Ethen sighed as he handed over the valis to cover the inn's bill. The coins clinked softly on the counter, a familiar sound that still made his chest tighten.
"Nine thousand valis left," he muttered under his breath, voice heavy with the same weariness that had followed him since his arrival in Orario. He stepped out into the cool morning air, letting it wash over him like a small relief.
From inside his bag, a soft blue glow stirred. Alma's voice rose in its usual calm, tinged with a touch of dry humor. "Could be worse," the old spirit offered. "The Hades Familia managed to scrape together that much for thirteen people, including you, me, and Alcatraz."
Ethen's gaze lowered slightly to the gentle flickering light coming from his bag, a faint smirk curling his lips. "Don't forget the frosthounds," he said, his fingers briefly brushing the bracelet around his wrist. The smooth, cold texture of the fangs and magic stones embedded there brought back vivid memories—snowy forests, bitter cold winds, and the beasts that once hunted him.
"I miss them," Ethen admitted softly, almost as if speaking to himself.
Alma chuckled, his glow like a dim light. "I miss those mutts too," the spirit said fondly.
Alcatraz let out a small chirp from his usual perch on Ethen's shoulder, as if voicing his agreement.
They walked in step through the widening streets of Orario as the city slowly woke up. The sounds of vendors opening stalls, the clatter of equipment from adventurers preparing for their expeditions, and the murmur of conversation filled the air like the city itself was exhaling.
But none of it held Ethen's attention. His gaze wandered absently, unfocused. Orario, for all its towering walls and bustling plazas, had never managed to pull him in like it did others.
As they passed a small weapons shop, Ethen's mind drifted elsewhere. "I wonder… what do hellhounds even look like?" he asked aloud, almost to himself. "I heard frosthounds descend from them, so do they have less fur? Maybe breathe fire instead of ice?"
Alma's light pulsed slightly. "A curious thought," he mused. "Monsters outside the dungeon have always been a mystery. But your question might stay unanswered for now."
Ethen raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
Alma's glow dimmed a fraction, his tone turning a bit more serious. "While we were at the guild yesterday, I overheard some of the other adventurers talking. Hellhounds only show up deep in the dungeon—around the thirteenth or fourteenth floors."
Ethen grimaced. "Of course they do…"
"And judging by Ms. Fennatt's expression yesterday, you're not going anywhere near those depths anytime soon."
Ethen exhaled through his nose. "So I'm stuck on the upper floors."
"Two floors, if you're lucky," Alma teased, his voice light.
Ethen groaned. "Which means less money."
"You'll manage," Alma reassured. "Your skills aren't the issue. You'll clear the upper levels quickly enough."
"But it's going to take forever," Ethen grumbled, his voice flat with frustration.
"Patience, Ethen," Alma said gently. "You've already survived worse. You'll make enough. A slow start is still a start."
Ethen didn't argue further, but his sigh said plenty. His eyes shifted forward toward the tall, imposing walls of the Guild building that now loomed in front of him. As much as he disliked returning, this place was a necessary evil. Reports needed filing. Lessons needed attending. Rules needed following.
The world of adventurers was something he had tried to step away from—and yet, here he was again.
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Ethen walked into the guild hall, his steps slow and deliberate as he took in the bustling room. The morning rush was in full swing, with adventurers of all kinds crowding the counters, their chatter mixing with the scribbling of pens and shuffling of papers. His eyes scanned the sea of faces until they landed on Rose, stationed at her spot behind the counter. She was bent over a stack of documents, her sharp yellow eyes focused and unwavering as she worked.
Ethen let out a resigned sigh before approaching her. "Good morning, Ms. Fennatt," he greeted, his perpetual sleepy tone carrying a hint of reluctance.
Rose looked up from her papers, her gaze locking onto his. "Hello, Ethen," she replied, her voice steady, though there was a faint edge of impatience. She studied him for a moment, her piercing gaze flicking over his disheveled appearance. His eyes, though half-lidded and weary, still held a stubborn defiance that she had come to associate with him—a trait that made her job all the more challenging.
