Chapter 4
In the Hibachitei, Bete Loga causes a ruckus.
I sighed as I quickly crossed the street, doing my best to avoid the rain which splashed down from the sky.
The building, which was a humble 2-story, sat directly on the northern side of Southwest Main. It was an appropriated tavern, the only indication of familia occupation being the emblem of a sandal engraved on a sign hanging outside of the building.
Vidar Familia. Rank: C. Type: Combat. Members: Formerly 19, now cut down to 10 after the recent expedition. Majority of members are Level 2, with 1 remaining Level 3 within the group–the captain Bete Loga, alias Fenrir. Highest cleared floor: 36th. Floor bosses cleared: 11.
Should I enter? Or should I just drop it off at the doorway?
I stared at the sword and the bag of money in my hands. It wasn't as if doing the right thing would make the guilt go away. That wasn't how it worked, and I didn't want someone else to call me "kind" or "generous".
"If yer just gonna stand there, then get outta the way. I don't have time for weaklings who spend their time gawking."
I sighed.
One might believe, given my tendency to dive into long-winded monologues, that I might be able to finish and arrive at a predestined conclusion which would allow for the reader to gain profound insight about the story, setting, or situation in particular. In that sense, every monologue I made had the accomplishment of making the reader "understand the situation" as compared to having them "read the atmosphere."
One might also believe that monologues were usually boring and of little use to readers, and as such placed by the author in such a manner or time as to be broken on purpose to introduce a new character, factor or situation into the scene.
This was a clear-cut case of the second. In this scene, the new person being introduced was a werewolf about my age with a muscular frame and gray-white hair, and gray wolf-ears peeking out from his hair. He also had a tail made of ashy fur, which swished from side to side as he glared at me. However, the most prominent defining feature was the blue lightning bolt-shaped tattoo on the left side of his face, which twitched subtly as he stared at me, and I at him. This was most likely Bete Loga.
Being the genre-savvy person I am, before Loga could even move his gaze to look me in the eye, I looked to the side immediately, preventing any possibility of establishing eye contact with him. Staring into each other's eyes was the equivalent of "a duel challenge", and I wasn't idiotic enough to be tripping that sort of flag. Who do you think I am? I'm Hikigaya Hachiman, the perpetual loner. In this world, such people like me are invincible! We don't even fall for those sorts of obvious, commonplace traps even once! One day such riajuus like you will bow before us and our knowledge! Fear us, Loga!
… Oh, he's gone.
Loga's tail swished back and forth as he stepped into the tavern, bag draped over his back. From the looks, he had just come back from outside the city. I followed him in.
The interior of the first room was a wide-open space that was apparently the common room, with a tavern-esque style to it. A bar area like the one in the Hostess was near the back, and the rest of the space was occupied by a large dining table with multiple chairs around it.
"Hey, everyone! I'm back!" Loga's shout echoed through the building, and I covered my ears. He really had a set of lungs on him. "... Everyone?"
"B-Bete…" a man with bandages around his head and arm, who had been sitting at the bar, tried to sit up as he saw Loga. "I'm… I'm…" Faintly, I recognized the man who had been next to the chestnut-haired girl that day. He staggered forward, collapsing to his knees as he grasped at Loga's shirt and breaking into tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Loga's aura of confidence fell apart faster than a kindergartener's gingerbread house. "What happened?" When the man didn't answer, Loga used his free hand and hauled up the man, shaking him furiously. "What happened, Quant? Tell me! Tell me!"
But the man only continued to cry, tears running down his face as he apologized to Loga over and over.
Behind me, the door creaked open.
"B-Bete?!" The catgirl who had entered the room was missing an arm, bandages wound around a single eye and the other arm, as well as around her legs. Staggering in on crutches or being wheeled in on stretchers through the door were the other members of Vidar Familia, and behind them, closing the door, an old man with flowing, auburn hair that could've only been the god himself.
"You guys… what happened? What happened?! What the hell happened?!"
