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Part 2:
The clang of steel against steel filled the air. Ottar, his face steady and his breathing steady, withstood the combined onslaught of Ais and Bell as if they were mere minor obstacles in his path. His body moved with precision in every turn, every parry; every shift of his weight demonstrated a strength forged by years of combat.
Ais attacked from the front, her sword dancing with the speed of the wind. Her thrusts were so swift that the air whistled in her wake, searching for any opening in the Boaz's defense. Bell, meanwhile, seized every opportunity Ais created to attack from a different angle, trying to force Ottar to divide his attention. But nothing worked.
The giant Boaz blocked both their attacks without missing a beat. His gaze showed neither anger nor contempt; only concentration. Each time his sword clashed with Bell's, the impact rattled the young Adventurer's bones. Every defense he managed to execute was a feat in itself, because Ottar's strength wasn't just physical; there was something more, a contained intensity, an invisible pressure that kept him in absolute control of the terrain.
Bell gasped, sweat trickling down his forehead. Despite the throbbing pain in his side—the aftermath of the previous blow—he pressed on. His sword glowed with the bluish light of Divine Energy, but even so, the cuts he managed to land barely grazed the Boaz's hardened hide. Ais didn't say it aloud, but she felt it too: Ottar wasn't fighting seriously. If he were, neither of them would stand a chance.
Yharon's roar broke the rhythm of the battle.
The Dragon launched itself from the air, its body engulfed in orange flames that arced across the field. Its impact was brutal; the ground trembled, embers scattered, and the heat intensified. Ottar recoiled, crossing his swords to withstand the onslaught, but even he had to dig his feet into the rock to avoid being swept away.
"Now!" Ais shouted, throwing herself behind the fire.
Bell obeyed without hesitation. His white figure dissolved into the flames, his sword slashing downward. Ottar whirled, deflecting the blow with a force that sent sparks flying. In that brief instant, Ais attacked from the opposite side, seeking his blind spot. Ottar managed to block that attack as well, but for the first time, his breathing became audible.
"Annoying Dragon…" Ottar muttered gravely, raising his sword to parry another of Yharon's attacks. The Dragon's claws clashed against the steel, unleashing a torrent of fire. The heat was so intense that stones cracked and the air distorted.
Meanwhile, a few meters away, Riveria watched with a heavy heart. From where she stood, she could feel the pressure emanating from the confrontation. Every roar, every clash of metal, every wave of heat reminded her that this battle was far beyond what any average adventurer could endure.
Her instinct told her she should help, that she should be by Ais and Bell's side, support them with her magic. But reality was cruel: she couldn't move. Right in front of her, the Freya Familia's Executives kept her under constant surveillance, and although they hadn't attacked yet, she had no doubt they would at the slightest suspicious movement.
Allen, in particular, kept his eyes fixed on her. His posture was relaxed, but his legs were poised to move at any moment. His spear, held in one hand, resembled a contained lightning bolt about to be unleashed.
Riveria gripped her cane, feeling the sweat on her palm. She couldn't leave Ais alone against Ottar, but neither could she ignore the threat before her.
The silence was suddenly broken.
Allen smiled. "Well… I'm bored of watching."
Before Riveria could react, the cat-man vanished from her sight. She only heard the whirring of the slashing air, and in the next instant, her body moved instinctively, twisting the staff to intercept the attack.
"Tch!" The impact was sharp and violent. Riveria felt her arm go numb from the blow, taking a couple of steps back.
Allen landed gracefully, twirling the spear in his hand. "Quite the reflexes. But it won't do you much good."
Riveria responded with an icy stare, raising her cane in a defensive stance. Her voice was firm, without hesitation: "I will not allow you to advance."
"That remains to be seen, Princess."
The simp cat moved again, almost imperceptibly. Each strike was a lightning bolt, each blow a burst of precision. Riveria could barely keep her distance, dodging and blocking out of sheer discipline. Her Magic was building inside her, but Allen's pace was too fast to allow her to finish a chant.
Even her Concurrent Chanting, a technique she's had perfected over the years, wasn't enough under that pressure. Every syllable she tried to utter was interrupted by a new blow, a new threat that forced her to move.
