Is It Wrong to Crave Love (In A Dungeon?) Chapter 18 - Gall

His thumb was throbbing.

It had not stopped throbbing since they encountered those Minotaurs on the Seventeenth Floor. At the time, it confused him. Minotaurs were no threat. Then, when they had unwittingly chased the Minotaurs through the stairway leading to the Upper Floors, Finn thought such was the reason it had started throbbing, and believed it would stop.

It did not. 

Finn did not, and had not, understood why it would throb for mere Minotaurs ascending the upper floors. Aiz and Bete had lunged ahead, slaying them, doing what they could to ensure those Minotaurs would not arrive on the higher floors and cause trouble for the weaker adventurers present.

It kept throbbing, all the way until he had reached the Fourth Floor, where he met Aiz and Bete. There, they both stood, quiet, uncertain. Ahead, there was a group of adventurers huddled together under a campfire, glowing with a white, roaring blaze.

None of them had ever seen a thing like it before. It had not been there when they descended on their latest Expedition to the Fiftieth Floor, so it was a recent addition. A very recent addition.

“Bete? Aiz?”

Neither of them would stand that quietly and make no motions to move unless something had happened. Something had happened. Whatever it was bore a connection to that campfire, burning with the white blaze.

Aiz only pointed, quietly. 

“The Minotaur… was killed by the flames.”

What?

A Minotaur was a Category Two monster. Even Level Two Adventurers would struggle against one, let alone the numbers that had raced upwards desperately. Yet, the one that made its way up here, all the way to the Fourth Floor, had been eradicated? By a campfire?

“Look! It’s the Loki Familia!”

“You bastards! What’s the big idea! Are you the ones who sent the Minotaurs up here?!”

“We’d almost have died!”

“Hey! Yeah! You should be more responsible!”

“Oi!” Bete snapped. “Where do a bunch of weaklings get off on telling us what to do?”

Correct.

Finn would never put it that way, as bluntly, but there was the truth in his companion's words. Few who knew of them, knew who they were, would never have the needed courage to chastise, castigate, or berate them for anything.

What gave these adventurers their courage?

From where did they find the gall?

“Y-you!” One of the Adventurers cowered before he got up. “Y-you don’t scare me! W-we — we’re protected by Lady Hestia’s c-campfire! The — uh— uh — Law of Xenia! Yeah! Y-you can’t hurt anyone here!”

Lady Hestia’s… Campfire? Law of Xenia?

The makeshift campfire in the Dungeon emanated Divinity. There was an unmistakable presence of something Divine about the fire there. As though they were in the presence of a Goddess, as though they had encountered an altar, a sacred, hallowed temple not meant to be intruded upon.

His thumb was throbbing wildly.

“Oi! You—”

Bete stepped forward, Finn moved swiftly, placing his hand, his grip, hard on the man’s wrist.

“Finn?”

“Wait, Bete.”

The ache in his thumb reduced.

For a moment, Finn thought of something.

Attack.

The throbbing returned heavily.

Withdraw.

The throbbing stopped.

Chastise.

The throbbing returned.

Withdraw.

The throbbing stopped.

Withdraw then attack.

The throbbing returned.

So that’s it.

Finn’s thoughts raced. 

Law of Xenia. Hospitality. Do No Harm. Steal Not. Kill Not. Harm Not.

Detects the intent hidden in the heart. Bypassing thoughts entirely, so one can neither fool nor deceive their own intent…

His gaze noted a portion of the land where bits of grass were beginning to grow.

Effective radius… Sixty feet. 

“If you approach within sixty feet of that campfire with the intent to inflict harm on those within, no matter how minor,” Finn said, smiling. “You just might die.”

Bete’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Yeah! That’s right!”

One of the people at the campfire called out.

“If it wasn’t for Lady Hestia, we’d be dead!”

“Our newbie almost died! She was terrified!”

Finn glanced over a shuddering white-haired girl in the back with red eyes before he looked over the rest and smiled.

How odd.

They have no fear.

They have absolute confidence in the belief that we cannot harm them… no matter what they say.

Their confidence is derived from the campfire. The Divinity behind it.

These adventurers, he did not recognize.  If there was a face, a thing, he had seen before, he would not and could not forget it. All of them were Level 1 Adventurers, and the vast majority of Level 1s should, and would typically be frightened, or feel somewhat wary of Higher Level Adventurers in the Dungeon. A necessity born of the difference in power, and the lack of ability to object, refuse, or struggle against that difference.