With a soft sigh, she straightened up and set her paperwork aside. "Shall we get started on your lessons for the dungeon?" she asked, her tone firm but not unkind.
Ethen shrugged, his expression as unreadable as yesterday. "It's not like I have another choice," he muttered.
Rose narrowed her eyes briefly but chose not to comment. "Follow me," she instructed, turning on her heel and heading toward one of the private booths reserved for guild advisors and their adventurers.
Ethen trailed after her without protest. As they weaved through the crowded hall, he caught sight of Eina, sitting at her desk with a smug grin plastered across her face as she followed with her eyes. She didn't say a word, but her expression spoke louder than any taunt could have.
Ethen frowned faintly, letting out a muted sigh as he walked on, keeping his focus on Rose.
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"Take a seat," Rose said, gesturing to the chair across from her at the small table.
Ethen gave a slow nod and settled into the chair, his posture relaxed but upright, his tired expression unchanged. He met Rose's sharp gaze without much interest, but there was a quiet attentiveness beneath his otherwise drowsy demeanor—something that didn't go unnoticed.
Rose flipped open a large ledger and picked up a pen, ready to take notes. "Now then, let's start with the basics. What kind of weapon do you use?"
"Mostly a sword," Ethen answered simply. His voice, though flat, carried none of the reluctance that colored his presence here. Despite his apparent boredom, he seemed oddly focused on the conversation. That small contradiction caught Rose off guard for a moment, though she quickly pushed past it and jotted down his answer.
"Alright," she said, moving to the next question. "What about armor?"
"I don't use any," Ethen replied without a second thought, his tone careless.
Rose's pen froze mid-stroke. She lifted her gaze, narrowing her eyes. "What?"
"I don't use armor," he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Rose blinked once, then twice. "What do you mean you don't use armor?" she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief.
"It slows me down," Ethen said with a shrug, resting an elbow on the table. "Didn't really do much for me when I first started adventuring. Most of the monsters I fought back then were stronger than me anyway." His tone was indifferent, but there was something edged in his words—something that suggested experience rather than arrogance.
Rose's glare hardened. "That's exactly why you should have armor," she countered. "The stronger the enemy, the more reason to protect yourself."
Ethen let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he met her glare. "I rely on other types of defense, okay?"
Rose studied him for a moment, as if trying to gauge just how much of that was an excuse. "Even so," she said, her voice firm, "armor is essential for an adventurer. You need at least some level of protection."
Ethen exhaled through his nose, looking aside. "Fine, I'll try and find something," he said, though the lack of conviction in his tone was obvious.
Rose sighed, unconvinced. She could already see this being a problem in the future, but for now, there were more important matters to discuss.
"Alright," she said, turning back to her notes. "Moving on. What are your strengths and weaknesses?"
Ethen leaned back slightly, arms crossed in thought. "I'm good at dodging, and my defense is solid," he said. "I can make quick decisions in a fight, and I know when to strike when an opening presents itself."
Rose nodded, jotting his response down. His confidence wasn't unfounded, though she suspected he was downplaying certain aspects. "And your weaknesses?" she asked.
Ethen exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "I rely on my tools most of the time, especially magic items," he admitted. "I guess you could say my biggest weakness is that I haven't been an active adventurer for a while. But back when I was, I honed my abilities to a point where my weaknesses didn't really hold me back."
Rose's pen paused briefly before continuing. "I know you're a seasoned adventurer, but don't let that go to your head," she said, her tone firm. "Weaknesses will always show themselves in the Dungeon, whether you acknowledge them or not."
Ethen met her gaze, unfazed. "I may not be the best, but I can assure you—my weaknesses don't outweigh my strengths."
Rose clicked her tongue but chose not to argue. In the end, the Dungeon would be the one to test his words, not her.
