Gojo
Perched comfortably on a high rooftop, he idly watched the glittering expanse of Orario settle into its nighttime rhythm.
With the initial phases of their experiments finally wrapped up, his mind had naturally started wandering toward the future. What exactly were the roles going to look like moving forward? Would he just be repurposed? If they followed the original blueprint forming in Max's head, things were actually shaping up to be pretty entertaining. Rimuru would obviously step into the light as the face of the operation—the smiling, harmless merchant. Kairu was the ultimate supplier. Max, naturally, would be the secret boss pulling all the strings from the shadows.
And Gojo? He got to be the impossibly strong, effortlessly cool adventurer. It was a role that suited him perfectly.
Down below, Lili was finally resting, though she was safe only in the strictest sense of the word. Safe and okay were two very different things. Ever since coming back from the Soma Familia manor, she had been off in a way that would have escaped anyone less attentive. But because it was him, he caught the fractures easily—the subtle, lingering flashes of pure surprise breaking through her guarded expressions, the tightness around her eyes, the way she seemed to shrink into herself. Nothing dramatic enough to warrant dragging it out of her, but enough to keep him watching.
For a brief, highly entertaining moment, he seriously considered dropping down just to grace her with his presence and light things up. A little night scare to break the tension. But he quickly vetoed the idea. The Pallum was strung tight enough to snap, and if she screamed, he'd probably get handed straight over to the Astraea Familia. Facing Alise's fiery wrath over a harmless prank sounded genuinely exhausting, and answering their inevitably complicated questions was a massive chore. Worse, it would completely ruin the mysterious, untouchable aura he had meticulously cultivated.
He was just beginning to wonder what else the night had to offer when his link to Max in his mind snapped taut.
A ping from Max.
Something is moving through the church.
Gojo tilted his head, a spark of genuine curiosity lighting up behind his eyes. Max was delegating? That meant the main body was tied up with something he couldn't easily step away from. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly Max was doing right now that took priority over their main stash. Was he finally having some actual fun with Freya?
Whatever it was, the diversion had his immediate interest.
He dropped from his vantage point, slipping into a narrow, shadowed alleyway. After a quick, customary glance to ensure the coast was perfectly clear, he locked onto the circle Max had embedded in the church walls and let the teleportation take him.
The transition was instantaneous, dropping him into a silence so complete it felt almost disrespectful. The old building greeted him with stillness, dust, and faint moonlight spilling across the worn stone. A quick sweep of the room confirmed the stacked inventory was sitting exactly where it should have been.
Not a robbery, then. Nothing had been tossed or broken open. Whoever had entered hadn't come to steal.
Moving deeper into the church at an easy, fluid pace, he made no sound at all. The floorboards seemed too polite to even creak under his boots. When he reached the kitchen, he found the first real signs of life—displaced supplies, a missing portion of food, and the unmistakable shape of someone treating their highly classified safehouse like a late-night tavern.
Half-silhouetted by the dim light, a lone figure in black was entirely focused on eating.
For one bright, private instant, a massive grin touched Gojo's mouth. This was perfect. He had the line ready. He knew exactly what he was going to say to look as impossibly cool as possible. He could feel it sitting right there on his tongue—
Move.
The warning didn't arrive as a thought. It was a raw, primal scream from instincts polished to a murderous shine in the Dungeon. Gojo reacted instantly.
But not fast enough.
The figure vanished from the kitchen and reappeared right in front of his face with such absurd, explosive speed that even his eyes only caught the motion in pieces. Black cloth. A narrow wrist. The glint of metal. Beneath all of it, a grace so fluid and perfectly balanced it registered as almost lazy.
Feline, he thought distantly.
Then the needle drove hard into the side of his neck.
At the exact same moment, a compact fist slammed into his chest with brutal precision. The strike landed with enough kinetic force to send him skidding backward, his boots dragging across the floor before his shoulders hit the rear wall with a solid, echoing thump. Dust rattled from the old stone, settling around him in the dim light.
He exhaled once, genuinely surprised. Well. That was rude.
The figure didn't press the attack immediately. They stopped a short distance away, poised and utterly silent, body suit masking everything except the lethal shape of them. The movement had given enough away—light on the feet, centered through the hips, predatory without a single wasted ounce of force. Cat person, he concluded. A thoroughly well-trained one, too.