Yet, these adventurers held no fear.

A change. 

A new one.

Finn took a step forward, bowing his head politely.

“On behalf of the Loki Familia, I’d like to formally apologize. We strived to eliminate the Minotaurs as swiftly as possible and prevent any accidents. If any of you are injured, please speak up, so that my companions may heal you. If you suffered any losses, please make it clear, and we’ll gladly pay for any repairs or replacements.”

A formality was what it was. None of them were harmed. That much could be seen by the fact that their gear was still intact and clean, and there were no bruises, injuries, or wounds on any of their persons. No scratches or scuffles, no signs of combat damage or wear. 

Yet, the offer was given as though he were not aware of the fact that they were unharmed, because it showed magnanimity. It portrayed the image of one who was willing to take a step back and make concessions for the betterment of others.

Sixty-four percent chance they use the opportunity to fleece us for better gear and items…

The group’s hostility lessened; their countenances changed. His apology disarmed them of their grievances, and there were only a few mutters and nods back and forth.

“We… well… none of us were injured. And we didn’t lose anything… so…”

Finn smiled. My calculations were… wrong? 

“I insist, truly.”

“The campfire also helps heal us and keeps our gear in top quality… so you don’t really need to reimburse us for anything.”

Finn’s breath almost hitched.

It does… what?

That information changed his calculations considerably. Personal attachment towards the familiar, used, and tested weapons and gear would outweigh any temptation of new equipment. Especially if said gear could be fixed at no cost whatsoever underneath the light of a campfire.

No, if wounds and injuries could be fixed at no cost under the light of a campfire as well… 

Devaluation of potion services. Devaluation of repair and maintenance services. Decline in weapon sales. Decline in quests and missions for material hunts.

Reliance on campfires. Growing reliance. Continued reliance.

Gradual concentration of power of the one who creates them…

Gradual accumulation of enmity and discontent towards the one who creates them…

The white flames dancing almost innocuously whispered the air of Divinity, and Finn almost trembled before it. Almost. It was possible, as he spoke, that his every deed and action was under the purview of a goddess. Whoever that Goddess was, she was a terrifying entity.

Finn’s gaze swept the group under the campfire.

Not him. Not her. Not her, either. Not him as well…

“May I ask who amongst you is responsible for…” Finn gestured at the campfire. “This?”

He asked, as though he were not already aware it could not be any of them. 

“Huh? You don’t know about the Hestia Familia? The Captain, Moses Vanderzee?”

Hestia Familia.

His memory searched. Perfect, as it was, there was no recollection. Not even a hint. Not even a mention. Unknown. Unheard of. A wild—

Wait.

Hestia.

There was a meeting. One meeting. A barefoot, large-breasted goddess, spoken of in complaints and grumbles by his own goddess, once.

Could it be the same…?

As for the other name, there were only blanks. Total, absolute, blanks. Finn glanced behind him at Bete. Bete shook his head. He glanced at Gareth, Aiz, and the others. There was no recollection. There was no recognition whatsoever.

Moses… Vanderzee.

“I’m aware of Lady Hestia,” Riveria said slowly. “A Goddess of the Hearth. Lady Loki has mentioned her before. I believe she comes from the same place as Lady Hephaestus, Lord Hermes, and Lord Ouranos.”

“Never heard of any Moses guy,” Bete said slowly. “The hell did he come from?”

“Oh, man, you guys must have been gone a while! So, basically, here’s what happened—”

Information was revealed, eagerly, freely, all of which dazed Finn. No, not just him, all of them had been stupefied with the barrage of information that was unveiled. Enough that it was almost impossible to believe, enough that it made it sound like they were hearing some form of mythical fable, some form of tale that wouldn’t be out of place in books for children.

Moses Vanderzee.

Pauper’s Orator.

Captain of the Hestia Familia.

Rumors of unrequited love.

Vowed to create campfires and safe zones in the Dungeon. 

The final bit of information, the detail which had all of them surprised, especially Finn, was his latest accomplishment.

Record Holder.

Someone had broken Aiz’s record for fastest Level Up from Level One to Level Two.

Bete’s brows were furrowed. Aiz was… Aiz. Ever unreadable as always. However, Finn could swear there was a spark of something in her eyes. Competitiveness? Curiosity? He could not say. 