"Alright," she continued, shifting her attention back to her notes. "What type of combat do you use most often?"
Ethen took a moment before answering. "I use a set of different techniques," he said slowly. "Each has its own purpose—some for defense, some for attacking, others for conserving stamina or setting up a strategy. But in the end, they all rely on either my sword or other sort of weapon."
Rose raised an eyebrow, mildly intrigued. Multiple techniques meant adaptability, something valuable in the unpredictable depths of the Dungeon. Still, she'd reserve judgment until she saw them in action.
"Noted," she said, finishing her writing. Closing the book, she gave a firm nod. "That should be all the information I need."
Ethen exhaled, already anticipating what came next.
"Now, we can begin your lessons on the Dungeon," Rose said.
"Okay…" Ethen muttered, already bracing himself for a long, tedious morning—at least from his perspective.
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The lesson dragged on for over five hours.
Rose meticulously covered every detail of the Dungeon's first eighteen floors: terrain, pathways, enemy types, and the subtle signs of danger that most greenhorns overlooked. Her tone was sharp but deliberate, ensuring nothing was left unclear. The monsters may have been weak compared to the deeper levels, but even a weak Dungeon monster could kill the unprepared.
To her surprise, Ethen sat through it all with steady focus. He never interrupted, never asked questions, never even shifted in his seat. His eyes—half-lidded as usual—remained attentive throughout, absorbing everything. He wasn't distracted, just… detached. Detached, but alert.
It was frustrating in its own way.
When the lesson finally ended, Rose leaned back and rubbed her temples.
"Alright," she said, closing the notebook and setting it aside. "You're officially cleared to enter the Dungeon… but only for the first two floors."
Ethen exhaled through his nose. He had expected this. Alma had predicted it perfectly.
"Alright," he muttered without complaint.
Rose observed him briefly, her voice lowering just slightly. "And one more thing: you'll report back to me directly every time you return. No exceptions."
Ethen met her gaze, nodding once. "Yeah, I'll do that."
A small, approving smile crept onto Rose's face. "Good. You'll be fine on the first two floors."
But Ethen frowned, tilting his head. "Do I really need to be limited to just two? You already taught me about the other floors. Seems a bit redundant."
Her expression flattened immediately. "Yes. The other floors were discussed for your survival in case of emergencies. Nothing more. This isn't negotiable."
Ethen sighed and rolled his shoulders with a soft shrug. "Well, not much I can do about it."
Rose narrowed her eyes, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "You're accepting that awfully fast, Ethen."
He looked back at her evenly. "I don't see the point in arguing over something already decided."
Her fingers drummed against the table, studying him carefully. His calm acceptance should've reassured her—but instead, it only raised more questions.
"Alright then," she said, though her tone betrayed the doubt lingering beneath it.
Ethen rose from his chair, adjusted the strap of his bag, and grabbed his sword, slinging it easily over his shoulder.
"Guess I'm off," he said simply, turning toward the door.
"Bye," he added as he waved without breaking stride.
Rose watched him leave, her eyes narrowing slightly as they followed his steady steps. His movements were smooth and practiced—far too natural for someone claiming to be inactive for so long. That contradiction gnawed at her. He walked like a man still used to danger, not someone easing back into adventuring life.
Just before he reached the door, she couldn't help herself.
"You know," she called, "for someone who pretends not to care, you listened to every word I said today. Why is that?"
Ethen stopped. His hand paused over the door handle as he glanced at her sidelong, eyes half-lidded but sharp.
"It's not that I don't appreciate the help," he said, voice calm and deliberate. "I'll listen. I'll take the advice, I won't reject it… but to keep it real—"
He turned fully, locking eyes with Rose.
"I simply do not need it."
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Rose's brow furrowed faintly, but she said nothing as Ethen turned back and pushed open the door.
The guild hall's noise swallowed him up as he left, leaving Rose seated in silence. She leaned back slightly, releasing a slow breath.