Gojo lifted a hand, casually touching his neck where the needle had punctured the skin. The wound itself barely registered. What actually interested him was the faint, chemical sensation trying to thread its way through his system.
Poison.
His smile returned, a little sharper this time.
That would have been a massive problem for anyone else. For him, it barely qualified as an inconvenience. The toxin entered, desperately searching for a normal, serviceable human circulatory system to shut down, and instead ran headfirst into a biology that practically laughed at it. He felt the poison try to spread, only to instantly stall and dissolve, denied any satisfying purchase by his unique constitution. Petty stuff.
Still leaning comfortably against the wall, Gojo sent another alert to Max with a practiced flick of thought. Emergency!
Only after that did he straighten up properly, rolling one shoulder as though taking a poisoned needle to the jugular was just a mildly awkward way to say hello. The assassin watched him with measured caution—not rushed, not sloppy. They must have already realized their strike should have done significantly more damage than it had, and the air between them was growing visibly sharper because of it.
Gojo watched them right back, his bright blue eyes gleaming with interest above a thoroughly cheerful expression.
Now this, he thought, was getting fun.
-◈ -
Chloe Rollo
The man should be dead. Or at the very least, choking on his own spit on the floor. Instead, he was leaning against the crumbling stone wall, rolling his shoulder and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Beneath the dark fabric of her cloak, Chloe forced her muscles to remain perfectly still, locking down the agitated twitch of her tail through sheer force of will. In combat, panic was a luxury she couldn't afford. She breathed slowly, her eyes narrowing behind her mask as she analyzed the impossibly tall, unnervingly relaxed freak in front of her.
She hadn't actually expected company. This dilapidated dump on the edge of her kill zone had been marked as a potential safe house, and from the outside, it certainly looked the part. When she slipped inside and stumbled across the meticulously stacked boxes in the basement, she knew immediately the ruin was a front. Still, she had figured she could eat, recover the energy she had burned during her frantic escape, and vanish into the night long before whoever owned the stash came back to check on it.
Clearly, she had miscalculated.
How had he noticed her presence so quickly? Had she tripped some magical surveillance artifact on her way in? Her eyes moved briefly across the shadows, cataloging exits and angles with cold, automatic precision before snapping back to the figure that hadn't moved.
More importantly—why wasn't he dying?
She had used her premium, highly concentrated paralytic earlier tonight on Shakti Varma, meaning the needle she had just driven into this man's neck was laced with her backup concoction. But even as a backup, it was incredibly lethal. She knew the legend of the city perfectly well; high-ranking adventurers often developed Abnormal Resistance.
But she had rigorously tested her concoctions against her own Rank G resistance just to measure their efficacy, and even against a seasoned adventurer with a high-tier resistance, the dose she had just delivered straight into his bloodstream should have caused a severe delay in motor function at worst, or complete localized paralysis at best.
Instead, this man had just smiled at her.
The sheer impossibility of it sparked a hot, jagged flash of anger through her icy composure. How could she fail twice in one day?
Taking a contract on Shakti Varma, the highly capable captain of the Ganesha Familia, had been blatantly suicidal, and Chloe had known that going in. She had planned carefully, mapped every variable, used her best toxins, and still failed fantastically, barely escaping the resulting chaos with her life.
She had only taken the hit because it was supposed to be her absolute last.
Her patron—that psychotic bitch of a goddess—had sworn to it. Just like she had sworn the hit on the Imperial Knight was the last one. Chloe had killed that knight with nothing but a knife, earned her level up, and had immediately been handed an even harder target with thinner resources and zero support. It was a rigged game, a slow death sentence designed to keep her trapped or get her killed trying, and her formal request to leave the Familia had only produced this endless string of impossible bounties in response.
She was so incredibly tired of it. Her hands were permanently stained with blood she could never wash off. She only ever accepted contracts on absolute scum, or those who stepped onto the battlefield fully resolved to die, but that didn't make the guilt any lighter.
And yet, despite her self-loathing, she took a dark, undeniable pride in her moniker. She was the Black Cat. She didn't miss twice in one night.
So who was this man? A Ganesha Familia tracker seemed unlikely; they wouldn't send one man alone. A cleaner dispatched by her own patron to tie up loose ends after her failure? No—a cleaner would have attacked from the shadows the moment she entered, not strolled into the kitchen like he was looking for a midnight snack. He was an unknown variable, standing squarely between her and the exit, and she had no intention of letting that remain the case.