Allen laughed as he attacked, enjoying his advantage. "What's wrong? Where's Loki Familia's Great Mage? Can't you even concentrate?"
Riveria gritted her teeth. "I need an opening… just a second," she thought, almost in utter frustration.
But that second didn't come. Allen was a predator, and she knew it. His style was aggressive, suffocating; he gave her no room to breathe. And meanwhile, behind him, the other Executives watched without intervening, confident that their colleague would finish the job without help.
The duel became a deadly dance. Riveria dodged just in time, the spear blades grazing her hair or her robe. The air whizzed with Allen's every move, his speed rivaling the wind itself.
However, a distant roar changed everything.
Yharon unleashed an uncontrolled burst of flame that swept through the tunnel, crashing into the ground and creating a fiery whirlwind. The flames spread violently, momentarily separating the battlefields. The heat hit everyone like a wave.
Riveria looked up. The fire swirled around them like a hellish tornado, moving without any clear direction. A reddish glow illuminated her face, and an idea flashed through her mind like lightning.
This is my chance.
She gripped her staff and continued her chanting. Her voice, strong and clear, cut through the roar of the fire.
"Burn them through, Sword of Surtr—my name is Alf!"
Allen reacted instantly. "Not so fast!" he shouted, lunging at her with a thrust. But Riveria didn't stop chanting. She barely dodged, the blade grazing her arm, but her lips didn't fall silent.
The ground trembled beneath his feet. A Magic Circle formed at the Cat-Man's feet, expanding with a golden glow and ancient runes.
"Rea Laevateinn!"
The circle exploded, and a pillar of pure fire erupted from the ground, engulfing Allen in a scorching eruption. The heat was so intense that the stones cracked and the air turned white.
Allen screamed, but not from pain: from surprise. With superhuman agility, he leaped back just in time, his silhouette crossing the edge of the explosion. Even so, parts of his armor burst into flames and part of his spear blackened from the heat.
He landed on his knees, breathing heavily, his expression one of disbelief. "Damn Witch."
Riveria stood firm, staff held out in front of her, her breath ragged. Sweat trickled down her forehead, and her wounded arm trembled, but her gaze was as steady as the fire she had just summoned.
The battlefield trembled once more. Ottar, Ais, and Bell continued exchanging blows at close range, with Yharon hovering overhead, its fire painting the ceiling of the floor in crimson hues. The air smelled of ash, of magic and steel.
Allen stood up, smiling despite everything. "This is getting interesting."
Riveria didn't respond. She simply adjusted her stance and prepared her next Spell.
Yharon's roar shook the air. His flame-enveloped body moved with lightning speed as he rammed into Ottar. The first collision unleashed a wave of scorching heat; the second shook the ground, rattling the natural bridges of the twentieth floor. Sparks flew in every direction, and fire swirled around the dragon with raging fury.
Before Ottar could counterattack, Yharon lunged sideways and beat its wings violently. The roar of its fire echoed with an otherworldly resonance as it opened its mouth and unleashed several Dragon Fireballs. They were blazing spheres the size of a grown man, enveloped in fire so dense it distorted the light around them. Yet, unlike an ordinary projectile, each one fell with impossible weight, pulled down by gravity as if the Dungeon itself were trying to drag them back to the ground.
The impact was brutal. Fireballs slammed into the living wooden floor, and the instant they hit the ground, they split into five smaller projectiles, each spinning in the air before rising again. Then the new fireballs repeated the cycle, raining down in all directions. In a matter of seconds, the battlefield was transformed into a hellscape: a deluge of fire pouring down from every angle.
The flames reflected on everyone's faces, tinting the air with a deep orange hue. Columns of fire created chaotic shadows that moved like beasts.
"Watch out!" Riveria shouted from her position, after finishing her chant casting Via Shiheim to withstand the heat wave. The Defense Spell trembled under the pressure, and embers escaping from the air scorched the surface of the bridge around her.
The Freya Familia's Executives were forced to scatter. Allen rolled to the side, dodging one of the balls that crashed right where he'd been standing. The impact was so powerful that the wood melted in an incandescent glow, leaving a smoking crater.
"What the hell—?!" Allen yelled, covering himself with his spear as the heat scorched the edges of his uniform.
