Chapter 417
The clock on the wall of a subterranean space ticked with a rhythmic, indifferent click, finally settling at a quarter past eleven.
The sound was nearly drowned out by the heavy, ragged breathing of four young women who looked as though they had just crawled out of the mouth of a dragon.
Cecil, Iselina, Schau, and Ulanda were sprawled across the cold stone floor of the Bahamut Familia’s underground training grounds.
Their gear was scuffed, their cloths dampened with sweat, and their muscles twitched with the kind of deep-seated fatigue that made even the act of blinking feel like a chore.
More than the exhaustion, however, was a gnawing, hollow ache in their stomachs.
They weren’t just tired; they were famished.
“Good job today, nya!”
A cheerful voice rang through the hall.
Anya, the source of their current misery, stood over them with a serene, toothy grin, plastered on her face.
To an outsider, she looked like a doting elder sister.
To the four girls on the floor, she was a demon in cat-girl form.
She had spent the last six hours subjecting them to a regimen that she called ‘body conditioning' but which they firmly classified as 'sanctioned torture.'
With a playful grin, Anya leaned down and patted each of their heads in turn.
It was meant to be a reward, a gesture of affection from a Level 6 veteran to the Familia’s newest recruits, but the girls could only offer weak, fluttering winces in response.
This had been their reality every morning since the Familia had returned from their latest expedition.
From five in the morning until the sun was high in the sky, Anya pushed them to their absolute limits.
As the Bahamut Familia was currently observing a mandatory rest period from the Dungeon, Anya had channeled all her excess energy into "mentoring" the youth.
Satisfied with her handiwork, Anya turned on her heel.
Her steps were light, almost rhythmic, as she began to head toward the stairs leading out of the training hall.
Her expression was one of serenity……the look of a woman who had successfully burned off her morning boredom by running four teenagers into the dirt.
As Anya’s silhouette vanished toward the upper levels, three other figures emerged from the corner of the hall.
Michalis, Nikolaos, and Vasileios, had been watching the session from the sidelines.
Unlike Anya, they possessed a shred of empathy for the plight of their juniors.
“That looked... intense, reminds me of our childhood” Vasileios remarked, rubbing the back of his neck as they approached the fallen girls.
“Intense is a polite way of saying ‘lethal,’” Cecil wheezed, pushing herself up onto one elbow.
Nikolaos offered a sympathetic smile.
“Tell you what. You girls worked hard. How about we treat you to lunch? Our treat, at the Hostess of Fertility.”
The effect was instantaneous.
The mention of food……especially the hearty fare of the Hostess of fertility…..acted like a ‘High Potion’ on their spirits.
Smiles began to break through the masks of grime and exhaustion.
Ulanda actually managed to stand up, her eyes sparkling with the prospect a good meal.
However, the celebration was short-lived.
Anya, who hadn’t quite cleared the exit, possessed the hearing of a feline demi-human.
At the mention of "lunch" and "Hostess of Fertility," her ears, which had been relaxed, suddenly twitched and stood bolt upright.
“Nya? Nya!”
She let out a sharp yelp and executed a perfect 180-degree turn in mid-air.
She skipped back down the stairs, her tail dancing behind her in a rhythmic wag.
Her steps, usually silent due to her class as an assassin, seemed to carry a weight of sudden demand.
The current state of the Bahamut mansion was quiet.
All of the other members were out on patrol, fulfilling their duties as one of Orario’s primary peacekeeping forces.
If these seven left for lunch, Anya would be left alone in the sprawling estate with nothing but the echoing silence for company.
To Anya, being alone with nothing to do was worse than a week without drinking booze.
It was depressing.
As she descended, the four girls flinched.
Their smiles vanished, replaced by a primal instinct to seek cover.
They scrambled…..or rather, crawled…..behind the three men.
While Anya was a Level 6, so were Michalis, Nikolaos, and Vasileios.
In the girls' minds, these three were the only shields capable of weathering the storm of Anya’s whims.
Nikolaos turned, noticing the cat-girl’s silent approach.
“Huh? Anya... I thought you left?”
Anya narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I was, nya. But then I heard you boys were inviting these cute little kittens to lunch, and I thought to myself... ‘Anya, what are those three up to?’”
She leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“This invitation wouldn’t happen to be some kind of elaborate plan to make a move on them, would it? Nya?”
It was a blatant jab, referencing a conversation she’d eavesdropped on earlier, but she twisted it with the practiced ease of a tavern gossip.
Nikolaos didn't miss a beat.
He met her gaze with a shameless, flat expression.
“What nonsense are you talking about? While these girls are certainly pretty, they’re still just kids to us. We would much prefer the company of mature, sophisticated women... like you. Unless, of course, you don’t think you fit the description?”
Anya froze.
“Nyaaa?!”
Her tail bristled like a bottle brush, and a deep flush crept up her neck to the tips of her ears.
She hadn't expected a direct counter-punch, especially not a compliment delivered with such a straight face.
