If anyone recognizes the name of the Vidar Familia, or the name Fenris, or Bete Loga, I'm sure you have realized the period of time the story takes place in, which is during Orario's Dark Ages, around 4-5 years before the start of the current Danmachi storyline.

As usual, be sure to drop a review. Comments and criticisms are always appreciated. And thank you for reading.

Chapter 3
Failure bares its fangs at Hikigaya Hachiman.

A goblin lunged at me, but it was slow. Hopelessly slow compared to Anya. No, seriously. That catgirl klutz was Level 4. There was no way a goblin would've been able to match the speed that Anya went at during our training sessions, even if she was taking it slow enough for me to react.

I easily sidestepped, let the goblin's lunge hit the floor, and drove my blade into the back of its head. It didn't get back up.

A lizard attempted a running tackle from my right side, but my blade intercepted it, the dull iron of the longsword ripping through the lizard's throat and causing it to flop to the ground.

As quickly as I could, I knelt down and drew my knife out with my left hand, making neat, 3-centimeter deep incisions to carve out the magic stones. Once they landed in the pouch on my side with a reassuring clink and the corpses turned into ash, I moved on to the next room.

The next room had a group of 6: 3 goblins, 2 kobolds, and a lizard.

All of them were conveniently facing the other direction, so I was able to kill 3 of them before the rest even had a chance to react, my blade quickly separating their heads from their bodies with sharp, controlled swings. The final goblin telegraphed its lunge with a crouch, but before it could pounce a sword pierced out the back of its mouth as I completed a stab before flicking my blade to my left, the body landing on the ground with a soft thud.

The other kobold swiped at me, but a neat backstep made it mistime its attack, leaving it completely open as my blade tore out its throat.

The final monster, a lizard, attempted to flee, but instead I was able to pin its tail before carving its neck apart, its twitches fading as it died.

I added 6 more stones to my pouch. The 4th Floor was becoming manageable after spending 3 weeks navigating its corridors and getting a feel for its pacing. I'd pretty much spent only a couple days on the 1st before deciding to hightail it to the 2nd, which Flott had informed me was not much different, aside from the number and frequency of monster spawns.

Goblin, kobold, lizard. Once you figured out how to game the monsters' habits, harvesting stones became way easier and 3-on-1, 4-on-1, or even 5-on-1 situations–frontal 5-on-1 combat, not the ambush type I had pulled earlier–weren't as difficult to deal with anymore. There was still the physical training bit, but Anya's grueling regimens more than made up for that.

Today was the day I would descend to the 5th Floor.

I slowly picked my way down the staircase, sword in hand as I scanned the surroundings.

The first room was empty. Well, no surprise there.

The second room was not. I walked in to find a pack of kobolds staring at me, complete with the completely witless sentry waiting at the side of the doorway who ate a sword as I stepped in, all movie-like.

There was a long silence as the 4 of them stared me down. I, on the other hand, maintained my ready stance and stared back at them.

It wasn't until I heard the cracking noises in the hallway behind me that I realized what they were waiting for.

Flott's words came back to mind: "At the 5th Floor, things get much more difficult. It's the first test for adventurers to overcome as they begin Dungeon-diving. Monsters are stronger, paths are more complex, and more groups of monsters spawn. If you're not careful, you'll get snatched up by the Dungeon in a heartbeat."

It appears that I had indeed been "snatched up". Behind me was a group of 6, spawning from the hallway: 4 goblins, 2 kobolds. In front of me was a group of 4, already spawned: 4 kobolds.

10-on-1. Those odds weren't in my favor.

I did the only logical thing, of course: I attacked.

The first goblin had just gotten down into a crouch when I punted it in the face, the little gremlin recoiling backwards with a shriek of pain before my sword chopped it in half in a single swing. The next goblin didn't even get a chance to get off the ground before I bashed its head in with the pommel, the iron denting its skull before it flopped to the floor like a limp rag.

The 2 kobolds in front of me charged, but I sidestepped neatly and they sprawled onto the ground before I carved up one's back in 2 slashes and crushed the other's throat with a fast stomp.

