Dungeon ni Deai o Motomeru no wa Machigatte Iru Darou ka Gaiden – Sword Oratoria - Volume 8 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4 LONESOME NIGHT 

Night’s curtain had descended over the city. 
Pitch-black shadow enveloped the empty streets, the broken magic-stone lanterns flickering softly and the stains of blood still peppering the back-alley cobblestones. The rain had yet to let up, still pounding the city streets as though attempting to bore into the stone itself. 
It was this never-ending rain that Bete listened to now, sitting in silence atop a rather plain sofa. 
“Bete…” 
Aiz murmured from where she stood next to him. She’d yet to find the right words to say, simply gazing down at the werewolf. He hadn’t even bothered to wipe the rain off himself or tend to his own wounds, still bleeding from the curse. 
Darkness yet reigned outside the window of their room in the Dian Cecht Familia hospital. Aiz had led Bete there after the attack. The werewolf hadn’t said a word as the rain continued to pelt his skin. Even now, she could tell his weather-beaten and bleeding back needed to be looked at as soon as possible. 
“…You should…really dry yourself off…” she started. If there was nothing she could do about the wounds, she could at least dry him, but before she could approach him with a towel, the door opened with a rattle. 
“I apologize for the delay.” 
It was Amid. 
Her normally immaculate uniform was now covered in blood, and deep bags sagged beneath her eyes as sweat ran down her skin. 
Aiz could tell immediately. 
She was dangerously close to a Mind Down. 
“Amid, have you…been using your magic…all this time?” Aiz asked anxiously. 
“Mine is the only magic currently capable of lifting the curse…I sincerely apologize for making you wait, Mister Bete,” Amid replied, voice calm and face showing no signs of strain. 
Amid had been working nonstop, attending to the endless stream of Amazons who had been brought to the hospital after the attacks. Her pride as a healer, however, didn’t allow her even a moment to herself, and she immediately took to tending Bete’s wounds. Holding her right hand over the multitude of scratches on Bete’s back, as well as the deep gash in his shoulder, she began her spell, the white glow of magic enveloping his skin. 
“…The Amazons…How are they doing?” 
“We’ve saved who we can. But there were still some who were simply brought in too late. We did everything we could…” Amid explained. Though she’d done her best to save them all, some had simply been too far gone. The attacks had likely started the night before, and by the time the victims had been found and brought to the hospital, even Orario’s highest-level healer, Dea Saint, could no longer save them. 
Though her delicate, doll-like features betrayed nothing, by the looks of her tightly clenched fist, knuckles white from the strain, her head must have been a whirlwind of self-reproach and regret. 
“Did the…body of a kid get brought here?” 
“…Those who did not make it were taken to the First Graveyard,” she explained, not quite answering Bete’s question. There would be no room for extra bodies, after all, in the hospital. 
Bete’s expression didn’t change. Instead, his amber eyes simply stared down at the hardened face of the girl on one knee in front of him. Water dripped from his damp gray hair. 
Aiz was the only one to look away. 
“The assailants have been identified as Sekhmet Familia, the shadow of the mainland,” Amid continued, trying to change the subject to something more neutral. As beads of sweat formed on her temples from the fatigue, she kept her thin lips moving. “Considering the targets were former members of Ishtar Familia, I would gather this is the work of a god with a deep resentment toward Ishtar…A goddess, perhaps, plagued with jealousy, who hired the assassins to take out the last of her familia. At least, that is what the Guild has surmised.” 
“…” 
“The assassins, too, in line with the laws of their familia, refuse to say a word as to who hired them, even going so far as to kill themselves…The Guild has apparently given up on trying to extract details out of their ringleader,” she continued, almost businesslike in her tone. 
It made sense that the Guild would leap into action after what had happened. They must have used Status Thieves on the assassins’ bodies in an attempt to extract the name of their god, resulting in nothing but a myriad of unanswered questions. 
While the Berbera had been able to kill many of their attackers (they were adventurers of Orario, after all), the cursed weapons of the assassins had finished the deed for them in many cases. What’s more, the assassins didn’t fear death, throwing themselves at the Berbera in near-suicidal attacks in order to wound (and curse) their victims. The combination of these two factors was what had led to a frighteningly high victim count. When the assassins found themselves at a draw with their target, they’d simply killed themselves. And it was no different with the assassins Loki Familia apprehended in their rush to help, either. 
