Chapter 322
The streets of Orario were quiet, too quiet for a city that only a few days ago had been choking under smoke and screams.
Having left Tsubaki and Shakti behind at the guild headquarters, Draco made his way toward Stardust Garden, each step a heavy reminder of how much he had spent……physically, mentally, and financially……in the days since the war against Evilus had begun.
The southwestern main road stretched out before him, the moonlight tracing pale silver shapes along the cobblestones.
His pace was slow, not simply out of fatigue but because his thoughts kept tripping over one another, weaving a tangled web of priorities and problems.
The first problem, and the one that weighed heavily at the forefront, was the Astraea Familia.
He had taken them under his protection, but that alone wasn’t enough.
The girls needed to recover and stand on their own again….not only for themselves, but for the stability of his own Familia.
However, the truth was unkind: this wasn’t something that could be rushed.
The Astraea Familia had made countless enemies among the more insidious factions in and outside Orario.
In their current state…..bereft of their goddess…..their divine blessings had vanished.
Now, they were little different from highly-trained but vulnerable mortals.
And mortals, no matter how skilled, bled and died as easily as any other when knives came in the dark.
He had made his stance clear earlier during the emergency meeting of familia captains at the guild: the Astraea Familia was under Bahamut’s wing.
But Draco knew full well that declarations alone didn’t shield against ambition, grudges, or desperation.
Not every enemy would be deterred by words.
The Bahamut familia couldn’t post a guard over them every hour of the day…..his own familia had duties of their own.
And that, unsurprisingly, led to the second pressing problem: money.
At the very start of the war….just seven days ago……Draco had emptied the Bahamut Familia’s coffers to construct defensive works, and stockpile supplies.
The decision had not been one of vanity, but necessity.
Those fortifications had saved countless lives…..both civilian and adventurer.
Without them, Orario’s losses would have been far bloodier, the streets littered with far more corpses.
The guild, acknowledging the Bahamut familia’s role, had contracted to reimburse seventy percent of the costs after the war.
However… “after the war” now meant “after the city stops bleeding valis.”
The financial reality was grim: more than half of Orario stood in ruins.
Residential blocks, merchant and factory districts, entire streets of historic architecture…..gone. Rebuilding such devastation was not only expensive; it would take monumental effort.
The already stretched guild treasury was being pulled in a hundred directions at once.
And then there was his particular contribution to the problem….the destruction of the main factory district.
The loss of that industrial hub was more than a local inconvenience.
The guild’s revenue came primarily from managing the dungeon’s spoils: magic stones, monster drops, rare minerals, medicinal herbs, and other resources.
Those goods were refined, processed, and sometimes transformed into high-value magic items in the factory district before being sold to merchants, neighboring cities, and distant kingdoms. With those facilities gone, Orario’s economic engine groaned under the strain.
There were other processing sites scattered around the city, yes, but none matched the efficiency or capacity of what had been lost.
The output gap was massive, and losses mounted daily.
It was no surprise, then, that the gods and guild had levied a significant fine specifically on the Bahamut Familia for the damages to the district.
They could not afford to “slap them on the wrist” when the city bled revenue with every rising sun.
Still…..Draco had a solution in mind.
He could make grimoires.
Rare, coveted, and tremendously valuable, a single grimoire could fetch three to four hundred million valis at market, and even more if a wealthy patron was desperate enough.
Auctioning just a few could wipe away the familia’s debts entirely.
But grimoires did not come cheaply or easily.
The crafting process required time, secrecy, and specialized materials….many of which were not available in the current crippled city.
Even if they were, he would never flood the market.
Too many too quickly would erode their exclusivity and value.
Two or three a year…..that was the cap he was willing to consider.
Until then, they still needed a stable income flow.
And that meant re-entering the dungeon.
But they wouldn’t be alone.
Almost every familia in Orario was staggering under the same financial strain.
Expeditions were already being planned by the major powers, and within days the dungeon’s upper, middle and lower floors would be teeming with adventurers.
Such congestion inevitably bred conflict.
The dungeon was dangerous enough without the added threat of other adventurers lurking just out of torchlight.
Some would hunt weaker adventurers for their haul.
Others would clash over scarce monster spawn zones or rare drop materials.
And among them would be the newest wave of arrivals…..greenhorns drawn by the lure of money and glory.
The war had left many gaps in the adventurer ranks, and many familias were eager, perhaps too eager, to refill them.
