"Rivira? The UnderResort?" Lucas blinked, then nodded slowly. "Yeah… that makes sense."
If there was anyone who knew what was going on in the Dungeon, it'd be the outlaws who squatted down on the eighteenth floor.
Rivira Town, built on the Dungeon's so-called Middle Floors, was famous among adventurers for one simple reason—it was a miracle that refused to die.
The eighteenth floor was one of the rare "safe zones" where no monsters spawned, earning it the affectionate nickname UnderResort.
The town itself had been overrun more than three hundred times over the years—and rebuilt just as many. Every collapse only made the place tougher, more stubbornly alive.
But Rivira wasn't famous just for that. Its residents were sharp traders who'd mastered the art of buy low, sell high.
The unique freedom of being deep underground—beyond the Guild's laws and the city's watchful eyes—had given rise to a thriving black market.
Everything banned topside could be found here: Unlocking Potions, Updating Elixirs, Firestones, and all kinds of dangerous little toys you'd get arrested for carrying above ground.
If you could survive in Rivira, you were either ruthless, terrifyingly strong, or both.
Its position in the middle floors also made it the key link between the upper and lower levels—a perfect breeding ground for information brokers and shady dealers.
Lucas ran through what he knew of the place, then nodded. "Yeah… if the rumor came from Rivira, it's probably legit."
Dormul let out a low groan, slamming his mug down. "Those Evilus bastards just can't stay dead, huh? Raising hell in the city wasn't enough—they had to start crawling into the Dungeon too. Damn lunatics."
The dwarf's tone was dark, his frustration genuine. Most adventurers made their living down there; if Evilus started stirring up trouble underground, everyone's livelihood would be at risk.
The Guild, the City Constabulary, and justice-aligned Familias like Astraea Familia wouldn't be able to turn a blind eye.
Once the Dungeon's entry and exit points got locked down, who knew how many people would lose their income?
And in Orario, cutting off someone's profits was as good as killing their parents.
No wonder every sane adventurer in the city despised Evilus.
Lucas took a slow sip of cold ale and speared a clove of roasted garlic from the plate. "They're just the frontliners," he said lazily. "There's always someone paying the bill behind them."
Dormul froze mid-gulp, then sighed. He didn't need Lucas to explain further.
Smuggling. The profits were obscene.
Orario held a monopoly on Magic Stones and all goods harvested from the Dungeon. Every shipment, every trade meant taxes—and in bulk, those numbers were astronomical.
And that was before you added in contraband—controlled goods, forbidden items, even slaves. The kind of trade that made kings jealous.
Enough money to make anyone gamble with their life.
With Evilus drawing all the attention, the wealthy benefactors behind them could operate in the shadows unbothered—and they were more than happy to keep funding the chaos.
As long as Evilus kept sowing disorder, the Familias that upheld the law would be too busy cleaning up their mess to notice the real corruption aboveground.
Even Lucas, just a mid-tier adventurer, could see how dirty the game was. The higher-ups and the major Familias knew it too—they just pretended otherwise.
Compared to greedy merchants and brain-dead nobles, Evilus was the more immediate threat. Once those maniacs were crushed, their backers would inevitably follow.
"Damn," Dormul muttered, refilling his mug. "We finally got a few months of peace, and now it's starting again. Barely been a week since the last mess."
He drank deep, grim and wordless.
Lucas didn't seem too bothered—he was just a small-time adventurer who rarely went below the seventh floor. Nobody was coming for him.
Still, he decided to play it safer for a while. Keep his head down, stay off anyone's radar.
Because in Orario, "better safe than sorry" was practically gospel.
"Evilus is moving again," he said. "The higher-ups won't sit still. Any word on who's handling it?"
Dormul nodded. "The Guild was quick this time. I heard Astraea Familia, Ganesha Familia, and Loki Familia already formed a joint investigation team. They left earlier this week."
Lucas clicked his tongue. "Those three? Good. That's about as reassuring as it gets."
Dormul grinned, his thick brown beard twitching as he chuckled. "That little hero from Astraea's lot really knows her stuff. Been chasing those lunatics for years now—killed more than a few of their big shots too."
He kept drinking as he spoke, his enthusiasm infectious. Lucas couldn't help but laugh.
"Cheers to that."
"Oh, and speaking of news—you really ought to get out more, kid. You hole yourself up in the Dungeon so much you're starting to miss the big stuff." Dormul leaned in with a smirk. "Heard the latest? Ais Wallenstein from Loki's Familia just hit Level 2."
Lucas blinked. "Wait—what?"
Then he inhaled sharply. "No way. It's only been… what, a little over a year since she became an adventurer?"
Dormul raised three stubby fingers. "Eleven and a half months."
Lucas froze. Then groaned, running a hand down his face. "Holy crap. That's insane."
And he meant it. He wasn't exaggerating or joking—he was genuinely awed.
It was like one of those internet arguments back in his past life—'If it were me, I could totally do it.' But when it came time to actually try, the gap between words and reality was a canyon.
Having gone through the grind himself, Lucas knew exactly how brutal it was to level up. Thirteen months to hit Level 2? That was god-tier.
Not something you could hand-wave away with "she's got mentors" or "big Familia backing."
Compared to that, his own progress felt downright pathetic.
"The goddess must've dropped her shoes or something," he muttered bitterly. "The difference between people is worse than between humans and dogs."
Dormul barked a laugh. "Ain't that the truth."
He raised his mug high. "To the growing strength of the just! Cheers!"
Lucas grinned and clinked his cup. "Cheers!"
—
The crescent moon hung high as night draped Orario in velvet darkness.
"Thanks for coming! Come again soon!" Syr called sweetly from the doorway, her smile perfect as always.
Lucas couldn't help but chuckle. Women really are born performers.
"Goodnight, gorgeous. No need to see me off," he said, waving as he stepped out into the cool night air.
The chill wind hit his face, cutting through the buzz of alcohol.
Dormul, as usual, paid the bill—with Luvis's tab, of course—then slung the passed-out elf over his shoulder like a sack of grain. "Get home safe, Lucas. I'll drop this idiot off."
"Got it. You two take care."
Dormul waved as he disappeared down the street, his bulky figure fading into the shadows.
Lucas stretched, took a deep breath of the crisp air, and murmured, "Home, then."
—
The next morning.
Dawn had barely touched the sky when Lucas's eyes snapped open.
4:30 a.m.
He rolled out of bed, still in his sleepwear, and stepped into his little courtyard. The morning air was cool and clean.
Stretching, he reached for his watering can and began tending to the potted plants lined along the window and the walls.
"Feels like I was born to take care of these little guys," he said with a quiet smile, brushing a finger across a leaf. "Grow well, alright? Don't make your master look bad."
When the plants were satisfied, he went back inside to make breakfast and prep his Dungeon lunch.
Breakfast: three slices of thick-cut bacon, two fried eggs, one slice of toast, a couple of pickled veggies from Demeter's Produce, and a glass of milk.
Lunch was simpler—leftover rice shaped into onigiri, wrapped in seaweed, and neatly packed away.
A new day in Orario was about to begin.