There was a flash of pain in my leg as a goblin's jaws closed around it, but I ignored the pain. I had been bitten enough times by goblins to know not to panic, anyways. A wound or two was irrelevant. A downward stab aimed at the head, and the goblin dropped to the ground, its jaws never to bite anything ever again.

Something slammed into my back with a WHAM and a screech of claws on metal. I pitched forward, my fall only halted by the foot that I barely managed to place in front of me. The kobold behind me snarled, its claws raised to deliver another blow after its back-tackle, but I retaliated with a kick, the monster letting out a whine as my foot connected with its chest and it was sent staggering backwards.

However, I couldn't defend the second tackle nearly fast enough, and it sent me sprawling across the floor. Before I could get up, however, two kobold claw swipes forced me to hold up my sword to block them, leaving me in a vulnerable position as I lay prone on the ground.

I unleashed a wild kick, my foot connecting with something before I felt a swipe land across that leg, tearing through my pants leg and drawing blood. I kicked out again, hearing a snap of breaking bone, but before I could wind back for another one against the unknown monster behind the two kobolds pressing down on my blade, I felt claws sink into my left leg. Pain shot up my thigh.

My concentration broke, and my blade relaxed enough for the kobolds' claws to drive home, the claws breaking past my guard to aim for my unguarded torso–where they promptly bounced off my chestplate with a jarring CLANG that rattled my ribs. Ignoring the brush with death, I drew out my knife with my other hand and drove it into the neck of the first kobold, wrenching it in a 90-degree turn clockwise that made its neck twist with a gruesome snap before it collapsed on top of me. The second kobold attempted to attack, but I grabbed the previous corpse by the scruff of the neck and positioned it to take the blow, the claws sinking into the body before I pushed upwards with every ounce of strength I had while kicking upwards with both legs.

There was a stab of pain, but the remaining monsters were pushed off of me, leaving me enough space to get up. Another slash of my sword and one of the goblins let out a shriek before dissolving to ash–I had hit its magic stone. Wasted money, but I couldn't be picky.

I'd cleared out maybe half of the group or more. Multiple bodies lay across the floor. But for every monster I took out, there was a wound to account for it. Knife-like stabs of pain ran through my legs every time I put weight on them, and my arms had multiple slash wounds while I had tried to block the monsters from murdering me. I was also severely winded, my breath coming out in short gasps and bursts.

But there were only 3 monsters left. I lifted my sword, beckoning them to come.

The lead goblin was instantly cut down as soon as it entered the range of my sword, and the kobold didn't fare much better, either, losing its arm and then turning into dust as my slash connected with its stone. The final kobold snarled at me, but that didn't really help it as my sword took off its head.

I let out a shaky sigh as I assessed the bodies around me, and then winced as I appraised my own body. Thankfully, I had the foresight to purchase a couple of potions, and I proceeded to withdraw one of them, emptying the vial of blue liquid into my mouth. The health potion burned its way down my throat, hitting my stomach with a fire that spread a slow warmth through my body as I rested, sword at the ready, waiting for my wounds to close.

Tossing the now-empty vial to the floor, I wobbled to my feet, supporting myself by placing my hand on the wall.

I couldn't continue like this today. I knew better than to keep up a losing fight. No, I'd retreat, lick my wounds, and fight another day.

11-on-1? And a pincer maneuver, at that? The 5th Floor really wasn't for messing around. If I didn't get new equipment soon, I would probably end up burning too much money on potions. Miach was a kind god and he frequently gave out potions for free, since his familia was one of the largest medical suppliers in the city, but the gazes his members gave me every time I waltzed on by to buy some potions–only to get a bonus discount because Miach conveniently happened to be on counter duty–told me that if I came in on a day where Miach wasn't around, they'd revenge themselves by gouging the hell out of my wallet.

That was why, despite Miach's offers for me to join his familia, I continued to decline.

Familias. Miach aside, I really hadn't had any luck with them.

The high-class ones weren't even worth a try–I severely doubted that Loki or Freya would want a part-time bartender to join them, unless it was as a supporter. And I knew how supporters were treated.

The middle-class ones barely even looked at me before turning me away at the door. I never got to see the gods in person, even. One look at me–whether it was the Guild-stock gear or whether it was something else, I didn't know–and I was shunted out of the door.