I listened quietly as the familia members began talking. It had been a regular materials retrieval quest. But that day, the monsters were more than double what they had prepared for. A single ambush, and it was all over.
And as Loga and I watched, our gazes were directed towards the row of long, narrow bundles of cloth sitting on the far side of the room. One of the members pulled the sheet of the final bundle back to reveal the face of the vice-captain, paled in death.
There was a thud as Loga dropped to his knees. Faintly, I heard the whispered "No…" beneath his breath as the rest of his familia members apologized to him, again and again.
And as the rest of his familia continued to weep, Loga absentmindedly rose to his feet, swaying back and forth, his tail limply lying on the ground, his eyes wandering about as if he was lost.
"Bete… I'm sorry."
In the blink of an eye, Loga was on the other side of the room, hoisting Vidar into the air by the collar, the bag over the werewolf's back falling to the floor with a thump as it was forgotten.
"Don't you… don't you say that to me!" Loga's voice cracked violently like shattering glass, tears welling in his eyes. "A god ain't supposed to apologize!"
"Bete, no!"
"Stop!"
"Bete, stop!"
The familia's remaining members surged forward, trying to pull Loga away, even as their own wounds caused them to let out hisses of pain and stagger as they moved forward.
But Loga continued to scream, the tears finally running down his face as raw emotion consumed him. "A god–a god–a god ain't supposed to admit it! They ain't supposed to admit it!" Even as he was dragged away by his friends, the werewolf continued to howl in anguish, thrashing about as tears streamed down his face.
But despite his struggling, Loga's strength was quickly overpowered as the rest of the familia began dragging him deeper into the building, the other members trickling away until only the old man was left.
"I suppose that you saw that rather embarrassing display." His words made me freeze as he let out a sigh. "I'm sorry you had to witness that."
"Don't worry about it." I stepped forward. The god's eyes sharpened on me, and I took a step backwards. His eyes held a bit of the gaze Hiratsuka-sensei had, but it was much sharper, taking apart and piecing together every part of my personality with ease. I was, quite literally, being "read like a book".
"Why are you returning these? As an adventurer without a familia, wouldn't you have been better off keeping them?"
I froze at his words.
Was the intuition of a god truly that powerful? Were they that perceptive? I had never met a god before in my time here in Orario, but I had heard numerous tales–indeed, some of them involving perverted situations–about their abilities as well as their eyesight, which some claimed was so powerful they could peer right into the souls of other people.
I was reminded of the proverb that many had told me in Orario: Nothing can fool a god.
"Well?" Vidar's gaze bore into my own.
I broke off eye contact. "... No reason. I just didn't feel like keeping it."
"Ah. I see." Vidar closed his eyes and nodded briefly. There was a long silence as the god's face shifted between different expressions, before finally settling back into one of calm. "Keep it, child."
"Wha–"
My objection was cut off as he held up his hand. "I won't be staying in this city much longer. All the members, aside from Bete, have already decided to leave Orario and start a new life elsewhere. You'll need those–and my Blessing–much more than the rest of my familia do."
I blinked slowly as I processed his words. Vidar's… Blessing?
Was he offering–
"Yes." The god nodded his head. "As improbable as it seems, I am offering to grant you a Falna."
"What makes you think I don't have one already?"
In response to that, Vidar smiled. Not even an answer, just a smile that told me he knew.
Nothing can fool a god. This was becoming more and more true.
"Well? Would you accept it if I offered to give you a Falna?"
I frowned.
As I was right now, there was almost no way for me to get to the bottom of the Dungeon. The only way was to acquire a Status from a god. Other benefits included influence and resources, which would most definitely assist me in reaching the bottom of the Dungeon.
However, there were, of course, downsides to the contract. For one, by signing into it I automatically would become an extension of the will of the god I was contracted to. As a result, I would be forced to deal with proxy situations if conflicts were to arise, or initiate diplomatic negotiations with other gods to enter alliances and whatnot. Unless the god was particularly negligent with their familia maintenance or deliberately willing to turn a blind eye, it would become difficult for me to maintain my status as an independent, or my neutrality if problems were to arise.