Chloe calmed her racing heart, letting her signature icy composure wash back over her as she lowered her center of gravity, her grip adjusting on her daggers with quiet, practiced ease. She was entirely done running for the night. She wanted out of her Familia, out of this entire miserable life, and she was going to wring some answers out of this smiling freak before she left.
Just as her muscles coiled to spring, the man finally spoke.
"Hello there, my feline friend," he said, his voice as cheerful and casual as if they were discussing the weather over morning tea. "What brought you here?"
Chloe didn't answer. She let the silence stretch, her eyes tracking his shoulders, his hips, his balance. He wasn't taking a defensive stance. He was completely open, presenting her with every vital point as though they were a gift.
It was an obvious, arrogant trap.
She didn't care. Putting her Level 4 stats to full use, she pushed off the floorboards and exploded forward, driving straight for the opening to shatter that smug smile and carve a path to the door.
She made it only a few steps before the air behind her hummed violently.
The blinding flare of crimson light painted the kitchen walls without warning, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. Her instincts recognized the sharp, intricate design of a magic circle a fraction of a second before the space behind her erupted. Something launched itself from the light at terrifying speed, slamming into her back before she could even pivot her blades to defend herself.
The mass engulfed her entirely. She thrashed, pouring every ounce of her kinetic force into breaking free, but the substance wrapping around her was unyielding—not solid but thick, gelatinous, and suffocating, absorbing her frantic momentum like deep water and giving absolutely nothing back.
Then came the cold.
Ice crept rapidly through the gelatinous prison, biting through her dark clothes and sinking directly into her bones. The freezing temperature sapped her strength violently, dulling her razor-sharp senses into a sluggish, heavy blur. She tried to twist, to carve her way out, but the ice overrode her desperate efforts and locked her limbs firmly in place, stealing her momentum degree by degree until there was nothing left to fight with.
Her vision narrowed to a pinprick, her struggles weakening to a halt as the frost took hold of her nervous system and the tall man's bright, genuinely amused chuckle reached her from somewhere impossibly far away.
Just my luck, Chloe thought, the bitter, exhausted resignation settling into her chest like the cold itself, dragging her quietly down into the dark.
-◈ -
Max
He had assumed the chaotic portion of his day was over the moment Gojo sent the ping.
Fortunately, the situation in Babel had stabilized first. Following the explosive Level Up and the emotionally devastating aftermath, Freya had eventually retreated to her wardrobe to change. To Max's immense relief, the Goddess had decided against pressing the boundaries of his ruined composure any further tonight. Once she finally settled in to rest, Max sank back into his armchair, closed his eyes, and sank his focus through the mental link.
He took direct control of Gojo.
When his awareness fully anchored into Gojo's body inside the abandoned church, the physical sensation was jarring—shifting from the warm, perfumed air of Babel to the drafty, dust-choked chill of the old nave.
The skirmish was already over. A lone figure lay on the kitchen's stone floor, unconscious and trapped from the neck down within a thick, jagged block of Kairu's magical ice.
Max stepped closer to get a proper look. Beneath the dark cloak, he took in the feline features and the specific, signature weaponry strapped to her waist. Recognition finally clicked into place.
Chloe Rollo.
What is a future Hostess of Fertility waitress doing trying to rob my safehouse? Max wondered, stepping closer. Right. The timeline. She must still be in her previous occupation.
With a practiced flick of his wrist, Max applied a localized pulse of Destruction, cleanly erasing the ice spell into harmless mist.
Chloe collapsed onto the stone, coughing violently as the freezing numbness receded. Her assassin's instincts kicked in before her eyes even opened; her hand twitched toward her belt for a dagger.
Gojo's heavy, black-booted foot pinned her wrist to the floor. Not enough to break it, but with enough immovable, crushing weight to make the point absolute.
"I wouldn't do that," Gojo's voice drifted down, cheerful and impossibly arrogant. "I thought I was having a terrible night, but honestly, you're having a far worse one. Let's not make it your last."
Chloe went entirely still. She opened her eyes, glaring up at the man looking down at her. She was shivering, exhausted, and her best neurotoxin hadn't even made him blink.
"Who are you?" she rasped, her voice rough from the cold.
"I'm the guy whose pantry you're currently raiding," Gojo smiled, looking down at her. "And you are Chloe Rollo."
