The night in Orario was like a jet-black curtain falling over the city, with thick, heavy clouds appropriately shrouding the bright moon and starlight.
In such weather, in the Daedalus District where magic stone lamps had not spread, even adventurers walking alone might unknowingly find themselves lost in a labyrinth.
Step, step, step.
Bell Cranel's heart was restless, yet in his eyes flickered a trace of resolve. Clearly, he had already made up his mind to help the Xenos.
As he walked, a vague figure stood at the end of the dark street, on the stone bridge.
At this time, at this place, Bell couldn't imagine who would be loitering here so meaninglessly. That left only one answer. this person was not here by chance. They were here waiting for him.
Thinking of his familia's plan, he clenched his teeth and pressed on, until the man's face came clearly into view.
"Bell"
From above, Fron gazed down at the fourteen-year-old boy before him, sighing involuntarily.
This youth watched over by the gods, pushed onto the world's stage, beginning his performance under countless eyes.
Fron sighed inwardly. He knew all too well: the two of them were complete different typres of people.
Compared to offering a grand performance before an audience, he preferred to remain hidden in the shadows, observing everything, intervening only when necessary.
"You shouldn't have come here, Bell Cranel. No need for me to spell it out, you and I both understand."
"As your senior, and as someone who knows the truth, I can only give you this advice: the world is never purely black or white, nor a simple play of heroes and villains."
"The world is gray. What is justice? What is evil? … To define it all in absolutes is difficult. Do you understand what I mean?"
"..."
It was hard for the boy to understand.
Why, when Fron knew the truth, would he not help the Xenos? Why act so cold, so unfeeling? Wasn't helping others supposed to be a virtue? He couldn't comprehend it, so he asked:
"You clearly know… they, they're different from other monsters. They have emotions, intelligence, reason, just like us humans. They can laugh, talk, communicate. Reaching the surface, that's their wish, so why must they be stopped?!"
Fron blinked in surprise, staring at Bell Cranel for a long moment before letting out a helpless laugh and shaking his head.
So this is the so-called 'saintly attribute' that every legendary hero protagonist must have? That classic, protagonist-like speech?
Thinking again, with such innocence and sincerity, combined with the guidance and influence of a godly grandfather who idolized heroes, reaching this level of naivety was understandable.
No wonder Freya spoke of his soul as so dazzling, so pure.
In comparison, his own worldview, his vision, his knowledge, and his grasp of the complex relations between individuals and races, were fundamentally different.
Finally, a phrase came to Fels' mind: the ignorant know no fear.
The boy knew nothing, only what lay on the surface.
Monsters and humans were mortal enemies, and between them, how would the Xenos be treated?
Once adventurers discovered their existence, what would they feel? Confusion, perhaps disgust. The swords meant to slay monsters would grow dull.
And then, faced with monsters again, adventurers would falter, be struck down, defeated.
If this happened on a large enough scale, the world would tremble. Their existence could escalate the conflict, perhaps even trigger a return to chaos.
Not to mention the oath between gods and the Dungeon, and the fast-approaching time limit…
Regrettably, such complicated relations were far beyond the comprehension of a fourteen-year-old boy. At least now, standing within the situation, he could neither see clearly, nor understand, nor choose.
At that thought, Fron sighed.
"If this is your will, then there's nothing more to be said. Perhaps, through this incident, no matter the outcome, you will grow, and see the world's true nature more clearly."
Their stances and worldviews were utterly different. Explaining further would only be wasted breath, so Fels didn't bother. He turned away, then glanced toward a certain corner.
"Lord Hermes, you don't need to be so wary of me. If I wanted to keep Bell Cranel here, to be blunt, the strength you hold in your hands would not be enough to stop me."
"Heh heh…"
At being named, the golden-haired god stepped out of the alley shadows with both hands raised in mock surrender, smiling wryly. His followers, hearing this, had no choice but to withdraw, embarrassed to linger any longer.
"As expected of you, little Fron. Your perception is always so sharp."
"Nothing special. I just happened to pass by. A coincidence, a coincidence."
Fron gave him a half-smile, and as the two brushed past one another, he leaned in to whisper softly into the god's ear:
"Lord Hermes, it seems the hero you chose has strayed from your script. Do you intend to pull the strings tighter, and set your puppet back on the path you designed, or…"
Hermes' handsome face kept its smile, even his eyes unchanged, like a perfectly polished mask.
But Fron wasn't concerned. For in his view, Hermes' so-called script was riddled with holes from the start.
"..." The god's silence was answer enough.
Fron smirked faintly and lowered his hood.
"Surely Lord Hermes knows better than any of us, heroes are never manufactured. They are born from the wishes of turbulent times."
With that, he drifted away.
As he left, the suffocating pressure that had filled the air slowly faded.
The narrow alley fell silent once more.
Bell Cranel wiped the cold sweat from his brow, gasping for breath.
Even standing still, Fron had given him crushing pressure, his instincts screaming danger, his body on the verge of springing into action.
Only after the man left did the exhaustion crash down on him.
"Yo, Bell. You look wiped out. Was little Fron giving you too much pressure? Well, that's normal. After all, it's him. Even the Braver has to take him seriously."
"..."