The easiest thing to do right now was to weigh the pros and cons. Most importantly, what was Vidar's intent?
This familia was nowhere near prime condition. Being down 9 members, but then immediately going for recruitment was usually a sign of desperation or nonchalance on the god's part. Either they desperately needed to fill up on body count, or they were casually throwing bodies into the meat grinder without any regard for the value of life. But Vidar himself showed none of that. His act and offer was nowhere charismatic enough to convince people to join; it was at best a simple request he'd come up with off the top of his head when I first met him.
So the question to be asked was: "Why?"
A cryptic smile. "I think that such an answer… is one you'll find out in due time. I would simply be authoring the first page in your story, so to speak. Nothing more. You wouldn't be bound to this familia." From the way he spoke, to the way his hands slightly moved through the air as he gestured to emphasize his point–the god's body language was 100% completely honest. It was something that I could only describe as genuine. A straightforward, direct declaration of intent that had no subtleties or ulterior motives to it whatsoever. "So, child? Do you accept?"
"One last question." I couldn't stop myself from asking. "What do I need to do for you?"
Vidar hefted a sigh. "Bete is the only one in my familia who will stay. Please.. take care of him."
I wasn't sure I heard him correctly at first. Then, it clicked. "... you want me to watch Loga? He's Level 3. I don't know what you want me to do with him."
"I'm not asking that you accompany him into the Dungeon. But…" Vidar's eyes trailed off into the distance. "Bete… that child prizes his 'fang', above all else. He seeks strength. But now that he has lost those around him once again…" He sighed before straightening and looking into my eyes. "I will not ask you to absolve him of his burden. But please, just sit next to him when he's at the Hibachitei, at the very least. Talk to him, will you? You can do that much at least, I'm sure." His mouth curved into a wry smile.
Guilt. Again, guilt. It all went back to that. Something did go wrong, but neither I nor Loga were to blame. But why did both of us feel guilt?
No matter how much we twisted it, no matter what lens we tried to view the situation in, that guilt was still there. Because guilt and forgiveness were ultimately something that stemmed from our own perceptions of ourselves.
I closed my eyes. It was irrational, of course. The guilt I was feeling didn't make sense.
But part of me wanted to do something right anyways.
I nodded. "I'll watch Loga."
Vidar closed his eyes and smiled in response. "What is your name, child?"
"Hikigaya Hachiman."
"Ahhh." He hummed and tilted his head backwards. There was a glint of mirthful recognition in his eyes, and I felt my gut lurch. "Like the god of archery from the Far East, no?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"I see. Take off your shirt."
Hold on a second, what's with that change in tone? Wasn't this supposed to be a serious scene? And what's with that statement about taking off my shirt?
"No worries." Vidar must've seen the look on my face, because he chuckled. "We gods apply our Falna by dripping our blood onto the backs of mortals. I bear no ill intentions."
It was convincing enough of an explanation so I let it slide, taking off my shirt and turning around so that my back faced him.
As he traced what probably were intricate patterns on my back, I felt a warmth flare to life over my skin, following the motions of his finger. Around me, the world gradually seemed to sharpen even more into focus, colors, sounds, and sensations all becoming more defined.
The lights in the room flickered, becoming brighter as colors filtered into my vision. The half open door was sitting on a rusty hinge. The hallway that led deeper into the building was brighter.
The voice of someone murmuring overhead became clearer, indistinct sounds shifting gradually into words.
"What are we going to do?"
"Maybe Old Man Vidar's got something."
"Does he? I've never seen him like that. He looked… defeated, almost."
"Hell if I know. For the love of Zeus, Mari, Bete just lost his girlfriend. What can we do?"
There was a sudden intake of breath behind me. "Interesting… " I turned around to see Vidar's face, which was fixed in an expression of intrigue, surprise, and curiosity. "I didn't think it was possible…"
I froze upon hearing the words. What had he found out?
