"Tsk tsk tsk... there's an old saying in the East: there are no wrong nicknames, only wrong names."
Hermes raised a hand and tugged the brim of his hat down, hiding eyes that practically gleamed with the delight of a man enjoying a good show. He tilted his head and murmured a teasing aside to the girl beside him.
"And looking at our dear Mister Shadow of Sorcery here, that saying couldn't be more on point... wouldn't you agree, my dear Asfi?"
The girl with short, water-blue hair had long since gone red in the face. She turned away shyly, not daring to look straight at the indecently close, suggestive way Leon and Persephone were pressed together. And yet her gaze kept drifting back that way on its own, stealing little glances...
"Wh-what, what are you even talking about?!"
"Th-that's clearly... love!"
Hermes: "..."
???
...This counts as love??
That Mister Leon had been locked in a deep, lingering kiss with the Holy Maiden one moment, then turned right around and glued himself to the Priestess of Desolation the next... so, girl, what exactly is going on inside that head of yours??
Did handsome men and beautiful women come with eight hundred layers of built-in filter or something?
Or was it... that she'd gone and invented some weird storyline in her own head again?
Hermes lowered his head, pressed a hand to his brow, and let out a long sigh...
Such a waste. She'd shown so much promise as a useful pawn, and he hadn't even finished cultivating her yet. How had she already started growing crooked in such a strange direction?
"Listen, Asfi..."
"Haven't I told you again and again to lay off those princess-and-knight romance novels..."
"You..."
Asfi's head snapped up, her eyes bright, the words tumbling out fast:
"Lord Hermes, maybe you should worry first about how you're going to explain that little trip you snuck off to in the Pleasure Quarter the other day to the Captain!"
Hermes: "..."
...
It wasn't just Hermes and Asfi. The goddesses had naturally noticed the brazen, unconcealed behavior between Leon and Persephone too.
"Whoa!"
"What else would you expect from the certified scumbag the Goddess Alliance stamped and approved. Juggling N different women out in the open with all these people watching!"
"Tsk tsk, not even bothering to put on a show anymore, huh!"
"Impressive, impressive. A harem this harmonious... I'll give him that. Demeter, your kid really does have a few tricks up his sleeve."
"Hmph, if a scumbag like that were one of mine, I'd have hacked him into eight pieces ages ago..."
"It's only because Demeter's so broad-minded... anyone else, and a bastard like this..."
The goddesses huddled together whispering, pointing fingers at Leon. But veteran that he was, Leon couldn't have cared less. As Goddess Demeter's man, he was the man these goddesses could never have. So they could say whatever they damn well pleased!
As for his reputation...
Heh. Was his reputation more fun than Jeanne and Persephone were?
In Orario, fists were the only thing that really talked. Reputation... it didn't get in the way of him making money, leveling up, or picking up girls, so it didn't matter at all.
At most, he'd catch a few odd looks from other women when he went out into the streets...
On the other side, the reactions of the gods of mischief and the male gods were the complete opposite of the goddesses'. Every one of them shot him looks of admiration, even envy:
"Badass!"
"Juggling that many women, and even Lady Demeter's in on it..."
"This kid's got a real gift for handling women!?"
"Wonder if he takes apprentices? I want to learn too..."
"No, you don't."
"?"
"Like I said, you got shafted in the looks department. Even if you learned it, what good would it do you?"
"You son of a...!"
...
...
Amid the noise and chaos, time slipped quietly by.
Valletta's plan to ambush the Order Faction with this "Christmas gift" couldn't, in terms of results, be called a complete success, but it was hardly an utter failure either.
The success lay in the fact that they had genuinely achieved their core objective: delivering a Christmas drenched in blood to Orario.
The failure was that the impact of the attack fell far short of the scale they'd been expecting.
Although the Order Faction had mobilized nearly all the strength and resources at its disposal to contain the attack within Adventurers' Plaza and the surrounding blocks, the price Evilus paid in return was every bit as devastating.
On the front lines alone, the cannon fodder that got cut down numbered more than a thousand.
And of those thousand cannon fodder, Leon by himself had taken out more than a tenth...
Beyond the heavy losses of (self-destructing) cultists and (line-filling) frontline (fodder) soldiers, Evilus suffered staggering losses in terms of materiel as well:
That included standard-issue weapons and armor, expendable Magic Swords, fire stones, various detonation devices, recovery and support elixirs, and precious cursed weapons, and so on.
That still didn't count the trump cards the Loki Familia support units had wrecked, ones hard to replace, such as the damaged Spirit Soldiers.
All told, this "Blood-Red Christmas" operation by Evilus could be said to have squandered everything they'd invested without buying anything close to an equivalent return.
...
At the edge of the battlefield, the rooftop terrace of a certain building.
Finn and Valletta faced off from a distance, watching each other across the gap.
Arachnia had one hand clamped over a shoulder that wouldn't stop bleeding, her left arm hanging limp at her side. Her eyes churned with a near-maniacal fury, her face twisted as she glared at the little Pallum across from her, forcing each hoarse, vicious word out one at a time:
"Finn... this isn't over!"
Finn rested his spear lightly against his side, spread his hands, and shrugged, his tone carrying a hint of easy amusement:
"Now that's just unfair. The people of Orario only wanted to spend a lively Christmas in peace and quiet... what exactly did we do wrong? It was you lot who came knocking to deliver presents, wasn't it?"
He tilted his head slightly, a faint trace of mockery surfacing in his eyes:
"Valletta, it's been a while. Your strength hasn't improved any, but this knack for shifting the blame... that's gotten more polished than ever."
The moment the words landed, Valletta's expression turned dark as iron.
"Fine. Very good."
She tugged at the corner of her mouth, baring an icy curve:
"Here's hoping that next time we meet, the skill in your hands... is half as sharp as the skill in your mouth."
"Pah...!"
She spat a mouthful of bloody froth onto the ground, then flung her tattered coat aside and threw herself off the edge of the tall building.
Finn strode forward and leaned over to look down.
The streets and alleys below crisscrossed in a tangle, figures jumbled everywhere. There was no trace of Arachnia anywhere.
"Phew..."
Only now did Finn let out a long breath, his face going several shades paler all at once. He looked down at his faintly trembling palm and let out a helpless, bitter smile:
"So this... is as far as I can manage?"
He shook his head and turned his gaze toward the plaza in the distance.
Once Valletta gave the signal to retreat, Evilus's cultists and soldiers sent the battlefield plunging into a chaos of rout and pursuit in an instant.
"Retreating, are they?"
"This is a good chance to beat a dog while it's down."
But the longer he watched, the more Finn's brow furrowed:
"Something's off. Where are Gareth and Hedin's support units?"
"Don't tell me..."
"Hm?"
All at once, a particularly jarring sight somewhere in the plaza seized his attention. It was a patch of "white paradise" blanketed in pure ice and snow, looking so out of place against the chaos of the battlefield, so silent, even... eerie.
"Hey, hey... what's the situation here?"
Finn's pupils contracted slightly, and a guess that made his scalp crawl shot up into his mind:
"Tch! Don't tell me Riveria lost her grip... and set off some wide-area annihilation magic right here in the city?!"
The instant the thought crossed his mind, cold sweat broke out at his temples.
"No way! There's absolutely no way!"