The basent lab of the crimson church was heavy with smoke.
Incense—dozens of sticks, all burning at once—clouded the air in lazy, choking spirals. The scent was thick, tallic-sweet, with undertones of oil and old parchnt. Machines humd softly in the haze, but the human occupants of the lab were not faring so well.
Liliruca coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. "Why are you burning all this incense? It's choking the air."
Luthar didn't even flinch, seated in his chair as he adjusted the tuning on a runic etching tool. "It wards off interference."
"It's warding the air," she snapped. Her eyes were watery, her throat dry. "We're going out."
He finally looked up. The mask turned toward her, unreadable as always.
Lili crossed her arms. "There's a festival going on. I think we should go outside. Plus, don't forget this is your rest ti. You shouldn't be doing more research."
A pause. Then Luthar stood, the servo-skull descending from above to follow.
"I suppose you're right," he said. "I also need to check few things."
"Yeah, sure," Lili muttered, grabbing her cloak. "But first, let's get so fresh air. I'm nearly suffocating."
The city above was alive.
Color, sound, and laughter filled the streets. Flags strung between buildings fluttered in the spring breeze. Crowds pressed in around stalls offering roasted ats, trinkets, and handmade charms.
Monsterphilia had begun in full.
Luthar moved like a phantom beneath his cloak—unnoticed, unreadable. Liliruca stayed beside him, eyes darting across the scene. She looked… almost relaxed.
They passed perforrs, children chasing after floating balloons shaped like monsters, and even a mock "Dungeon" ga where kids pretended to fight goblins with foam weapons.
Then ca the real thing.
A snarl. A crash.
Screams erupted as one of the side alleys exploded outward—a Frog Shooter, enraged and confused, erged from behind a spice stall, its long tongue lashing out.
Too fast for the crowd to react.
But not for Luthar.
One flick of his wrist—a pulse of violet light shot from beneath his cloak.
The monster's head ruptured silently. Its body collapsed in a twitching heap, steam rising from the cauterized hole.
Lili blinked. "That wasn't even a weapon."
"We keep moving."
The festival hadn't stopped—only shifted.
Guards began swarming the area, shouting about monsters. But Luthar and Liliruca had already faded deeper into the crowd.
That's when they saw him.
Bell Cranel, white-haired and wide-eyed, stood in the middle of the plaza with a dagger drawn. Hestia was yelling from behind a vendor cart. And bearing down on him—massive, silver-furred, and roaring with rage—was a silverback.
Lili looked at him in confusion. "That's "
"A specin from the lower levels," Luthar said. "Aboveground. Probably sobody wants to play Hero Training."
Then—Aiz Wallenstein appeared.
The Sword Princess dropped from above like a blade of judgnt, landing between Bell and the creature. Sparks danced from her weapon as she deflected the beast's charge.
Crowds scattered.
Liliruca watched, stunned, as the battlefield ford before them.
Luthar didn't move. "Let them engage. Observe."
Looking at Aiz, who had just arrived, she began, "I thought you would help him."
"There won't be any problem with Aiz," Luthar said calmly. "Though perhaps… not untouched."
The Silverback roared, lifting a rchant's wagon with one arm and hurling it across the square.
Bell dodged, barely, tumbling across the stonework with a yelp. His dagger skittered from his grip, clattering near the fountain.
Liliruca flinched but didn't move. Not yet.
People fled in waves—festival-goers screaming, children crying. But amidst the chaos, a few remained: Aiz Wallenstein, standing still as a statue; Hestia, shouting her support; and Bell, scrambling upright with bleeding palms and wide, frightened eyes.
Luthar stood unmoving beneath the cowl of his cloak, arms folded behind his back.
Lili glanced up at him. "Aiz is not doing anything. Should we do sothing?"
"No."
She swallowed. "He's going to die."
Luthar's tone remained calm, almost detached. "Without a few near-death experiences, how would a main character ever grow stronger?"
A mont of silence stretched between them.
The Silverback lunged again—faster than before. Finally, Aiz t it in motion, blade flashing, deflecting its charge with a clash of sparks—but she didn't follow through.
Instead, she turned, her eyes locking on Bell.
The Sword Princess stepped back.
Bell stood frozen, panting, eyes wide. Then—he moved.
No hesitation. No second thoughts.
He dashed forward with a scream. The Silverback turned on him with a roar, massive arms swinging down like falling towers.
Bell ducked low, slid between its legs, and ca up in a desperate leap. The blade in his hand flared with determination. He drove it into the monster's neck with both hands, burying it deep.
The silverback howled.
It staggered. Flailed.
Collapsed.
Bell fell with it, chest heaving, knuckles bloodied but alive.
Silence gripped the plaza.
Then—cheers. Screams of relief. Hestia rushed to him, arms wrapping tight around her boy. Aiz stood a distance back, arms lowered, watching with a faint, satisfied look.
Liliruca's breath caught. "He actually did it."
Luthar gave a single nod. "As intended."
She looked at him, then back at Bell.
"He's changed," she said quietly.
"Not as much as you," Luthar replied.
They turned, disappearing into the crowd without a word—just as the guards arrived.
High above the square, on a balcony draped in silk and shadow, a woman sipped from a glass of wine.
Her silver hair glead in the sunlight. Her eyes—impossibly deep, hauntingly violet—followed the white-haired boy with a slow smile curving her lips.
"Ah... Bell," Freya murmured, her voice like velvet.
Her gaze lingered for a mont longer—then shifted.
Past the boy.
Her eyes drifted lower—toward a flicker of crimson beneath the crowd. A cloaked figure, vanishing like smoke, his mask briefly catching the light.
The smile on Freya's lips paused.
Then deepened.
Behind her, ottar stepped into the balcony's shadow. "The Silverback failed."
Freya didn't look away. "It wasn't ant to succeed."
ottar tilted his head.
"The weapons," she murmured. "That sword you purchased… the one for twenty million. And the gun. You tested them?"
ottar gave a slow nod. "The sword was nearly flawless—suitable for a Level 5. Better than anything on the market. The gun… cruder but effective against Level 1 or 2 monsters. Still—odd. Fires so kind of solid charge. Not magic for sure, it can be repeatedly used, so the cost can be justified."
"Certainly not alchemy," she murmured, her eyes narrowing as she considered the implications.
She took a sip from her wine, eyes gleaming.
She recalled the new look of the church, crimson and gold; it was a beautiful temple. She couldn't wait to see what was inside.
She finally turned to face ottar.
"He had knowledge of weapons from sowhere else, Places even we don't know. And he wears that mask,which I want to remove so badly. Whatever his plan is, I want to be part of it."
ottar remained still.
Freya's smile shifted, an air of calculation in her gaze. "It's not enough to watch from afar anymore."
Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, and her tone softened, but there was a cold resolve beneath it. "I want to see how far he'll go—what he's truly capable of."
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