She sputtered, her bravado evaporating into a cloud of embarrassment.
Michalis and Vasileios stared at Nikolaos as if he had just spontaneously sprouted a second head. They remembered him being just as awkward and "spineless" as them only hours ago when discussing how to approach women.
Simultaneously, the two of them dropped to their knees, bowing in an exaggerated, theatrical fashion.
“Master! Please, teach us your ways!” they shouted in unison.
Nikolaos looked down at them, utterly perplexed.
“Get up, you idiots. You’re making a scene.”
Cecil, Iselina, Schau, and Ulanda were equally stunned.
They weren’t sure how to feel.
On one hand, they had been called beautiful by three of the most eligible bachelors in the city. On the other hand, they had been firmly categorized as "non-targets."
Though they were the "youngest" members, they were all sixteen……hardly children by the standards of adventurers.
The boys were barely a year or two older than them, yet the age gap felt like a canyon because of the difference in Level and experience.
It was a strange paradox.
To the rest of Orario, Michalis, Nikolaos, and Vasileios were the gold standard of men.
They were handsome, high-level elites of the Bahamut Familia, wealthy, and possessed of surprisingly decent personalities….mostly.
They were the kind of men women fought over.
Yet, because they were surrounded by the scary women of their own Familia……sisters and comrades who acted as a literal phalanx against "opportunists"…….they remained perpetually single.
And, in a fit of protective symmetry, the boys did the same for their sisters, despite the fact that women like Dimitra or Eleni seemed to have no interest in romance to begin with.
Ulanda let out a long, weary sigh as she watched the banter continue.
It was obvious to everyone……except perhaps the boys……that Anya had only returned because she didn't want to be left behind.
But instead of just asking to come along, she had forced them through a ten-minute labyrinth of teasing and embarrassment just to reach the same conclusion.
“Can we please just go?” Ulanda muttered.
“I’m going to start eating rocks if we stay here any longer.”
With a round of laughter and a final few "nyas" from a recovered Anya, the group finally began their ascent to the surface, headed for the West Main Street.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
At that very same hour, in a different part of the city, the atmosphere was far more somber.
The abandoned church that served as the home for the Hestia Familia was bathed in the pale light of the midday sun.
Inside, Bell Cranel sat on the worn sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling.
He was idle……a rare and uncomfortable state for the boy.
Yesterday, Lili had approached him with a deeply apologetic look, explaining that she had urgent Familia business to attend to and wouldn't be able to join him in the Dungeon today.
Bell, being Bell, couldn't find it in himself to be upset.
He knew how hard Lili worked.
But without his supporter, the prospect of diving into the lower floors felt... daunting.
Not because of the danger, but because of the loneliness.
He had tried to convince himself that a rest day was a good thing.
He had been pushing himself at a breakneck pace ever since the incident with the Minotaur.
‘But... what is this feeling?’ Bell thought, his hand unconsciously drifting to the hilt of the Hestia Knife resting on the table.
‘Every time I close my eyes, I see Miss Wallenstein’s back. And a little voice in my head keeps screaming that while I’m sitting here, she’s getting further and further away.’
He felt like a balloon that had lost its air.
The drive was there, but the body was heavy.
“...Ahhhh, this isn’t good,” Bell scolded himself aloud.
He sat up abruptly, his white hair a mess from leaning against the cushions.
He took a deep breath, trying to exhale the lethargy that had settled in his bones.
“I just need to move. If I can’t clear my head, I can at least change my focus. I can’t worry everyone by being depressed. I should... I should clean! I haven't done the chores in days. It’s not fair to goddess to leave it all to her.”
Bell stood up, his legs feeling a bit stiff.
He began to scan the room for a broom or a rag when his eyes landed on an object tucked away in the corner of the kitchen area.
It was a simple, woven basket.
“...Oh.”
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
It was the basket Syr had given him, the one that had contained the lunch she’d packed for him days ago.
He had completely forgotten to return it.
“I’m such an idiot!” He hissed, bringing his hands together in a sharp clap before bowing deeply to the empty room.
It was a habit of apology so ingrained in his body that he did it even when no one was watching.
He couldn't believe his own negligence.
Syr was always so kind to him, providing him with food and encouragement, and he had repaid her by hoarding her property in a dusty church.
Feeling a sudden, sharp spark of purpose, Bell grabbed the basket.
He checked his pockets for a few Valis, threw on his light armor……just in habit……and laced up his boots.
“I’ll return this, apologize properly, and maybe grab a quick bite,” he muttered to himself, his spirits finally lifting.
He burst out of the entrance of the church, the early afternoon sun hitting his face.
He began to run toward the Hostess of Fertility, his white hair fluttering in the wind.
He was focused solely on the task of making things right with the grey-haired waitress.
He was entirely unaware that the Hostess of Fertility was currently the destination for a boisterous group of Level 6 elites who were, in their own way, just as restless as he was.
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