D/D Chapter 7 : Denatus, Steak and Beef.
Author's Note: Hey guys, back with another chapter! This one's a bit longer, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, just a heads up, for those wondering, I do plan to start deviating from the canon with original character arcs and tropes, so we're stepping into some new territory. If you have any suggestions or thoughts about where you'd like the story to go, please leave a review and let me know!
On that note, I do plan to write some romance for our boy Al. I'm not entirely sure who he should end up with yet, but my brain keeps leaning toward either Ryuu (because, duh, she's best girl) or Cassandra with her whole cursed prophecies thing. So, if you've got ideas or opinions on that, feel free to share!
Thanks for reading, and enjoy the chapter!
"Speech."
"Thoughts."
Bell's heart pounded as disbelief surged through him. There, standing in front of him, was Al—alive and unharmed. The chaos of the dungeon faded as relief washed over him. "A-Al! You're alive!"
"Yeah… not used to… running like this!" Al panted, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath after the sprint.
"But h-how?" Bell stammered, still processing the sight of his friend standing before him, safe and sound.
"I'll… tell you later." Al's words came in short bursts, his voice strained. He knelt beside Bell and extended a hand, carefully avoiding the sticky Minotaur blood on his friend as he helped him up.
As they caught their breath, Al noticed Bell's gaze lingering on the blonde warrior before them, cheeks flushed in a way that went beyond simple awe.
His eyebrows shot up, and he fought back an exasperated groan. "Seriously, Bell? You were on the verge of death like twenty seconds ago. Get your mind out of the gutter!"
Exasperated, he turned his attention back to the blonde woman and offered a slight bow. Bell, still flustered, awkwardly followed his lead, the two of them bowing in a fumbling synchrony.
"From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for saving my friend," Al said earnestly, his words laced with gratitude.
Bell, still red-faced, stammered, "Y-yes, thank you very much, Miss…?" His voice cracked, and Al winced internally. That wasn't helping their cause.
The woman regarded them with a calm, almost distant expression. "Aiz… Aiz Wallenstein," she replied plainly.
Al's heart skipped a beat. Sweat trickled down his forehead as her name registered. "Wait… Aiz Wallenstein? The Sword Princess of Loki Familia? Aiz Wallenstein?!"
He'd heard her name whispered with reverence throughout Orario. Aiz was a legend, and now she was standing right in front of them. His thoughts spiraled.
"Isn't Loki Familia supposed to be on an expedition? And those Minotaurs… were they their fault?!" A cold spike of realization ran through him. "Shit! If she senses my miasma—this could get really bad! Need to get out of here, fast!"
Al forced himself to stand upright and put on an awkward smile, though his voice betrayed him. "W-We've taken up enough of your time already, Lady Sword Princess! C'mon, Bell, let's not waste any more of it!"
Without waiting for a response, he began to pull Bell away.
"W-Wait, Al?! Hold on!" Bell called out, stumbling as he tried to keep up.
But Al didn't slow down, practically dragging Bell down the dungeon corridor. Behind them, Aiz stood quietly, her gaze fixed on their retreating figures. She blinked, her expression unreadable, though something flickered behind her calm facade. Tilting her head, she murmured to herself, "Am I… Am I … scary?"
Once they'd escaped the dungeon's depths, Al and Bell trudged to the guild issued showers. The weight of their near-death experience and the strange encounter with the sword princesse hung between them, filling the silence as they scrubbed away the blood and grime.
After they cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes, they stepped out into the quiet, moonlit streets of Orario. The silence lingered until Al, tired of the tension, broke it.S
"Hey," he said, aiming for a casual tone, "how about grabbing a bite at the Hostess of Fertility? My treat. Feels fitting, y'know… since we're still breathing."
Bell looked up, meeting Al's gaze for the first time since the dungeon. He nodded, his face still faintly flushed. "S-Sure… but should we bring something back for Goddess?"
"Nah," Al shrugged. "She's at an emergency Denatus; she won't be home for dinner."
"Denatus?" Bell asked, his curiosity piqued.
"It's a meeting of the gods," Al explained as they started walking toward the tavern. "They call it when there's serious stuff to discuss. Big decisions and all that."
"O-Oh, I see…" Bell murmured, his brow furrowed in thought. "Wonder what they could be talking about…"
Meanwhile, high above Orario, in the winding corridors of the divine halls, Hestia hurried, her brow furrowed in frustration as she searched for the right chamber.
