"As I thought, something's off."
He muttered to himself, kicking a monster aside.
Anyone watching would probably think he was insane, but he was being deadly serious.
When he woke up, he was in the Dungeon—and not just anywhere, but in Rivira on the 37th floor.
Even the 370th floor would be a stretch, but the 37th? How was that even possible?
He swung his leg again, clearing out the monsters swarming around him. Why did they always flock to him the moment he started thinking?
Monsters... It's been a while.
Since he had stopped entering the Dungeon, he naturally saw far fewer of them.
I wonder what the Xenos are up to.
The Xenos who had helped him were all gone, but that didn't mean they had vanished from the world entirely.
A vague curiosity welled up in him, wondering how they were faring.
"I'm sure Fels handled things properly."
Still, had it been too cold of him to just vanish like that? He had considered helping a bit more, but back then, he had been far too desperate.
It was hard to say how long it had taken him to regain his sanity. Even now, he felt it was a miracle he had managed to pull himself together at all.
As he let his mind wander over these trivialities, he reached the upper floors in no time. He still didn't know why he was here, but since he was already this far, he figured he might as well greet some old acquaintances.
He wondered if Lord Ouranos and Lady Hephaistos were doing well. He hoped Miach and Takemikazuchi were in good health too.
Had they been eating well? Were they feeling alright? Were they getting enough sleep?
Perhaps because he hadn't visited them in so long, a flood of things he wanted to discuss rushed into his mind, and his pace gradually quickened.
Traveling alone had its charms, but talking with acquaintances—friends, perhaps—had a special kind of warmth to it.
It would have been wonderful if Lord Zeus and the others were here too...
"..."
He stopped short.
The steps that had felt light enough to fly a moment ago were now frozen, as if nailed to the ground.
Would they resent him? Would they even want to see him?
Even though he knew that was unlikely, the prospect of facing them began to frighten him.
"...Maybe I should just sneak out."
His wounds hadn't fully healed enough to face them yet.
For now, he could just leave quietly and return once he had sorted out his heart.
Lies didn't work on gods; talking to them now would only burden them with needless worry.
He was just weighing these thoughts when—
"Aaaaaah!!"
"...Huh?"
A scream pierced through the Dungeon.
It was a common sound. The Dungeon was, by nature, a place filled with screams and shouts.
However, it was rare for the voice to belong to a child. Had a Pallum adventurer appeared? Finn would have been delighted, but he wasn't here.
"I guess I should go help."
From the sound of it, the situation was dire. The upper floors were where the most adventurers perished. In times like this, it was only right for a senior to step in.
...I am a senior, right? I've been retired for a while, but I've spent plenty of time in the Dungeon. Yes, I'm definitely a senior.
*
Come to think of it, when he first became an adventurer, he had entertained the foolish notion of seeking an "encounter" in the Dungeon.
It was a time overflowing with dreams and hope. To put it bluntly, he had been a naive fool who knew nothing of the world.
If Ais hadn't saved him back then, he might not even exist today.
Looking back, he really was lucky. In a strange way, he had achieved his goal of an encounter and survived to tell the tale.
The reason he was indulging in such sentimental thoughts now was...
"Kakakak!"
"Crunch, grind!"
Because this moment felt exactly like the kind of scene his younger self had once longed for.
Guided by the sounds of twisting metal and crushing flesh—sounds he had long since grown accustomed to—he arrived at the scene. Just as he expected, the sight before him was grim.
A childlike adventurer wearing a helmet, and blocking their path, the upper-floor boss: an Infant Dragon.
Even as a hatchling, it was still a dragon. Unfazed by the nightmare that haunted most upper-floor adventurers, the small figure continued to launch stubborn attacks.
They're going to die soon.
The attacks weren't rational; they were desperate. It wasn't grit, but a movement fueled by pure spite. He had seen people like this before—usually those who had lost family or comrades to monsters.
He scanned the area, but there were no other corpses or discarded gear. It didn't seem like they had lost a companion here... it was likely an old wound that still hadn't healed. Just like his own.
Hmm...
He felt an unexpected wave of emotion. Perhaps it was the memories, or perhaps it was because today was Elegia.
Besides, the fact that they were alone suggested they were likely a Pallum. Perhaps he was witnessing the birth of a new Pallum hero.
"Ah?!"
But the time for observing had ended. Seeing the adventurer lose their sword and get knocked back, he prepared to move.
While the unspoken rule was to avoid interference, that didn't mean he should stand by and watch someone die.