Aiz watched as Amid tended to each of Bete’s wounds. The werewolf himself was uncomfortably quiet until she’d completed her task. 
“I’ve finished with my ministrations…However, your wounds will still need a while to fully heal after being afflicted by such a strong curse. Please take some time to fully rest and recover,” Amid asserted as she rose to her feet and made to leave Bete’s side. 
Only, the moment she tried to move, she appeared to grow faint, and Aiz rushed to help her before she could collapse. 
“Amid…!” 
“I…apologize…I appear to have…used a bit too much…Mind…” 
Aiz bit down on her lip as she held the other girl close. Amid’s breath was ragged. Aiz needed to get her somewhere she could rest, but as she made to leave, she suddenly stopped. Could she leave Bete alone at a time like this? 
“Get her outta here, would ya? She’s an eyesore,” said the wolf from behind her, arrogant as always. 
That much was the same, but still, that static expression of emptiness on his face worried her. 
She stood there, not entirely sure what to do, before finally opening the door with Amid still in her arms. “Stay here…okay? I’ll be…right back.” 
And then, with one look behind her, the golden-haired, golden-eyed swordswoman walked out the door. 
Silence returned to the room. 
The only sound was the rain, now vexingly loud against his ears. 
Having sat as still as a statue for so long, Bete finally slowly rose to his feet. 
“…” 
His amber eyes turned toward the window and the view of a rain-swept Orario beyond. 
The fang on his face twisted, and his reflection in the window glared back at him like his own worst enemy. And so his arm rose to punch it wide open, smashing glass and reflection both. 
 
“I apologize for getting you mixed up in this, Antianeira.” 
Finn was standing in front of the group of injured Amazons on the first floor of the soaring Babel Tower at the center of the city. Even now, in the middle of the night, the entryway to the Dungeon was bustling with activity. All those affected by the “Amazon hunt” had gathered among the crowd. 
Most were former Ishtar Familia members, now having suffered two attacks in only a matter of weeks, but there were also noncombatant courtesans, as well. Joining them were members of Loki Familia, hired as bodyguards by the Guild, along with a few from Ganesha Familia. All those in danger of being targeted had been ordered here together, with only those in critical condition still in Dian Cecht Familia’s hospital—a swiftly made administrative decision to keep from losing any more Berbera, given how the upper-class adventurers were so important to the city’s influence. 
In front of the Amazons and courtesans, their features taut with anxiety, stood Aisha. She was facing Finn, Tione, Tiona, and the rest of Loki Familia, her long black hair flowing down her back. 
“It appears that our investigative actions were what prompted the ringleaders of this attack to take action. While I can say I never imagined they would go to such lengths…that is no excuse for what happened. Please accept my sincerest apologies.” 
“There’s no reason to apologize, Braver. This wasn’t your fault. Even a child could tell you as much. No, the only ones at fault here are those bastards who did this,” Aisha responded, refusing the spear-equipped prum’s apology. As clear as the enmity on the bereaved Amazon’s face was, the fury wasn’t directed at the despondent crew in front of her. “Besides, it would have happened sooner or later, yes? Even if you and your people hadn’t gone snooping around.” 
“…” 
“Goddammit! Will that goddess never leave us alone? Even after she flies the coop, she still haunts us.” Aisha sighed, taking Finn’s prolonged silence as an affirmative. She already knew about the key that Loki Familia had been asking her girls about, and she’d surmised most of what had happened in Meren, from the violas to the “secret organization”—namely, the Evils—that Ishtar had been dealing with. The gorgeous Amazon didn’t even need to pry into Finn’s and the others’ dealings to be utterly and entirely fed up with the apparent root of all evil her former goddess had left behind. Turning her long, narrow eyes toward the sky, she scowled at the heavens where Ishtar now resided. 
“You weren’t able to protect us. To save us. But we don’t blame you for this. It is a shame that we, as warriors, will have to bear…Tell that Vanargand of yours as much, too.” 
“Bete? Why bring him up now?” 
