The silence that hung in the alley seemed thick and sticky, like molasses. Zenos, who a second ago had radiated fake friendliness, now resembled a cornered rat. His darting eyes flitted between Raine's calm face and the grip on his own arm, which felt as if it had been cast from steel, not flesh.
"The... Soma Familia," he finally squeezed out, his voice trembling traitorously.
Raine's expression didn't change. Not a single muscle twitched on his calm, almost bored mask, but inside, a lock instantly clicked into place. The information received from Eina surfaced in his memory as clear, warning text: "The God of Wine... addiction... fanatics ready to sell their own mother for a sip of divine wine."
The puzzle pieces fell into place. Before them was not a good Samaritan looking for talent, but a common dealer recruiting fresh meat to replenish his god's coffers.
"In that case, we must decline," Raine nodded politely but dryly. "We are looking for a different path. Let's go, Bell."
He finally released his fingers. Zenos immediately yanked his hand back, rubbing his whitened wrist. A mixture of offense and panic appeared on his face. He clearly hadn't expected a refusal. Usually, newcomers, hearing about the opportunity to join a Familia immediately upon arrival, jumped for joy.
"W-wait!" The desperation in Zenos's voice overpowered his fear. He needed money. He needed wine. He couldn't let two such promising rookies slip away. "You're making a mistake! You don't understand what you're turning down! Our god..."
He took a step forward, reaching out to grab Bell by the shoulder, to stop him, to make him listen.
"I said..."
Raine and Bell stopped simultaneously. And just as synchronously, they turned around.
For Zenos, the world suddenly narrowed to two pairs of eyes.
The sun had almost disappeared behind the rooftops, and in the deepening twilight of the alley, their eyes flashed with a frightening, unnatural light. In Raine's amber eyes swirled a cold, bottomless abyss of centuries of killing experience, calm and ruthless. And in Bell's ruby pupils, usually so soft, a fierce, bestial fire now burned, awakened by the threat.
This wasn't the gaze of two village boys. It was the gaze of predators disturbed by an annoying gnat.
Zenos froze as if he had hit an invisible wall. His hand hung in the air. A cold sweat broke out on his back, and his knees buckled traitorously. His Level 1 adventurer instincts, though dulled by alcohol, were now screaming frantically of danger.
"If I take one more step... I'm dead," the thought pierced his brain like an icy needle.
His hand, raised to grab, fell limply. His legs turned to jelly.
"G... good luck... to you," he rasped, backing away into the saving shadow of the gateway.
Raine drilled him with his gaze for another second, making sure the threat had passed, then gave a short nod to Bell, and they melted into the stream of people on the main street, leaving the shaking recruiter alone with his demons.
The next morning greeted them with bright sunshine and the lack of any need to run to lectures. Eina had given them a day to prepare their equipment, and they intended to use it wisely.
Their destination was the Tower of Babel.
This colossal structure, piercing the heavens, served not only as a lid for the Dungeon but also as a center of trade for Adventurers. The first floors of the tower were given over to shops and stalls, and that was where our heroes headed, full of hope and anticipation.
Standing at its foot and craning their necks, they felt like ants. The snow-white spire went up into the sky, piercing the clouds, and it seemed that this structure held up the entire firmament.
"Impressive, right?" Raine smirked, noticing Bell's open mouth. "But we're interested in what's inside. Let's go."
The first floors of the Tower were dedicated to trade and Guild services, but the real treasures were hidden higher up. They took the elevator to the fourth floor, into the realm of the elite.
Here were located the shops of the Hephaestus Familia.
The display cases here shone with luxury. Polished wood, velvet, and, of course, weapons. Swords, axes, spears—each item was a work of art. The metal seemed to glow from within, and the blades were so sharp they cut even the gaze.
They approached the nearest counter, where, on a stand of red velvet, lay an elegant dagger with a hilt encrusted with small sapphires.
"Beautiful..." Bell exhaled. "I wonder how much it is..."
Bell leaned toward the small price tag, and his face instantly fell. His voice broke off. His eyes widened, becoming like two saucers.
"Th-three... Three million two hundred thousand Valis?!" his whisper cracked into a squeak. "Raine, is this a mistake? Maybe there's an extra zero?"
Raine, standing at a neighboring rack with two-handed swords, only gave a crooked grin.
"You haven't lost your touch, Bell. That set of light armor over there costs eighteen million. And this sword," he nodded at a blade of bluish steel, "five and a half."
They looked at each other. In their purses, even counting the money saved on food, pitiful crumbs jingled lonely compared to these astronomical sums. They felt like beggars who had wandered into a royal ball by mistake.
"But... but why?!" Bell recoiled from the display case in horror, as if the dagger might bite his wallet. "It's just a weapon!"
"No, Bell. It's a brand," Raine explained calmly, though even in his eyes one could read respect for the craftsmanship mixed with the bitter realization of his own poverty. "The Hephaestus Familia is the pinnacle of smithing. You pay not just for the metal, but for the master's name, for the guarantee that the blade won't break in a monster's maw, for magical processing. These are weapons for those who go to the deep floors. For the elite."