The Gulliver Brothers scattered, running in opposite directions, their warning shouts mingling with the din. Even the strongest among them knew that those balls were not attacks they could block with impunity.
Ottar, however, didn't move. He planted his feet firmly, his gaze fixed on the dragon soaring through the air. One of the fireballs descended directly toward him, and without hesitation, he raised one of his swords and slashed upward. The impact made the air tremble. The fireball split in two, veering to the sides before exploding in a shower of embers.
But when he looked down, Ottar noticed something that made him frown.
The edge of his sword was slightly melted. A crimson glow ran along the edges of the metal, warped by the extreme heat.
Yharon roared high above, spinning majestically before unleashing another blast. The Dragon knew he couldn't defeat Ottar with fire alone, but his goal wasn't to destroy him, but to saturate the field, impede his movement, and force him to react.
Bell watched the infernal rain and saw one of the fireballs ricochet slightly toward Ais. Without thinking, he lunged toward her, pushing her to the ground and shielding her with his body just as the fireball crashed down on them.
"Bell!" Ais exclaimed, trying to push him away. But when the fire died down, he was still on top of her, unharmed, the heat evaporating the sweat from his skin. Bell smiled calmly, his white hair gleaming in the firelight.
"I'm fine," he said simply.
Ais looked at him, a little astonished, before smiling too, relieved.
Well…he IS immune to fire, after all.
Around them, chaos reigned. Fireballs continued to fall and explode. Some projectiles crashed to the ground with such force that they sent burning fragments of wood and dust flying. The temperature was so high that even the air felt heavy, difficult to breathe.
Riveria was in a much more precarious situation. Each ball that fell nearby made her take a step back. The heat waves slightly burned her exposed skin, and her tunic already showed signs of charring at the edges.
"This is… too much," she muttered through her gritting teeth, holding back the pressure with all her might.
A few meters away, Allen shielded himself with his spear, cursing. "Hey, Hedin! Are you just going to stand there and watch? Do something!"
But there was no response.
Allen turned around in frustration, only to find Hedin was gone. "What—?! Where did that useless idiot go?!"
Allen's voice was lost amid the roar of the flames.
Beneath the main bridge, on a lower level, Hedin stood on a half-collapsed walkway, observing the battle from a safer vantage point. Flames rained down around him, but he maintained his composure. Before him stood Mikoto and Haruhime, both tense.
Mikoto had her katana drawn, ready for any hostile move, while Haruhime, although nervous, maintained her position next to her, watching the elf without moving.
The silence was thick. The three figures remained motionless, only the fire illuminating their faces.
Hedin, with his arms crossed and a serene expression, finally spoke. His tone was calm, but his gaze had a measured, almost calculated weight.
"So you were here…"
Haruhime didn't respond, though her ears twitched slightly. Mikoto took a step forward, keeping her sword at the ready.
"What are you planning?" she asked in a firm voice.
The blonde Elf observed her for a few seconds. His smile was slight, though with a hint of mockery. "Don't worry. If I wanted to attack you, I would have done so already."
Mikoto frowned, remaining vigilant. "So what are you doing here? You don't seem to be following your group's orders."
Hedin lowered his gaze for a moment, as if pondering something. "Allen thinks I'm a coward for retreating… but I don't act on impulse." He raised his eyes to the fire falling from above. "I only act for Freya-sama's sake, and I know that child's fall will do no good."
Haruhime looked at him in surprise. "So... you want to help him?"
"I want to help Freya-sama," he replied without hesitation. "And if Ottar dies, she suffers. If Bell Cranel dies… she suffers too."
The words echoed in the air. Haruhime blinked, confused by the Elf's tone. There was no hostility, but a serene, almost painful, resolve.
Hedin turned his gaze toward her. "You're Sanjouno Haruhime, aren't you?"
She nodded slowly.
"I know of your Magic. A Renard Sorcery that amplifies the level of others."
Haruhime tensed up. "How... do you know that?"
"Freya-sama informed us of the important data and key pieces on the board when we attacked the Ishtar Familia," he replied calmly. "Personally, I don't approve of her letting you escape like that. But in this case…" He paused, looking up where the battle still raged, "it could be a great help in all of this."