She'd met plenty of adventurers. Some were cocky, some overconfident, others downright reckless. But this? This was something else. Confidence, self-reliance—perhaps even a dangerous amount of both. She couldn't yet tell.
Her fingers drummed softly on the table as her mind turned over the brief exchange.
There was something about him she couldn't quite place.
And somehow, she knew this wouldn't be the last time she questioned the adventurer named Ethen.
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Ethen stepped out of the Guild, inhaling the crisp morning air as he adjusted the strap of his bag. The weight of his sword on his back was a familiar presence, grounding him as he started toward the Dungeon.
A rustling came from his bag before Alcatraz stirred, stretching its small wings before flying up onto his shoulder. It blinked slowly, its eyes half-lidded with drowsiness, but it made no move to return to the bag, content to perch lazily.
"Ethen," Alma's voice broke the quiet.
"Hm?" Ethen responded without much interest.
"I know you already refused the idea of receiving a falna, but I beg you to reconsider," Alma said, his tone steady and wise as always.
Ethen kept walking, his mood calm. "You know I won't. I decided not to join a Familia a long time ago," he said simply.
Alma was silent for a moment before speaking again, his voice softer this time. "I understand… but have you considered Mercy?" Alma gave his reason, but it wasn't the full truth—and Ethen could tell.
Ethen's steps slowed, just slightly.
"She hasn't been summoned for over three years now," Alma continued. "Ever since—" he hesitated before pressing on, "Mercy's summoning chant was bestowed to you by the healer of the Hades Familia, you never completed the contract."
Ethen exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening slightly on the strap of his bag. "I know," he said, quieter this time. His voice carried a weight that hadn't been there before. "She's the only reason I've even considered it."
Alma's light flickered faintly.
"Soon," Ethen continued, "I'll get a falna just to summon Mercy, and then I'll leave. I won't stay in the Familia."
Alma's light flickered again, more noticeable this time. He stayed silent for a few seconds before speaking again, his voice unreadable. "I just hope everything will turn out okay… with or without a Familia—besides you."
Ethen gave a small, knowing smile. "I've already told you—I'll be fine. You know that." He said as he tugged the white fangs on his bracelet for some comfort.
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Ethen pulled away the cloth concealing his sword as he stepped into the Tower of Babel. The weight of the blade against his back felt heavier than usual
Inside, the grand hall buzzed with adventurers, some in groups, others alone, all preparing for their descent. but Ethen didn't seem interested in them.
His eyes drifted toward the circular staircase leading down into the Dungeon. It was even larger than Rose had described, a spiraling descent into the unknown—or rather, into something he knew far too well.
Ethen took a deep breath. Is this a new beginning… or continuation of something I tried to leave behind? Ethen sighed as he took his first step into the dungeon.
I never wanted to go back to this life.
The air grew colder as he moved deeper, his thoughts pressing in on him just as heavily as the stone walls that lined his path.
And still… I walk and move forward.
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Ethen walked deeper into the Dungeon, his footsteps muffled against the cool stone floor. The air was still, the dim glow from the walls casting long shadows that flickered as he moved. The first floor felt… empty. Too quiet.
The stone pathways stretched ahead without resistance, winding lazily into the distance. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like jagged fangs, and faint cracks ran along the ground—a reminder that, even in its stillness, the Dungeon was alive in its own way.
He turned a corner, stepping into a wider chamber. His sharp gaze flicked between the different paths branching from the room, but still—no monsters. No movement.
Ethen exhaled slowly. "It's so quiet."
Alma floated slightly ahead, his form pulsing faintly. "It truly is," he murmured, scanning the area with more scrutiny than Ethen.
Ethen rolled his shoulders, adjusting his grip on his sword. "Not quiet enough."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, his blade was drawn, its edge gleaming faintly in the low light.
From the wall ahead, a creature emerged—a kobold, its dog-like snout twisting into a snarl.