“…You didn’t hear?” 
At this, Aisha was silent for a moment before finally explaining. She told him everything, about Bete and about Lena. 
Finn’s green eyes widened in surprise, as did Tiona’s and Tione’s and everyone else’s standing behind them. All of them were shocked at this unexpected news. 
“The look on that werewolf’s face…No, it’s nothing. Anyway, you can keep your concerns to yourself. We’re grateful for those of us you’ve saved, but your help won’t be necessary any longer.” 
And with that, Aisha walked away. The rest of the Amazons, too, seemed to shake off their anxiety, turning their focus instead toward the rallying voice of their leader. 
Finn remained silent, lost in thought. 
“The Amazon killed in front of Bete…You don’t think it’s that same girl Lefiya told us about earlier, do you? The one on a date with him?” 
“…Can’t imagine it’d be anyone else. Maybe he was looking for info on the key, too? Only they got attacked along the way…” 
Tiona and Tione mused to themselves, prompting the rest of the familia to start wondering out loud, as well. At the front of the group, Finn gave his thumb a lick. 
He stood there in silence. 
Before finally raising his head. 
“We’ll use Bete as bait.” 
“?!” 
The sudden announcement was enough for Tione and the others to question their ears. 
“The Bete Loga I know isn’t one to stand by quietly after an event like this. No, my gut says he’s already out there raising hell.” 
“…!” 
“In fact, he’s probably on his way to the Evils as we speak…to Valletta and her crew, thirsty for revenge. And not quietly, I may add. We’ll use him as a diversion. While the enemy has their sights set on Bete, we’ll cut off their escape route.” 
Their path back to Knossos, in other words. Without it, they would be trapped and isolated aboveground, the prum explained. 
“And then, we’ll take that opportunity to relieve them of their key.” 
The series of announcements was met with shock after shock from the rest of his familia. 
Tiona, Tione, Raul, Anakity—everyone. Without a moment’s indecision, they were just going to use Bete’s emotions to their own advantage and gain the upper hand; seeing their captain, Braver, discuss it so coolly was enough to make the younger familia members gulp uneasily. 
“We’ll station someone to keep watch on Daedalus Street. I’ll set up camp outside the entrance to Knossos in the Old Sewerway. We’ll also keep a few people here, as well, just in case they decide to use the second entrance to the Dungeon to return to their hideout. Raul, tell Gareth that I’m putting him in charge of Babel—” 
“F-Finn?!” 
“Sh-shouldn’t we stop and think about this for a moment, Captain?!” 
A rather flustered Tiona and Tione cut off his orders. 
He turned his green eyes toward the two twins, who were now leaning forward anxiously. 
“No? And here I thought both of you detested Bete, hmm? So much so that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye?” 
“That’s…well…This is just too awful, if you ask me!” 
“Isn’t the whole point of a familia to look after your friends? Like back in Meren, when you and everyone else came running to our aid…! Th-that stupid werewolf, too!!” 
The two insisted, even as Finn retained his mask of emotionless leader-hood. 
And it was true—not even the two Amazons understood exactly why they were so against Finn’s plan, considering the hatred they’d been harboring for the wolf only a short while earlier. It was the same for the rest of the familia behind them, too, all eyes practically glued to Finn. 
“You don’t agree? How about I change up the wording, then?” Finn mused, turning his gaze from Tiona to Tione and then to the rest of the familia behind them. “We’re going to stake everything we have on Bete.” 
“!!” 
A second ripple of shock ran through the group. 
Tiona and the others stared at him wide-eyed and stunned as Finn doffed his mask of authority, anguish and heartache clear in his wry smile. After scanning the group once more, he let his eyes fall toward the open door to the tower and the rain-drenched shadow beyond. 
“Because nothing we say can stop him any longer.” 
“Finn, that imbecile…He’s really done it this time,” Riveria murmured, her sullen voice melting into the pouring rain. She’d just been delivered Finn’s orders. 
She was in Dian Cecht Familia’s hospital. Lefiya was gulping for breath after relaying the command to the elves who’d been left in charge of guarding the few remaining Amazons yet to be healed. 