She muttered under her breath, "Where is that blasted meeting room?" Her small huff of irritation matched her quick, determined steps.
Just then, a flash of red hair caught her eye, and a wave of relief surged through her.
"Hephaestus!" Hestia called, her voice brightening with recognition.
The one-eyed red-haired goddess turned at the sound of her name, raising an eyebrow as her gaze met Hestia's. "Oh, if it isn't Hestia. Here to mooch off me again?" she teased, her lips curling into a sly grin.
"W-What?! Do you really think that little of me?" Hestia spluttered, puffing up indignantly, her cheeks coloring with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.
Hephaestus chuckled, folding her arms in amusement. "Oh, I don't know… A lazy, pampered goddess lounging around her shrine all day sounds about right."
Hestia flushed deeper, fumbling for words. "W-Well, that may have been true once," she admitted, managing a sheepish smile. "But now, I have two wonderful, hardworking children who provide plenty for me!"
Hephaestus arched an eyebrow, her smirk softening with curiosity. "You got another one now, huh? Congratulations."
A genuine smile appeared on Hestia's face. "Thank you! Even if Al is a bit grumpy, he's a real softy on the inside!"
Hephaestus nodded, clearly amused. "Don't doubt it. Anyway, I assume you're here for the emergency Denatus too?"
Hestia's expression shifted into something more serious. "Yes, though… I can't, for the life of me, find the meeting room!"
"Oh, right," Hephaestus replied, gesturing ahead. "It's your first Denatus since you came down to the lower world, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Hestia admitted, falling in step beside her friend. "Wonder who called it, and why."
Hephaestus' expression darkened slightly, and she lowered her voice. "Apparently, it was Dian Cecht. He thought it urgent enough to pull even Ouranos into the meeting—though he won't be physically present. He'll be using his divine powers to speak."
Hestia blinked, her curiosity piqued. "Ouranos is here too? Though, I suppose it's not like we'll see him in person. Hope he's not announcing some new plague, given that Dian Cecht's the god of healing and all…"
The two of them stepped into the grand conference room, their conversation fading as they surveyed the large circular space. The chamber resembled an assembly hall, with seats fanning out around a central floor. Gods and goddesses were already scattered about, murmuring in low voices.
Somewhere in the room, another red-haired goddess—though less endowed than the first—turned, her gaze landing on Hestia and Hephaestus with a sly grin.
"Well, if it isn't Hephaestus! And look—pip-squeak made it here too!" Loki's voice rang out, her tone half-mocking as her eyes zeroed in on Hestia.
Hestia narrowed her eyes in return, offering a dry greeting. "Washboard."
Loki's grin faltered for just a moment, her irritation clear as she clicked her tongue. Before things could escalate, Hephaestus stepped between the two with a polite smile, eager to defuse the tension.
"Good to see you too, Loki. How's your familia been?" she asked.
Loki rolled her eyes but softened a bit. "They're fine. Just got back from a big expedition, and now they're blowing off steam at Mia's place. So, yeah—I hope that old coot," she added, jerking her thumb toward the central desk, "has a damn good reason for dragging us all here, because I'm missing one hell of a party."
Hephaestus murmured, her gaze sweeping over the room. "Is that so…"
Loki caught the distracted look in her friend's eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Who're you looking for Heph?"
"Well," Hephaestus replied, still scanning the crowd, "I don't see Freya anywhere. She's usually hard to miss..."
Loki shrugged dismissively. "Freya's skipping out—apparently she's got some 'private matters' to deal with." She rolled her eyes. "Must be serious if she's missing this, considering she's one of the heads of Orario's strongest familias."
With a smug grin, Loki puffed herself up, hands on her hips. "Guess that means one of us has to act like the adult here."
Before the banter could continue, a booming voice echoed across the room, cutting through the noise. "Order! Order, please! May you all take your seats—the 1459th Denatus will begin shortly."
Hephaestus glanced back at Loki, offering a knowing smile. "Well, that's our cue. See you after the Denatus, Loki."
"Bye-bye, Heph, pip-squeak!" Loki replied with a casual wave, then turned back.
After a few moments, the room grew quieter, and an elderly god adorned in layers of gleaming jewelry made his way to the central desk. It was Dian Cecht, his rings and bracelets clinking as he settled into his seat. Almost immediately, the gods' questions began.
"Alright, old man, what's this about? What did you drag us here for?"
"Did some new plague break out or something?"
"Or did Airmid finally create an all-cure medicine?"