He scanned the hall. The adventurers walking here wore armor that cost more than their entire home village's budget for ten years.
"We don't belong here, Bell," Raine stated, turning toward the exit. "With our finances, the only thing we can buy is the dust from these display cases. Let's go lower. One of the passersby told me that less famous smiths rent spaces on the lower tiers. Those who haven't made a name for themselves yet, but whose hands grow from the right place. Prices should be more 'down to earth' there."
Descending from heaven to earth—literally—brought them to the lower floors of the Tower. Here, the atmosphere was drastically different. The marble and velvet vanished, the reverent silence disappeared. It was noisy, crowded, and smelled of the honest scent of iron, leather, and oil.
This was a market for "mere mortals." Less famous smithing Familias, independent craftsmen, and dealers in second-hand equipment rented small stalls here, trying to make their way under the sun of Orario.
"This is where we belong," Raine nodded, maneuvering between rows of armor. "Search, Bell. Look not for beauty, but for the strength of the seams and the quality of the rivets."
They spent a solid hour sorting through options. Bell, with his natural agility, was looking for something that wouldn't restrict his movements.
"Raine! Look here!"
In the corner of an inconspicuous shop piled with shields, Bell dug out a set of light armor. It was a breastplate connected to pauldrons and thigh guards. The main color was milky white, but bright red lines ran along the edges. The work was neat, the leather soft but durable, and the metal inserts fitted perfectly.
"Hmm, curious work," Raine noted, feeling the material. "The alloy is high quality, the leather well-tanned. And the maker's mark..." He squinted, examining a small symbol on the inside. "Welf Crozzo? Never heard of him."
"I like it," Bell lit up. He tried on the armor, and it fit him like a glove, matching perfectly with his hair and eyes. "And the price... only eight thousand! It's practically a steal!"
Raine nodded approvingly. For a beginner adventurer relying on speed, it was the perfect choice. Right there, Bell also picked out a weapon—a medium-length dagger with a comfortable grip and a blade of quality steel. Not a Hephaestus masterpiece, but not a rusty piece of iron either.
Now it was Raine's turn. He counted the remaining money. The budget was bursting at the seams.
"I don't have enough for decent armor anymore if we want to leave money for potions and lodging," he stated without much emotion. "I'll have to sacrifice defense for attack."
He abandoned the idea of buying metal armor. Instead, he chose a very simple but sturdy jacket of boiled leather with metal studs on the shoulders and bracers. It offered minimal protection but preserved maximum mobility.
"Are you sure, Raine?" Bell asked doubtfully. "One missed hit, and..."
"Then I must not let that happen," Raine smirked. "The best defense is distance and control."
Following this logic, he approached a rack of swords. He wasn't looking for elegance, but reliability and reach. Katanas and sabers were expensive due to the complexity of forging. So Raine settled on a straight bastard sword made of black iron.
It was crude. The guard was a simple crossbar, the hilt wrapped in rough leather. But when Raine took it in his hand, he felt a pleasant weight.
"Not the best choice, lad," grumbled the seller, a stocky dwarf with fingers like sausages. "That's black iron. Tough as hell, won't break even if you chop rocks with it. But it holds an edge so-so, and right now it's as dull as my apprentice. Fresh from the forge, rough finish."
Raine ran a finger along the blade. Indeed, the edge was far from razor-sharp. More of a crowbar than a sword.
"But it's cheap," Raine noted. "And the length is good. How much?"
"Three and a half thousand."
Raine nodded.
"I'll take it. But I need it brought up to standard. I'm not a smith; I have neither whetstone nor grindstone."
"I can sharpen it," the dwarf grunted. "Another five hundred Valis, and it'll cut goblins like butter. I'll be done in half an hour."
"Deal."
While the dwarf brought the sword to combat readiness with the squeal of a grinding wheel, Raine and Bell went out onto the tower's balcony to get some air. Now they didn't look like bumpkins in simple clothes, but like budding adventurers. Battered, in mismatched gear, but ready for action.
"Last thing left," Raine checked the list. "Potions. Eina said that without a couple of vials of healing and antidote, going below the fifth floor is suicide."
"Eina mentioned 'Blue Beard'..." Bell began.
"Yeah, let's go there."
But the visit to the "Blue Beard" pharmacy, owned by the Dian Cecht Familia, was another blow to their pride and wallet. It was a luxurious establishment, looking more like a jewelry store. Vials of potions stood in glass cabinets, illuminated by magic lamps.
"Five thousand for a minor healing potion?!" Bell's eyes popped out again. "Raine, this is daylight robbery!"
Raine gloomily examined the price tags.
"It's a monopoly," Raine corrected grimly. "The Dian Cecht Familia holds the market in a death grip. With our remaining money, we could maybe buy an empty vial."
They went out onto the street, where dusk was already beginning to fall. Orario was lighting its lamps, and the boys' mood was lousy. They had equipment, but without medicine, any unlucky fight would be their last.
"Maybe we should ask the locals?" Bell suggested, wiping sweat from his forehead.
They turned off the wide avenues into the labyrinth of narrow streets of the Northwest District. It was quieter here, dirtier, and poorer. Houses huddled together like old drunks, and trash crunched underfoot.