Chloe's pupils shrank. The absolute terror of being recognized stripped away the last of her icy composure.
For a brief moment, Max considered just ripping the answers directly from her head to save time. But he quickly discarded the idea; he couldn't channel his Mind Reading through his clone. He was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.
He decided to play his hand carefully.
Gojo lifted his heavy boot from her wrist and took a deliberate step back, offering her space to breathe and to sit up.
"Relax," Gojo said, his tone losing a fraction of its playful lilt and settling into something calmer. "If I wanted to cash in your bounty, you'd be in a Ganesha Familia holding cell right now, not thawing out on my kitchen floor."
Instead of listening, Chloe seized the opening. Her hand shot to her waist, drawing a concealed blade as her legs coiled beneath her, ready to spring toward the exit. But before her boots could even leave the stone floor, something cold, wet, and intensely heavy clamped over her shoulder, yanking her back down with the force of a vice.
She twisted her head, her breath catching in her throat. Towering directly behind her was a massive, semi-translucent blue slime, its gelatinous form already expanding to cage her in.
Gojo chuckled, watching her freeze in shock. "You didn't really think I'd be alone in a room with an assassin who just tried to kill me, did you?"
He smirked as his eyes gave a sudden, ominous glow. The sheer, crushing pressure of his presence flared for just a second—enough to completely suffocate her remaining defiance.
Her shoulders slumped. The blade slipped from her fingers, clattering harmlessly against the stone. Her attempts to escape ceased entirely, her eyes locking onto Gojo as she finally paid close attention to what he was saying.
"Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way," Gojo continued, the ominous aura vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "What do you want to do? Go back out there, stay on the run, or crawl back to your patron? Because I can think of a few scenarios of how this plays out, and none of them end well for—"
"Get to the point," Chloe interrupted, her voice exhausted and brittle.
Gojo gave a serious nod. "I can help you. I can hide you away until the chaos here settles down and everyone assumes you're dead or escaped. I hope no one saw you?"
Chloe shook her head silently, looking down at her dark, unmarked assassin attire.
Gojo nodded in satisfaction. "Good. In return for a safe haven, I want your full cooperation. Basically, you work for me."
A resigned, bitter look crossed Chloe's face. Max could practically see the gears turning in her head; she clearly thought she was just trading one murderous patron for another.
"I don't want you to kill," Max clarified, cutting through her dark assumptions. "I have something better in mind. I'll share the details once everything is settled, and then you can tell me if you're willing or not. Understand?"
He waited. After a long, tense moment, Chloe gave a slow, acknowledging nod.
"Excellent," Gojo said briskly. He manifested a contract parchment from his coat. "Sign this. It binds us to our agreement. And fair warning—you will pay a very dear price if you breach this contract."
Chloe stared at the magical document. It was a lifeline disguised as a leash, but she had nowhere else to go. Trembling slightly, she pressed her magic against the seal. The magic pulsed softly in the dark room, binding them.
Satisfied, Gojo snapped his fingers, enveloping her in a flash of purple, teleporting her to safety. With the crisis managed and a new asset secured, Max retracted his consciousness back to his main body in Babel.
-◈ -
Back in Babel, he opened his eyes. The chill of the abandoned church vanished, replaced instantly by the plush, perfumed stillness of Freya's sanctum.
His mind was still spinning with the logistical avenues Chloe had opened for his future plans, but as his awareness fully anchored back into his own body, he shelved those thoughts. He had immediate responsibilities here.
Even while his consciousness had been projected across the city, his body had remained stationed as the sole physical barricade between Freya and safety. His first instinct upon returning was to check on her. He turned his gaze toward the bed and let out a quiet breath. Freya was sleeping peacefully, completely undisturbed by the night's quiet chaos.
Safe.
A soft jiggle drew his attention as Kairu appeared beside him on the mattress. The slime vibrated, releasing a rapid, insistent string of Ki! Ki!s. Through their familiar bond, the intent washed over Max with crystal clarity—a warm, stubborn wave of reassurance, telling him that the area was secure and insisting that Max finally get some rest.
Max looked at the little blue blob, raising an eyebrow in silent confirmation. Kairu gave a firm, gelatinous nod.
Too exhausted to argue with his own familiar, Max closed his eyes and let the heavy fatigue pull him to sleep.