Unfortunately, fresh recruits were often arrogant, reckless, or ignorant of the dungeon’s unspoken rules.
They would learn or die….sometimes both.
Though the war had ended, Draco could see the shape of the chaos still to come.
With the Astraea Familia shattered and many other moral anchors gone, lawlessness would seep into the cracks, especially in the slums.
The peace would not hold long.
And then there was housing.
Before the war, Draco had purchased a sizable plot of land…..a place he intended to build the Bahamut Familia’s permanent home.
It would have been their fortress, their sanctuary.
Now, the site was nothing but dreams on paper.
Every construction familia in and around Orario was drowning in guild contracts.
Until they completed their current workload, they wouldn’t take on projects of such scale.
And Draco refused to settle for anything less than the best.
Time, however, was an enemy he could not bargain with.
Aasterinian’s revelation had confirmed that his days in Orario were numbered.
He didn’t know when he would leave, nor how long he would be gone.
That meant the Bahamut Familia needed to be self-sufficient, capable of thriving in the turbulence to come without him there to shield them.
The weight of it all settled on him as he trudged along.
Somewhere between the planning, the exhaustion, and the ever-growing list of obligations, he missed the moment when the familiar gates of Stardust Garden appeared before him.
Only when his hands rested on the cool metal did he realize he had arrived.
He paused.
The moon was full tonight, its argent light spilling down across the gardens, bathing every leaf and blossom with a silver hue.
The cool wind carried the scent of flowers…..sharp in some places, sweet in others.
It weaved through his hair, brushing the strands across his face.
His reptilian crimson eyes reflected the moon’s glow, giving him a faintly otherworldly cast.
For a moment, he simply stood there, letting the night’s quiet push back against the noise in his mind.
It was a small reprieve, fragile but precious.
“If only such moments lasted forever,” he murmured.
The words left his lips before he realized he’d spoken them.
He opened his eyes again, as though catching himself in a lapse of discipline, and shook his head.
Melancholy wouldn’t solve tomorrow’s problems.
And at sunrise, there would be many.
It was past midnight.
Rest was a necessity.
He shifted his stance, brushing his bangs from his eyes…..and that was when he noticed it.
Three silhouettes, outlined against the moonlight on the building’s roof.
Feminine in shape, unmoving except for the faint sway of hair and fabric in the breeze.
‘Who would still be up at this hour?’
His first thought was intruders, but dismissed it immediately…..if they were, his familia would already be in motion.
That meant they were either members of his own familia or the Astraea girls… or some mix of both.
Either way, curiosity took hold.
Flexing weary muscles, he gathered himself and leapt.
The landing was… less than graceful.
Crack!
The sound of a roof tile splitting cut through the night, jolting the silhouettes into sudden movement.
“Oops. My bad,” he muttered, crouched awkwardly over the damage.
“Sigh… relax, you two….it’s just Draco,” came a familiar voice.
Alise.
Calm, but her tone carried the weight of hours spent in silence before he arrived.
Straightening, Draco finally saw them clearly.
It was indeed Alise, with Lyra and Kaguya flanking her.
They sat close together, sharing a small bottle of what was likely strong liquor.
The signs of recent tears were plain: swollen, reddened eyes; the lingering shine on their cheeks.
At the sight of him, Lyra and Kaguya brushed their faces hastily, their expressions shifting into something sharper, something defensive.
Masks sliding back into place.
The sight, oddly enough, clawed at something inside him.
These were women who had stood tall before gods and monsters alike.
Seeing them so bare, so vulnerable, felt… strange.
“Ah… sorry for disturbing. I didn’t think anyone would be awake. I’ll leave,” Draco said, already half-turning toward the edge of the roof.
He didn’t want to intrude on whatever grief they were sharing.
They deserved privacy.
“Wait,” Alise’s voice cut through the space between them.
Draco paused.
“Care to join us?” she asked, her tone low, her eyes steady.
There was no pressure in her voice, but there was something there…..a recognition, perhaps, that silence could be heavier than conversation.
He wanted to refuse.
Every part of him craved a bed and the promise of dreamless sleep.
But leaving now felt wrong.
He exhaled slowly, then turned back to them with a small, almost forced smile and crossed the remaining distance.
He lowered himself onto the tiles beside them, their shared warmth a quiet contrast to the cool air.
It was going to be a long night.
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