by Fujino Omori
“Well, even the best laid plans, you know? Nothing scarier than a jealous goddess, right, Asfi?”
“…”
His voice was laced with excitement. Asfi continued to stare at the back of her god’s head but didn’t say anything.
“But most importantly…Bell’s good nature outdid my wildest dreams.”
Hermes cast his gaze at the palace in the middle of Orario’s third district and narrowed his eyes.
The only information he’d given Bell was the existence of the Killing Stone.
Bell figured out the rest on his own without being provided with any hints.
Most likely, Freya wouldn’t have made a move if Bell escaped from Ishtar’s grasp. The course of today’s events changed two or three times based on Bell’s actions alone—and the boy had no idea.
He just went to save one renart he couldn’t leave behind.
But not recklessly. Bell was ready to lose everything.
Asfi listened to her god. She let his words sink in for a moment before asking a question of her own.
“Was your intention to destroy Ishtar Familia or entertainment? Or was it perhaps…a trial?”
Hermes heard her question.
But he chose to smile at her instead of answering.
“People, gods…Everyone is seeking a girl like that. Every single being.”
At the base of the city wall…
Hundreds of humans and demi-humans ran past in a desperate effort to escape the Pleasure Quarter.
The many gods watched the Pleasure Quarter from afar.
And a renart girl still lay unconscious in the Floating Garden.
Hermes raised his arms as he took it all in—the battle still raging on the roof of the palace between a large woman and a white-haired boy. Then Hermes made his point.
“The world wants a hero.”
The last of the Three Grand Quests: the Black Dragon.
A darkness hanging over the city.
And the root of it all, the Dungeon.
It was hidden by a veil of peace, but in reality there was a ticking time bomb to complete destruction lurking in their midst.
Hermes declared that what the world needed, was yearning for, was the birth of the true hero.
“As for the one who can save the world from this tragic fate…I choose Bell.”
“Not someone from Loki Familia? Not even Freya Familia?”
“That’s right.”
Shrouded in darkness of night, Hermes finally gave Asfi a straight answer, despite not turning around to look at her.
The deity continued staring into the flames, talking to no one in particular, like a monologue.
“Zeus, I, Hermes—no, Orario as a whole—shall finish what you could not.”
A dandy smile emerging on his lips, Hermes looked to the heavens.
“We shall mold him into the last hero.”
Then—
Hermes tipped his hat to the sky before returning his gaze to the burning district. His eyes narrowed.
“And for that to happen…Ishtar and all the children who follow you, please become his first stepping-stones. What? It’s not like you’re not going to die.”
If it was for the hero…
Hermes had no qualms about using the jealousy of a goddess to his advantage.
Hermes watched the flames engulf even more of the battlefield around the boy, a cruel smile on his face.
“Uh-oh…looks like she knows. Better get out of here before she really gets pissed.”
Far away at the base of the palace, two silver orbs were aimed in his direction.
Hermes was quick to cover his face with his feathered hat, and he broke off eye contact as soon as the Goddess of Beauty noticed his presence.
“Scary, scary,” he muttered to himself with a grin, and left his spot on the city wall behind.
“…Zeus, I’m betting everything on that white light.”
That brilliant shine that took down a floor boss. The boy’s blindingly pure soul.
To Hermes, it was but a sign of things to come—the boy’s familia myth.
With those words, Hermes turned his back on the battlefield.
The flames of war climbed high into the sky, tinting the heavens bright red.
CHAPTER 7
GODDESS WAR
Screams of agony filled the Night District.
What had once been bustling streets fully equipped to meet the exotic desires of its many clients was an assemblage of smoldering framework. The lucky buildings had massive holes and long gashes in their outside walls; the rest were nothing but piles of rubble at this point. Even the red-light district had been torn to shreds. The air was thick with the eerie residue of spent magical energy. The surviving ajura trees bent and swayed in the waves of heat coming from the nearby flames. Gusts of wind carried the sparks in and among their blue petals. Devoid of human activity, the prostitutes who hadn’t escaped in time were being held by the invaders at blade point in an open courtyard.
Other areas of the Pleasure Quarter were still in chaos; the shrieks of terrified prostitutes and the clash of swords never ceased. The flames of war spread throughout Orario’s third district, getting ever closer to the palace at its center, Belit Babili.
“Wh-what happened here…?”
Hestia whispered to herself. Their group had finally forced their way into the main hall on the first floor of the palace. The young goddess forgot to breathe as she saw with her own eyes the extent of the damage.
Chunks of the white stone floor and walls were missing, decorative pillars collapsed and laying on the floor like fallen trees. The bodies of badly injured Amazonian warriors were mixed into the debris. Judging by their position, Hestia thought the Amazons hadn’t stood a chance against their attackers. Battle was still raging outside the building. Chigusa and the rest of Takemikazuchi Familia were too stunned to speak. Lilly gulped down the air in her throat before saying as calmly as possible:
“Most likely a raid. But what familia would attack…?”
Hestia listened intently to her follower thinking out loud. Takemikazuchi looked down at the goddess with a grim expression. She met his gaze and both reluctantly nodded.