"Ha! Hope it can cure love sickness."
"Oh, shut it, Hermes—nobody asked you!" snapped another god, setting off a ripple of laughter.
Dian Cecht clenched his jaw, irritation rising. Finally, he raised his voice, cutting through the noise. "Shut up, the lot of you!"
The hall quieted, only hushed murmurs remaining.
"No, Airmid hasn't developed an all-cure medicine yet, and no new plague has emerged," Dian Cecht said, his tone grave as he paused for effect. "I'm afraid it's something far worse!"
Another round of murmurs followed, accompanied by skeptical eye rolls.
"Worse than a plague? Ha! You must be joking, Dian!"
"Yeah, come on, speak up, old man!"
Dian Cecht grit his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure. "Silence! Silence! Let me finish!" He took a deep breath, his voice steadying as he prepared to explain. "The reason I gathered all of you here today is because…" He hesitated, lowering his voice to a whisper, his fear palpable. "…because Nyx has descended to the lower world."
At first, no one reacted—his words were too soft to reach their ears.
"Talk louder, old man!" shouted a goddess from the back.
"Have you finally gone deaf, you greedy bastard?" another taunted.
With an exasperated sigh, Dian Cecht drew in a deep breath, his face red with frustration. "I said the reason I gathered you today is because Nyx has descended to the lower world!"
The room fell into stunned silence as the weight of his words settled over the gods. Then, chaos erupted.
"Nyx?! Nyx is here?!"
"Nyx, as in Goddess of the Night Nyx?!"
"That crazy woman is walking the Lower World?!"
The gods and goddesses shouted over one another, their eyes wide with fear, hands gesturing wildly. Some scrambled to their feet, others muttered frantic prayers—though it was unclear who they thought might answer. A few simply looked bewildered, caught between disbelief and panic.
Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the chaos. "Dian Cecht, has Nyx truly descended?"
The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once—overpowering, overwhelming. It was Ouranos, patron god of the Guild, whose divine vigilance kept the Dungeon at bay. His words carried the weight of absolute authority, silencing the room as all eyes turned to the central desk.
"Yes, Ouranos. She truly has descended," Dian Cecht responded, his tone thick with dread.
Hermes, the blonde god lounging casually in the back, lifted a brow with a faint smirk. "And how do you know, Dian? What proof do you have it's really her?"
Dian Cecht's impatience flared. "If you monkeys hadn't interrupted me the moment a word left my mouth, I could have explained everything!"
He paused, composing himself before continuing. "About a week and a half ago, a young human man came to my clinic seeking Airmid. Claiming he was cursed."
He let the statement hang in the air, the room quieting as the gods processed the revelation. Their eyes darted between each other, uncertainty creeping into their expressions.
"Airmid tried to break the curse to no avail," Dian Cecht continued, his voice heavy with frustration. "I asked the boy who was behind it. And he told me it was a goddess who called herself Nyx."
A murmur rippled through the gods. Doubt, skepticism, and whispers of disbelief filled the room.
"Maybe it was someone else pretending to be her!"
"Yeah, or that kid was just deaf!"
Dian Cecht's patience wore thin. His hand slammed down onto the table, the loud crack of his fist silencing the murmurs. "Shut it! Do you think I hadn't suspected that? How many of you here have the guts to take Nyx's name?"
The gods fell into an uncomfortable silence, the air thick with tension. Their collective uncertainty was palpable.
"Thought so," Dian Cecht muttered under his breath, his gaze bitter. He took a moment to compose himself, the weight of his next words pressing heavily on him.
"Now, after the boy gave me that worrying piece of information, I asked him to describe the goddess. The description he gave… it matches the Nyx we all know and fear."
"Come on, give us the details, Dian. Don't leave us hanging with just that!" A skeptical voice broke through. "What was the description? Maybe your senile ass got it wrong."
The room buzzed with disbelief. Dian Cecht stood at the center, his expression growing darker by the second. His voice, strained with frustration, cut through the chaos yet again.
"Close your mouths and let me finish for the love of everything that is holy!" His sharp command brought the room to a dead silence. Every god turned their eyes to him, awaiting his next words.
Dian Cecht took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing. "The boy told me she had long, dark hair, big… assets, dark eyes, and a creepy aura. Like she'd give you nightmares just by looking at you."
A tense silence followed. And then, in perfect unison, the gods recoiled, their faces draining of color. "It really is her!" they yelled, their voices trembling with fear.
