verbal tics come from them being designed by weeb Gods, and thus has deemed them to be psyops.
Evilus
Though only mentioned in this chapter, they serve as the primary antagonists of Danmachi due to their efforts to destroy Orario and thus break the seal on the Dungeon. If they are successful the current age of peace would pretty much immediately end as the monsters of the dungeon would swarm to the surface and begin a campaign of genocide against the mortal races.
As one might guess from that introduction, they are absolute nutjobs who for a variety of dumb reasons want the world to end. In this they are supported by a group of Gods who either embody domains related to the end of the world or just think that kind of thing is fun.
Kill on sight.
Altar of Knowledge
Likely followers of one of the Gods of Knowledge or Wisdom, they seem to be after adventurer test subjects while using the mists of the eleventh floor both as a way to hide their approach and their actions after the fact.
After a lifetime of modern media as well as his own hyperviolence leanings, Elric struggles to take villains of this stripe seriously. To the logical part of his psyche, anyone who doesn't just immediately try to accomplish their goals immediately simply isn't trying hard enough.