Lefiya looked worried, shooting glances at Aiz, but Finn’s thoughts were elsewhere. He, Gareth, and Riveria were quiet. The three of them were aware of just how early Aiz had started her career in the Dungeon, and were amongst those aware of how much she pushed herself to have achieved that feat.

Yet someone had managed to reach Level Two in One Week.

And, if it could be believed, he did so after entering the Dungeon once.

Finn’s gaze lingered on the campfire. His thumb throbbed.

Moses Vanderzee…

His blood was pumping.

What sort of man are you?

=====)+(=====

“Your breasts are perfect, Lady Hephaestus.”

Some mortals really need to be given the power to lie to the gods.

Hephaestus choked on her saliva.

Some. Just some. Not all, but some.

She had never, not once, considered that a day would come when the fact that mortals could not lie to the gods would be a detriment. A hindrance. A problem. 

Until he sauntered into her workshop.

Given how often she and Hestia met and her friendship with said goddess, it was only a matter of time before she would make the acquaintance of the Captain of her friend’s Familia. Orario’s Hottest Rookie. A personal meeting wasn’t something that needed any airs to be put on, doubly so given his rising fame and the fact that he was already known as the Record Holder.

She had wiped a bit of sweat from the top of her brow, stopped halfway in the midst of striking a red-hot piece of steel ready to be forged anew into a blade, and saw him, standing there, as if frozen to the spot. Moses Vanderzee, skinny, with blue hair, a rough blue beard, and stormy eyes. He had lingered at the door as if compelled by some form of divine command to step no further, staring at her with wide eyes.

It was a stupid, innocuous question, one she had asked without thinking.

“Starstruck by my good looks?”

His answer, blunt, had come without hesitation. 

“Yes.”

Truth.

Hephaestus stared. It was true. If it were a lie, then it would have registered on her senses instantly as a lie. That was, in fact, the reason he had frozen at the door. 

He had stopped at the door because he’d been smitten with her appearance.

“That’s…” Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. This was completely unfamiliar territory. “Really?”

Moses Vanderzee nodded, his eyes locked on her. “Yes.”

Truth.

“That’s… flattering,” she’d admitted. She’d placed down the hammer and heated metal, somehow, subconsciously crossing her arms below her chest. “Why? I’m not like your goddess. Hestia carries around two big reasons for most people to be starstruck. I don’t compare in that regard.”

That was when Moses Vanderzee uttered words to which she doubted any other person would have had the gall to utter.

“Your breasts are perfect, Lady Hephaestus.”

Hephaestus choked on her saliva. She coughed, hacked, and rapidly cleared her throat. 

“I-I don’t think we’re acquainted enough for you to be making such comments.”

“I apologise. Lady Hephaestus.” 

Moses Vanderzee immediately bowed. Getting on one knee, his head lowered. There was a formality to his bow that Hephaestus had not seen before. A formality to his speech. To his manner of speaking. To his mode of address. An added level of respect and deference that she had to admit was unusually rare to find amongst mortals of this age.

And because it was rare, it was somehow… endearing?

“I meant no disrespect.”

“I doubt it. Besides, you clearly didn’t mean—”

“I did.”

Truth.

“They are perfect.”

Truth.

“Even if you wish to punish me for commenting on them and for losing myself in your beauty, I will stand by those words. I will regret nothing.”

Truth.

“I-I’m not going to punish you for—” Her head spun. 

Her mind caught up. 

“My beauty?” 

She choked on the word.

The problem came from that assurance he was saying the truth. 

Or at least, what he believed to be true.

Hephaestus could tell the difference between meaningless flattery and genuine compliments. There had been no shortage of people who had praised her with flattery, insincere, targeted, done to stroke her ego so they could gain a favor, a boon, a weapon, or something crafted by her hand. There was no shortage of such types of people, and her ears had long been shorn time and again by empty, meaningless praise and worthless flattery.

This was not that.

She knew it was not that.

That was why it took her by surprise.

Hephaestus was aware that, of all the goddesses on Orario, beauty was not the first thing someone considered when they spoke of her. Her skill with a forge was more praised, more honored, more considered. She’d even given up her pursuit of relationships due to that fact. Her appearance was a touchy topic, especially due to her deformity, the one she hid with an eyepatch under her right eye.

Many of the would-be suitors she had, upon seeing it, had the same reaction. Either utmost disgust, regurgitating their last meal, or utter and complete terror, turning around and fleeing for the hills. Even a few gods who’d wished to be her suitor had the same reactions. Thus, Hephaestus was under no illusions that she was beautiful.