But before panic could take hold completely, a voice rang out—strong, calm, and authoritative, cutting through the growing tension. It was Ouranos, his tone carrying an undeniable weight that commanded the attention of every god present.
"Dian Cecht, do you happen to know the name of the boy? Is he still inside the walls of Orario? And what are the details, conditions, and effects of his curse?"
Dian Ceht exhaled slowly, his expression weary but resolute. "No, Ouranos, the boy didn't give a name. Whether he's still within Orario's walls, I do not know. As for the conditions and effects of his curse…"
His gaze swept the room, pausing briefly before settling on the other gods. "Airmid knows the details. However, she refuses to share them, claiming it would violate medical secrecy—'le secret médical,' as she put it."
A murmur of frustration rippled through the room. The gods had hoped for more answers, but now they were faced with only more questions. Ouranos, however, remained unshaken. His voice cut through the murmurs with the clarity of steel.
"That is most unfortunate. Ganesha, I order you to have your captain take the child's description from Dian Cecht and begin a manhunt. We must find this child and determine if his curse poses a threat to the city. Nyx's curses are often volatile and unpredictable."
Ganesha, a towering god with an elephant mask, grinned widely. His voice boomed with his usual flair, "I am Ganesha! Yes, Ouranos, it will be done!"
The gods seemed to stir, murmurs of agreement and fear running through the crowd, but before it could escalate, Hestia's voice broke through, fragile and anxious.
"W-what happens if you find him?" Her voice was shaky, fear evident in her tone. Her mind raced, and a sinking feeling gripped her chest. She knew who they were searching for, and the thought terrified her.
Ouranos' voice rang out once more, firm and unwavering. "If his curse threatens the integrity of the city or the lives of its residents, he will be contained. If he is deemed harmless, he will be free to go."
The words struck Hestia like a physical blow. She froze, her mind whirling as the weight of what was happening settled into her bones.
"A-Al's curse isn't a threat... b-but what if they consider the miasma he emanates as a threat?!" Her thoughts scrambled, panic beginning to creep in. "O-oh… I see…" she whispered.
With a finality that silenced the room, Ouranos declared, "I hereby declare the 1459th Denatus concluded."
At his statement, the gods began to disperse, their voices rising in a cacophony of whispers, but the tension hung thick in the air.
Hestia remained still, dread coiling in her chest. Al—her own child, her responsibility—was the target of this manhunt. None of the gods knew it, but her protectiveness and fear surged, gnawing at her. They were searching for him, and the weight of what was to come pressed heavily on her heart.
"Al… please be safe," she whispered, her voice lost among the departing gods. The uncertainty felt suffocating, like a storm looming just out of reach.
Across Orario, Al and Bell made their way through the quiet streets, eventually stepping inside the Hostess of Fertility.
The lively chatter and warmth of the tavern offered a welcome contrast to the heavy air of the dungeon they'd left behind, and Al found himself exhaling with relief. For a moment, he could almost pretend he wasn't cursed—that he was just an ordinary guy, out for a meal.
But the moment they stepped further in, a different kind of tension crept in around him. Al noticed the quick glances, the cautious whispers exchanged between the waitresses and a few patrons. The feeling settled over him, prickling at the back of his mind, but he mentally shrugged it off, thinking, "Too tired to fucking care."
Before they could take another step, a familiar voice called out cheerfully, "Ah, Mr. Bell! You made it!" Syr's eyes lit up, and she offered Bell a warm smile as she moved toward them.
Bell gave a polite, if slightly nervous, wave. "Y-yeah, hey! Miss Syr!"
Then Syr's gaze landed on Al, and her demeanor dropped like a cold bucket of water. She narrowed her eyes, barely hiding her annoyance as she clicked her tongue and muttered, "Tch, you came too."
"Oi, at least try to hide the attitude toward a paying customer!" Al grumbled, his expression tightening in irritation.
Syr didn't bother responding to him, simply ushering them over to two open bar seats, giving Bell another warm smile that didn't touch Al's end of the counter.
As they settled in, a boisterous voice interrupted them. "Welcome to the Hostess of Fertility! Name's Mia Grande, owner of this fine establishment. You must be Bell Cranel, the boy Syr invited," the large tavern owner exclaimed, approaching with a hearty laugh.
She briefly eyed Al with suspicion before turning to him, her tone becoming slightly less warm but not cold. "And you must be his comrade."
"Y-Yes, I'm Bell Cranel," Bell replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.
