Chapter 37

Thyrsopolis

Rachel and Issei walked along cobblestone paths, the air filled with the hum of machinery and the distant melodies of street performers. The scent of exotic spices and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, adding to the sensory overload. As they continued their exploration, they arrived at a large hall adorned with a sign: "Newcomers Hall."

"Looks like this is where we go," Issei said, pointing to the sign.

Rachel nodded, and they pushed open the heavy wooden doors to enter. Inside, the hall was a blend of steampunk and Greek aesthetics, a medieval guild hall infused with the intricate beauty of ancient Greece. Brass columns lined the walls, each one adorned with ornate carvings of mythological scenes. Gears and cogs decorated the ceilings, turning slowly as if driven by some unseen force.

Rachel activated her observe skill, scanning the room. Unlike the high-level people outside, most of the people here were around their level, with the average being around 30 or 40. She noticed a variety of individuals—mostly human, and dressed like people from the "real world", probably gamers like her—each one looking eager and slightly nervous.

They approached a counter at the far end of the hall. Behind it stood a cheerful dog girl with fluffy ears and a wagging tail. And, of course, big breasts. Of course. Issei's eyes lit up at the sight, and he took a step forward, reaching out a hand as if to pet her.

"Issei, no!" Rachel hissed. Before Issei could embarrass them both, Rachel swiftly knocked him out with a precise chop to the neck. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Madelin, the dog girl, looked startled but quickly composed herself. "Is... is he okay?" she asked, her tail pausing mid-wag.

"He'll be fine," Rachel assured her, dragging Issei to the side. "Sorry about that. He's... not great with boundaries. And he's useless, so it's not a big deal if he is not awake while you explain."

Madelin chuckled, her tail resuming its wag. "No worries! Welcome to Thyrsopolis! I'm Madelin. How can I help you today?"

"We're new here," Rachel replied. "Just arrived a few minutes ago."

Madelin's tail wagged faster. "Fantastic! Welcome to Thyrsopolis, the magnificent city dedicated to the god Dionysos, the divinity of joy and ecstasy. And a Chad." She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Thyrsopolis isn't just any city. It exists within a warded space pocket, a unique dimension that serves as a nexus for Dionysian Gamers from all over the globe. Here, dungeons and realms converge, making it the hub of adventure and discovery."

She gestured to the grand architecture surrounding them. Of cours, as they were inside a building, they could not see it. "This city was crafted by the Twelve Archbishops of Dionysos, each of whom resides in one of the towering spires you see scattered throughout the city. These towers are not only their homes but also centers of immense magical power. Each Archbishop contributed their unique skills and magic to create this wondrous place. I even met one once! She was...Well, I met one once!"

Madelin's voice lowered slightly, adding a touch of mystery. "And our mayor, Luke Castellan, oversees it all. He ensures that Thyrsopolis remains a beacon of hope, excitement, and endless possibilities. In this city, you can find anything your heart desires—wonders and debauchery alike. But mostly debauchery, to be honest. But to truly enjoy all that Thyrsopolis offers, you'll need the city currency, which you can earn through trade or by completing quests."

She pointed to a large panel on the wall filled with colorful quest notices, each one promising a different adventure. "That's where you'll find your next steps. The quests here range from simple tasks to epic challenges. There's something for everyone, no matter your level or skill".

She pointed to a large panel on the wall filled with quest notices. "You can take quests from there."

Rachel glanced at the panel, intrigued by the myriad of quests listed.

"Thank you, Madelin," Rachel said, dragging Issei's unconscious form toward the quest panel.

"You're welcome! Good luck, and enjoy your time in Thyrsopolis!" Madelin called after them.

Broceliande

The three knights and their king followed in the footsteps of the two exorcists they'd been shadowing since dawn. The forest of Brocéliande was a wild, untamed expanse, filled with towering ancient trees whose gnarled branches intertwined to form a dense canopy overhead. The forest floor was carpeted with thick moss, fallen leaves, and hidden roots that made every step a cautious endeavor. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, sweet aroma of blooming wildflowers. Dio loved it. He even collected a few essence he had never seen for his city - he was so eager to go back to Thyrsopolis and see how it had evolved!

As they journeyed, the group encountered many ugly monsters. There were korrigans, small, mischievous sprites with glowing eyes that peeked from behind tree trunks. They even saw Ankou, skeletal harbingers of death, in the shadows, their bony hands pointing ominously before vanishing into the mist (fucking cowards). They had also faced the bugul noz, a forest spirit with a grotesque, twisted face and a body covered in brambles, whose mournful wails echoed through the trees - it was like Billie Eilish on steroids. Yet, the heavy swords and magic of Dionysus had stopped these creatures in their tracks, making the journey more than manageable - korrigan vs the Count's heavy sword? The steel won. Each time. And now, they even knew what Ankou tasted like.

Dio kicked Don Quixote, who had just tripped over a root and smashed his face into the forest floor. With the racket he'd made as he fell in his clattering armor, Dio figured they'd been spotted anyway. "Fuck discretion," he muttered under his breath.

