The hum of voices in the Guild hall merged into a monotonous background while Rane methodically studied the quest board. The financial issue was no longer so acute—pure farming on the upper floors brought a solid income—but the aimless slaughter of monsters was starting to get tiresome. And so he decided to try something new.
The selection, however, left much to be desired. All the most profitable ones were predictably snatched up since early morning. Rane skimmed the parchments: escorting a merchant caravan to Rivira (too long), collecting fifty goblin fangs (unbearably long), clearing and mapping an unstable sector of a lower level...
His attention was caught by an inconspicuous, slightly crumpled flyer in the very corner of the board.
"Ho-o..." the youth drawled thoughtfully.
A request from an alchemy shop: "Intact Phantom Butterfly wings required." Location: seventh to ninth floors. The reward looked frankly ridiculous for such a depth. Walking over to the information desk and exchanging a few words with an available advisor, Rane quickly understood the reason for the quest's unpopularity. The butterfly's drop rate was a hundred percent, but the creature itself spawned extremely rarely. Hunting for it meant running in circles through the labyrinths for hours, burning stamina for nothing. A classic "trash" quest, a time-waster.
Exactly what he needed.
Stepping out onto the sun-drenched square in front of the Babel Tower, Rane weighed his options. A long run across the floors guaranteed mountains of side-loot from regular monsters. As always, his own backpack would fill up too quickly. And he wasn't going to just ignore dropping loot. He needed a Supporter.
He swept his gaze over the colorful crowd. Mercenaries were grouping up, merchants were calling out to buyers, and most of the available Supporters had already found employers. And then his eyes snagged on a familiar figure. A little girl in an oversized hooded cloak was shifting from foot to foot all alone by a column.
Exhaling heavily and scratching the back of his head, he headed toward her. There wasn't much of a choice anyway.
"Good morning," he greeted calmly, stopping in front of her. "I could use the services of a Supporter for today's descent. Are you available?"
The girl flinched, jerked her head up, and huge chestnut eyes flashed from beneath the hood. A second of confusion was instantly replaced by a fountain of sugary enthusiasm.
"Oh! Is the valiant Sir Adventurer looking for support?" her voice rang out unnaturally high, and a massive smile bloomed on her lips. "Lili will gladly help! Lili is the best Supporter in all of Orario! Fast, stealthy, and she'll carry everything you gather!"
Rane watched this tirade with an absolutely unreadable face. Overacting, and doing it desperately, he noted indifferently to himself, but aloud he merely nodded.
"Perfect. We're going down to the ninth floor. As for the split: thirty percent of the total revenue is yours. Does that work for you?"
Liliruca's smile faltered for a moment. Usually, employers haggled over every copper, offering a pathetic fifteen or even ten percent while threatening with their fists. Thirty percent was an incredible, suspicious generosity. But greed quickly overcame caution.
"Lili agrees! You are so generous, sir!" she nodded vigorously, adjusting the straps of her massive backpack.
Rane saw nothing wrong with this deal. Hard work should be paid fairly, and lugging heavy weights in a deadly labyrinth was grueling labor. Without another word, he turned and stepped into the maw of the Dungeon.
***
By the third floor, Liliruca realized she had gotten involved in something completely abnormal.
Her employer was strange. First, he didn't try to boss her around, didn't insult her, and didn't look down on her like absolutely all her previous adventurers had. Second... he was terrifyingly efficient.
While at first his quick clearing of goblins didn't particularly impress her—on the upper levels, many tried to act like heroes—soon, the speed of their advance had Lili sweating.
Rane moved at a light, springy jog that didn't slow down for a second. Every monster that appeared in their path ceased to exist in the blink of an eye. A short swing of the one-handed blade, a cloud of gray ash, the chime of a falling crystal—and the youth was already running on.
Who on earth moves through the Dungeon at a run?! Lili thought in a panic, trying not to lose her breath and desperately attempting to keep up with this monster in human form.
She barely had time to dive into the dust, scooping up the stones. And, to her great surprise, loot dropped incredibly often. What luck, she thought greedily, stashing another trophy into her bag. Usually, items drop from these creatures much less frequently. Lili will definitely make some good money with him!
By the seventh floor, her greed was replaced by quiet terror.
Lili expected that with the descent, this crazy swordsman would finally slow his pace. The monsters here were larger, faster, and deadlier. But instead of showing caution, her employer seemed to go off the rails.
Sometimes the creatures didn't even have time to fully form from the walls of the Labyrinth. Rane's blade found them the moment they were born. But the scariest part started later.