She would never claim to be vain, but there was no one who did not want to be reassured that they were beautiful, that they were attractive, that they were fancied. There was no one who did not want evidence of their desirability. There was not a single person, be they divine or mortal, who did not long and yearn for another soul that saw in them a thing they could not see in themselves.

Because if another could see it, perhaps, one day, they could too.

Divine ichor was flowing faster, and unnecessary, stupid, outright traitorous thoughts were running through her mind. There was someone else, one of the people in her Familia she was quite fond of, but that man was clearly… obsessed with his craftsmanship, and had never, not once, complimented either her appearance, or shown any sign or indication he saw her in any way that was less than courteous. 

But Moses Vanderzee…

No, no, no, no… Hephaestus shook her head, running her palm down her face. What am I thinking? He’s Hestia’s…

Hestia was her friend. Hestia trusted her. Betraying that trust was out of the question.

It might be best if I…

Few people had seen what lay beyond that eyepatch and continued to treat her amicably. Hestia was amongst the incredibly small number of deities on that list. A number smaller than the number of fingers she had on her hand. 

Hephaestus reached for the eyepatch and slowly lifted it.

“Look here.”

Moses Vanderzee lifted his head.

“Yes, Lady Hephaestus?”

Hephaestus stared.

Moses Vanderzee stared back.

Only the sound of the roaring flames of the forge bounced through and fro from the walls, as a man and a goddess stared at each other for several seconds.

Slowly, Hephaestus asked, “...Are you blind?”

“I have functioning eyes, Lady Hephaestus.”

“Why aren’t you reacting?”

“Reacting to what, Lady Hephaestus?”

Reacting to… what?

She pointed, maniacally, frantically. “Can’t you see this? This! This! This…!”

“I can,” Moses Vanderzee nodded. “What of it?”

What… of it?

At this point, others would already have broken their ankles fleeing in terror. At this point, there would be those covering their eyes, glancing away, forcing themselves to hold back the contents of their stomach from emerging out one orifice or the other.

She stepped forward, closer. Closer. Closer until she was directly standing in front of him. He was looking directly up at her. There was no way he could not see it, see her, for what she was, as close as she was.

“...Still starstruck?”

Moses Vanderzee smiled. 

“More than ever before.”

Hephaestus trembled. 

She retreated rapidly. She backed away so hurriedly that she lost her balance and tripped. Moses Vanderzee lunged forward, catching her, holding her gently, firmly, the back of his right hand pressed against her waist, and his left hand grabbing her right. He held her, with tenderness, with care, looking into her eyes, her unabashed eyes, with concern.

They remained in that position, as though she was his partner in a dance, for what could have been no longer than a few seconds, yet felt to her like minutes. Hours. His hand on her waist and his other hand, interlocked with her fingers…

“Are you alright, Lady Hephaestus?”

Hephaestus retreated from him as if she’d been burned. Scalded. She all but jumped out of his arms and embrace, and fled towards the corner of the room furthest away from him.

“Lady… Hephaestus?”

Slowly, quietly, she placed the eyepatch back over her eye and tried to regain some sense of prestige. Without thinking, she grabbed a small box and tossed it over to him. Moses Vanderzee caught it with a single raised hand.

“Take that and go. And don’t show your face in front of me again.”

Moses blinked. “Lady Hephaestus…?”

“If you need something from me,” Hephaestus spoke hurriedly. “Speak to my Captain, Tsubaki. She should be returning from the Dungeon soon. What… whatever you need, ask her, and you’ll get it. In exchange, I don’t want to see you again, Moses Vanderzee. I mean it.”

“...As you wish, Lady Hephaestus.”

Moses Vanderzee turned towards the door.

This… damned… “You… won’t ask?”

“I am a mere mortal, Lady Hephaestus,” he stopped at the door, and let out a chuckle. “It is not my place to question the whims of the gods.”

The door shut behind him. Hephaestus’ private forge was left quiet, leaving her alone with only the sound of her heavily thumping heart and the feeling of smoldering coals in her stomach.

Hephaestus closed her one visible eye and furiously, frantically scratched at her hair. 

“ARRRGH!”

Why Hestia?

Why did it have to be Hestia, who found him first?

If he belonged to anyone else… anyone else…!

Hephaestus grabbed her chest and squeezed.

…Why couldn’t it have been me, damn it?

=====)+(=====

How long is he going to spend there?