They’d seen the attackers on the way in—more specifically, they’d seen the crest engraved on their weapons and armor. Hestia knew there was no denying it.
“Freya, she made a move…!”
The sound of a blade piercing armor, closely followed by blood splashing on the floor, echoed through the higher floors of the palace.
“H-help…m…!”
Gravity pulled her body off a black blade. Separated from her team, a single Berbera fell to the floor. The dark elf didn’t listen to her pleas, silently watching as a pool of blood spread out at his feet.
“Hegni, no killing,” came the sharp voice of an elf just down the hallway. The bodies of more Berbera lay on the floor behind him, twitching in pain or completely motionless. One of them struggled to stand, her injured body refusing to cooperate. The elf spun around, thrust out his hand, muttered an extremely short trigger spell, and mercilessly sent a powerful bolt of lightning into her chest. The spell hit with so much force that her convulsing body went through the wall, leaving behind a gaping hole. Jagged burn marks appeared on the floor and walls as soon as the dust cleared.
“The F-Four Knights of the Golden Flame…Bringar…?!”
On a different floor, four javelins pierced each limb of a terrified Amazonian warrior.
The heels of four boots collided with her torso a moment later, knocking loose the javelins and sending the Level 3 adventurer crashing to the floor. Four prums, each equipped with body armor and helmets, split up to engage their remaining targets. The rest of the Amazons were launched through walls, slammed into the floor, or bounced off the ceiling in a matter of seconds. None of them could stand her ground.
The four advanced to a stairwell at the end of the hall that led to an outside passageway. One of them, carrying over his
shoulder a war hammer that stood taller than he did, grinned. SLAM! CRASH!! The stairwell was nothing more than a heap of wood and stone in the back of the hallway when the dust cleared.
“Every set of stairs in the back of the palace up to the twentieth floor has been demolished.”
“Any fighters still on their feet are next. Take away Goddess Ishtar’s options.”
The four prums convened to confirm their strategy before splitting up. They disappeared into separate hallways, streaks in darkness.
Ishtar’s remaining forces inside the lower half of the palace couldn’t hold their position, their screams of pain spiraling through the halls of Belit Babili like strokes of the clock.
“—Hey, big guy! We goin’ the right way?”
“Hell if I know! Every staircase is in pieces!”
On a different floor, Welf and Ouka raced through room after room with their weapons drawn.
Just like in the Pleasure Quarter, the two gawked at the level of destruction as they cleared the way through the palace with the others in tow. Grateful that the mysterious invaders hadn’t paid any attention to them, they cut through the chaos and panic that had taken over Belit Babili.
“?!”
“A Berbera!”
One of the warrior prostitutes appeared in front of Welf and Ouka. They’d managed to avoid encountering enemies since entering the main building, but their streak of luck had come to an end.
However, the Amazon had already seen a great deal of battle. Blood leaking from fresh cuts all over her body, she held a long club in her left hand while her right clutched the side of her chest. Breathing staggered and ragged, she stood just in front of the entrance to the next room.
“Wa—AWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
Her bloodshot eyes flashed open as she charged forward, a nightmarish mix of power and desperation.
She swung the club over her shoulder like a tiger bringing its claws to bear. Ouka managed to absorb the blow using his ax as a shield. However, he couldn’t keep his feet and staggered backward.
“Big guy!”
“This one’s Level Three!”
The pain shooting through Ouka’s hands nearly made him drop the ax. Welf jumped forward to protect him but was knocked to the floor by the Amazon’s next swing.
Welf had exhausted his supply of materials making magic swords for the War Game. There hadn’t been a chance to restock and make more after the move. “Dammit!” he cursed, wishing that he had some way to overcome the difference in level staring him in the face. The Amazon’s mere presence was overwhelming—but suddenly, a nearby wall exploded outward.
“!”
Ouka, Welf, and their opponent each watched in surprise as the splinters of wood and chunks of stone flew into the middle of the room.
One Amazon slid to Welf’s feet among the debris.
“You aren’t worth my time, whore.”
A catman appeared behind the hole in the wall, glaring at the woman’s body on the floor.
Fresh blood dripped from the tip of the long spear in his right hand, short fangs bared in a sneer. The short-stature adventurer quickly noticed the conscious Amazon frozen in the middle of the room.
“HYE—HYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
She threw her club to the side and made a break for the exit. But the catman was faster.
He became an elusive blur to Welf’s and Ouka’s eyes. One moment he was outside the hole in the wall; the next, the dull end of his spear was sending the Amazon through a different wall. It was exactly what had happened moments before, just this time they got to see how it happened. The humans blinked a few times in disbelief.
The catman’s eyes shifted in their direction.
“So, what are you?”
His aura was so intimidating that neither of them could open their mouths to speak. He focused on Welf, and judging by his equipment and the air about the young human, correctly guessed that he was a smith. The catman was not pleased.
“Smiths belong in a forge…Go swing your hammer, peon.”
“Wha…Say that again, you piece of shit!”
Welf’s pride as a smith drove him into a rage. The catman ignored him, didn’t even look his way as he left the room.