Just before the Infant Dragon's tail could strike, he scooped the adventurer up and leaped into the air.
"Gaaah...?"
Startled by the sudden intrusion, the Infant Dragon barely had time to react before he smashed his fist directly into its face.
Sorry, monster. Maybe you'll become a Xenos one day. If you're upset, come back as one.
The monster's head burst. The shock must have reached the magic stone, as the Infant Dragon instantly disintegrated into ash and vanished from the world.
"Are you all right?"
The adventurer was in a sorry state. Their equipment was shattered in multiple places, and the deep dents in the armor told a story of a brutal struggle.
"..."
The adventurer remained silent. Because of the full-face helmet, he couldn't see their expression.
However, the intensity of the emotion radiating from their gaze was unmistakable.
"...Uh."
That emotion was...
"I could've... taken it down... by myself..."
Fury.
Fury that their prey had been stolen.
Fury at being reminded of their own weakness.
It was a frustration and humiliation that almost every adventurer experienced at least once.
This feels like looking at my old self.
Like when he had charged recklessly into the Dungeon, unable to stomach the things Bete had said. Had this child also come here driven by an unbearable heart?
A wet sniffle echoed from inside the helmet.
The clatter of armor rang out as they trembled. What sorrow had they endured to cry this bitterly?
The fact that the only sound was the cold clinking of metal made the sobbing feel even more heartbreaking.
"Here, take this potion. Drink up."
"..."
He deliberately ignored the crying and handed over the potion. You don't point these things out—Master Hedin's teachings still lived within him.
Fortunately, the adventurer accepted the potion. At least they weren't completely stubborn.
That was a relief. If they hadn't taken it, he had planned to force-feed it to them.
"..."
As they tried to drink, the adventurer seemed to remember they were wearing a helmet and began fumbling to remove it.
That was the problem with full-face helms; they were a nightmare when you needed to take a potion quickly.
Perhaps because their hands were so small, the adventurer kept missing the latch, unable to get the helmet off.
He could almost imagine the frustrated expression beneath the visor.
They could just set the potion down first. Are they actually a bit of a klutz?
"Want me to help you with that?"
"..."
Unable to watch the struggle any longer, he offered. The adventurer gave a small, hesitant nod of permission.
He only had one hand, so he wasn't exactly an expert, but it was certainly easier for someone else to do it.
...Wait, if it's this hard to take off, how did they put it on? Did someone else help them? Then why were they sent here alone?
With those thoughts, he removed the helmet. Since he had never worn one, it took a moment of figuring out the mechanism, but he soon found the release.
With a soft click, the helmet came off.
And what appeared beneath it was...
"...Eh?"
Hair and golden eyes that shimmered with a brilliance as if they had been forged from molten gold.
A pale, delicate beauty that could be mistaken for a goddess.
No—a beauty that would make a goddess jealous.
But there was no way he could mistake her.
He dared not mistake her.
Because he had spent so long chasing after her back, he knew exactly who she was.
She was his admiration, his ideal.
The Sword Princess, Ais Wallenstein.
Just... a very young version of her.
"...?"
What on earth was going on?
*
"Hmm... So it was snatched away after all~"
A certain divine entity watching the girl from afar let out a sigh of lament.
"I thought no one was around, but suddenly, from where... Eek!"
He had only glanced for a second, but the moment his eyes met those of the white-haired man staring back, he was seized by a sudden, instinctive terror and immediately withdrew his divine presence.
The Mirror of the Gods—the only Arcanum usable in the lower world. It was not something a mere human should have been able to peer through, yet the man had met his gaze as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Could this be... something far more magnificent than the Daughter of the Spirit?"
The Daughter of the Spirit was certainly a promising seed of calamity.
But that white-haired boy?
Cold sweat poured down the entity's back, and the trembling in his frame refused to subside.
He hadn't even faced the mortal directly; simply meeting eyes through the Mirror of the Gods had left him in this state. What would happen if they actually stood face-to-face?
"Even the Hero or the Empress weren't this imposing..."
Where in the world did such a creature come from?
Despite the complaints, the corners of the entity's mouth—Thanatos's mouth—curled upward in a wide, manic grin.
"Looks like I'll need a bit more preparation~"
This was different from the Daughter of the Spirit. If she was the offspring of a monster, then that boy was a demon that devoured monsters whole.
Half-baked preparations would only result in being eaten alive. In that case, he simply had to bring a trial that even such a monster could not endure.
Whether monster or human, all are equal lumps of meat before the face of calamity.
A chillingly ominous laugh echoed through a dark corner of the Dungeon.