Ryū Lion remained in the shadows, waiting for Moses Vanderzee to exit Babel. She had taken the day off, gotten permission from Mama, claiming she had ‘private matters’ to attend to. She would not tell Syr, nor tell anyone, that she had planned to stalk Moses Vanderzee, to follow him and see what it was about him that was so odd that made him able to avoid the motions of a Level 4 Adventurer.

It’s no longer the only reason…

The fact that Moses Vanderzee was a Level 2 Adventurer instead of a Level 1 had somewhat made the feat more justifiable, but only barely. The real reason Ryū decided to follow him was because he had clearly gotten Syr enamored with him. Ryū had never seen Syr so entranced by anyone, for any reason, and the request he had made of Syr was something that utterly baffled Ryū. Asking for her ‘help’ in seducing her was the type of tactic Ryū would almost expect of a conman, if not a playboy. 

Syr was smarter than most. Syr was the type of person Ryū had never seen be tricked, or fooled, or deceived by anyone. Yet, the way she was acting around Moses Vanderzee was almost… uncharacteristic. 

As though she were a completely different person than the one Ryū knew.

Ryū did not want to suspect foul play. At first, she had not even considered the possibility of foul play. However, that had changed today.

She’s clearly been bewitched by something… 

Ryū glanced at the other girl stalking him. A girl with grey hair, stalking far less expertly, with a flushed, contorted face, rubbing her thighs furiously. Ryū could not mistake the girl’s expression as anything other than some form of twisted lust, and such a thing clearly could not be natural. 

Worse, she knew who that girl was. Someone from the Freya Familia. It was said that all members of that Familia were wildly, completely, and madly in love with their goddess, so how was it possible for someone from that Familia to be so smitten with someone else as to stalk them in broad daylight? Was she to believe Moses Vanderzee’s appeal was greater than that of a Goddess of Beauty?

No one with a functioning brain would believe it.

The only explanation was foul play. 

What is she doing…?

The other girl was putting her fingers in her mouth, sucking them, pumping them as she squirmed in place. Ryū shuddered, scrunching her nose. No one could convince her that such a thing was normal or natural.

If Moses Vanderzee really was using some form of method to bewitch and seduce women, then she needed to put a stop to it.

The only problem is… the others.

Just as she noticed the other girl stalking Moses Vanderzee, she had noticed the other group, too, that had been taken out by Anya’s brother, the one she often did not like mentioning. She hadn’t sensed Anya’s brother at all, but given he was a Level 6, it did not surprise her. Anya’s brother, no doubt, was aware that she was also stalking Moes Vanderzee, but he didn’t bother her. Ryū wagered it was either because of her relation to the Hostess of Fertility, and thus Mama Grande, or because, with his keen senses, he probably could perceive Anya’s lingering scent on her and easily decipher who she was.

Ryū, however, did not understand why Allen Fromel was shadowing this bewitched girl, Horn. Why was a Level 6 Adventurer guarding and protecting a Level 2?

Shooting yet another glance at the lust-crazed woman, Ryū’s eyes narrowed.

Why does she… 

Ryū couldn’t explain why Horn felt… familiar. The hair color was one thing, but if she squinted, Horn looked really similar to—

“Uwaaa! Long-awaited two weeks of fresh air!”

A large cry broke Ryū away from her thoughts. A large group of individuals emerged from the Dungeon underneath Babel. Individuals in such numbers that made it clear they were returning from an expedition of some sort. Individuals that everyone, everywhere, in Orario would recognize.

At the forefront, a Pallum.

To his left, a Dwarf.

To his right, a High Elf.

Behind him, two Amazons bearing similar appearances.

Beside them, a Werewolf.

Behind him, another Elf.

Then, beside her, was a beautiful blonde-haired human.

The Sword Princess.

Aiz Wallenstein.

The Loki Familia had returned from the Dungeon.

…I have to pull back.

Given the strength and capabilities of the individuals of that Familia, she would be detected instantly. Ryū had no delusions, none at all, of being able to fool the senses of the Hiryute Sisters, let alone Bete Loga or Finn Deimne. She was not keen on there being any misunderstandings taking place, nor was she keen on having to explain why she was skulking around in the shadows.

This was the wisest course of action, because Allen Fromel was still skulking around, and if the Loki Familia caught wind of him…

Unlucky.

Ryū shook her head and quietly retreated. Whatever altercation that was going to occur from such a meeting, she would not be part of it.