Bell sprinted through the downpour.
When he had left the Blue Pharmacy, he'd caught sight of several shadowy figures lurking nearby. That wasn't unusual in Orario, but paired with Eina's earlier warning, it was likely that Naaza had been targeted by those dealing in counterfeit potions.
Time was running out. Bell hadn't had the chance to explain anything to Eina.
There was no time to think—only to run. Praying his fears wouldn't come true, he rushed toward the pharmacy as fast as his legs would carry him.
The sound of metal clashing confirmed the worst.
Calling out Naaza's name, Bell burst through the door.
The shop was a wreck. Potions and shards of shattered glass covered the floor in a chaotic mess.
Naaza lay slumped against the counter, blood seeping from her forehead, unconscious.
Three men inside turned sharply at the intrusion.
"Well, what do you know. Didn't think a back-alley pharmacy like this would get visitors. One of your regulars, maybe?" The scarred man held a hammer loosely in one hand, the blood on it still fresh.
"What are you doing?"
Bell stepped forward slowly, trying to lower their guard with his tone.
There were three of them—one armed with a hammer. To save Naaza, he'd have to strike first and fast.
"Nothing much," the scarred man said lightly. "Just asking this girl to come with us. We've got a little favor to ask."
He pressed his boot down on Naaza's arm, watching Bell's reaction.
"That's a funny way to ask for a favor."
Bell forced himself to look nervous, feigning fear as he subtly gripped the dagger hidden at his waist.
The floor was slick with spilled potion. He'd need to watch his footing carefully if it came to a fight.
He shifted his stance, testing the grip under his feet.
"Sorry, sorry. Adventurers are a rough bunch. Oh, that's right—you're new, huh? Probably haven't learned how things work yet. Isn't that right, Bell Cranel?" The scarred man sneered.
When the intruder first entered, he'd tensed up, but seeing Bell up close had quickly put him at ease.
A rookie.
The so-called weakest adventurer in all of Orario.
"Bell Cranel? The guy who got taken down by a single Goblin?"
"Hah! The weakest adventurer's here to play hero? Lucky day. Leave him to us—been needing someone to blow off some steam."
The two men who had been standing in the back cracked their knuckles, moving in eagerly.
"D-don't come any closer. I don't know the person you're talking about," Bell stammered, eyes wide, stepping back in feigned terror.
From their posture and weapons, he could tell the scarred man was the one who had struck Naaza down. The other two only looked tough—they were sluggish, untrained.
"Hahaha!" The scarred man's grin widened. "My intel's flawless. You should be honored a small fry like you even made it into my memory."
Bell was drenched to the bone, his thin cloth shirt clinging to him and offering no protection.
In that state, he looked less like an adventurer and more like an ordinary man without Falna.
The scarred man stepped closer, smirking. "Judging by your look, your strength's what—maybe a five?"
"Don't come any closer!"
Bell grabbed a vase from the counter and hurled it at him with all his strength.
The throw was too slow; the scarred man dodged it easily.
Five meters.
Bell gauged the distance.
"Still not running? Guess you're pretty close to that dog-girl, huh?" The scarred man hefted his hammer. "I get it. Two Dungeon rejects, pitying each other? Licking your wounds together like strays? What a touching scene!"
The hammer was ordinary—no enchantment, no special design. He carried no other weapons.
Adventurers usually fought monsters of all shapes and sizes. None would choose a weapon like that.
This man was used to fighting people.
Bell knew he'd have to take him down in one blow.
He kept hurling objects from the counter, but the scarred man didn't even slow down.
Three meters left.
"I—I understand. I promise I won't tell anyone…" Bell said shakily.
"Hah? You're in the same gutter as us—how could you turn your back on a fellow stray?" The scarred man sneered. "Relax, we're not going to kill you. Wouldn't want to attract the attention of troublesome people."
Two meters left.
Bell fumbled through the drawer behind him, pretending to panic while getting ready to draw his dagger.
Closer.
Just a bit closer.
One more step…
"Hold it."
One of the porters grabbed the scarred man's arm. "Let us handle the brat. We got beat up over that potion mess the other day and need someone to blow off steam."
The scarred man gave the eager pair a sidelong glance, then shrugged. "Fine. Just don't kill him. I don't need the Guild putting a bounty on my head."