That left the low-class familias–the ones in debt and the ones desperately needing members and liable to be wiped out at the snap of a finger by other familias. I had no interest in involving myself in the petty rivalries between deities which could result in death or dismemberment, so that was out.

I was on my own. That meant I had to figure out my own problems–most currently, equipment.

I had maybe 30,000 in the bank. That was more than enough for some decent armor and a new sword, right?

Well, 30,000 was at least enough to last me through the 10th Floor if I was careful enough. And if Miach was nice enough to accidentally let slip–errr, tell me when he'd be in his shop on counter duty every time I ran into him at the market.

What I needed was a sword. The Guild-stocks were standard–but just that, standard. They weren't terrifically balanced, and they were still unwieldy and didn't quite fit right into my hand. They did well enough, but a custom sword would've been preferred. One with a lot of durability, probably.

Even with my repairs that were, admittedly rudimentary despite Anya's instructions–I still needed practice and advice from her at times–I had been forced to replace my sword once already. I needed a better weapon.

There was a hazy gleam of light on metal as I picked my way through the 4th Floor's hallways.

As I made my way there, stopping only to decapitate the goblin who happened to be in the way, I found myself in the middle of a room littered with strewn bits and pieces of gear. Magic stones were spilled across the floor–large, high-quality magic stones, the stuff that went for maybe 30,000 a piece, not the fingernail-sized shards I usually sold. Pieces of thick, heavily scratched armor dotted sparsely across the ground in a trail, along with smears of blood. Lots of blood. A ridiculous amount of it, in fact.

Whoever had passed through here hadn't had time to check things. They were seriously wounded, assuming the blood was theirs, and they were in a hurry, judging by the veritable wealth that littered the floor.

A windfall was a windfall. I couldn't really afford to be picky.

There weren't too many magic stones, but the ones that were there were about the size of an eraser or so, large enough to fill up the rest of my pouch in a matter of seconds. I left the gear; armor that was heavily damaged wasn't really going to be of use, and I sincerely doubted that I could even wear it without falling over, since I still hadn't gotten a Falna whereas these people probably did, judging by the size of the stones. These were Floors 18+ stones, considering the drops that were present: I spotted claws, fins, and even what looked like a rabbit pelt strewn over the floor, along with an abandoned knapsack which, on further inspection, was about a quarter-full of stones.

I took the knapsack and stuffed the drops and stones inside it before flinging it over my back and walking out of the room, following the trail of equipment.

More armor, more stones, more drops. And more blood. No empty glass vials, though. That meant that they probably burned through their potions.

… Was that…?

A sword lay on the ground, scabbard and all. The sheath was stamped with the insignia of a sandal on it, probably the familia emblem.

Being curious as to see whether I was really lucky enough for a whole sword to just fall into my hands like that, I unsheathed the blade and held it up.

The silverish-white blade gleamed faintly in the light, a stark contrast from the dull iron of my regular sword. It was also lighter than the Guild sword; a couple swings against a wandering kobold, however, left no doubts as to its sharpness, as a mere flick of my wrist was able to sever its body in two at the waist. This was–quite literally–levels above the sword I was using.

In a moment of quick thinking, I strapped the sword against my waist. Now it looked like I was using two swords in a somewhat idiotic fashion, but it was better than openly carrying around a high-class weapon when I wasn't even past the 5th Floor yet. That invited trouble.

"What happens in the Dungeon stays in the Dungeon." The subtext was clear. Anything and anyone was fair game, so long as they were worth your time. There were even rumors of entire familias being deliberately ambushed in the Dungeon.

Being an entirely normal human, I needed to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible to avoid attention of any type. Any attention here was bad attention.

Therefore, I kept my swords sheathed and moved as quietly as I could, blending in with the flow of the crowd to avoid attention as I made my way up to the Tower of Babel.

My gut churned as a shriek of pain filled my ears.

It was a group of adventurers, mostly animal people but some humans amongst them, huddled at a center of carnage. Some of them were missing limbs; others sporting ugly gashes across their body or face, and still others did nothing but shudder, their bodies shutting down on the floor while their comrades attempted to pour potions into their mouths.