At one point, finding himself facing a pack of shadows, Rane simply sheathed his sword. Lili almost screamed, deciding the guy had given up, but in the next second, he began tearing the monsters apart with his bare hands. Without a weapon, he seemed even more brutal and terrifying.
During a short rest, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall, Lili couldn't take it anymore.
"M-Mr. Rane..." she began, carefully offering him a water flask. "Why do you sometimes put your weapon away? That's fatally dangerous! Why take such a risk?"
Rane took a sip, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and looked at her with a calm, even gaze.
"With a weapon, the fights become too easy. Without it—much harder."
Liliruca froze, blinking. Right... so he's a nutjob, the girl concluded. Intentionally making life harder for oneself in a place where every step could be your last? That was a diagnosis.
She stealthily glanced at his equipment. Solid, but completely ordinary medium armor. A standard blade from a mid-tier workshop. No artifacts or rare metals. Nothing to steal here, Lili reasoned pragmatically, mentally weighing the risks. It's easier to honestly take my thirty percent and never get involved with this psycho again.
***
Crunch.
A perfectly placed kick took off the head of another killer ant. The chitinous skull flew into the wall, splitting in two, and the decapitated body slowly settled into dust.
Rane brushed invisible dirt off his pant leg and glanced back. Liliruca, puffing from the exertion, nimbly swept the dropped crystals into her bag.
She works great, Rane praised her mentally.
The girl was handling his abnormal pace brilliantly. The presence of a Supporter truly changed the rules of the game: his hands remained free, his focus wasn't derailed by mercantile trifles, and the speed of the descent increased. And even those greedy, calculating looks she kept throwing at his back didn't annoy him much. Expecting crystal honesty from a random Level 1 person would be foolishness.
Stepping deeper into the eighth floor, Rane replayed her recent question about risk in his head. He couldn't answer directly. By intentionally engaging in close combat without a weapon, exposing himself to blows, and provoking entire packs, he forced his body to balance on the brink. Only in conditions of artificially created despair and tension did his passive skill [ Asura ] begin to activate in any way against relatively weak opponents. It was a masochistic, insane path of leveling up, and he understood perfectly well how wild it looked from the outside.
***
Rane stood by the fountain, counting jingling coins into the Supporter's cupped hands. Just as agreed—exactly thirty percent of the side-loot turned in to the Guild. The sum for a girl of her level turned out to be colossal.
Lili stared at the valis with disbelief. She was waiting for the catch. Waiting for him to hit her right now, take the money away, or find any other excuse. But the youth merely tied his pouch shut and adjusted his straps.
"Your work completely satisfied me," he said evenly. "The day after tomorrow, at dawn, I am planning a new descent. If the terms suit you, I will be waiting by the Tower gates."
After receiving a positive answer, he turned and merged into the evening crowd. Liliruca remained standing by the fountain, clutching the earned coins tightly to her chest, feeling a tiny crack forming within her broken, cynical worldview.
After a half-hour of leisurely walking, Rane turned into a quiet alley in the Northwest sector, very close to the ruins of his and Hestia's church. Above the battered door of an inconspicuous building creaked a wooden sign depicting a pharmacy.
Pushing the door open, the youth placed a thick bundle on the wooden counter in front of the surprised shopkeeper.
"A pair of Phantom Butterfly wings. Perfect condition," he reported with a smile.
Taking his modest reward for the quest, Rane stepped out into the street, inhaling the fresh evening air. Though not completely, he had repaid them for the potions that had saved his life. Today had definitely not been in vain.
***
The annual Monsterphilia festival, hosted on a grand scale by the Ganesha Familia—the main guardians of city order—spilled onto the streets in a colorful carnival. Flags fluttered everywhere, merchants called out to their stalls of roasted meat and sweets, and crowds of onlookers anticipated a grand spectacle.
Hestia walked down the paved avenue, clinging to Rane's elbow with both hands and happily, carelessly humming a cheerful melody under her breath. The miniature Goddess was literally glowing from the inside.
Rane's face was also adorned with a light, relaxed smile. For him, just as for Hestia, who had descended to the Lower World not so long ago, this festival was a first. The contrast between the gloomy, oppressive atmosphere of the Dungeon and this riot of colors provided excellent emotional release. The old master had decided not to skimp: he spent a portion of his solid share from the recent descent on excellent seats in the city's main Colosseum, where the monster exhibition was to take place.
Upon learning about the purchased tickets and the joint outing, Hestia immediately and categorically dubbed the event a "date." Rane didn't argue. If a couple of spent coins and one word made her so happy—why not? Let it be a date.