Brawls weren't uncommon in Orario. Once Naaza met their demands, the scarred man planned to let her go. But if someone died, that would be an entirely different matter—both the Guild and righteous Familia would step in to investigate.
He stepped back indifferently. "Make it quick. Beat him down, tie him up. If we take too long, someone else might show up."
The distance between them widened.
The moment the scarred man turned his back, Bell lunged forward.
A flash of steel.
The man who had volunteered was struck across the abdomen, collapsing instantly with a cry.
"What?!"
The scarred man's eyes widened. The boy before him was no longer some greenhorn rookie.
Bell's face was set in grim determination. After downing one opponent, he adjusted his stance and pressed forward, reversing his grip on the dagger.
The scarred man, terrified by the killing intent radiating off him, stumbled backward and yanked the remaining man in front of him as a shield.
The man barely had time to register what was happening before Bell's blade drove into his stomach. He dropped to the ground, clutching his wound in agony.
It had all happened too fast. The scarred man's thoughts were a blur.
There was no mistaking it—this white-haired boy was Bell Cranel.
But could this really be the same rookie who'd collapsed on the first floor of the Dungeon?
Such reflexes, such decisiveness… even he, newly advanced to Level 2, couldn't compare.
Something was wrong.
Yes—maybe the Potion fumes were making him hallucinate.
As if the weakest adventurer could really pull this off.
He clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, trying to control his ragged breathing as fear clawed at him.
Bell was already upon him.
"Don't get cocky, trash!"
"Weaklings should stay on the ground where they belong—like that mutt over there!"
The scarred man roared and swung his hammer straight for Bell's face.
The iron head came crashing down—but Bell slid aside effortlessly, his foot gliding over the slick potion-covered floor.
To the scarred man, it looked like the boy's figure had flickered and vanished into thin air.
Hallucinations—it had to be!
A manic grin twisted across his face. Bell Cranel couldn't even beat a goblin. As long as he held his ground and didn't let fear win, the advantage was still his.
He took two steps back, pressing himself into the corner of the wall. From there, even if the illusions persisted, he could strike the moment the boy drew close. One clean blow and victory would be his.
Bell's gaze turned icy.
He tightened his grip on the dagger and shot forward, cutting through the air like a gust of wind.
By the time the scarred man realized what had happened, his body was already consumed by blinding pain and sheer disbelief.
"This... this can't be possible!"
"A mere rookie Adventurer!"
He gritted his teeth against the stabbing pain, forcing every last ounce of strength into raising his iron hammer.
But Bell had already anticipated the counterattack and stepped back the moment he landed his strike.
Overwhelmed by pain and fury, the scarred man couldn't stop his swing in time—the hammer came crashing down on his own leg.
He collapsed to the floor, howling in agony, muttering between gasps, "My intel... it couldn't have been wrong. How could you possibly..."
Bell picked up the hammer and brought it down hard on the man's head without hesitation.
Anyone who could swing such a weapon at the Chienthrope girl had to be prepared to suffer the same in return.
Bell didn't know or care about any so-called adventurer's code. He had only struck to protect Naaza, leaving the three men unconscious.
He had no intention of killing them.
At least, not yet.
The issue with the healing potions was full of unanswered questions, and he needed information from their mouths.
Ironically, he'd recently learned from a top-tier adventurer that healing could be just as effective for interrogation as torture.
Watching the scarred man's eyes flutter shut, Bell muttered coldly,
"You picked a blind spot perfect for dagger strikes—was that on purpose? Honestly, even Goblins put up more of a fight than you."
Bell had endured harsh training. Though his stats were low, his technique and battle sense were razor-sharp.
He was far more skilled at fighting humans than monsters.
And because of that, he knew—the intelligent Goblins appearing in the Dungeon had to be mutated subspecies. They couldn't be underestimated.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Bell knelt beside Naaza to check her condition.
But his concern lasted only a few seconds before the rain drowned it out.
A low, guttural voice broke through the storm as a massive figure filled the doorway.
"A bunch of useless trash. Can't even handle one target properly."
The newcomer wore a jagged, tooth-shaped mask, his voice a deep, torn growl—half-human, half-monster.
"Just doing my job for the money, kid. Don't take it personally."