The city of Orario might have appeared calm on the surface — like a lake whose face showed not a single ripple — yet beneath that still exterior, a blazing excitement was at a rolling boil.
The War Game was drawing near. As the days passed, discussion of the coming event became the lifeblood of the city. Ordinary citizens talked about it at street corners, between the clang of hammers at their workbenches, over frothy mugs of ale at their favorite taverns.
The wave of enthusiasm ran so deep that it drew people away from the Dungeon itself; the number of adventurers descending into its depths fell sharply. Supply shops that were usually bustling were forced to close early for lack of customers, as though not a single soul in Orario wished to do anything other than wait for the spectacle.
Even the children seemed to feel the shift in atmosphere. Many gathered in the city parks, eyes bright, wooden toy swords in hand, acting out War Games of their own.
Orario was quiet, yet there was no mistaking it — the city was simmering with restrained excitement, its intensity growing exponentially with every second that ticked closer to the War Game.
In the midst of all the preparations, Charlie had completed a new weapon forged especially for Kei — crafted with precision, designed exclusively for use in the coming War Game.
Like the other adventurers, Kei had also suspended her Dungeon expeditions. On Astraea's advice, she spent the free time building friendships with the members of the other Familias who had temporarily joined forces with Hestia Familia for their shared strategy.
With her bright, extroverted personality, Kei grew close to everyone quickly. Yet she felt a particular connection with Yamato Mikoto of Takemikazuchi Familia.
After all, Mikoto came from the Far East — a land whose culture and traditions bore a striking resemblance to ancient Japan, a place that in the quiet corners of Kei's heart felt like a spiritual homeland. Their conversations flowed freely, filled with laughter and mutual cultural understanding.
In short, Kei successfully strengthened her strategic bonds with Bell, Mikoto, Lily, and Welf. They spent their time discussing coordination, tactics, and synchronized movements in preparation for the challenges the War Game would bring.
As night's curtain slowly drew over the city, the sky above Orario transformed into a vast canvas adorned with thousands of flickering stars.
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Seated upon an ornate throne of pure gold, Apollo raised a glass of red wine to his lips, sipping the deep crimson liquid with practiced elegance.
The noble manor he used as his headquarters stood at a considerable distance from the bustle of the city districts, offering a tranquility that stood in sharp contrast to the noise at Orario's center.
Tonight, the atmosphere was far quieter than usual. The majority of his Familia members had set out since the afternoon to prepare the ruins of a castle that would soon be transformed into a blood-soaked battlefield. Because their primary role in this battle was to defend and hold their territory, Apollo Familia had a great deal of logistical and strategic work to complete before dawn broke.
In truth, if Apollo's sole objective were simply to take Bell from Hestia, the method could have been far simpler. He could have launched a sudden assault, seized the boy, and ended the matter without ever needing to go to the trouble of cooperating with Soma Familia. Had he done so, the boy would surely have been his by now.
But Apollo rejected that idea. He had no taste for crude methods that offended the senses.
There was a world of difference between a dirty street brawl and the glory of a War Game.
Crushing an enemy through chaos to achieve one's ends often left a sour taste — a hollow victory without rules to give it meaning. If he were to claim his prize by observing a sacred set of rules, then he could savor the full glory of his triumph, and celebrate it with rightful spoils.
After all, this was a game. And Apollo would not allow the Guild or any other Familia to find an exploitable gap in the situation. With an official victory in the War Game, he would gain absolute authority to take over the followers of his defeated enemy if Hestia refused to comply with the Conversion. It was the only way to make Bell truly his — in name and in fact — without a stain on the outcome.
Above all, the other gods would not be satisfied with an outcome that came too quickly and too easily. Apollo had gathered the support of many gods who hungered for a spectacular "entertainment" centered on the capture of Bell. He owed them a performance they were desperately eager to witness.
And if he were honest, he wanted that entertainment for himself as well.
A War Game played out by mortals was, as far as he was concerned, the finest delicacy Heaven had to offer — savored by the gods as the ultimate spectacle. Nothing brought him greater pleasure than the ability to move his followers like chess pieces across a vast game board, free from the interference of direct divine intervention.
That was Apollo's true feeling.
His desires and ambitions swirled wildly within the god's chest. The deity wearing his golden crown gazed up at the night sky with an unfocused, yearning stare.
"Oh, my dear Bell Cranel..." He murmured softly. "Will there come a day when I can hold you close within my very own arms?"
"What a pity... Charlie Avalon is far too powerful. I would so dearly love to add him to the ranks of my beloved children as well..."
Apollo had a habit of indulging himself in all things new and fresh. Imagining the dramatic events about to unfold filled him with tremendous pleasure. His body trembled faintly with overflowing anticipation.
"Ahh, Bell!" he cried out suddenly, his voice trembling with emotion. "No — my Belly-boy! You will not escape me!"
He could almost see the boy's face before him now, tears of fear glistening in those pink eyes. But something else swelled within him. The heat that surged in his chest was proof of his obsessive love.
Apollo's desire for the boy was driving him to the edge of madness. Bell's slight yet compact frame, his guileless face like a little rabbit, his white hair, those pink eyes still untouched by the cruelty of this world... all of it was perfect in Apollo's eyes.
The god's cheeks flushed a vivid red, much like the face of a man drunk on the finest wine.
"If our love is to grow, Hestia, you will be nothing but an obstacle." He whispered, his tone shifting abruptly to an icy calm. "Once he becomes mine, I will drive you from this city. No... I will force you back to Heaven."
Returning to his senses, Apollo opened his eyes wide and fixed them on the scattered stars above. The moonlight cast a sharp glint across his eyes, which had gone suddenly keen, while his lips curved upward into a thin, meaningful smile.
"I am counting on you, my dear little ones."
Soft, elegant laughter echoed from his chamber, blending with the soothing moonlight of that night.
A moment later, the clock hands on the wall seemed to join him, moving slowly yet surely as they faced the same sky.
The time was drawing near.
The city was now wrapped in the deep chill of the predawn hours, in that brief moment before sunrise.
The streets were full of silent, unmoving shops, as though all life had been pulled back from them. Shutters were drawn tight over every window, doors locked firmly shut. It was hard to believe how lifeless this ordinarily bustling city had become — as though Orario itself was holding its breath, waiting for the first explosion of the War Game that would change everything.
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