Al for his part just waved his hand in greeting, but internally he shrugged, thinking, "No use in introducing myself—doesn't seem like she wants to know who I am anyway. I'll just be Bell's comrade for now."
Mia's expression brightened again as she leaned in, "So, what will it be today?"
For his part, Al placed his order smoothly. "I'll have the steak with some veggies on the side." Thinking back to his earlier encounter with oversized cows, he added to himself, "That's right, Minotaurs—consider this revenge, one bite at a time."
Bell chimed in a bit more hesitantly, "I'll… just have the pasta, please."
And after a short while, a green-haired elf approached, balancing a tray with practiced ease. "Here's your food," she said, placing the dishes before them. Al noticed her glance lingering on him a moment longer than expected, but she soon slipped back into the rhythm of the tavern.
They ate in silence for a while, the lively buzz of the tavern swirling around them. Al glanced over at Bell, noticing the way his friend was fidgeting and staring off into space. "You've been fidgeting for a while," Al said, his voice casual but keenly observant. "Something on your mind?"
Bell snapped out of his thoughts, surprised that his unease had shown through despite his efforts to keep it under wraps. "W-Well… it's just…" He hesitated, his fork hovering mid-air as his eyes drifted around the room.
"I was… about to die, like, thirty minutes ago. And now I'm just sitting here, eating pasta like nothing happened. It… it feels surreal," he mumbled, his gaze lingering on the warm, lively tavern, where laughter softened the edges of his recent ordeal, and the rhythmic clinking of mugs pulled him back to the present.
Al leaned back, his gaze unfocused, as if seeing beyond the tavern walls. "Feels surreal… I get it," he said, voice deepening. "Not long ago, I was just some random hunter, living quietly, minding my own business."
His face stayed serious, the weight of his words unspoken. "Then everything flipped. Found myself here in Orario, caught up in things I never wanted a part of. But along the way, I figured something out…"
He paused, letting the words settle before looking back at Bell. "The world doesn't wait for us to catch up. Sometimes, you've gotta accept the weirdness and stop trying to make sense of it all. Matter of fact is," Al's voice dropped, "you've just gotta learn how to not give a fuck and go with the flow, even when everything feels weird."
With a half-smile, he leaned back. "So, forget everything that's happened today and enjoy your food. 'Cause tomorrow? We're going right back in. And the day after that too."
Bell blinked in surprise, his fork freezing mid-air. Al, the laid-back guy, suddenly sounded like he had it all figured out. The words didn't sit right, and for a moment, Bell was at a loss for how to respond.
Al caught the shift in his friend's expression, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Oi, what's up with you?"
Bell hesitated, cheeks reddening. "W-Well… I didn't expect you to be the type to say something so… so wise?"
Al gave him a deadpan stare, unimpressed. "And what type did you take me for?"
Bell swallowed, his nerves getting the better of him as a small smile tugged at his lips. "T-The type of guy who stares down a Minotaur for five minutes… before realizing he should probably be running?"
Al's expression didn't change at first. He stared at Bell for a beat longer, before huffing and shaking his head. "Smartass. Remind me to leave you next time—"
His sentence was abruptly cut off by a loud cheer from across the tavern. The unmistakable sound of Syr's voice, light and playful, broke through their conversation.
"Hey, Mr. Bell! Mind if I join you?" she asked, sliding up to him at the bar. "I'm on break and was wondering if you've got any interesting stories from your dungeon dives. I'd love to hear what you've been up to!"
Al groaned, rolling his eyes, as Syr's interruption cut into their moment. "Oi, waitress, we were having a moment here!"
But it was no use. Bell, already caught up in Syr's excitement, turned to answer her without a second thought, completely ignoring Al.
"W-Well, it's nothing interesting, but if you want to know… I've been exploring a lot and—"
Al, watching them, felt a brief flash of irritation. He hadn't expected much, but he at least thought his friend would back him up in a moment like this, rather than give all his attention to some random barmaid.
As he sat there, fuming in silence, his thoughts drifted back to a conversation he'd had with Bell not long ago. The conversation had been about their goals as adventurers—what had brought them both to Orario. For Al, it had always been about breaking the curse that loomed over him. But for Bell…
"W-Well, promise not to laugh," Bell had said, fidgeting nervously as he prepared to share his deeper motivation.
"Yeah, yeah, promise I won't laugh," Al had replied, his voice light but with a teasing edge that Bell hadn't missed.