Mikoto stepped forward. "Are you asking Haruhime to use her Magic to help Bell-dono?"
Hedin nodded slowly. "If he defeats Ottar, the entire Freya Familia will be destabilized, since the King may falter against a Level 3. But if they both die, Freya-sama will be harmed. And that... I will not allow it."
[N/A: Remember, Bell hasn't yet reported to the Guild that he's now at Level 4.]
The Elf took a deep breath, his expression hardening. "And make no mistake. I am not doing this for you. I am doing it because the balance of my goddess requires it. Freya-sama needs no more pain."
Haruhime lowered her gaze, her hands trembling.
Hedin observed them. "Then get ready. You won't have much time."
…
The clash of blows filled the air like a relentless hammering. The heat from Yharon's fire still rippled through the atmosphere, tinting the shadows red and gold. Bell moved swiftly, his breath ragged, his body covered in dust. With each clash of swords, the shock traveled up his arms to his shoulders. Ottar was a moving mountain, relentless, each step shaking the bridge's foundations.
Ais flanked him on the other side, her sword dancing like a gust of wind. The combination was precise: she attacked, seeking openings, and Bell capitalized, forcing errors. Yet Ottar barely seemed to give an inch. His defense was ironclad, his strength devastating. Despite receiving several cuts, none were deep enough to cause him any real harm.
Bell took a step back, raising his sword just in time to deflect a downward blow. The impact was so strong that the ground cracked beneath his feet. Ais seized the opportunity to slip around his flank, attacking with a lightning-fast thrust. Ottar swung his left sword, blocking the blow with a movement that seemed impossible given his size.
CLANG!
Sparks lit up both their faces. Bell saw the reflection of his own weariness in the Boaz's eyes.
However, between blows, Bell managed to see something beyond the battle. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Riveria was being surrounded. Allen was keeping her at bay with his speed, the Gulliver brothers were flanking her from different positions, and Hogni was preparing his weapon. It was clear that Riveria wouldn't be able to maintain that pace for much longer.
Bell gritted his teeth.
If he didn't do something soon, she would be in danger.
His gaze shifted to the blazing sky. Yharon was still circling, letting out roars that shook the air. The dragon watched Ottar's every move, like a hawk guarding its prey. Bell knew what that meant: Yharon had no intention of leaving him alone.
The boy took a step back, blocking a sword strike that nearly sent him plummeting into the abyss. With the edge of the Hestia Sword trembling in his hand, he shouted above the roar of the flames:
"Yharon, go with Riveria!"
The Dragon jerked its neck sharply. Its fiery gaze fixed on him with a mixture of bewilderment and disapproval. It growled, a low note that echoed throughout the floor.
"Please, Yharon!" Bell insisted, raising his voice forcefully. "She needs you more than I do right now!"
The roar that followed was one of disapproval, almost childish, but finally Yharon turned on its axis, beating its wings violently. The air churned as it departed, raising dust and embers all around it.
Ais watched the scene without stopping moving, barely managing to ask between gasps: "Are you sure about that?"
Bell nodded, with a half-smile. "I trust him."
Yharon flew like a fiery arrow to the other side of the field. Riveria, dodging Allen's slash, felt the change in temperature first, then the roar that shook the wood. A winged shadow interposed itself between her and her enemies, unleashing a wave of heat that forced them back.
Allen frowned, raising an arm to shield himself from the glare.
"What the Hell…?"
Hogni let out a nervous laugh. "That Dragon! It's the same one that was with the white boy!"
The flames spread, illuminating the entire corridor. Riveria squinted, the wind ruffling her green hair. Her first instinct was to back away, but the presence emanating from Yharon wasn't hostile toward her.
The dragon stood before Freya's Executives, its wings spreading in an imposing arc. Despite the fire, Riveria sensed something… different. It wasn't chaos, nor destruction. It was contained power, guided by purpose.
"Why…is he protecting me?" she murmured, incredulous.
Yharon's roar was his only answer. One of the Gulliver Brothers tried to circle him, but the Dragon barely turned his head and spat a precise blast of flame that forced him to the ground. Riveria seized the moment to raise her staff.
"So that Rabbit sent his pet…" the cat-man muttered contemptuously.