Vidar shuffled around behind me, finally passing me a piece of paper.
"Take a look for yourself. I didn't look into your history more than the last couple of days…" Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. Vidar didn't know. My secret was safe. "I've never seen a child with such drive. Enough to manifest into something else."
Hikigaya Hachiman
Vidar Familia
Level 1
Strength: I 0
Endurance: I 0
Dexterity: I 0
Agility: I 0
Magic: I 0
Developmental Abilities
Perception I
Skills
The Ordinary: Makes user unremarkable and unnoticeable, even if one is completely obvious in broad daylight. Effectiveness increases based on similar entities in proximity. Passive.
I stared at it for a couple seconds. The Ordinary? Isn't this just a glorified version of Stealth Hikky, the Hachiman 108 incarnation of my status as a mob character? This is almost completely useless, you know? It's not even 'stealth' stealth, it's just 'unremarkability', which makes it next to useless, you know that?
The only chance this would ever come in handy was if I was ever tailed or chased by members of an evil organization out to kill me because I somehow accidentally destroyed their operations somehow while doing my daily business… the more I think about it, the more flags I'm tripping in my mind. This is bad. If the mental scenario plays out to fruition, there's no doubt that I'm going to end up with a truckload of trouble during my time here. I'm going to stop that train of thought right there.
"I've never seen someone getting a Developmental Ability and a Skill at the 1st Level… you're an interesting one, Hikigaya Hachiman." Vidar stepped backwards. "I hope that your journey serves you well."
~~This is a Line Break~~
The Hibachitei was a run-down tavern located on South Main in Orario, sitting directly on the street bordering the Entertainment District. The sign of a red wasp hung from the doorway, and inside was one large dining area, with a grumpy-looking dwarf tending to the bar.
And in the middle of the bar, there was an entire row of empty seats. Most of the patrons eyed the open spaces with envy, but didn't dare make a move.
After all, the last person who had tried was currently out cold on the ground. A swift kick from the only occupant in the middle of the bar had flung the unsuspecting adventurer across the room into one of the tables, knocking him out in a single blow. Coupled with Loga's declaration– "If you want to sit down here, you damn chumps better have the balls to take a kick"–the threat was more than enough for the patrons to back off.
From the far side of the bar, I sipped at my apple juice as I watched Loga down drink after drink, uncaring of those around him.
Today had been the day Vidar and the rest of the familia had left Orario. I had gone to nift a final Status Update from Vidar, who had freely accepted.
Loga, of course, hadn't come.
As I watched, he continued to drink for quite a while until he had amassed a large pyramid of tankards in front of him, with another tankard turned upside down on each of the bar stools–20 in total, including his own.
Then he wobbled to his feet, tossed a sack of coins onto the counter, and stumbled out into the night.
Getting up and placing the exact amount of money I owed on the counter, I followed him out as well, watching as Loga stopped to pause and vomit into one of the gutter openings in the narrow alley.
As he wiped his mouth and groaned, his ears twitched as he whirled around. "Who the hell're you? Are you here–" he was interrupted by another bout of vomiting. I waited patiently as he finished and wiped his mouth again. "Here to pick a fight? Well then, you can–" He turned to the side and heaved again.
… Seriously, the timing was getting kind of suspicious. Were the isekai gods screwing with me?
I waited again as he finished. "... piss off." My lack of a response seemed to infuriate him. "What? You think that I'm a sorry sight, huh?! Look at Bete Loga, everyone! He's a fucking loser and a weakling who can't even protect the people he loves!" The werewolf's bitter laughter rang out in the empty alley. "Is that what you're here for? Because you feel sorry for me? Well you can take your goddamn pity and shove it." The werewolf's snarl made me back up a couple of steps. "You don't have any–any–right to pity me!" Then, he swiveled on his foot, and with a glare that froze me where I stood, Bete Loga disappeared into the shadows.