Low murmurs from the surrounding crowd reached my ears.

"Isn't that the… the Vidar Familia? Led by Fenris, that wild Level 3?"
"What happened to him? Did he go down in the Dungeon too?"
"No, Loga left the city 7 months ago on a journey to the plains."
"So what happened here?"
"They went on an expedition. It was supposed to be safe, no problems at all, and not too much risk involved. But there was a monster party from the looks of it, and they failed."

"Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me, stay with me…" Someone, a female dog-girl–a chienthrope– thrashed on the floor, blood flowing in a steady stream from her mouth and nose while a male with boar-like features–a boaz–kneeled over her, muttering the same words over and over again as he attempted to coax a potion into her mouth, tears dripping from his eyes. Similar scenes were happening all over the great hall as the members of the group struggled to keep their comrades alive.

But there was one person to whom the group was tending to more than anyone else.

"Get the… the Dian Cecht Familia! Someone, anyone, please! She isn't breathing!" In the center of the group, a girl with chestnut-colored hair twitched incoherently. Blood pooled around her body, staining her clothes and hair a muddled color of red. The man who was calling for help looked frantic and desperate, but even as he stumbled forward and collapsed to his knees, no one moved to help him. "Someone… someone please, help us!" The man's scream echoed in the silent hall, unanswered, as the girl's body slowly stilled.

I wanted to walk up to him, to tell him that it was useless to get help anymore, to tell him to go help someone else, because… because the girl had a hole the size of a plate in her chest, at the spot where her right lung should've been.

I wanted to leave. To walk away from the sounds of pain and sadness that filled my ears as the members grew more and more desperate, their shouts filling the air as no one else answered them. To ignore the sight of gaping wounds and distended flesh and move on with my life.

And yet, my feet rooted me to the ground and my eyes remained glued on the sight as the man finally collapsed to the ground and let out a horrible wail, his eyes empty as the chestnut-haired girl's twitches slowly stilled and blood stopped pouring from her body.

Unable to help, unable to leave.

~~This is a Line Break~~

Guilt.

The perceived sensation of failure in regards to fulfilling some sort of obligation.

At some point in life, every human experiences guilt over something that couldn't be called their fault. They feel as though it is somehow their fault that something has gone wrong, when in fact that couldn't be further from the truth.

Because of their desire to atone for this self-perceived slight, they rationalize what has happened. Every action they have committed becomes some sort of wrongdoing which is connected to that mistake, and if they had only had the foresight to see it, then perhaps things would be better.

That same feeling nagged at me as in front of my eyes, the same scene replayed over and over in my mind again and again.

It whispered that I could've helped them. I could've gone and bought potions. Could've at least helped them move their bodies to the morgue if that was any consolation for the shattered Vidar Familia. Could've stepped out to show that someone, that anyone cared.

But instead, all I did was stand there, with the bag full of loot which probably came from their party and the sword which had the symbol of their familia stamped on the sheath and the blade and watch as their Vice-Captain–the chestnut-haired girl–bled to a slow death in front of them.

And then, after they had moved the bodies to the morgue, I had gone and cashed in all the loot and stones for a grand sum of over 300,000 Valis, which all ended up going into the bank. 300,000 Valis which could've gone towards helping the rest of Vidar Familia limp along for their medical costs, which were sure to go into the millions, landing in my account instead.

If I had instead used the 300,000 to help them, would I have changed anything?

If I had done anything, instead of just standing there, would anything have changed?

And the conclusion I arrived at every single time after thinking it over every time was the same.

Nothing would've changed.

Eliminate things one by one, and what remains is the answer. My answer didn't change. It had nothing to do with rationalization–it was logical and objective. The guilt I was feeling was irrational. It didn't make sense.

But even if that was true, even if I was telling myself the truth, it didn't make sleeping at night any easier.

And as I turned over on my bed again, another question rose to the front of my mind.

Even if nothing would've changed, even if I couldn't do anything to help–would it have been the right thing to do?

Lying on the back of the bed, staring up at the ceiling as shadows slowly danced across the walls, I couldn't find an answer to my own question.