Bell cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable but determined. "Well, when I was a kid, my grandpa used to read me these stories about heroes… about how heroes saved a lot of damsels, did great deeds, and… well, all that amazing stuff... I—I came to Orario for that, t-try and become a hero…"
Al tilted his head, considering Bell's words with a thoughtful expression. "Well, that's a bit childish, but admirable if you want to help people and become a hero."
Bell flushed, but pressed on, pushing through his nerves. "B-But becoming a hero is only one part of my goal…"
"Only one part?" Al asked, his interest piqued. He was intrigued but still didn't quite understand where Bell was going with this.
It was then that something clicked. Al froze, his eyes widening as the pieces began to fall into place. He replayed Bell's words: "Saved a lot of damsels… a lot of damsels…" The emphasis on a lot. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became. Bell hadn't just come to Orario to be a hero—no, there was something else. Something more specific.
Al's gaze sharpened. "Oi, Bell… don't tell me you came to Orario to…"
Bell didn't meet his gaze. His face turned a deeper shade of red, his hands fidgeting nervously as he avoided eye contact.
Al stopped in his tracks, the realization hitting him hard. His mouth opened, but the words came out in disbelief, a mix of shock and amusement. "You came to Orario… to build yourself a fucking harem?!"
Bell snapped his head up, his eyes wide with panic. "Hiiii! D-Dont say that aloud!" he stammered, completely mortified.
Al's mind snapped back to the present as the memory of Bell's awkward confession lingered. He glanced at the barmaid, who was still chatting up Bell. He hated to admit it, but Syr was cute,
And in a contest for Bell's attention against a cute girl? Al knew he would lose every single time.
Al's eyes narrowed in irritation as he muttered under his breath, "Perverted rabbit." He jabbed his food with his fork, still stewing in frustration, but he didn't say anything more. Instead, he let Bell bask in Syr's attention, resigning himself to the fact that, at least for now, he was stuck on the sidelines.
The noise in the tavern, once filling the air with a lively hum of conversation and clinking mugs, seemed to fade away as the door suddenly swung open. The atmosphere shifted, a quiet anticipation hanging in the air as everyone turned to see who had entered.
"It's the Loki Familia…" a hushed whisper rippled through the tavern.
"The Titan Slayers," another voice murmured, thick with awe. "They must be back from their expedition…"
The Loki Familia entered, their presence commanding immediate attention. All eyes turned toward the group as they moved gracefully to a large table near the center of the room. Their movements were fluid, almost regal, as they settled into their seats and began ordering food and drinks, exuding an effortless confidence that filled the space. For a moment, it felt as though the entire tavern held its breath.
Al glanced up from his meal, catching Aiz Wallenstein's gaze. The same warrior who'd saved him and Bell earlier in the dungeon. Her blonde hair gleamed under the dim lights, her movements radiating poise and unaffected by the awestruck eyes of every patron in the room.
Bell, of course, was completely starstruck. His wide eyes were fixed on Aiz, that same awe filling his expression just as it had when she first rescued them.
With a quiet sigh, Al nudged Bell under the table. "Keep it together, would you?" he muttered, not even bothering to mask his irritation.
Bell flinched, his gaze snapping back to his meal. "S-sorry," he mumbled, though he couldn't resist sneaking a few more glances at Aiz. His admiration was too obvious, and Al couldn't help but roll his eyes.
Around them, the tavern's hum slowly resumed, though an undeniable buzz lingered in the air as patrons cast occasional glances at the infamous adventurers. The Loki Familia had begun to eat and trade stories, savoring the moment after their latest expedition.
That is, until a loud, brash voice shattered the moment. A drunken werewolf from the Loki Familia raised his mug smugly toward the ceiling.
"Oi, Riveria!" he called, his voice carrying across the room. "Tell us that funny story!"
Riveria's brow furrowed immediately, her expression shifting to one of irritation. "What are you talking about, Bete?" she snapped, clearly annoyed.
Bete leaned back with a cocky grin, his eyes gleaming with drunken mischief. "You know! The one with the Minotaurs. Don't pretend you've forgotten," he said, a little louder than necessary, drawing the attention of nearby tables.
A murmur of curiosity spread across the room as Bell and Al exchanged glances. Bell's face tightened with discomfort, while Al's lips curled downward in mild annoyance.
Riveria's gaze darkened, and she crossed her arms. "Don't joke about that, Bete. We were responsible for that mess in the first place."