Only the first of his soft steps could be heard as the catman disappeared through the newest hole in the wall. Welf was seething with rage, but Ouka was awestruck.
“Level Six, ‘Vana Freya’…Allen Fromel.”
The name of the top-class adventurer belonging to Freya Familia spilled out of Ouka’s mouth.
A feeling of helplessness overtook Welf as he staggered forward and punched the wall with a strong thud.
“N-no…Inconceivable.”
Ishtar let go of the balcony railing, refusing to believe what she had just seen. Recovering from the shock, she raced back inside.
The sight of their aggravated goddess sent a wave of fear through the guards still in her chamber.
“Where is Phryne? Is the ritual finished yet?”
“Th-there has been no word! None of the messengers have come…!”
The first guard in her line of sight gave a knee-jerk response. This served only to irritate Ishtar even further as she desperately searched for answers.
Just why was it that Freya chose now to attack?
Even if Hermes had alerted her to the presence of the Killing Stone, there was no way the messenger could’ve known about Haruhime’s sorcery—the Level Boost should still be a secret. Freya attacking preemptively made no sense.
“…Bell Cranell, is it?”
Was the silver-haired Goddess of Beauty really that attached to the boy?
Attached to the point that kidnapping him was something for which she’d go to any lengths, including war, to punish her?
“That vixen is doing this for…one child?!”
—That’s insane!! Absolute nonsense!!
Ishtar’s fists shook as her heart screamed out in disbelief. She’d been playing a prank, trying to be a thorn in Freya’s side, and yet that joke had struck the wrong nerve. However, it was far too late now.
What to do, what to do? The wheels in her mind turned, going faster and faster. Should she hide the Killing Stone and Haruhime, and then meet up with Phryne and the others for protection? Or should she escape from her ruined home—no, from Orario entirely? She didn’t know which way to go.
Ishtar was so caught up in her own dilemma that only now did she notice the lack of battle cries downstairs.
“Huh? Wh-what’s wrong?”
The Berbera whom she had the most affection for, the ones who should be defending her in this time of need, were silent.
Ishtar made her way to the top of the grand stairwell on the thirty-first floor. Looking down at the very spot of her second encounter with Bell Cranell, she leaned over the railing and called out to them.
Her voice echoed through the uneasy stillness surrounding the ornate pillars that decorated the wide chamber below.
Until…ker-tap, ker-tap.
High heels on stone announced the presence of another goddess.
“No…”
Ishtar’s amethyst eyes opened as wide as they could go as locks of silver hair and an ominous smile came into the light.
Two unblinking silver eyes were locked onto her. Freya pulled her long silver bangs back behind her ear.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Ishtar? Since the last Denatus, I believe? Have you been well?”
“F-Freya…?”
“I hate to be rude, but there’s something we need to discuss. No—more like a final good-bye.”
Ishtar choked on her own words. The smile didn’t leave Freya’s lips as she made her intentions known.
The goddess was alone, her escort nowhere to be seen. Seeing this, Ishtar roughly turned to her own guards and shouted at the top of her lungs:
“S-seize her! Make that woman kneel before me! Both of you!”
She ordered the last of her personal gu
ards, male and female humans, to attack.
The two had been silently waiting at attention, keeping their eyes down. Both rushed forward, descending the staircase in a heartbeat.
Freya was already in the middle of the chamber, vulnerable from all sides. Ishtar’s guards drew their weapons and charged forward—and slowed down.
“?!”
The man was the first. His body quivered the moment he set eyes on the silver-haired goddess, and he fell to his knees.
The deity grinned as the female guard wobbled in place, like a drunk person trying to insist there was nothing wrong. Freya calmly walked up to the young woman and whispered something in her ear. Every joint in the human’s body gave way as she collapsed like a rag doll.
The male guard made every attempt to stand up, but his legs just wouldn’t obey. He grew more desperate with each passing heartbeat. Freya walked up to him and gently ran her fingers down his cheek. The man’s body shivered before he fell face-first onto the floor.
“M-my children…!”
—They had been Charmed. Ishtar couldn’t even finish her own sentence.
The same scene must’ve played out many times. Flashes of light coming in from outside revealed a long trail of motionless bodies behind the silver-haired goddess, each of them Charmed into submission.
Male or female, it didn’t matter. None of Ishtar’s followers could prevent Freya from melting their hearts.
“They’re all very cute, Ishtar.”
“Hyeeeee…!”
Turning her back toward the fallen guards, Freya made her way to the foot of the staircase.
Ishtar could no longer hide the fear threatening to take over. A pitiful squeal escaping her lips, she made a break for the thirty-second floor.
“Burning…?”
The Amazonian warrior whispered weakly as she gazed down at the battlefield from the edge of the Floating Garden.
Almost no time had passed since she heard the first explosion. Now the smoke was closing in on her like the oncoming tide. They were already surrounded, and their home was now under siege.
Each scream of pain by one of their kin in their territory felt like a blade through the heart for every Berbera still on the roof.
“Wh-what do we do, Aisha…?”
