One against many.
What began as a hopelessly one-sided fight had turned into a drawn-out war of attrition.
Any God watching might have found themselves captivated by the absurd spectacle—a boy hailed as Orario's weakest Adventurer, toying with every opponent using nothing but a stolen dagger.
Bell moved like a phantom, and yet another man fell before him.
"What the hell is going on?!"
The man clutched his bleeding abdomen, shouting in panic.
Their healing potions weren't working.
Without treatment, their strategy of rotating attackers collapsed—each one fell, one after another.
"It's the potions reacting to each other…"
As alchemists, they quickly realized the problem.
Bell's dagger might have been poisoned, but the toxin was a distraction. The real danger lay in how their own potions interacted. Potions had strict usage rules—handled carelessly, they could even build resistance.
Because Bell hadn't actually struck with a poisoned blade, the antidote potions became useless, and the following healing potions lost their effect.
"If you're hit again, just drink the healing potion right away!" someone shouted.
Bell gripped both daggers tightly, sky-blue and silver light intertwining. His enemies couldn't tell which blade had cut them.
Another man was struck down, his wound deep.
He gulped down a healing potion—but just as his wounds began to close, he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
"!"
"Watch which blade he's using!"
Drinking an antidote at the wrong time dulled the effects of the healing potion. Drink the potion first, and there'd be no time to neutralize the poison.
For most adventurers, these interactions were basic knowledge.
But for Bell, they had become a weapon.
This style of combat wasn't just a testament to his skill—it was the perfect use of Chloe's dagger.
The poison's effect was fast and powerful; it knocked a person out within seconds. And once they lost consciousness, even antidotes couldn't wake them immediately.
Bell pressed forward, blades gleaming.
He had been the one surrounded, yet without realizing it, he had turned the tables—hunter and prey had switched places.
To the others, Bell was no longer just a rookie Adventurer. He was a nightmare made flesh.
Something far more terrifying than any monster they had ever faced in the Dungeon.
"One of you hold him off! The rest, give antidotes to the fallen!"
"It's no use! They're not working!"
"Forget that! Everyone attack at once—if we drag this out, we'll all be poisoned!"
"We can't beat him. I—I'll call the mercenary!"
"Help... please—ugh!"
Fear and pain dulled their minds.
The more they fixated on which weapon Bell used, the slower their reactions became.
After three more fell in quick succession, the formation broke completely.
At first, they'd held onto the faint hope that someone could bring Bell down.
Then came despair—the sinking realization that none of them could.
Under the weight of that fear, one man turned and bolted for the back.
Panic spread like wildfire.
The few remaining forced down their terror and charged together.
But what they faced wasn't human anymore. It was like battling a creature lurking deep in the dark—its thoughts unreadable, its movements blurred beyond sight.
Only pain and rage filled their hearts.
Against such a foe, coordination and formation were everything.
Unfortunately, they had neither.
Hesitation made them hold back for fear of hitting an ally. Panic made them glance around, distracted and exposed.
Those flaws piled up—Bell cut through their defenses, striking precisely where their guard failed.
And at last, only one opponent was left standing.
"Who... who the hell are you?!"
The man couldn't believe it—a rookie adventurer had wiped out nearly ten people.
"Where is Naaza-san?"
Bell answered his question with another.
"I don't know anything!" The man instinctively glanced toward the back of the hall.
Seeing Bell take a step forward, he hurriedly changed his tune. "Wait, I can take you to her! If everyone here goes down, that potion maker's life—"
"Thanks for the answer."
Ignoring the man's threat, Bell gripped his sky-blue dagger and sent him into unconsciousness.
"You think we were bluffing?"
From the rear of the hall, the man who had fled earlier reappeared.
He held a handful of brown hair—clearly freshly cut.
"Drop your weapon, or what you'll see next won't be just hair."
He laughed arrogantly, the sound sharp and grating, like nails scraping against glass.
If he had used the hostage as leverage earlier, things might not have turned out this way.
Since the boy's goal was to save her, surely this white-haired adventurer wouldn't dare act recklessly.
Bell's expression didn't waver.
"You're insane!"
Amid the man's shout, Bell tightened his grip on the dagger and rushed forward.
"Don't you care if that girl dies? Take one more step and, at my signal, she'll be killed instantly!"
Bell didn't respond.
Like a sword thrust straight and true, he charged forward without hesitation.
A flash of cold sky-blue light cut through the air.
"You—"
The man never finished his words. Shock still frozen on his face, he crumpled to the ground.
Brown strands of hair scattered across the floor.
A faint breeze swept through the dim corridor behind them, carrying the strands away.
Bell took a slow breath, letting the wind steady his heart.
Of course he was worried about Naaza.
But that would never be reason enough to lower his weapon.
As the [Bait], he had already done his part.
Naaza's safety was in someone else's hands now—he just had to trust them.
What concerned Bell more was how much strength he'd already spent.
Too weak.
Both them and himself.
This was nothing more than a fight between Level 1s, and yet it had taken this much effort just to barely come out on top.
That wasn't heroism—just the struggle of the weak.
What Bell didn't know was that this fight between the weak was far more captivating than any grand battle on a true battlefield.
At least, that was how the Goddess Freya saw it.
To host her own entertainment, the gods had once permitted the use of a divine power—
The Divine Mirror.
Originally, it was an ability used in Tenkai to observe the Genkai below.
If any god were caught using it privately, they would be forcibly sent back to Tenkai.
Each channel of the Divine Mirror emitted distinct wavelengths, easily detected by nearby gods.
No god would ever risk using it in secret—none but Freya.
The Goddess of Beauty had used her charms to deceive the others.
She had risked everything, exploiting a loophole, all for one reason—
To witness this boy's battle.
Not an epic clash of magic and might.
Not a blinding storm of blades and heroism.
Just a simple fight between the weak.
A modest, unpolished stage shaped by the boy's skill and intellect.
From the top of the Tower of Babel, Freya's gaze was fixed, utterly entranced by the sight.
And within the light of the Divine Mirror, the mercenary stepped silently onto the field.
The battle of the weak had only just begun.