Alcatraz flapped its wings, perching on a nearby ledge as Ethen moved without hesitation. A single step forward, a sharp thrust—his sword pierced the kobold's chest cleanly. A quick, effortless kill.
The monster barely had time to react before its form dissolved into black dust, leaving behind a faintly glowing magic crystal.
"That there is a kobold," Alma noted, watching as the dust settled.
Ethen gave his sword a flick before sliding it back into its sheath. "And here I thought this floor was going to be peaceful."
"Hm… your senses are still as sharp as ever," Alma observed, his light flickering faintly.
Ethen smirked, adjusting his bag. "Three years out of the game isn't enough to dull my instincts."
Alma chuckled. "No, I suppose it isn't."
Alcatraz swooped down, plucking the magic crystal from the ground with its beak before dropping it into Ethen's waiting palm.
Ethen studied the crystal for a moment, the faint glow reflecting off his eyes, before slipping it into his bag. "Rose wasn't wrong about this place," he muttered. "One moment it's peaceful… then—"
His words trailed off as his eyes landed on a thin crack along the far wall.
The crack spread.
Ethen sighed, shifting his stance, hand moving instinctively to his sword. "it becomes a hassle."
The wall crumbled open with a low rumble, and seven kobolds burst from the opening, their claws scraping against the stone as they launched toward him.
Ethen ducked low, spinning out of the way of the first strike. Another kobold lunged—he twisted just enough to let it pass.
Ethen was gliding as if the dungeon floor was frozen beneath him. He didn't clash with the chaos—he moved through it, untouched.
"They're faster than the ones on the surface," Ethen muttered under his breath.
"That's because they come straight from the source," Alma replied, hovering just above the fray. "The Dungeon's core breeds stronger, more refined monsters."
"Is that so?" Ethen said, shifting his footing as another kobold came close. This one he barely evaded, the creature's claws grazing his jacket. His hand returned to his sword, this time drawing it slower, more deliberately.
"Are you sure you don't want help?" Alma asked, a hint of concern flickering in his voice.
"Told you," Ethen replied, his gaze focused, "I've got it under control."
He exhaled deeply, centering himself as the air around him seemed to still.
"Thunder's Sword Style—First stance: Crackling Edge," he whispered.
In the space between heartbeats, he moved.
His blade flashed in a clean, crackling arc, slicing through the first kobold before its feet even touched the ground. The moment the strike ended, his body flowed into the next—smooth, fluid, and sharp as lightning strikes.
Each cut sparked like steel dragging lightning behind it. In an instant, the second kobold fell too, its form turning to dust as the strike passed clean through.
He stopped only for a breath—barely—his stance firm, eyes locked on the remaining three.
"Fourth: Piercing Thunder."
He lunged forward. A single, focused thrust drove straight through the third kobold's chest. Without breaking stride, he pivoted, twisting the blade free and sending a second thrust straight into the fourth—then the last three.
Each motion was precise, controlled, the final strikes echoing like thunder rolling through stone halls.
Ethen exhaled, a bit out of breath. "You see? All fine."
"I'm quite impressed. You haven't lost your touch," Alma said, his light pulsing faintly.
"And I never will," Ethen replied with a short grin.
Alcatraz swooped down from above, landing near the pile of ash and plucking the six glowing magic stones. One by one, it dropped them into Ethen's open hand.
"You're doing well, Ethen—eight magic stones in less than twenty minutes," Alma remarked. "At this rate, you'll have more than enough in no time."
"You may be right," Ethen said, slipping the last crystal into his bag and tightening the strap.
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"Five hours have gone by, Alma…" Ethen muttered. His voice was flat, tinged with dry sarcasm. A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "And nothing's appeared for the last five hours…"
He kicked a small rock across the floor, watching as it clinked and skittered lazily down the empty corridor until it disappeared into the shadows.
He'd wandered back and forth through the first and second floors, staying within the limits Rose had firmly warned him about. He explored every passage, checked the far corners of each chamber, and even retraced his steps more than once—still, not a single sign of movement.