Though Alicia and the others looked at the younger elf in disbelief, Lefiya reaffirmed her words with a nod of her head, streaked with rain thanks to her mad dash from Babel. 
“I…I agree it’s…unprecedented. Even for Mister Bete, this cruel plan is simply not like the captain at all…” 
“No, it’s because he understands Bete…and has faith in him. That’s why he can issue such an order.” 
“Huh?” 
“Then I shall play the part of the villain,” Riveria cut in with a sigh, as if about to launch into a soliloquy. 
Still confused, Lefiya looked toward the high elf for an answer, but then— 
“Riveria!” 
—Aiz appeared from the back hallway. 
“Bete is gone…He left on his own…!” 
“Is that so…? I suppose this was expected. Everything is going according to Finn’s plan.” 
There would be no stopping it now. 
Ignoring Lefiya and the other flustered elves behind her, she closed her eyes for a moment. And when she opened them again, she rushed quickly toward Aiz. 
“Follow him, Aiz. Don’t let him out of your sight. You’ll be the only one he has now…” 
“I…Okay. Understood.” 
Riveria didn’t even bother filling Aiz in on the rest of Finn’s plan. With a single nod, Aiz was off, dashing past Lefiya and the other elves and toward the hospital door beyond. Just before she disappeared, Riveria called to her one last time. 
“Aiz. When you see Bete as he is now, do you think he’s like how you…?” 
“…?” 
“…No, it’s nothing. Go on.” Riveria shook her head, almost as though apologizing for stopping her. Aiz looked back, her head tilted to the side in confusion, but did as she was told and put the hospital behind her. 
Riveria narrowed her eyes as she watched Aiz disappear into the night. 
 
The rain descended like a never-ending deluge of spears. 
And through that rain, Bete made his way down the city streets. 
He was alone, and the city practically deserted, though by no fault of the rain—rather, the attacks that had taken place earlier that day. In fact, to see the streets so desolate was nigh unprecedented in a city like Orario. With the sound of the rain masking everything and everyone in sight, too, Bete might as well have been the last person left on earth for all he knew. 
His wounds were deep. He’d lost too much blood. He needed food, items. 
But even despite the brilliant, fiery-red emotion coursing through his body, Bete’s mind was surprisingly calm. He was the prime example of someone built for combat, both as an adventurer and as someone raised in a tribe of warriors. 
They would come for him again. Valletta and her crew. He was sure of it. 
If he let his hackles down, blatantly walked around like this by himself, he’d be an easy target. There was no way they wouldn’t attack him—it was a chance to take down Loki Familia’s mad dog. Which was why he wouldn’t call for help. No, he couldn’t call for help. Bete would never allow himself to stoop that low. 
The dim light of the magic-stone lanterns casting his shadow on the stone below, he walked, completely lost in thought—until a shadow flickered behind him. 
He came to a stop, realizing quickly who was following him and wrinkling his face in annoyance. 
“Bete.” 
She appeared from the darkness, vermilion hair soaked and her body dripping with water. 
Bete’s thoughts first wandered to the goddess’s footwear. What had happened to what she’d said before, huh? About not wanting to get her shoes wet? 
But as the faint light of the magic-stone lanterns brought her into view, Loki didn’t seem too concerned about them now, bag slung over her right shoulder and ill-dressed for the rain, same as Bete. 
“…What the hell are you doing?” 
“Oh, you know, was just thinkin’ I might be able to see you, so I took a little stroll outside the house, and whaddaya know? There you are! Bingo!” 
“You really shouldn’t go outside alone, you know…Did you even hear what happened today?” 
“You worried about me?! D’awww, yer sweet, Bete!” Loki cooed, her buoyant, bubbly voice in sharp contrast to Bete’s low growl. 
She approached the werewolf, leaving a few steps between them so that goddess and follower stood face-to-face. 
“Bete. Here.” 
“…” 
“Potions and mruit. Eat ’em if you need,” she said as she tossed the bag in his direction. He caught it in one hand only to see that, indeed, a few vials of medicine and some pieces of the dungeon fruit were peeking out from the top. 
It was almost as though she’d seen through everything. Bete felt his irritation rising at the goddess’s too-perfect sense of timing. 