When he woke a few hours later, the dim, pre-dawn light was just beginning to filter through the windows. He stretched quietly and nudged Kairu, whispering for the slime to take a break. Kairu promptly melted into a motionless, resting puddle without a single pulse of protest.
Max sat in the dark, content to just watch the glittering expanse of Orario waking up below. Then, a sharp ping from his perimeter wards broke the silence.
The approaching footsteps were impossibly light for a man of his immense size, but Max tracked them easily. By the time Ottar pushed through the heavy doors to assume his morning post, Max was already looking right at him.
The Warlord stopped dead in his tracks. A rare flicker of genuine surprise broke through his usually stoic features; he clearly hadn't expected the new Level 3 to keep watch over the goddess through the night.
Max offered a single, silent nod. Ottar held his gaze for a long moment before slowly returning the gesture—filled with respect.
His shift concluded, Max channeled his magic. Locking onto the circle in his suite, a teleportation circle flared beneath him. With a familiar VWOOM, he vanished—taking the entire bed with him—and finally slipped away to get some much-needed, proper rest back in Folkvangr.
-◈ -
Hedin
After what felt like an eternity, he finally stepped out of the suffocating maw of the Dungeon and into the cool, stagnant night air of Babel.
If he were a lesser man, he might have dropped to his knees and celebrated simply making it out alive. A solitary, twenty-four-floor blitz at a dead sprint—down and back up again—was a physical and mental gauntlet that would have broken most first-tier adventurers. But Hedin was in no mood for such frivolities. He wasn't feeling triumph. He wasn't feeling relief.
MAX.
The name thundered in his mind with a raw, toxic venom he hadn't thought himself capable of producing anymore. There were so many things the boy needed to answer for. The flagrant disregard for the chain of command. The hefty Guild payout. And now, the absolute humiliation of being left to scream in an empty cavern. The boy had better be prepared with exceedingly satisfactory answers, because Hedin was completely out of mercy.
Before he could even clear the plaza, however, a cluster of Guild officials in crisp suits intercepted him.
Hedin's jaw locked so tight he felt his teeth grind. He stood there, fury coiled behind his eyes like a drawn bowstring, and breathed. Once. Twice. The rational part of him — the part that had survived decades of war, politics, and Lady Freya's court — dragged the rest of him back from the edge by sheer, practiced force of will. He was not going to throttle Guild officials in the middle of Babel's entrance plaza. That would be undignified.
The bumbling fools took an agonizing amount of time clearing their throats and shuffling their clipboards before finally asking their purpose: they needed an executive-level confirmation regarding the sudden absence of the Goliath on Floor 17.
With remarkable, terrifying composure, Hedin smoothed his expression into a mask of polite indifference. He confirmed that, yes, there was absolutely no trace of the Monster Rex on the floor.
The officials exchanged excited, nervous glances and infuriatingly pressed further, asking if the great White Knight had dealt with it himself.
Hedin shook his head, his tone clipped and entirely devoid of warmth. He stated that the Astraea Familia must have handled it, as was the current belief among the unwashed masses in Rivira. Deciding that was more than enough charity for one morning, he turned his back on them mid-sentence and resumed his march toward Folkvangr.
As he moved, his mind began to systematically organize his fury into an interrogation plan.
He was going to wring every single answer out of that boy. He would find out exactly what illicit deal Max had struck with the Guild. More importantly, he was going to uncover exactly which artifact the boy had stolen from their Mistress to achieve that instantaneous escape. A novice like him couldn't cast high-tier spatial magic; therefore, Max must have taken an emergency teleportation item from Lady Freya's private reserves without accounting for it. The sheer, ungrateful blasphemy of the act made Hedin's fingers twitch with static.
He reached the towering gates of Folkvangr in record time. The daily Baptism was in full swing, the courtyard echoing with the crack of steel and the groans of the weak — the same brutal, necessary ritual it had always been, and ordinarily he would have paused to observe them, cataloging their failures.
But not today. He didn't even spare it a single glance.
The bloodied members parted the moment they registered his presence. He had neither the time nor the temperament to navigate around those foolish enough to remain in his path this morning. A few opened their mouths as he passed and closed them again just as quickly. Whatever they saw in his expression apparently communicated everything they needed to know.