"Maybe you just need to get here earlier," Alma suggested in a weary tone as he floated beside him. "Other adventurers probably beat you to it. Cleared out the monsters before you arrived."
Ethen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… maybe," he said. "Wouldn't surprise me."
He glanced ahead. The path stretched on in silence—no monsters, no sound, no sign of life.
He sighed again and gave a small shrug.
"Should we keep exploring?" Alma asked.
"Nah," Ethen replied, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Didn't pack anything to eat. Not really planning to stay down here long anyway."
Alcatraz gave a low grumble from his shoulder, clearly in agreement.
Ethen looked over at him and grinned. "Guess it's time for a break."
He turned toward the staircase that led back to the surface. "Let's head up. We'll come back tomorrow, bright and early."
"Alright then," Alma said, drifting along as the three of them began the quiet walk back to the surface.
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The walk to the surface was quiet.
Ethen's pace was steady, his blue eyes fixed ahead but unfocused, like staring through a window into nothing at all. He wasn't looking at the dungeon anymore—he was drifting through it, lost in the quiet hum of his own thoughts.
The spiral staircase came into view, curling upward like a serpent made of stone. Ethen glanced toward it, but his gaze slid off again, disinterested. The silence of the Dungeon wrapped around him like a cold blanket, and he welcomed it.
But the moment didn't last.
He heard voices—scattered, low at first, but growing clearer with each step. Murmurs of surprise, whispers like wind against a wall. Then, a name that pulled him from his haze like ice water to the face.
"Is that the Loki Familia?" an adventurer whispered.
A formation of adventurers came into view, marching ahead with the certainty of wolves who knew no predators. They moved without hesitation, their presence loud even in silence.
Adventurers of every race stepped aside without being told. Like leaves before a storm, they cleared the path instinctively.
"Fascinating group, don't you think?" one murmured.
"Quite so."
"Indeed."
Compliments bloomed all around them, easy and effortless.
At the front of the group walked a green-haired elf, a broad-shouldered dwarf, and a small but confident pallum. They moved with purpose, and the rest followed like stars chasing a constellation. The Loki Familia—unshaken, unbeaten, unbothered.
The very image of strength. Or so the world liked to say.
Ethen's expression didn't change, but something burned under the surface. His eyes, once indifferent, flickered with ice. Cool like snow on the outside—but fierce as wolves that hide beneath it. And there, buried under years of silence, his hatred stirred.
He passed them without a word. They passed him without a glance. He hadn't expected them to recognize him. Three years was long enough to bury a ghost.
Alcatraz shifted slightly on Ethen's shoulder, letting out a low chirp. His fiery feathers flared just a bit, as if sensing Ethen's tension.
Alma's light flickered slightly from the bag, catching the shift in mood. "Ethen," he asked, "are you alright?"
"They act so mighty," Ethen muttered, his voice low and cold. "But in reality… they're weak."
"You must stay calm," Alma said, careful in his tone. "You know nothing could have changed what happened."
Ethen scoffed. "You can say that about the loss of the Zeus Familia against the One-Eyed Black Dragon," he said, walking steadily. "But we won our battle against the Blue-Eyed white Phoenix."
Alcatraz gave a short, quiet chirp and nuzzled his head gently against Ethen's cheek. Ethen didn't react much, but his grip around the bag strap loosened just a little.
He paused for a moment. "And we lost everyone."
He kept looking ahead, voice even. "If the Loki Familia had joined us… they might've survived."
Alma stayed silent for quite some time.
"I understand."
There was nothing more to say.
Ethen didn't respond. He kept moving, eyes fixed forward, heading toward the surface.
Alcatraz shifted again, lightly pecking at a loose strap on Ethen's shoulder, then settled back down.
He kept walking, his face unreadable again, his steps turning toward the surface. Toward the Guild. Toward Rose. He still had magic stones to exchange, and a report to give.