“You’re not gonna try ’n’ stop me?” 
“And what would happen if I did, huh? You’d end up blamin’ yerself for the rest of your goddamn life, yeah? That’s what I figured, at least.” 
She was really grating on his nerves now. She and those eyes that could read him like a book. In fact, she was quite possibly the last person on earth he would have wanted to see right now. 
As she looked at him with those slit-like scarlet eyes, he felt something stir in his memories. They were the same—her eyes and Ví?arr’s. 
“…Looks like you went and got yerself hurt again.” 
Something snapped inside Bete at those words. 
With an almost audible crack, he felt his blood rush straight to his head. 
And before he knew it, he was shouting. 
“Stop actin’ like you understand anything about me at all!!” 
“…” 
“Hurt? Who’s hurt, huh? The only person I’m pissed at is me!” 
“…” 
“Those Evils bastards did me over real good, yeah? Me, the one who’s normally kickin’ around the other weaklings, laughin’ it up. But I’m nothin’ but a piece of fish bait myself! I’m a disgrace!!” His words came pouring out, all the pent-up emotion inside him released like a bomb with his silent goddess in the blast zone. His hand tightened around the bag, knuckles white from fury. “I’m not strong enough! Not powerful enough! I need to get stronger! Much, much stronger—than anyone else!!” 
His words were true. 
However, he’d left out one piece. 
The motivation behind his quest for power. The true form of his unquenchable thirst. 
Even he himself pretended not to realize the true target of his emotions, instead baring to the world nothing but his fang—the fang of a raging, starving wolf. 
“…Kinda sad, innit?” 
But none of that mattered in the face of his goddess. 
The howl of a wolf that sent shivers down the spines of those weaker than him meant nothing to her, who could see straight through his Status, the symbol carved into his back. 
Loki stepped forward silently, bringing her hands to Bete’s face even as he stared at her, breath ragged. 
“That this is what it takes for you to get stronger,” she murmured, tracing the distorted tattoo, the fang, on his cheek. 
Between them, the cold rain continued to fall. Light from the magic-stone lanterns illuminated their faces, their shadows stretching out across the stone below. For just a moment, the two shadows formed a single silhouette: that of a happy trickster comforting her world-condemning wolf. 
“Gngh…!” 
But it was not to last, and Bete batted her away with what little strength he had remaining. 
He stepped past her, fully prepared to keep on walking. 

Almost as though running away. 
“You know, Bete. Ví?arr told me a little bit about you,” Loki said simply, not even turning around as Bete walked away. 
Bete’s feet came to a halt. 
“Even bein’ from the same place up in Heaven ’n’ all, he and I never really saw eye to eye. Completely unapproachable, that one. Everything went over his head.” 
“…” 
“Which is why I never really took to heart what he told me when I ran into him in the pub that one night, drunk as he was and gettin’ all mushy…” 
—There’s a certain rambunctious wolf under my care. 
—But I worry that staying with me, staying with my familia, will end up killing him. 
—If ever he were to escape from my grasp, would you look out for him, Loki? 
Ví?arr’s words in Loki’s voice echoed in the rain. 
Bete clenched his teeth, then simply kept on walking, leaving the words of his god—all but his father—behind him. 
Loki watched his back disappear into the rain before accosting him one last time. 
“Have you figured out what that fang of yours means, Bete?” 
—But he’d already figured that out long, long ago. 
 
Meeting them was probably fate. 
Making enemies left and right, drinking and fighting through the night, the familia-less Bete happened upon a number of unfamiliar faces one night in his usual pub. 
Loki Familia. 
The city’s greatest familia, it, along with Freya Familia, had been on a race toward the top ever since Bete had stepped foot in Orario all those years ago. And they were here now, seemingly celebrating a successful expedition in the Dungeon, all of them laughing, having fun, and extolling one another’s valor in their endeavors. Bete watched them for a while in silence before, in typical fashion, he began his tirade. 
“Heh, what kinda adventure can a bunch of wusses have, huh? Don’t make me laugh! You guys’d be nothin’ but a bunch of big ol’ roadblocks for the real adventurers!” 
