Come to think of it, it actually made perfect sense.
Just one wall reinforcing this space might have cost billions of Valis.
Spending that much just to kill a Level 7… Bell figured the poor guy would at least get to die peacefully.
After all, in such a confined environment, the moment the gate slammed shut, even a Level 8 caught inside would be stripped of their advantages and left in a miserable state.
He couldn't help but sigh to himself.
'Killing with money isn't just a figure of speech. This cage cost a fortune—if I didn't have Runes and spatial abilities, even I might've been forced to eat dirt here.'
The design could indeed wipe out a Level 7 intruder, but it came with heavy limitations.
First, this was part of the base's core defenses. The gate was fixed in place—moving it wasn't an option.
Second, a cage capable of killing a Level 7 was absurdly expensive to build.
Third, you'd have to find someone foolish enough to walk right into it.
These were the trap's conditions.
From Bell's perspective, this was a last-resort measure. Nobody in their right mind would spend tens of billions of Valis to build an immovable cage unless they absolutely had to.
'As a purely defensive trap, though… it's well made.'
'Prepared for the worst, always cautious. Daedalus really does live up to his name.'
He appreciated that kind of meticulous caution. No question—Daedalus was a master builder.
After offering that silent praise, Bell dismantled the gate's control systems and locked it in place with spatial power, ensuring it wouldn't function without his say-so.
The base held a few other traps like this, but none matched the sheer value of these gates.
'Plenty of secret passage entrances here… some even connecting to other floors.'
'Looks like Daedalus prepared for everything from the very start.'
'Let's cut them off.'
Runes bloomed beneath his feet, spreading outward at incredible speed.
In moments, every secret passage was frozen solid by the runes, sealing off any chance of escape or entry.
'That's the scouting done.'
'Now… let's see how she's doing.'
A flicker of coldness passed through Bell's eyes, though this wasn't something that required his intervention.
At least… unless he couldn't hold back.
...
On the other side.
A man grabbed Wiene by the neck and tossed her into the holding area for the Xenos.
Cages lined both sides of the corridor, each one crammed with Xenos that the men had captured.
"Wiene? Wiene!!"
"Damn humans! You'd even go so far as to capture a child!"
"A child?"
The man who had just set Wiene down let out a mocking snort.
"Only you lot would ever think of yourselves as human. To us, you're nothing but monsters—and even other monsters reject you. What exactly do you think you are?"
His words made every Xenos present clench their fists in fury.
But to him, that powerless anger was the weakest, most meaningless thing in the world.
What did puzzle him, though, was why this little whelp had been surrounded and protected by a group of Level 5 monsters.
'She's just a Level 2 Vouivre… so why would they escort her all the way to the upper floors?'
The question gnawed at him.
By strength alone, this Vouivre was likely the weakest among them.
If it wasn't her strength, could it be her identity?
But that didn't make sense either.
What could a monster's identity possibly mean? Could she be connected to a Familia on the surface?
The thought gave rise to a ridiculous idea.
'Don't tell me… this Vouivre is someone's plaything?'
'Tch, I can't figure it out.'
After a brief moment of pondering, he gave up and looked down at the unconscious dragon girl. Stepping forward, he stomped down hard on her stomach.
Shhhk!
A silver flash cut through the air.
"!?"
The man's eyes went wide. He tried to dodge, but the light was far too fast.
Shlick!
Thud!
The sound of flesh being sliced and something hitting the ground came almost as one.
He instantly knew what had happened—but he still swung his spear toward the prone Vouivre.
Only…
Shlick!
Clang!
It happened again. But this time, it wasn't his foot—it was the hand holding the spear. Both the weapon and his severed hand clattered to the ground.
"Who's there!?"
With his right hand and right foot gone, he could barely keep his balance, yet he stubbornly remained standing on one leg through sheer grit.
Up close, though, it was obvious—he was biting down so hard his jaw trembled, his voice emerging like the feral snarl of a beast backed into a corner.
"You've got the guts to sneak in and cut me up, but not the courage to show your face?"
Pfft!
The instant he caught sight of another cold gleam, the world went dark.
"Aaaaghhh!!"
"Who is it!?"
"Who's there!?"
Now missing his right hand, right foot, and even both eyes, the man could no longer contain himself.
Losing limbs meant half his adventuring life was already over.
Losing his sight meant that even the fate and curses he once loathed had been completely stripped from him—leaving his life utterly without meaning.
That final blow shattered what little resolve he had left.
"What a pity."
The low, cold voice came from nearby, letting the broken man pinpoint its owner's location.
"Lost…"
Crack!
A brutal kick slammed into his throat, crushing it. He couldn't even make a sound.
"A dog never changes its ways."
Racked with searing pain, his entire body trembled. His pride, his self-worth—all of it crumbled to dust in that instant.
"I cut off your limbs, took away your sight… and still you chase me like a lunatic."
The voice drew closer with each step.
"The only way you've ever found meaning is through others."
"Your bloodline's curse has tormented you for as long as you can remember, and the only way to ease that torment has been to force it onto others—to gorge yourself on their despair until it numbs you and convinces you your existence has purpose."
There was no praise in that voice, no disgust either—only the detached tone of someone speaking from above, like a spectator recounting the life of a stranger.
But the casual, almost indifferent delivery couldn't hide the condescending weight behind it.
And in that moment, the man's long-held dignity was ripped to shreds—in the cruelest way possible.
...
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