The three of them walked in silence. No tension, no words—just the quiet weight of what had already been lost. The kind that followed those who had long run out of tears but not out of memories.
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After exchanging his magic stones, Ethen made his way to Rose—much to her satisfaction.
"Glad you came back for the report," Rose said, sorting through a small stack of documents.
"Well, not like there's much to report," Ethen said with a weary sigh. "Only ran into eight kobolds in six hours. Dungeon was boring as hail."
"Hail?" Rose raised an eyebrow, but let it slide.
"But anyway," Ethen leaned on the counter, "what kind of info do you need?"
Rose picked up her pen. "Alright, let's start. Based on your time inside, what can you tell me about the dungeon's current state? Any changes, issues, or strange activity?"
Ethen leaned on the counter, arms crossed. "Not much to say, honestly. Everything seemed normal. No structural changes, traps, or odd behavior from the monsters."
"So, nothing you'd flag as unusual?"
"Nope," he said. "Both floors were stable. The dungeon was quiet, clean—almost too quiet."
Rose nodded slowly, jotting things down. "Alright. Good to know."
"Alright," Rose said as she began writing. "So you killed eight kobolds?"
"Yeah."
"I assume you found them one at a time?"
"Well, one was alone," Ethen said, pausing, "but the other seven showed up together. It wasn't anything serious."
Rose stopped writing and gave him a flat look. "You know I need accurate reports, right? If you start exaggerating, it makes the information worthless."
"I'm not lying," Ethen said plainly.
Rose sighed. "You're not even a blessed adventurer. A new level one would've been overwhelmed by half that number. You expect me to believe you handled seven kobolds at once without a scratch?"
"Think what you want," Ethen replied with a shrug. "Doesn't change the truth."
She narrowed her eyes but moved on. "This doesn't change my decision, you know. You're still not cleared to go deeper into the Dungeon."
"I'm not trying to change your mind," Ethen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just giving the report."
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After a short while, Ethen was finished talking to Rose. The talk felt more like an interrogation the first few minutes, then Rose calmed somewhat with the grueling pace.
"That should do it," Rose said as she stood up and closed the book.
Ethen let out a sigh of relief. "Sooo, that means I'm free at last?"
Rose rolled her eyes but nodded, "yes, you are free to go."
"Thank you" Ethen said in his usual tired manner.
Rose interpreted that "thank you" as sarcastic and rolled her eyes which confused Ethen but didn't really care to ask.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow for the next report,"
"And another lesson," rose said.
Ethen gave a sigh.
"That too."
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Ethen left the guild and began to wander into the Labyrinth city of orario since there wasn't much he had to do.
As big as orario was, Ethen did not seem interested in anything orario had to offer him. A few things here in there caught his eye but nothing much. Most shops and activities seemed to be all connected to adventurer type in one or two ways.
Alcatraz yawned and nuzzled closer to Ethen. Ethen yawned also and decided it was time to head back to the inn. "welp, nothing I didn't expect from a place like orario." Ethen sighed, "Still better than other places."
"That's true," Alma said.
Ethen gave a small laugh as he remembered the days after the defeat of the great quest, "I couldn't get a single break in the village we stayed at,"
"Especially grandma Edith, she always said that I had much more to offer," Ethen said.
Alma gave a hearty laugh, "lady Edith always wanted you to go back to action, as a former adventurer, she saw the potential."
"Hah, she just wanted me to hunt and cook for her, but I can't lie, she was very sweet and generous letting me rent a house, even though she was the greediest elf in the village," Ethen said as he looked off over the distance.
"The days were good, but it wasn't the life I wanted," Ethen grinned and sighed, "I want a place to sleep peacefully, a place where I rest without worrying about anything."
Alma snickered with a laugh, "let's hope"
"Yes" Ethen said, "let's get the rest we deserve."
As the lights of Orario flickered behind him, Ethen stepped inside the inn. The world outside could wait. For tonight, rest was enough.