The dungeon was relatively peaceful as Zamasu walked toward the exit that led back to the surface, the large, silvery disc he'd taken from the wall tucked under his arm, now stained with blood.
His hands and feet were covered in drying blood as well, but he moved at his usual steady pace. Each step produced a wet sound as his blood-soaked sandals pressed against the stone.
When he reached the entrance, cooler air brushed against him, carrying the damp, earthy smell of the underground but without the overwhelming stench of blood from the room behind him.
Just as he was about to step through, he stopped, not because of guilt or second thoughts, but for a practical reason.
He looked down at himself.
His hands, normally pale green, were covered with dried blood, crusted around his wrists and between his fingers.
His feet and sandals were stained dark red, the blood had nearly all dried.
Yet, despite all this, his white toga remained perfectly clean, making the blood on his body stand out even more.
The silver disc under his arm was also streaked with blood, its natural sheen barely visible through the mess.
On the way, he passed several adventurer groups heading down for evening dives.
A couple of young humans, probably new by their equipment, froze when they saw him.
Their eyes darted between his bloody hands and feet, the gore-streaked metal slab, and his clean, white toga.
One of them had stumbled back, bumping into the other.
Although none of them spoke, their expressions showed shock, confusion, and nervousness.
Zamasu walked past them without looking, ignoring their whispers.
Zamasu sighed softly, more irritated than anything else.
He had no way of cleaning himself.
No cloth, no water, and he wasn't about to use the filthy clothes of the dead kidnappers to wipe himself off.
The idea alone disgusted him.
He had business to handle—materials to sell, coin to acquire, and new clothing to design. The stench of blood was already becoming annoying.
Resigned, he continued walking.
At the entrance of the dungeon stood a dwarf and an elf.
The dwarf, stout and armored, frowned slightly as he noticed Zamasu.
"Rough trip, eh, lad?" the dwarf asked, glancing at Zamasu's bloody feet. "Or you just that fond of wading in monster guts?"
The elf beside him stayed quiet but watched carefully, her sharp eyes scanning Zamasu's appearance—the amount of blood, the pristine toga, and the calm expression on his face.
Zamasu said nothing and kept walking. The dwarf shrugged, turning to his companion.
"Monster blood," the dwarf muttered. "Seen worse after a Minotaur scuffle. Strange one, though."
The elf frowned but didn't stop him. Something about the amount of blood didn't seem right, but she let it go.
Bloodied people were a common sight in the Dungeon.
The amount of blood on Zamasu was noticeable, but no one questioned it.
Whispers followed him—some assumed he'd fought a powerful monster; others noted how strange it was that his clothes remained untouched. The ones who are familiar with his appearance shrugged.
A tall, silver-haired figure in a clean white toga, with blood-covered hands and feet, carrying a blood-stained metal slab, stood out even in Orario's chaos.
Children pointed before parents quickly pulled them back. Adventurers paused, watching him with curiosity or suspicion.
But no one dared to approach him directly.
"Looks like he went a few rounds with a Wyvern," one man muttered to a friend.
"Bet that metal's rare, covered in monster blood like that," the friend replied.
The assumption was simple: monster blood. The amount was concerning, but not impossible.
His calm attitude, despite the mess, was unusual, but adventurers came in all types.
Zamasu ignored the comments.
People instinctively stepped aside as he walked toward the Guild building, his bloodied feet leaving faint red prints on the clean stone. The crowd naturally gave him space.
When he reached inside the Guild, the atmosphere shifted again.
The noise of adventurers arguing, discussing quests, and exchanging cores filled the large hall. The scent of parchment, ink, and faint traces of magic were strong here.
Zamasu's arrival turned heads immediately. Conversations quieted as people noticed his appearance.
He walked to one of the counters where Eina Tulle, a half-elf receptionist, was working. Her glasses perched on her nose as she sorted papers.
She looked up—and froze for a second when she saw him.
Her eyes quickly moved from his blood-covered hands to the metal slab, then back to his emotionless face. She regained her composure quickly.
"W-Welcome back to the Guild," Eina greeted, her voice only slightly higher than usual. She cleared her throat. "Are you here to exchange spoils?"
Her eyes lingered on the blood, but she stayed professional.
Zamasu placed the metal disc on the counter with a dull thud. He then emptied his spoils from his toga and placed it beside the disc.
These were large monster cores, glowing faintly with energy.
"I'd like to exchange these," Zamasu said simply. "And I'd like for you to identify this metal for me please."
Eina fixed her glasses on her face before looking at the items, her eyes widening slightly at the size and quality of the cores.
"These are… impressive," she commented, swallowing a bit. "Um… i-if you don't mind, could I, uh, on which floor did you reach?"
"I guess… floor 18," Zamasu said.
"Floor…18?"
"Yes." He confirmed.
She nodded, pulling out a scale to weigh the cores. It took a few minutes to inspect them all.
When she finished, she tallied the total.
"Your total is two million four hundred thousand and seventy 8. After tax.," she announced.
"Would you like that deposited to a Guild account or in cash?"
"Physical currency," Zamasu replied.
Eina left briefly and returned with a heavy pouch, placing it on the counter.
"Here's your payment."
She then turned to the metal disc, inspecting it carefully without touching the blood.
She used a small tool to test its resonance—a clear, lingering sound echoed.
"This is… mithril," she said, looking back at him.
Zamasu's eyes narrowed slightly. Mithril. He had no idea what that was.
"Mithril is strong, light, and great for channeling magic," Eina explained. "Smiths prize it for armor, weapons, and magical equipment. A piece this size could sell for 15 to 25 million valis, more to the right buyer. The Guild offers 12 million if you want to sell it now."
"I'll keep it," Zamasu said.
"A good choice," she agreed, pushing a pamphlet about trusted smiths toward him.
"Haephestus Familia forges would be interested if you decide to craft something."
Zamasu secured his valis pouch and picked up the mithril disc, ready to leave.
"Wait," Eina called out.
He stopped, glancing back.
"You've exchanged cores twice but never fully registered as an adventurer," she explained, pulling out a form.
"It's required for safety, regulation, and access to Guild services."
She pushed the form and a quill toward him.
"Name, race, and Familia."
The voice in Zamasu's mind scoffed, but he ignored it. Registering was easier than dealing with complications.
He filled out the form:
Name: Zamasu
Race: Saioshin
Familia: none
He handed it back.
Eina reviewed the form to which she smiled wryly.
"Thank you. Your registration is complete. You'll receive an ID card next visit."
"Anything else?" Zamasu asked.
"Ah yes. Now that you're a registered adventurer, you will be taxed 30-50% on all dungeon loot in the future," she informed, still watching the blood on his hands.
Zamasu nodded before turning and walked away without another word, stepping back into the city.
His bloody footprints faded as he disappeared into the gathering night, now officially registered as Adventurer Zamasu.
End of chapter 22
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