Bete merely shrugged, that smug grin never faltering. "Yeah, yeah, if you can't handle a few stray Minotaurs, you should leave dungeon diving to real adventurers!" His tone was playful, but there was a challenge in his words.
The chatter around the room fell into a hush as Bete raised his voice, ensuring everyone could hear. "Anyway, here's how the story goes!"
"So, we accidentally let a few Minotaurs loose on the fifth floor, yeah? And what do you know—two weaklings got themselves tangled up with 'em," he continued, his grin widening as he took a long swig from his mug.
The tension in the air was thick as he paused for effect. "The first kid, he looked as average as they come. Somehow managed to tire the beast out before keeling over. Now, I don't know if it was dumb luck or some other nonsense, but that kid was so out of breath, he looked like he'd drop dead any second."
Some patrons chuckled, though many cast Bete disapproving glances. Al's fist clenched under the table, his blood beginning to boil."What a bunch of assholes. They let Minotaurs loose on beginner floors and then mock us for not handling them?"
Bete ignored the glances, his smirk widening as he reached the punchline. "But here's the real kicker—the other kid!" His voice grew louder, clearly enjoying the attention. "When Aiz cut down the Minotaur chasing him, that kid was drenched head-to-toe in Minotaur blood. Looked like some kind of squashed tomato! Hell, I bet the poor bastard couldn't tell if he was fighting or swimming in the stuff!"
A few hesitant laughs broke out around the tavern, though most exchanged uneasy glances. Riveria's glare deepened, and she snapped, her voice icy, "That's enough, Bete."
Captain Finn Deim, the pallum, cleared his throat, his calm but authoritative voice cutting through the noise. "Riveria's right; we are guests here, and your antics are starting to draw unwanted attention." Finn's tone held authority, as if he expected Bete to listen without question.
Gareth, the dwarf, grunted from his seat next to Finn, his thick dwarven accent adding weight to his words. "Aye, lad. You've had yer fun, but there's a time and place for yer shenanigans. Keep it down, eh?"
Bete rolled his eyes, taking another swig. "Eh, bite me!" He then turned to Aiz, who sat impassively beside him, and leaned in a little too close, oblivious to her obvious discomfort. His grin took on a more predatory edge. "Hey, Aiz! Humor me for a bit."
His drunken bravado reaching new heights, he asked, "So, Aiz, if you had to choose between me and that red rabbit kid, who would it be?"
Before Aiz could even respond, Tione, the boisterous Amazon, cut in with a laugh. "You're way too drunk, Bete! As if Aiz would ever pick you!" she teased, loud and unabashed.
Tiona, her twin, chimed in with a smirk. "Yeah! Just because Loki isn't here to shut you up doesn't mean you should try!" she added coolly, clearly entertained by the scene.
"Shut up! I'm not talking to you!" Bete snapped, turning back to Aiz, his voice even louder and more obnoxious. "So, Aiz, who's it gonna be, huh? Me, or that whiny little piece of—"
"Bell!" Syr's voice cut through, urgent and tinged with concern, as she watched him rise abruptly, fists clenched, face flushed with frustration. Without another word, Bell stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him and leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air.
Al glanced up briefly from his meal, then resumed eating with a shrug. "Long day. I'll check on him once I finish," he thought, but his nonchalant attitude met a sharp glare from Syr, her eyes narrowing with disdain.
"You're just going to sit there?" she demanded, her frustration palpable. "You're not going to stand up for your friend?"
Al raised an eyebrow, his reply laden with sarcasm. "Oh, sure. Let me finish my meal first, and then I'll just waltz over and square off against Orario's strongest familia. That should go well."
Syr's expression turned colder, irritation clear in her features as she muttered, "Coward," before spinning on her heel and heading back toward the kitchen, leaving Al alone at the table.
Al tried to shrug off her remark, but it lingered, burrowing under his skin. "Like I care what some nosy barmaid thinks," he muttered, his voice barely audible, trying to harden himself against the nagging unease.
"She doesn't get it," he thought, focusing on his meal. "Bell doesn't need me to fight his battles—he'd want me to stay out of it."
He stabbed his food, trying to ground himself in that rationale, yet something in him twisted, a stubborn knot of frustration that refused to untangle. "I'm not stupid enough to charge headfirst into death over some petty insults," he reassured himself. "I'm doing the smart thing."
But his attempts to brush it off faltered. Frustration crept into his expression, and he found himself replaying the event in his mind, his gaze drifting toward the rowdy table.