He bypassed the chaos entirely, briskly making his way to his private chambers. He stripped off his ash-stained, ruined robes, washed the filth of the Dungeon from his skin, and dressed in a pristine, perfectly tailored uniform. Decorum had to be maintained, especially when delivering an execution. He then paid a brief, mandatory visit to Heith in the infirmary, silently demanding her strongest restorative magic until his stamina and Mind were completely restored to their absolute peak.
At one hundred percent capacity, Hedin marched straight to Hogni's quarters.
He was going to reprimand the Dark Elf first. Hogni's role in this reckless, willful theater was an absolute failure of his duties as a guardian. Hedin raised a gloved fist and knocked on the heavy wooden door with enough furious force to rattle the hinges.
A moment later, the door swung open.
It wasn't Hogni who answered. It was that gelatinous blue slime, offering a cheerful, undulating jiggle in greeting. Hedin's eyes bypassed the familiar entirely, sweeping into the room.
There, sitting on the floor like uncultured rats in a gutter, were Max and Hogni. They were casually surrounded by a scattered variety of rare artifacts, looking entirely too comfortable.
Every single emotion Hedin had been ruthlessly compressing since Floor 24 violently shattered its containment.
Uncontrollable fury and unbound rage hijacked his pristine logic. Without a single thought, Hedin surged forward like a tidal wave, his hand outstretched with the singular intent of picking Max up by the throat and pinning him to the stone wall.
He nearly made it.
Hogni moved with the blistering speed of a Level 5, stepping directly into Hedin's path to intercept the grab. But before the Dark Elf even needed to brace for the impact, Max casually raised a hand. A dark, semi-translucent magical barrier flared to life directly in front of Hogni.
Hedin slammed into it. The barrier didn't shatter. It didn't even bend. It violently halted his momentum, absorbing his kinetic force with a heavy, resonant hum.
Pushed completely beyond the realm of reason, Hedin stepped back and instantly channeled his magic. "Caelus Hildr!"
A devastating, concentrated blast of blue lightning erupted from his hand at point-blank range, slamming into the barrier with enough voltage to melt solid steel. The blinding flash illuminated the room, but when the glare faded, the barrier remained completely undamaged.
Behind the shield, the casual ease had vanished from the room. Both Max and Hogni were now staring at him with entirely serious, battle-ready expressions.
Good, Hedin thought, a manic, dangerous edge creeping into his eyes. They are taking this seriously.
For a fraction of a second, the room was perfectly still. Then, the thunder arrived.
The air pressure plummeted as the deafening crackle of electricity filled the tight space. Hundreds of jagged, hyper-compressed lightning arrows materialized in the air around Hedin, illuminating his pale face in harsh, strobing blue light. Their only designated target was the arrogant boy sitting on the floor.
Hogni immediately shifted his stance, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, preparing to intercept the barrage. It would be an inconvenience to fight through his fellow executive, but Hedin no longer cared. The boy was going to be punished, and if Hogni stood in the way, he would be disciplined right alongside him.
Hedin released the volley.
The lightning arrows tore across the room in a blinding, lethal swarm. But before Hogni could even draw his blade, a rapid-fire barrage of condensed blue gel bullets shot over their heads from the doorway behind Hedin.
The precision was physically impossible. Every single gel bullet collided perfectly with a lightning arrow in mid-air, the opposing magics neutralizing each other in a series of sharp, hissing pops that filled the room with steam.
Hedin's eyes widened in genuine shock. The slime?
He spun around to eliminate the familiar, but the moment he broke his focus on his primary target, the air beside him shifted.
Max was already there.
Hedin's first-class stats should have allowed him to dodge, his eyes tracking the boy's movement. But seeing the attack and having the physical mass to stop it were two entirely different things. Max's fist was already cocked back, wreathed in a terrifying, dense pressure that simply should not have belonged to a novice.
The punch connected dead in the center of Hedin's chest.
The impact was like being struck by a falling meteor. The sheer, overwhelming physical strength behind the blow shattered Hedin's footing instantly. It didn't just push him back; it lifted him entirely off the ground. The White Knight was launched backward out the open doorway, flying completely across the corridor before slamming into the opposite stone wall with a loud, bone-rattling thud.
--> Devil in a Dungeon <--
AN:
We finally got the resolution to Chloe's scene and now we can be on our way to the much awaited grounding of Hedin.
In the next chapter, we will go around to see how the matter will conclude and Max going to the guild ;)
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Ben, Out.
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