Loki Familia had been quick to respond. With their god present, they’d tried to stick it out for a while, but the more of Bete’s abuse they took, the more irate they became, until finally, they’d had enough, the whole lot of them moving in on the werewolf. Bete responded with a kick that sent all of them to the floor. 
“Bwa-ha-ha! What a crazy wolf! All by yer little lonesome, yet ya fight like you’ve got a whole army behind ya. What a kook!” came the voice of their vermilion-haired goddess, now ogling Bete in amusement. Her narrowed eyes opened just slightly as she gulped down the rest of her drink. 
Bete could feel the others staring at him—a boy clearly unfit for battle, a dark-haired catgirl eyeing him in awe, and a golden-haired, golden-eyed girl who didn’t seem to care one single bit. He couldn’t help but be disappointed that Loki Familia would turn out to be nothing more than this. Only, before he could even finish his thought. 
He was blown away. 
The fist that hit him full-force sent him flying all the way across the room. 
“Yer spoilin’ our drink, boy. So why don’t ye just keep yer yap shut?” 
Bete looked up from the table he’d slammed into to see a dwarven soldier staring down at him. 
“Indeed. Quite the smart words for someone who is, themselves, nothing but a craven pup.” 
The voice came from a high elf mage this time. 
“While your words don’t seem of genuine arrogance…I must admit, the desperation is more than a little amusing.” 
And the next, from a smiling prum warrior. 
They made up Loki Familia’s elites, its strongest team of fighters. And a set of first-tier adventurers whose fame he’d been hearing of nonstop since arriving in Orario. 
Sitting in the face of the truly strong, Bete first balked. Then smiled. Then raged. 
He leaped to his feet with a furious shout, abandoning himself to the furor racing through his body like wildfire. Only to be brought down single-handedly by the dwarf. 
Again and again, he was slammed into the floor before rising to his feet, stubbornly refusing to learn his lesson, and getting sent straight back on his hindquarters. The rest of Loki Familia watched the violence in white-faced shock. The dwarf he’d first exchanged punches with—Gareth Landrock—went above and beyond even their wildest imaginations, now a veritable monster in the way he was attacking Bete, seemingly intent on smashing the werewolf’s unwarranted conceit into a thousand pieces. 
Finally, unable to take it any longer, Bete collapsed to the floor. 
He didn’t move. His hand was clenched so tightly into a fist, it was trembling, its gray fur standing on end. It was a sight that reminded Bete of the many weaklings he himself had sent to the floor, reveling in their humiliation. But now he was the one tasting the cold, hard ground, a flavor he’d not experienced in quite some time. 
—I found ’em. I finally found ’em. 
—The crazy-strong punks I’ve been lookin’ for. 
Even as he lay there on the ground, a smile began to form on his face while Finn, Riveria, and Gareth watched him from above. 
And then he howled. But it was no longer the howl of the strong. No, he’d become the weak. 
Finn and the others looking on in bewilderment, he rose to his feet, charging toward the Loki Familia adventurers only to be sent flying one last time, his strength finally depleted. 
Still, Bete smiled. 
Even as the anger continued to course through him with such force it sent shivers down his body, he whispered a silent word of thanks for this fated meeting: He’d finally found someone stronger than him. 
Having witnessed the entire affair, Loki promptly scouted Bete. 
The astute leader, the eccentric mage, and the ridiculously powerful dwarven warrior who had beaten Bete to a pulp—all three of them knew their strengths and weaknesses, using them to their advantage as they faced off against adventure. What’s more, not a one of them was accepting of those who didn’t get stronger, and the rest of Loki Familia’s members did everything they could to meet those expectations. 
This is where I need to be, Bete thought, finally having found a place where he felt comfortable settling down. 
Though even after he was officially inducted, he remained a loner. Making no attempt to mingle with the rest of the familia, he continued his crude tirades of insults, pushing away his new colleagues and instigating almost daily fights with Riveria. About the only contact he had with anyone besides Finn and the other elites was Raul, and even that was only because the poor boy had gotten the short end of the stick as the familia liaison, barely able to talk to Bete without sweating despite the fact that they were almost the same age. 
As for Bete, well, he challenged Gareth every chance he got: 
“Tenacious little bastard, ain’t ya?” 