~~This is a Line Break~~
"... You again?" Loga's face contorted into a snarl as he watched me sit down next to him for the 5th night in a row. But with a simple "Tch!" he went back to drinking, doing his best to ignore me entirely.
However, it wasn't long before he began picking a fight with the rest of the patrons in the bar.
"You call yourselves adventurers?" The harsh bark of laughter echoed through the room as everyone else grew silent. "What a buncha wusses! You think you chickenshits are worth a fuck in the Dungeon?"
Everyone else was silent, so he continued. "Look at all of you! Cowards and disgraces! Can't even muster the guts to defend yourself! What happened? Did the small-fries in the Dungeons cut off your balls or somethin'?"
It wasn't long before someone stood up and drew their sword. "I've had enough of your crap, you damn mutt!" Around him, his fellow party members voiced their agreement, knives and clubs finding their ways into their owners' hands.
"Oho! So you wanna play?" Violently erupting from his chair, Loga smashed one of the tankards to the ground. "Well let's play!"
6 adventurers against Vidar Familia's (former) captain, Level 3 adventurer Fenris. It wasn't even close.
The first one to approach had his head smashed into the ground by a single punch, the second one quickly joining him as Loga grabbed his head and simply slammed him face-first into the floor.
#3 and #4 attacked with their clubs simultaneously, blows raining down on Loga's back, but he shrugged them off before retaliating with a spinning kick, the roundhouse slamming both of them into the tavern's far wall.
#5 swung his sword, but a swift upwards kick sent him flying into the air before he bounced off the tavern's ceiling and slammed into the ground. #6 didn't even hesitate to drop his weapon and flee the tavern.
Loga landed on the ground in a crouch before rising to his full height. "Anyone else?" He swept one look around the room, currently emptying as the patrons hastily left, his gaze finally fixing on mine. "You. What the hell are you doing here, weakstick?"
I ignored him.
"What, scared of losing? Go run back home to your mommy then, you yellow-bellied shit! Goddamn pushovers like you'll never accomplish anything!" We were only a meter apart from each other now, Loga's voice echoing off the rafters as his insults turned into full-blown shouting. In response, I only took a sip of my water.
Suddenly, I found myself being hoisted into the air as Loga picked me up by the collar, the glass of water I was drinking tumbling to the ground.
"Why're you here, you bastard?!" The werewolf's other fist was cocked backwards. "Why the hell are you here?!" His hands were shaking as his eyes roamed over my body, filled with anger and confusion.
"..." It probably wasn't going to end up in my favor if I just kept sitting down next to him at night without telling him why. "Vidar sent me."
Loga's eyes widened in surprise. "That damn old man sent you?!" Just as quickly, though, his face twitched and he settled back into the facade he had been carrying the entire day. "Ha! That's a hoot! You think I need your help?"
There was a thwump as a sack of money landed next to me before Loga left the building, teeth bared in a smile the whole time.
A smile that was resoundingly hollow and empty.
~~This is a Line Break~~
Resignation was a common emotion I had grown accustomed to feeling, sensing, and seeing in this world. Sometimes, I saw it on the faces of those coming out of the Dungeon with missing limbs. Sometimes, I saw it on the faces of street beggars who desperately fought for scraps.
Today? Today, I didn't need to see my own face to know that it was resigned as I watched Loga down his 18th drink for the night. I had watched this particular occurrence so often that I could even name the drink number range around which his critical thinking skills would be so far gone that he would be picking fights with others(around the 20s range or so).
Usually, adventurers, even Level 1s, had better constitutions, which amounted to being able to hold their alcohol better than the average Orario citizen. As a Level 3, Loga was not exempt from this. However, what Loga drank wasn't the average tankard of regular beer that most people drank. Instead, he would down tankard after tankard of the fiery red-wasp liquor, which was many times more concentrated than regular beer.
Every night, without fail, as he knocked down his 20th drink he would start hurling insults at the rest of the patrons.