They unhurriedly navigated through the crowd, enjoying the atmosphere.
"So, you're sure she's a thief?" Hestia suddenly broke the idyll, returning to the topic they had discussed over breakfast. It was about Rane's new Supporter, Liliruca.
The youth shrugged without breaking his stride.
"Not caught, not a thief. But considering her behavior and the looks she gives, it's entirely possible. Even probable."
The Goddess pulled back slightly and skeptically sized up her follower from head to toe.
"Then what's with this calmness? Why do you need a Supporter you expect to stab you in the back any second?"
"Because she is incredibly diligent and, more importantly, smart," Rane countered calmly, looking at the colorful garlands overhead. "She has a sharp mind and quick reflexes. And judging a child because a harsh world forced her to survive using less-than-honest methods... that's just not my style. I pay her enough to mitigate the risks; the rest is just a matter of vigilance."
Hestia thoughtfully bit her lip, digesting his words.
"That's true, of course, but it's still somehow unsettling..." she drawled.
Feeling the conversation veering into a too serious and gloomy direction, Rane decided to lighten the mood. He tilted his head slightly toward the Goddess and said warmly:
"Let's not bring this topic up right now. After all, I really wouldn't want to ruin our first date with thoughts of someone else."
Hearing the word "date" from his own lips, Hestia instantly flushed a deep crimson. Her blue eyes sparkled joyfully, she nodded vigorously, and pressing even tighter to his arm, dragged him forward.
Soon, the monumental stone arches of the Colosseum appeared ahead. Lines of spectators snaked toward the entrances, and the hum of hundreds of voices already hung over the stands.
Rane, thanks to his tall stature and trained vision, smoothly scanned the crowd by the main gates. And suddenly his eyes snagged on a familiar, sloppily worn pantsuit and a red head of hair.
"Oh. Look who's over there," he said aloud calmly, pointing with his chin toward one of the entrances.
Hestia followed his gaze and instantly narrowed her eyes predatorily. In the indicated direction, lazily sipping something frothy from a huge wooden mug, stood Loki.
An absolutely indescribable, strange expression appeared on the miniature Goddess's face—a mix of anticipation, cunning, and absolute superiority. She smiled slyly, demonstratively pressed herself even harder against Rane's arm, literally drowning his forearm in her ample cleavage, and confidently dragged the youth straight toward her red-haired rival, approaching her slightly from behind.
"Hey, Loki!" she called out brightly.
The Goddess of Mischief, just taking a large gulp of ale, turned around in annoyance.
Oh, is it the shrimp?
Her displeased gaze first fell on Hestia, who was shining like a copper basin. And then, shifting slightly higher, it moved to Rane, whose arm she was shamelessly pressing against herself. Rane, meeting her eyes, with absolute composure raised his free left hand, forming a polite greeting gesture, and smiled good-naturedly.
The realization of who exactly was escorting this "penniless shorty" hit Loki's brain faster than any hard liquor. The guy who politely but firmly rejected her elite Familia had now come to the festival with her main rival.
Loki's eyes bulged comically.
PFF-F-F-FT!
In a fit of absolute, uncontrollable shock, the Goddess of Mischief spat out all the ale she had gathered in her mouth straight ahead—right into the face of the smirking Hestia.
The miniature Goddess squeaked in surprise, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of a sticky shower.
But Rane reacted faster than the human eye could blink.
Right in front of Hestia's face, the air sharply condensed. An elastic, invisible gust of wind acted as a perfect shield. The stream of ale, flying towards its target, suddenly bent at an inconceivable angle, as if crashing into a glass wall, and splashed to the side, harmlessly irrigating the stone paving a couple of meters away from them.
Loki, still with her mouth slightly open, stared at her dry and unharmed rival. Then her gaze slowly crawled to the puddle of ale to the side.
Her eyebrows drew together sternly over the bridge of her nose. The sudden shock was replaced by burning, childish irritation. Without overthinking it, Loki brought the mug to her lips, took in more ale, and, this time completely consciously and with careful aim, spat at Hestia a second time.
Rane merely sighed quietly, barely audibly.
A light, careless flick of the fingers of his free hand—and a second oncoming gust of wind caught the liquid mid-flight, rudely tossing it into the exact same puddle.
For a few seconds, a silent scene hung by the entrance. The three participants in this act synchronously shifted their gazes to the wet stone where the two portions of ale had mixed.
"You are just as energetic as ever, Lady Loki," Rane commented.
Realizing that her petty but oh-so-desired prank had completely failed, Loki twisted her lips and, offended, clicked her tongue with a loud smack.