Riveria shot him an icy glare. "Never underestimate a Dragon, and don't you dare underestimate me, Allen Fromel."
Meanwhile, Yharon turned toward her, tilting his head as if he recognized her. Riveria couldn't read his thoughts, but she understood the gesture. Bell had sent him there. Not for strategic reasons, but because he trusted her. Or at least that's what he wanted to believe.
The High Elf took a deep breath, raising her staff decisively. "Very well, then. If this is an alliance, let's hurry."
The air around her changed. Riveria began to recite her chant, her voice echoing through the firelight.
Yharon's fire mingled with the summoned flames, swirling around them like a living storm. The dragon roared and unleashed a fiery torrent at the enemies, while Riveria completed the Spell, amplifying its power. The result was a column of fire and wind that tore away part of the bridge where the Gullivers stood, hurling them into the void below.
Allen leaped out of reach, landing sideways, his muscles tense. "Damn Elf!"
Riveria didn't answer. She was focused, each word of the chant flowing with precision. Beside her, Yharon let out a triumphant roar. For the first time in the battle, Freya's Executives were on the defensive.
Even so, in the heart of the storm, Bell and Ais continued to confront Ottar.
Yharon's absence had made the air seem thicker. Ottar, now free of the fire, launched another attack. Bell met him head-on, blocking a blow that nearly dislocated his arm. Ais seized the opportunity, unleashing a spiraling slash. Ottar whirled around, his sword slicing through the air inches from his face.
Sparks flew, metal vibrated, and the three combatants were caught up in a ferocious dance.
Bell was panting, but he didn't give up. Every movement was a reminder of why he kept fighting.
It didn't matter if Ottar was stronger. It didn't matter if he could barely hold on. As long as his friends were alive, as long as Ais and Yharon were still standing, he wouldn't stop.
"Back off!" Ais shouted, blocking a side attack.
The boy obeyed, turning just in time to avoid being knocked down by Ottar's kick. The ground splintered under the impact.
"You are resilient," murmured the Boaz, almost respectfully.
Bell took a deep breath, the Hestia Sword glowing faintly in his hand. "No. I only have something to protect."
Ottar narrowed his eyes, and for the first time, a slight smile appeared on his face.
"Then show me how much that's worth."
The exchange continued. Spark after spark, roar after roar.
The clash of metal reverberated throughout the floor. Each impact between Ais and Ottar's swords was a thunderous roar that shook the air. Bell watched the scene, panting, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His breath mingled with the heat of the battlefield, sweat trickling down his forehead and mixing with the ash left by Yharon's fire in the air.
Ais was a tempest. Her movements were almost impossible to follow; a gust of wind personified, swift, precise, elegant. Every blow she struck seemed to challenge Ottar's titanic strength. And yet, the boaz blocked every slash, every thrust, every attack with the precision of one who had spent a lifetime forging his power in war.
Bell tried to keep up, to find openings between their movements, but the harder he tried, the more evident his impotence became. Every attempt to attack ended in a block or a perfect evasion. Ottar dominated him with ease, as if facing him were merely an exercise.
And that feeling… was destroying him from the inside.
Every punch Ais threw, every step he took to stay steady, was a brutal reminder: he was falling behind.
"I'm good for nothing..." he thought, gritting his teeth as he narrowly dodged a blow from Ottar that cut part of his coat.
The pain didn't come from his body. It was something deeper. A frustration that weighed on his chest, a burning that didn't come from the flames, but from his own heart. Seeing Ais resisting, fighting with all her might while he could barely stay on his feet made him feel small, even WITH all of his Divine Blessings.
He wanted to…no, he needed to be able to help.
"I want to help!" He screamed mentally.
His body trembled.
"I wish I could do something! I want to fight alongside her, not behind her!"
It was then that the voice resonated in his mind, clear and powerful, a warm but immense presence, like a divine echo expanding within his soul.
[Divine Blessing of the True Hero]: Greatly amplifies all of your Stats, Physical Defense, Magic Resistance, and Healing Factor when you fight for what you truly believe is right and just.
[Divine Blessing of Karmic Retribution]: All Physical and Magic damage inflicted on your opponents who have sinned voluntarily increases significantly, potentially reopening old wounds or aggravating recently inflicted injuries.