The only one he ignored was me. We had interacted with each other a grand total of 3 times after the first five nights. The conversations were nothing of substance; nothing more than nods and greetings and the occasional drunken spiel from Loga.
That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Vidar's request was being fulfilled, and that was what counted.
Right now, as I monologued in front of my curry and Loga sat to my left in the center, drinking repeatedly, I couldn't help but start to think that this was the perfect introduction scene for me as a narrator to begin the story in medias res! The setting was decent, there could be a lead-up of flashback chapters for the author to fill in on how I arrived in this peculiar situation, and even a fun opening line, like This world surprised me in several ways...
As I continued spinning the monologue in my head, the doors to the Hibachitei flew open and a large group trampled in loudly. The smiling clown emblem emblazoned on their clothing and on the flag they carried in with them was a dead giveaway.
Loki Familia.
Being the perceptive, genre-savvy character I was, before my first week as an adventurer was through in Orario I had long found out about the familias at the top not only to avoid the embarrassment of being the clueless idiot who has no knowledge at all(which would easily set me apart from others and make me an easy target, another thing I wanted to avoid), but to spot potential candidates for joining.
Loki Familia. Rank: S. Type: Dungeon Exploration. Members: 51. Majority of members are either Level 1 or 2, with 12 Level 3s total, 5 Level 4s, and 3 Level 6s. Led by Finn Deimne, alias Braver. Highest cleared floor: 50th. Number of floor bosses cleared: 43.
These guys were the cream of the crop in Orario, the absolute elite. If I could join them, I would, but I doubted that I could. In this type of story, the characters had to build themselves up to a level where they could rival the S-class, not join them. There were probably strict requirements of some sort or 'Level-politics' where inherently the social hierarchy would judge you based on your Status as an adventurer.
I proceeded to take them all in my gaze with a sweeping glance before returning to my food. While there were a few prominent characters in there, the rest were expendable side characters whose lives weren't worth a damn in this type of setting. They were more liable to end up getting ripped apart by the Dungeon as a show of force, more than anything. The most interesting character was the riajuu leader, a small blond boy with a pretty face that was good-looking enough to come close to that of Totsuka's. But Totsuka was irreplaceable to begin with. I'm sorry, good-looking blond boy, but my heart is for Totsuka and Totsuka only. Wait, did I really just say that?
Finn Deimne looked around, smiling at everyone in the tavern. As he turned to me, I automatically plastered a smile on my face before he turned away and I dropped it. Wait, did I just instinctively acknowledge him as being higher on the hierarchy than me?! I hate it when that happens.
The group promptly sat around several larger tables located in the middle of the rather expansive area, chatting all the way as only riajuus could. Apparently they had just returned from a highly successful expedition to the 45th Floor for a quest to collect some high level materials of some sort. As they talked, they began drinking and laughing, brightening the atmosphere of the Hibachitei.
There was a loud thunk next to me as Loga slammed another tankard down on the bar, a shark's grin on his face. Instinctively, I scooted just a couple inches away. I'd been with him enough nights to know where this was going.
As I predicted, Loga began insulting the Loki Familia. "Heh, what kinda adventure can a buncha wusses have, huh? Don't make me laugh! You guys would be nothing but a bunch of big ol' roadblocks for the real adventurers!"
The statement was met by a few discontented faces and a couple of people gritting their teeth, but the members did pretty well holding it together. Unfortunately, holding it together wasn't going to stop Loga from continuing.
"Bunch of fish baits. Whaddya know but cowering behind the real adventurers, huh? All I see here are a bunch of useless weaklings yukkin' it up! Like y'all are the kings of the world!"
This time, his words were more clearly felt by the entire group in the tavern. Aside from the executives, who shrugged off his comments with carefree smiles and calm nods, the rest of the group was clearly feeling the buzz die off as Loga rattled off another series of insults.
