Chapter 386
The sun hung like a polished brass coin in the sky, its heat beginning to bake the stone streets of Orario as the morning shadows retreated.
Time was no longer a slow-moving river; it had become a rushing torrent, sweeping the city toward noon.
In the air, the distant roar of a stadium crowd and the faint, rhythmic growls of monsters signalled that Monsterphilia had begun.
The festival was a living, breathing beast of its own, pulsing through the veins of the City.
Yet, inside the main office of Hephaestus, located along the bustling northwestern main street, the air was heavy with a different kind of intensity.
It was the scent of cooled soot, expensive oil, and the lingering heat of a forge.
Hephaestus, stood in the center of the room, her silhouette framed by the high windows.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, her muscles screaming in protest.
Sometime during the early hours of the morning, she had tied her crimson hair into a functional, tight bun, but now, loose strands clung to her damp forehead.
She had been working for hours with little break, and the final sprint to finish Hestia’s request had pushed even her legendary endurance to its limit.
With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached for a small, velvet-lined case resting on her desk.
“Here it is,” Hephaestus said, her voice raspy from the forge’s fumes.
“Ooooo!”
Hestia’s reaction was instantaneous.
The petite goddess was a whirlwind of frantic energy.
Despite the dark circles beneath her eyes…..the physical toll of staying awake for two days to beg, plead, and eventually assist in the creation of the weapon….her face beamed with a radiance that could have rivaled the sun outside.
Hephaestus, still clad in her scorched leather work gear, handed the case over.
As Hestia took it, her fingers trembled.
The weight was significant, not just in physical mass, but in the sheer amount of effort poured into its creation.
“Does it meet your expectations?” Hephaestus asked, leaning back against a table and crossing her arms.
She watched her friend with a mixture of exhaustion and pride.
“Yes, yes! Very much so! No complaints!” Hestia chirped, her voice hitting a pitch that made the glass jars on the shelves vibrate.
The hinges of the case gave a soft, rhythmic squeak as Hestia pried it open.
Inside, nestled against the dark fabric, lay a dagger.
It was a masterpiece of understated power.
The handle was a matte coal-black, textured for a perfect grip, and the sheath was equally dark, forged from materials that seemed to absorb the light of the room.
The weapon was monochrome, devoid of the flashy filigree that often adorned the blades of high-level adventurers.
But to a trained eye……the craftsmanship was terrifyingly precise.
It was a weapon that didn’t need to boast; its quality was evident in the way the air seemed to still around it.
Hephaestus had poured her soul into this blade, but more importantly, she had incorporated Hestia’s own blood into the forging process.
It was a "living" weapon, one that would grow alongside its wielder.
“Ah! Hephaestus, the blade needs a name!” Hestia exclaimed, her eyes dancing as she looked at the black steel.
“Can I give it one? Let’s see, how about something that binds Bell and me together? ‘Eternal Dagger’ or ‘Soul-Linker’ or something like that?”
Hephaestus winced, a look of genuine pain crossing her face.
“Please, no… this dagger is worth more than a cheap name like that. It’s a work of art.”
She paused, looking at the way Hestia cradled the case.
“But, this is your blade now. How about… ‘Hestia Knife’?”
Hestia froze.
A deep crimson flush crept up her neck, spreading to her cheeks.
“H-Hestia Knife?” she stammered.
She looked away, scratching the back of her head, her embarrassment warring with her delight. “That’s… that’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it? It’s a little embarrassing.”
Despite the bashful reaction, her excitement didn’t dip for a second.
The long black ponytails on either side of her head seemed to have a life of their own, swishing back and forth with the rhythm of her racing heart.
“I’ll say this again: do not go back on the loan,” Hephaestus warned, her tone sharpening.
She was a goddess of the forge, and she understood the value of labor.
While she was extremely soft on Hestia, her "deadbeat" friend, gifting a weapon of this caliber…..one that surpassed most weapons in the city…..was not something she could do for free.
It would have been an insult to the craft itself.
“That amount of Valis isn't something you can pay off by working at a potato puff stand for a hundred years, Hestia. You’ll be in debt for a long, long time.”
“I won’t! I won’t!” Hestia replied quickly, nodding so hard her entire body swayed.
“I’ll work every hour of every day! Bell is worth every single valis!”
Hephaestus reached up and began pulling the pins from her hair, letting the crimson locks fall over her shoulders.
The sight of Hestia’s infectious joy was a better tonic than any potion.
She couldn’t help but offer a tired, genuine smile.
However, she noticed Hestia was already adjusting her white dress and pulling her blue ribbon tight, her eyes darting toward the door.
“Leaving already?” Hephaestus asked.
“Yeah, sorry!” Hestia said, her expression turning apologetic for a fleeting second.
“I can’t just sit here now! He needs this!”
“You should rest before you go,” Hephaestus cautioned, stepping forward as if to catch her. “You haven’t slept for over two days, Hestia. You’re going to collapse in the street.”
But Hestia didn’t turn back.
She didn’t even hear the warning.
She offered a quick, enthusiastic wave over her shoulder as she bolted through the door, her small boots clicking against the floorboards before she disappeared into the river of people flowing down the northwestern main road.
‘I can’t wait to give this to him!’ Hestia thought, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She could see it already.
She would find Bell, and his eyes would go wide.
He would look at her with that earnest, puppy-like admiration that she loved so much.
He would realize how much she cared, how much she had sacrificed to ensure he was safe in the dark depths of the Dungeon.
Maybe he would even hug her…..really hug her……and tell her she was the greatest goddess in Orario.
Hestia’s cheeks puffed out as she let out a localized giggle, her face stuck in a permanent grin. She was walking down the center of the road, weaving through the crowds of humans, elves, and beastmen, completely oblivious to the odd looks she was receiving.