They started running in the direction the exorcists had taken, and they arrived in a clearing bathed in a soft light that filtered through the canopy. In one corner, they saw the two exorcists, swords drawn, surrounded by some sort of giant toad, its slimy skin glistening in the dappled sunlight. The toad was clearly under the command of an old man with a beard at least four meters long, his robes draped with various herbs and charms that gave him a drugged, otherworldly appearance. Other druids, similarly adorned with earth-toned garments and intricate wooden talismans, looked on with a mix of curiosity and wariness. In the middle of the clearing stood a massive boulder, and embedded within it was a big-ass, rusted sword with an inscription that read, "He who removes this sword from the rock shall become king."

Lame. But the sword looked cool - and, even from this distance, Dio could feel its power.

He wanted it. What was a king without a sword?

Druids approached Dio's group, more curious than threatening. One druid, who looked at least two hundred years old, with a stunted frame and eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom, stepped forward. His voice was raspy, yet commanding as he asked, "What have you come here to do?" He gestured towards the two exorcists. "Those who come with hostility will be admitted with hostility," he said, his tone grave. "But everyone, as the ancestors decree, is free to try and remove the sword from the rock."

Dio grinned and said, "Let's try!"

First, Count Arnau stepped forward and gripped the hilt of the sword. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and pulled with all his strength. His muscles strained and sweat began to drip down his face, but despite his best efforts, the blade didn't budge an inch. The sword remained steadfast in the rock, as if mocking his attempts.

Don Quixote burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the clearing. "Is that all you've got, Arnau? Watch and learn!" He swaggered up to the rock, confidence radiating from his every move. With a dramatic flourish, he grasped the hilt of the sword. "Let me show you how it's done," he declared.

He pulled with all his might, quickly turning red as the effort took its toll. Veins bulged in his forehead, his face contorted with strain, and his armor clanked loudly with every futile attempt. Despite his bravado, Don Quixote met with even less success than Arnau, unable to move the blade even a fraction. His sweating and blushing only drew more laughter from the onlookers.

The druids watched, shaking their heads in amusement at the display. Their expressions conveyed a mixture of bemusement and pity for the knights' failed attempts. Dionysus then turned to Rodrigo, offering him a chance. "Your turn, Rodrigo," he said.

Rodrigo shook his head, a polite smile on his lips. "No, thank you. I know my limits. Boss, your turn."

The clearing was filled with a mix of anticipation and amusement. Everyone, including the two exorcists who had just been tied up after being bested by vulgar toads - admittedly giant and magical, but toads nonetheless - watched the spectacle unfoldDionysus smiled and removed his tunic, revealing his chiseled, bulging muscles. He took a moment to flex, his powerful physique glistening in the sunlight. Irina, the young exorcist, blushed at the sight, while her fellow exorcist scowled in disapproval.

And…with a flourish, Dionysus pulled a hammer from his pouch.

"Everyone pulls this sword," he declared with a grin. "We've got to push it into the rock!" He approached the sword embedded in the stone and began hammering it further in. The sound of metal striking metal rang through the clearing, echoing off the trees.

One of the young druids stepped forward, alarmed. "Stop! You can't do that!" he protested, but the older druid placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

"Everything that happens here is under the control of the gods," the elder druid intoned, his voice filled with reverence and acceptance.

Dionysus struck the sword again, his muscles glistening with sweat under the dappled sunlight. His three knights (and Irina) watched in awe and began to cheer him on.

Then, a crack sounded, sharp and clear. The astonished eyes of the druids, who had guarded this sanctuary for over a thousand years (which explained the long beards), widened in disbelief as the rock began to split. Cracks spread like lightning across its surface, growing wider and deeper. With a final, thunderous blow, the rock shattered and flew apart, fragments scattering across the clearing.

Dionysus raised the blade of Caledfwlch high, its surface gleaming in the light. A cheer erupted from everyone present. They had a king! A king!

Dionysos

Lvl 52

You are the new wielder of Caledfwlch

You are the Embodiment of [Creativity]

The fourth of the Twelve Dionysian Labors has been completed.

Everyone cheered, their voices rising in jubilant harmony as they sang praises to the new king. "King! King! Dionysos!" Druids embraced one another, their eyes alight with hope. They could finally leave the forest, have a true home in a thriving city with electricity and running water, and no longer be confined to the dark, damp woods. Fuck the trees! "King!"

The knights stood tall, pride radiating from their every pore. Don Quixote, not understanding the significance of the moment, fwas talking with the giant toad.

Amidst the joyous confusion, Xenovia seized her chance. She discreetly activated a small artifact she wore around her neck. The necklace pulsed with a faint glow, sending a signal to Heaven's Office of Internal Security.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of light shattered some of the druids' protective wards. An angel materialized, bathed in a radiant glow, standing an imposing eight meters tall. He was dressed entirely in white, with six majestic wings unfurled behind him. In his hand, he wielded an enormous, gleaming sword that seemed to hum with divine power.

The angel's presence was awe-inspiring. His golden hair cascaded like a river of light, and his eyes blazed with an intense, otherworldly brilliance.

Sitael
Ten-winged angel
Agent of Uriel
Lv 1 034

Sitael's gaze swept over the clearing, taking in the exorcists, the druids, and finally locking onto the newly freed sword in Dionysos' hand. He smiled predatorily.

"Fuck," Dio muttered, as the joyous celebration halted abruptly.

Everyone knew they were in deep, deep shit. Even Don Quixote, who had finally stopped trying to hit on the frog, and had unsheathed is blade.