"You know, if I wasn't so wasted, I'd have thought y'all would've tried to respond. But I guess fish bait don't even have what it takes to reply!" The werewolf's laughter echoed in the now-silent bar. A quick glance at their body behavior told me that the members of the Loki Familia were one centimeter away from snapping. Loga, of course, wanted that: he was always looking for someone to take out his emotions on. As he lifted another drink to his lips, they were curled in a smirk before he unleashed another torrent of scathing words. "You hear that, you yellow-bellied shits? Coming and going to bars all day long, getting drunk on piss-poor beer, and then pretending everything's fine! Because that's all that weaklings do! Nothing! Not a single damn thing you do will ever matter, you chicken-livered cowards!"
There was a tinkle of broken glass on the floor as suddenly one of the members jumped to their feet and smashed a cup to the floor. "You son of a BITCH!" Following him were at least another 10-15 members of the Loki Familia as they all began approaching Loga, who got up and in response, kicked his chair into one of the walls.
The fight went about as well as I had expected; in other words, Loga completely destroyed them. All the lower-ranking members who had approached him were knocked out cold on the floor.
Amidst the silence that engulfed the bar, only one person spoke, a redhead with slit eyes and a cloth-strip around her flat-table of a chest which exposed her stomach. Loki burst into laughter as she downed the rest of her cup. "Bwa-ha-ha! What a crazy wolf! All by your little lonesome, yet you fight like you've got a whole army behind you. What a kook!"
Loga scoffed before turning away, but as I watched, a stocky dwarf seemingly materialized out of thin air and with a single punch, blew Loga across the room into a table. Well, he was in for it now.
"You're spoiling our drink, boy. So why don't you just keep your trap shut?" Gareth Landrock, alias Elgarm. Level 6.
"Indeed. Quite the smart words for someone who is, themselves, nothing but a craven pup." Riveria Ljos Alf, alias Nine Hell. Level 6.
"While your words don't seem of genuine arrogance…I must admit, the desperation is more than a little amusing." Finn Deimne, alias Braver. Level 6.
I snorted as I watched them talk, a sound that went largely unnoticed in the tavern due to my Skill. If it was noticed, it was probably along the lines of "There was a snort in the bar, but MC couldn't tell who did that."
Despite all his insults and criticisms however, Loga was not lacking in the determination department whatsoever. Indeed, I couldn't have been more convinced if the Author-san himself had told me he was the main character! Unfortunately, owing to my own particular circumstances, as well as the fact that the story is being told from my perspective, it seems that Loga is unfortunately not the protagonist lottery winner.
With a snarl, Loga recovered and lunged at Landrock before being instantly flattened by another fist.
I watched as Landrock slammed Loga to the ground repeatedly, only for him to stand up and attempt to mindlessly rush him before kissing the asphalt wooden floor again. As he lay on the ground bruised and battered, however, the werewolf's features morphed into a smile that only I saw. And as his hand clenched into a fist, Loga howled loudly, the sound resonating in the tavern and confusing the rest of the onlookers, before charging and being brought to the ground one last time.
Well, my work here was done. Loga had found his place in the world. As I dropped my payment on the counter and made to leave, the crowd began moving back into their respective positions amongst their tables, concealing me from the flow of the crowd.
Now that my duty to Vidar was done, I could get on with my life and my goal. Loki Familia was not something I wanted to tangle with, nor something I wanted a part of. Working with those people would just slow me down once my momentum started snowballing. Eager to prove themselves, thirsty for glory, and ready to devolve into conflict because of just a few choice words. That was nothing but trouble for me.
Those people were normal. Those people were sane. They were ordinary people who didn't have powerful desires or far-reaching goals that they planned on accomplishing. They might say that their goal was the "bottom of the Dungeon", but in reality they had no real motivation to do so. Such people took the jobs and the money as it came.
That's why I refused to work with Loki Familia. The only ones who could realize my dream and bring it into reality were the ones who carried motivation and desire similar to mine. And as a whole, save for its executives, Loki Familia was completely normal.
In the Dungeon, being normal got you killed.
I couldn't risk anything like that happening to me.