In a dead end, opposite a dilapidated, abandoned church with a leaning cross, nestled a ramshackle little shop. The sign "Blue Pharmacy" hung on a single nail and creaked in the slightest breeze. The windows were dusty, and the door looked like it hadn't been changed in a hundred years.
"Looks... not very reliable," Bell drawled.
"At least they probably won't skin us alive for the brand here," Raine parried and pushed the door open.
He pushed the door. The bell above the entrance jingled, announcing visitors.
Inside, it smelled of dried herbs, dust, and some incomprehensible chemicals. Shelves were crammed with jars of ingredients, bunches of herbs, and ready-made potions. The lighting was dim.
Behind the counter sat a beast-person girl with dog ears. She didn't even raise her head at the sound of the bell, continuing to read some book. An expression of deep boredom and weariness, mixed with habitual disappointment, was frozen on her face.
"We're closed... or open, what's the difference, you won't buy anything anyway," she muttered, turning a page.
Raine stepped closer. He noticed that one of the girl's arms was hidden by a long sleeve but moved somewhat unnaturally. "Prosthesis," his experienced eye noted.
"We need healing potions," he said firmly. "And preferably at a price that won't force us to sell our souls."
The girl, whose name was Naaza, finally looked up. Surprise could be read in her eyes—adventurers rarely came here, and if they did, they ran away immediately after hearing the rumors.
"Potions?" she repeated, and a note of sarcasm sounded in her voice. "Are you sure? Do you know where you are? This is the 'Blue Pharmacy.' Many say our potions are cursed."
"I don't care about rumors," Raine cut her off. "The result is what matters."
Naaza huffed, closed the book, and took a vial with a bright blue liquid from under the counter.
"Three hundred Valis."
Silence hung in the room. Bell blinked.
"How much?" he asked again. "Three hundred? But at 'Blue Beard,' this costs five thousand!"
"Exactly," Naaza grumbled. "Three hundred. Are you taking it or are you going to keep wasting my time?"
Raine was in no hurry to rejoice. On the contrary, his suspicion skyrocketed. He took the vial in his hands, held it up to the light, shook it. The liquid was clear, without sediment, the color of a summer sky.
"Three hundred Valis," he said slowly, drilling the girl with a heavy gaze. "That's fifteen times cheaper than the market."
"So what?" Naaza snapped, her tail twitching nervously.
"So this," Raine's voice became hard. "What's the catch? Is it expired? Or made from puddle water? Why so cheap?"
He uncorked the stopper and sniffed. The smell was sharp, herbal, correct. But doubts gnawed at him. Adventurers weren't charities, and neither were merchants. No one works at a loss.
Naaza flared up. She straightened abruptly, and her right hand—the unnatural one—slammed onto the counter with a dull thud. It was a silver prosthesis.
"How dare you?!" her apathy vanished, replaced by rage. "Lord Miach gathers the herbs himself! He doesn't sleep at night, brewing them, putting his soul into it! We lowered the prices not because it's swill, but because no one buys from us due to dirty gossip! We're almost ruined, do you understand?!"
She was breathing heavily, looking at Raine defiantly.
"If you think we're trying to poison people, then get out! Go to Dian Cecht and overpay for a pretty label!"
Bell looked fearfully from his friend to the enraged shopkeeper.
"Raine... she seems to be telling the truth..."
Raine was silent for a few seconds, studying Naaza's face. There was no lie of a huckster trying to palm off defective goods in her eyes. There was resentment and pride for her god.
"I don't believe in charity," he finally said, closing the vial. "But I believe in desperation. And that often drives prices down."
He put the potion back on the counter but didn't remove his hand.
"I haven't used your potions before. And I'll be honest: the price scares me more than monsters. But..." he looked at the perfect transparency of the liquid. "By the look of it, the quality isn't bad. If it works as well as it looks, then the price truly justifies the risk."
He pulled out his purse and poured a handful of coins onto the counter.
"We'll take ten."
Naaza froze. The rage on her face was replaced by disbelief.
"Ten?" she asked quietly.
"Ten. And a couple of antidotes, if you have them. But remember," Raine leaned closer, and his voice became quiet and dangerous. "If this swill doesn't work in battle, and something happens to my brother... I will return. And then the conversation will be different."
Naaza swallowed, but didn't look away.
"They will work," she said firmly. "I guarantee it."
She quickly, as if afraid the buyer would change his mind, gathered the order into a canvas bag.
"Thank you..." she muttered as Raine took the goods. "Come again."
When they left the pharmacy, night had already fallen on the city. Bell carried the bag of potions, clutching it to his chest like a treasure.
"You were harsh with her, Raine," he said quietly.
"I was careful, Bell," Raine replied, adjusting the sword on his back. "We've bet our lives on these cheap little bottles."
He looked at the dark silhouette of the Tower rising above the city.
"Well then. We have weapons. We have armor. We have medicine. Tomorrow, Bell, the real game begins."
And this time, there was no doubt in his voice. Only the cold determination of a man ready to challenge fate.