The air around him seemed to explode. His body felt lighter, his muscles tensed with an unfamiliar energy, and the pain from his previous injuries faded, replaced by an inner burning that wasn't fire… but power.
Ottar raised an eyebrow when he saw him advance again. The gleam in Bell's eyes wasn't the same. They no longer flickered with uncertainty, but with a burning determination.
Bell roared toward him, the Hestia Blade tracing an arc of silver light. Ottar raised his sword to block, but as he did so… he felt the impact. For the first time in the entire fight, Bell's blow made him take a step back.
Boaz narrowed his eyes in surprise.
"That was different," he murmured, before stopping another downward stroke.
Bell pressed on with a ferocity never before seen, each blow resounding with multiplied force. The Hestia Sword once more vibrated with Divine Energy, as the boy's movements became faster, more precise, almost as if every fiber of his being knew exactly how to move.
Ais noticed it immediately.
"Bell…" she whispered, with a mixture of surprise and relief.
He didn't respond. He just attacked again. This time, Ottar didn't have much time to regain control before Ais joined the assault. Their combined attack was devastating: her speed, his sheer strength. The Boaz began to back away, the ground beneath its feet cracking with each impact.
However, Ottar spun around with brutal speed, deflecting Bell's blow with such force that the boy lost his balance and stumbled. "Tch!" he grunted, trying to regain his footing.
He didn't have time. Ottar was already upon him. The second sword sliced through the air with a metallic roar before striking him squarely in the chest.
The sound was sharp. A dull crack that seemed to break more than just its armor.
The blade tore through his jacket, pierced between the plates, and ripped his torso open from side to side. Bell let out a strangled scream. Pain hit him like an electric shock; the air escaped his lungs in a broken breath as he fell to his knees.
Blood gushed out, hot and sticky, staining his fingers as he instinctively tried to press on the wound. His breathing became ragged gasps. Each attempt to inhale felt like fire in his lungs.
"Bell!" Ais's voice reached him, distant, drowned out by the roar of battle.
His vision blurred. Everything was spinning. The ground trembled beneath his shaking hands. The wound…was deep. Too deep.
"...No… not yet…" he murmured, his teeth clenched, a spark of fury in his eyes.
Then he raised his trembling hand.
The Magic responded. A fiery current coursed through his body, as if a star had awakened within her. His blood, his pain, his will… all melted into a single flame.
"Explosion!" he roared with all the strength he had left.
The ground cracked beneath his feet. A searing explosion engulfed his body, devouring the air, tearing a scream from the very world. Ais instinctively recoiled, covering his face: the heat was unbearable, almost tangible.
The air turned white, and for an instant only light existed.
When the flames died down, Bell was still there, standing. His body was smoking, the glow of fire dancing in his eyes. The wound on his chest had closed, though his skin was still reddish.
Artemis spoke from the Spear he carried on his back, her voice firm and worried, "Orion… don't be overconfident. That wound hasn't fully healed yet. If you abuse your body too much, it will reopen."
He nodded, without taking his eyes off Ottar. "I know…but I can't stop now."
Ais approached, standing beside him. Her golden eyes met his red ones. Bell smiled, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and fire.
They both charged in unison. Ottar awaited them with a calmness only true veterans of combat possessed, but he no longer moved with the same ease. Each blow he received from Bell left a mark: a burn, a cut, a gash. The [Divine Blessing of Karmic Retribution] was taking effect, reopening old wounds and aggravating new ones, as if punishing every sin he willingly committed throughout his life.
Boaz grunted. "...Interesting power."
Ais slashed diagonally, and Bell followed with an upward strike. The clash of swords sent sparks flying in all directions. Ottar blocked them, but took another step back.
It was no longer a one-sided fight.
It was a desperate struggle, but it had evened out a little.
Bell gasped. He didn't know how long he could maintain that strength, but it didn't matter. If there was even the slightest chance of winning, he would take it.
Ottar looked directly at him, and for the first time, his voice sounded serious. "If you keep this up, kid, I might end up taking you seriously."
Bell smiled, raising the Hestia Sword. "I hope so... because I intend to keep fighting until the end."