"It's Bell's mess," he thought, clenching his jaw. "He stormed off like a drama queen. Why should I get dragged into this?" Yet despite his efforts to convince himself, his gaze kept locking onto Bete, who sat there jeering and laughing, his smug voice a constant, grating background to Al's thoughts.
The unease in his chest swelled, harder to ignore. He pushed back, trying to convince himself that he didn't care. "Why should I be the one to stand up? It's not like I even care that much…"
But the urge to act kept building, persistent and harder to ignore. Al tried to fight it down, but a question haunted him, nagging with every second that passed. "But If I don't… then why… why am I standing here?"
It was only when his gaze locked with Bete's—sharp and challenging—that Al realized he had somehow drifted closer to their table. His heart pounded as he found himself standing, fork still gripped in his hand, at the edge of the Loki Familia's table.
The patrons around him froze, silence settling like a shroud as Bete's eyes narrowed, his sneer curdling into something sharper, more menacing. "Who are you, fuckface?" he spat, his voice laced with venom, instantly drawing the attention of everyone nearby.
Al felt a strange clarity wash over him as he met Bete's gaze, a wry thought crossing his mind: "Can't believe I'm doing this… Well, so much for dying by the end of the year—guess I'm about to speed things up a bit".
He took a steadying breath, trying to keep his voice even as he spoke. "I'm the man you wronged today."
Bete squinted, recognition dawning as a mocking grin spread across his face. "Oh-ho, it's the plain motherfucker from earlier! What're you here for? To lick our boots for saving you? Think your tongue's too dirty for that!"
Al held his ground, his expression turning cold as he locked eyes with Bete. "Nah. I came to give you a piece of my mind, you fucking failure." His voice rang out, cutting through the stunned silence as whispers erupted around them.
"Is he insane?" one voice hissed.
"That's Bete Loga he's talking to…"
The entire Loki Familia froze at the insult, eyes widening in disbelief. Bete's reputation was well-known, and seeing someone so casually challenge him was unheard of. Even Aiz, usually so stoic, tensed slightly, her gaze flickering between Al and Bete. The atmosphere in the room shifted, thick with tension
Bete's smirk twisted into a snarl, his fists clenching. "What was that, punk?!"
Al met his glare head-on. "You heard me. But apparently even your wolf ears don't work."
A ripple of shock passed through the crowd, but Al didn't falter, his gaze steady as he pressed on. "I called you what you are—a fucking failure. You let minotaurs run wild on the upper floors, putting rookies at risk. And instead of owning up, you strut around here like it's something to be proud of."
Bete's fists tightened, rage building, but Al didn't stop. "Anyone here with half a brain can see right through you. All that bravado is just you hiding. You're nothing but a piece of shit who can't even own up to his own screw-ups."
Al paused, letting his words sink in, his voice low but unwavering. "So, if minotaurs are too much for you to handle, let me return your advice from earlier: leave dungeon diving to real adventurers, you sorry-ass mutt."
The tension in the tavern escalated as the Loki Familia's reactions followed.
The Amazon twins chimed in, their voices sing-song as they pounded the table in rhythm. "Failure, failure…" Their taunts only stoked Bete's fury further, his teeth bared in a snarl as he fixed his glare on Al.
Gareth, the dwarf, laughed heartily, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ahahaha, he got ye there, lad!" His thick accent only added to the mockery, and his booming laughter cut through the tension, but it did little to ease the simmering rage in Bete.
Finn and Riveria simply observed the exchange with silent surprise. Riveria's piercing gaze flicked between Al and Bete, while Finn's usual calm demeanor cracked ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought as he waited for Al's next move.
Aiz, sitting quietly beside Bete, remained stoic as always, but inside, she was thankful for Al's intervention. His words had driven Bete back, keeping him from encroaching any further into her personal space. It was a small relief, though Aiz kept the thought buried deep within herself, her face betraying nothing.
Bete slammed his fist on the table, his voice dripping with venom. "Wanna take this outside, you little shit?!"
Al's heartbeat thundered in his chest, but he didn't flinch. The blood roared in his ears, but his feet remained firmly planted, his body stiff with the weight of a decision he hadn't planned on making.
Every nerve in his body screamed at him to walk away, to avoid the chaos he knew was coming—but his mind was elsewhere. In that moment, the brewing storm inside him couldn't be ignored.
His gaze locked with Bete's, cold and resolute. The air between them grew thick, heavy with the promise of something volatile.
"Be my fucking guest!"