Syr's time in recollection ended.
The gentle thoughts buried deep inside her faded away, and the elegance and composure of the goddess Freya rose to the surface once more.
"Lady Freya."
From the shadows of the room stepped forward a warrior of the boaz people. He bowed slightly toward Freya. He had a tall, powerfully built frame, muscles so absurdly dense they perfectly matched the phrase "forged through endless hammering."
He was one of only two publicly known Level 7 first-tier adventurers in Orario—praised as the strongest among the Dungeon City's champions.
The "Mighty" Ottar, of the Freya Familia.
"Hard work, Ottar. And… what do you think of that child—Guede?"
Freya gently swirled her wineglass and took a small sip, waiting with interest for Ottar's answer.
Ottar had been an abandoned infant Freya picked up and raised with her own hands.
Now thirty-two, he had long since grown from a frail baby into a seasoned powerhouse—calm, steady, and battle-hardened.
To him, Freya was essentially his foster mother.
He wasn't the type to flatter with pretty words just to please someone. He was honest to a fault.
That was why Freya didn't find him "cute," but she still valued his opinions—because his evaluations were always real.
"I stayed on the 12th Floor for three consecutive days, holding three Young Dragons as training targets… and delivered them to the person you designated."
"Is that so? Then what was the result?"
"For his current level, he's very good. His courage and resolve are both up to standard."
"Mm."
Freya's lips curved slightly.
Ottar was rigorous—he rarely gave praise so easily.
That Guede had earned his approval made Freya feel a quiet, proud satisfaction, as if she'd won something herself for having discovered him.
"However… it's still not enough. He's a rough-cut gemstone. He needs to be polished until he shines brighter."
Like a fruit farmer who plants and nurtures a sapling through wind and rain, through changing seasons, until it grows strong and bears abundant fruit—
For a bored goddess, raising someone she fancies from nothing into someone who can astonish even a god… that "cultivation" experience was deeply entertaining.
Freya wore an indulgent expression, savoring the thought for a moment. Then she set down her wineglass, stood, and walked to a bookshelf.
Her fingers tapped along the spines at random like she was playing an instrument. When the rhythm reached its climax, her index finger stopped. She pulled out a grimoire.
"He probably hasn't awakened magic yet. If he relies on reading to build theory and then awakens on his own through practice, his light will likely bloom too late… I want him to become radiant sooner."
Ottar didn't understand the goddess's true intent. He lowered his head and remained silent.
But no matter what she ordered next, he would carry it out—clearly and efficiently.
…
Time moved into the afternoon.
Guede's wounds had mostly healed, but his stamina and mental energy wouldn't recover so quickly.
After all, he'd only recently been trapped deep in the Dungeon, fighting a desperate battle with total focus.
So now he planned to head back toward the Familia base in the North District and sleep until he woke naturally, to clear away his fatigue.
Still, since Hestia was working in the North District, he figured he'd drop by with something as a small慰问 gift.
So Guede followed Orario's northern main road and arrived at the place where Hestia was working.
With Guede covering the Familia's expenses, Hestia honestly didn't need to keep taking jobs. As long as she stayed away from luxuries, she could spend her days at home chatting comfortably with her divine friends without financial trouble.
But Hestia insisted on continuing—because the boss lady of the fried potato ball stall was a good person.
Once, when Hestia was working there, she didn't know how to use the magic-stone stove properly and accidentally started a fire.
Fortunately, no passersby were burned—but the entire stall was reduced to ashes.
And yet the boss lady didn't blame Hestia at all, nor did she demand compensation.
Because of that, Hestia honored what she saw as "contract spirit": she might come only every few days, but she had to keep coming back to work here—repaying the kindness shown to her when she was down.
Guede didn't even need Hestia to tell him. He'd already pieced the whole story together from overhearing other people's conversations, like:
"A goddess of hearth-fire… starting a fire because she can't use a stove? I wouldn't dare make that joke—yet it actually happened?"
"The one who caused the fire was a goddess, so she's literally the 'North Street Catastrophe'!"
From those mocking remarks, Guede had more than enough to reconstruct the incident.
The stall owner truly was kind—but later, a rumor spread like wildfire:
"At the North Street fried potato ball stall, if you buy potato balls, you can touch a goddess's head."
So business afterward became several times better than it had been before the fire.
Even now, a long line packed the stall front. Hestia was energetically greeting customers, bustling around without looking tired at all.
"All right, here are your potato balls… Huh!? Isn't that Guede?!"
Wearing her "customer-service smile," Hestia used a ladle to scoop up the last remaining portion from the magic-stone stove. But after handing it over, she realized the buyer was the captain of her own Familia.
Still, since she was in the middle of work, Hestia first turned toward the line and announced loudly and honestly:
"That was the last portion! Sorry—customers who want potato balls will have to come back tonight after the ingredients arrive~!"
"…What? No way! We've been lining up forever!"
"Ahh, there's nothing I can do—the ingredients are still being delivered! I'm really sorry Sorry, sorry!"
"Sigh… fine. Let's go, let's go."
Once the crowd dispersed, Hestia leaned both hands on the stall counter.
After checking left and right to ensure no one was paying attention, she climbed onto a stool, rose on tiptoe, and placed her right hand on Guede's shoulder. With her left hand shielding her mouth, she whispered:
"Hey, Guede—if you wanted to eat, you could've just said so. Tonight I can pack some from the shop and bring it back to the Familia. Why spend money here?"
Her answer was Guede's hand reaching out—using his height advantage—to pat the top of her head.
"So if you buy potato balls here, you get to touch a goddess's head, right?"
Guede smiled.
Realizing he was teasing her, Hestia puffed her cheeks.
"That kind of thing—when you get back to the Familia you can touch all you want~!"
"Here. Brought you a little慰问 gift."
The teasing ended. Guede withdrew his hand from Hestia's round head of black hair, then placed a chilled bottle of apple juice from the Hostess of Fertility on her work station.
Hestia's eyes immediately lit up with delight.
In weather this hot, there was nothing more satisfying than an icy drink after working hard.
She promptly poured two cups—one for Guede and one for herself—then planted a hand on her waist and drank first in salute.
Watching her act exactly as always, Guede couldn't help but laugh.
"Hey now—that juice looks pretty good. Won't you treat me to a cup?"
A bright, teasing voice came from nearby.
The newcomer was a young man dressed like a traveler.
And walking with him was a woman similarly dressed for travel—except she wore a white cloak.
…
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