She was a goddess in her own world.
As she moved further from the Hephaestus workshop, she began to consider her plans.
Her initial plan was to head back to the ruined church they called home and wait for Bell to return from his morning excursion.
‘He’s probably in the Dungeon, knowing him. He’s so hardworking,’ she mused.
But then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a splash of color on a stone wall.
A poster.
It was bright, garish, and impossible to ignore.
It announced the schedule for Monsterphilia, the great festival managed by the Ganesha Familia.
A triumphant grin grew on her face.
‘The yearly festival is today! Bell just arrived in Orario. He’s curious, he’s young, and he’s energetic. If he’s not in the Dungeon, there is no way he’d miss this!’
The idea of searching for one white-haired boy in a crowd of tens of thousands didn't deter her. In her mind, their bond was like a beacon.
She spun on a heel, the hem of her dress fluttering, and began making her way toward the East side of the city where the Colosseum and the main festivities were centered.
The distance was too great to cover on foot, so she looked toward the road and raised a hand.
“Hey! Taxi!” Hestia shouted.
A horse-drawn cart, empty and moving at a brisk pace, veered toward the curb.
A young driver, wearing a flat cap and a sweat-stained shirt, pulled the reins and brought the beast to a halt right at Hestia’s feet.
“To East Main, please!” Hestia requested, climbing into the back with the agility of a cat, clenching the weapon case to her chest.
“Ha-ha, loud and clear. Are you by chance going to Monsterphilia, Miss goddess?” the driver asked, glancing back with a friendly, curious look.
“Something like that,” Hestia replied, her eyes sparkling.
The driver flicked the reins, and the cart jolted forward.
The sound of wooden wheels striking the uneven cobblestones echoed through the streets.
Hestia bounced in her seat, each vibration of the stones traveling through her small frame.
Orario was a city of impossible scale, a sprawling metropolis built around the towering white pillar of Babel.
Because of its size, walking was often a luxury of time that many didn’t have.
Horses had been brought in to help transport supplies to businesses around the city as well as assist private citizens.
The term “taxi” was first used by a god trying to flag one of them down a few years prior.
The name stuck and had been used ever since.
“I want to get there as fast as I can,” Hestia requested, leaning forward toward the driver’s seat. “I know it’s crowded, but can you speed up?”
The young man laughed, the sound bright against the noise of the city.
“Do I look like a man who would refuse the request of a goddess? Hang on tight!”
He urged the horse into a gallop.
Recognizing that the main thoroughfares were choked with food stalls and revelers, he expertly veered into the backstreets.
The path grew narrow, the stone walls of tall tenements closing in until the cart’s axles barely cleared the corners.
Hestia watched the world blur by…..laundry hanging between windows, children playing in the shade, and the colorful banners of the festival draped over every balcony.
The driver was chatty, filling the air with talk of the monsters Ganesha had brought in for the show, but Hestia’s mind was miles ahead.
“A-ya-ya. I’m sorry, miss goddess. Looks like I can’t go any farther,” the driver said, pulling hard on the reins.
The cart slowed to a stop.
Hestia looked forward and saw the problem.
The East Main Street was only a block away, but it was a solid wall of people.
The crowd was so dense that not even a stray dog could have squeezed through the gaps between the fairgoers.
The driver lowered his head.
“I really do apologize, miss goddess. The traffic is worse than I thought.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Driver! I’ll walk from here,” Hestia said, already hopping down from the cart. She looked at the narrow alley to her left.
“If you use that side road, you should be able to bypass the main rush and reach the plaza faster,” the driver suggested, pointing toward the dark gap between two massive stone buildings.
“Thanks! How much do I owe you?”
“It comes to ninety valis.”
Hestia reached into her small pouch and turned it inside out.
A scattered handful of money fell into the driver's open palm.
Her face was glowing with the rush of the upcoming meeting.
“Hee-hee. Keep the change! It’s your tip!” Hestia said with a grand flourish before spinning around.
The driver looked down at his hand, then back at the goddess’s retreating back.
“Um, Miss goddess… this is exactly ninety valis.”
His words were lost to the wind.
Hestia was already half-dancing into the shadows of the side road.
The driver sighed, a slightly lonely look on his face, before turning his cart around to seek a passenger with a more generous definition of "change."
The side road was a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere of the main street.
It was cool, dark, and narrow, the air smelling of damp stone and old echoes.
Very few people used these routes; they were the "veins" of Orario that most preferred to avoid. Five years ago, during the dark era when the Evilus organization ran the streets, these alleys were death traps.
While the city was safer now, a goddess alone in the dark was still a sight that could attract the wrong kind of attention.
But Hestia felt no fear.
She was a goddess on a mission, clutching her treasure.
She skipped forward, humming a tune that matched the beating of her heart.
Then, the air changed.
It wasn't a sound or a movement, but a shift in the pressure of the atmosphere.
The temperature seemed to drop, and the joyful hum of the festival felt suddenly very far away. Hestia slowed her pace, her humming dying in her throat.
She turned a corner into a small, secluded gap where the light filtered down in dusty shafts.
Standing there, framed by the grey stone, was a woman.
She was tall, draped in fine, blue cloak that whispered of wealth and power.
Her silver hair seemed to shimmer with an internal light, and her presence was so overwhelming that it felt as though she were the only thing in the alley that was truly real.
Hestia stopped dead, her grip tightening on the dagger case.
“Huh? Is that you, Freya?”
The silver-haired goddess turned slowly.
Her eyes, beautiful and terrifyingly perceptive, settled on Hestia.
A small, enigmatic smile played on her lips…..the smile of a predator who had just found something interesting.
“…Hestia?” Freya replied, her voice like silk over shattered glass.
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