The tavern hall buzzed with noise and laughter.
Standing beside their table was a blonde girl whose head barely reached the chest of the two seated adults. Lucas stared at her, a string of question marks practically floating above his head.
Her aura was a bit different from how he remembered, but there was no mistaking that doll-like, expressionless face. Combined with her striking features and that unique, icy air around her—it was impossible to forget.
Besides, he and Jeanne had just seen her portrait on the Guild's announcement board earlier that day.
"You're the Loki Familia's 'Sword Princess'?"
"Mm."
"Ais Wallenstein?"
"Mm."
"..."
Well, this conversation was officially dead.
Lucas tugged at the corner of his mouth, deciding to wisely divert his gaze toward the elegant figure approaching them—a green-haired elf gliding across the floor with practiced grace.
"My apologies to you both. I turned my back for a moment, and Ais slipped away. I hope she hasn't caused any trouble." The elf inclined her head slightly, her voice soft yet carrying a quiet authority.
As she spoke, she placed a gentle hand atop Ais's golden head, pressing lightly until the girl bowed.
Beauty that defied reason, a regal posture, an air of command, and flawless manners—all blended seamlessly in this one woman.
She was none other than one of the three executives of the Loki Familia, its vice-captain and treasurer, a runaway princess of the elven royal line, the faith of countless elves across the world—Orario's strongest mage, Ais Wallenstein's foster mother, and a first-tier adventurer of Level 7, bearing the divine title granted by Loki herself: the Nine Hell, Riveria Ljos Alf.
Lucas and Jeanne both stood at once, waving their hands frantically.
"Ah, Lady Riveria, you're far too polite! It's no big deal at all—this is a tavern after all. People come here to talk. Besides…" He glanced at the blank-faced girl. "Everyone knows the Sword Princess is… well, a little unique, so it's really fine."
Lucas could feel the weight of the entire tavern's attention on them—especially the looks from Mama Mia behind the bar and the girl, Syr, watching curiously beside her.
His scalp tingled. He was practically sweating bullets.
Damn it. This Ais isn't the calm and noble 'Sword Princess' she'll be in the future. Right now, she's the wild 'Sword Princess'—a rebellious brat everyone avoids. At her current stage, even a passing dog in the Dungeon would get sliced in half if it looked at her wrong.
He knew better than to get involved with her. Trouble followed Ais like a curse.
He and Jeanne were just two little Level 1 nobodies—there was no way they could survive being dragged into the affairs of Orario's elite.
On the other side, Riveria herself was silently thankful the young man had taken it so well. Things could have gone much worse.
"Thank you for your understanding. Ais, we're leaving." She said it softly but firmly, taking Ais by the arm and leading her away.
Only after the two had gone and the attention in the room faded did Lucas finally let out a long breath.
So that's Riveria and Ais… no wonder they're Orario's golden pair. The moment they show up, the whole room goes nuts. My god, that pressure…
"You okay, Lucas?" Jeanne asked gently, her hand brushing his beneath the table.
He shook his head with a faint smile. "I'm fine."
"That was the Nine Hell from the Loki Familia, wasn't it? She really does live up to her reputation. You can feel the royal blood in her presence." Jeanne whispered in awe.
"Tch." Lucas clicked his tongue and muttered, "I'd rather stay far, far away from them. You can bet every move they make is being watched by spies. Thank the gods this happened in the Hostess of Fertility."
His mood spoiled, Lucas no longer felt like staying. They quickly finished their food and downed the last of their cold ale before paying and heading for the door.
"Well, mission accomplished—good food, good drink, all wrapped up."
Lucas patted his stomach in satisfaction and even let out a small burp.
Standing with Jeanne beneath the eaves, he squinted at the soft curtain of midsummer rain before them.
The rain drizzled gently, washing away the heat and noise of the city. The air turned crisp and fragrant, and the white noise of rainfall had a strangely calming rhythm to it.
"The Hostess of Fertility really lives up to its name. That meal was perfect," Jeanne said blissfully, looping her arm around his.
Lucas glanced at her slender figure—she'd eaten almost as much as he had, yet her waist hadn't changed a bit. He sighed inwardly.
Is that a talent too? Even her metabolism's overpowered.
"Come on, let's go home."
He took the black-handled umbrella from the waiting attendant, snapping it open with a soft whoosh and lifting it above them. "Thanks."
But when he saw who handed it to him—Syr Flova—his heart gave a small, involuntary tremor.
"Thank you for visiting our tavern. We look forward to seeing you again soon!" Syr's voice was sweet and professional, her bow graceful.
That smile… brought back some not-so-pleasant memories for Lucas.
"Of course. We'll be back," he said casually.
"See you soon, Syr!" Jeanne waved warmly, her smile far more genuine than his.
As the two disappeared into the rain, Syr's pleasant expression slowly faded. A faint, distant look took its place.
"Another hollow soul. No depth, no shine… just another dull spark among the masses."
---
Once they'd walked far enough from the Hostess of Fertility and were safely out of sight, Lucas exhaled in relief.
He glanced at Jeanne—her expression calm as ever—and thought,
Looks like the skill worked perfectly. Even Freya herself didn't sense anything special about us. Or rather… about Jeanne.
As for himself, well—he knew his own worth.
A grin tugged at his lips again, confidence returning as he thought of his clever little success.
"You've got that smug face again… you're asking for a punch, you know." Jeanne frowned, brushing a few raindrops off her shoulder, clearly puzzled by his mood.
"Why do you think I'd risk coming here, knowing what kind of place the Hostess really is? I'm not stupid," he said, nudging the umbrella a bit more toward her so she stayed completely dry.
"There's another reason?" Jeanne tilted her head, instantly catching on.
Lucas gave her a sidelong look. "In there, I only told you about the waitresses and Mama Mia. I didn't get to explain what's off about Syr, did I?"
Jeanne said nothing, simply waiting.
"Your Revelation wasn't wrong. Syr really is suspicious—and in a big way." His tone dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer to her ear.
"You won't believe this, but Syr Flova's true identity… is the goddess Freya herself. Yep. The goddess of beauty, slumming it as a waitress."
"…Huh?"
Jeanne froze, her pink lips parting slightly, eyes going wide. The shock painted her face in pure disbelief.
"Syr is Lady Freya? The Freya? One of Orario's Twin Deities, head of the Freya Familia, goddess of beauty herself?!"
"Crazy, right? Even the Evilus freaks who hate her guts would never dream that, after being hunted across the city, instead of hiding in the Babel Tower like any sane god, she decided to—what?—get a part-time job at a tavern? That's some next-level reverse psychology."
Lucas couldn't help shivering a little himself.
Jeanne blinked, then suddenly burst out laughing. "So that's what they call hiding in plain sight, huh? But wait, didn't you say gods can't use their divine power in the lower world? How can Lady Freya—"
Lucas's grin faded into a more serious expression. "My guess? It's connected to one of her Familia members. Maybe some kind of Divine Transformation magic. Who knows? Mortals are unpredictable. Someone might've invented a spell that lets a god take mortal form."
"Magic, huh? That would explain it," Jeanne nodded thoughtfully.
"...Huh?"
That fast? She just accepted it? Her mind's way too flexible!
"That doesn't make any sense," he muttered.
"Sense? Since when does magic have to make sense?" Jeanne shot back without missing a beat.
"..."
He was speechless.
"What's with that look? Magic is magic. It doesn't need logic." Her wide eyes blinked innocently, as if she truly couldn't understand why he even asked.
Lucas could only stare blankly at her. His brain was starting to short-circuit from her casual logic.
…I swear, this girl's going to be the death of me.