Bete would always hear this before getting his ass solidly handed to him. It didn’t take long for Bete to become recognized as the token “belligerent werewolf” of the familia. 
It wasn’t until the grueling expeditions in the Dungeon that Bete’s relationship with the rest of the familia improved. While the harsh conditions didn’t put an end to his altercations with Riveria—the wolf was constantly dashing out ahead of the group on his own—there was something assuring about the sight of him up ahead that calmed the nerves of the rest of the familia behind him. It was around this time that his colleagues began viewing him and his abusive diatribes with awe and aspiration rather than fear as Bete quickly forged his way to Level 4. 
It was during these treks to the Dungeon, Bete in the lead as they fought tooth and nail against whatever surprises awaited, that he, too, began to reevaluate his colleagues—Raul, Anakity, and all the others. Seeing their faces stained with blood and dirt, hearing their determined cries of war, reminded him of the beloved tribe he’d lost long ago. 
—They may be chumps, but they ain’t short on guts. 
They were ridiculously stubborn in the way they kept on fighting until the bitter end, the very picture of adventurers. And the reason they could? Because they had complete and utter faith in the voice that was guiding them. To think that a leader would have this much influence on those who followed—though Bete would never say it, even he had to acknowledge the greatness of Finn and the others. 
Even still, casualties were unavoidable. 
Though Bete and the other stronger adventurers were able to escape by the skin of their teeth most of the pinches they got themselves into, the weaker ones weren’t so lucky. The Dungeon was constantly filled with the wails of the weak. Just one more thing that ground on Bete’s nerves. 
Which was perhaps why that girl became a sort of savior to him. 
Aiz Wallenstein. 
A golden-haired, golden-eyed beauty of only ten years. Bete had originally looked down on her as he did everyone else, only to have his words stolen from him after watching the ferocious way she fought. 
Her practically emotionless features might as well have been those of a doll. 
And though they were just about polar opposites when it came to temperament, Bete imagined his younger sister would have looked something like her if she were still alive. 
That long golden hair. 
Even more vibrant than that of the girl from his youth. 
That relentless spirit, yearning to grow stronger. 
So familiar to when she had loved him and strived to follow in his footsteps. 
Aiz had been like a sister to him back then. And though he’d berated her for charging headlong into incoming swarms of monsters—“Pot calling the kettle black, are we?” Riveria had pointed out—he’d taken to her immediately. The stronger she grew, the less she needed saving and the more the crazy thought inside Bete’s head grew: If only she had been that girl back then. It was a stupid, selfish wish, and Bete felt ashamed for even thinking it. Still, as Aiz grew, changing from a girl into a woman, he became even more lost, until, before he realized it, he was falling for her. That profile of hers, visible from his spot a few paces behind, just looked so much like hers, the girl he’d once loved so much. 
But there was one difference between Aiz and that girl. 
Aiz was strong. 
Stronger than any woman he’d ever known. Any person he’d ever known. Once she invoked her magic, she surpassed even Bete, and if no one stopped her, she’d be rushing ahead, wiping out a whole throng of monsters single-handedly, her skills with a sword enough to make Bete swoon. 
No amount of power was enough for her. 
She craved it, even more wildly and recklessly than Bete. 
And while that aspect of her did nothing but make Loki, Finn, Riveria, Gareth, and the others fret, Bete wasn’t worried in the least. No, he approved of it. 
“Don’t you change a bit. You hear me, Aiz?” 
“…?” 
He still remembered their exchange that one night long ago. A night that Aiz had probably long since forgotten. Bete had approached her out in the manor’s courtyard, where she’d been impassively swinging her sword. 
“You’re strong. That’s all that matters, so…don’t you change.” 
It almost sounded like an appeal. 
A desperate, selfish request from the wolf who didn’t want to lose the fourth person in his life who’d ever meant anything to him. 
“No.” 
But Aiz wouldn’t have it. 
“…I need to be even stronger.” 
It was an answer that brought a smile to Bete’s face. 
He respected her more than anyone, this girl and her unparalleled strength. 
She was definitely his ideal woman. 
Someone strong. Who didn’t know the meaning of compromise. Who continued pushing forward, unforgiving of her own frailties. This created a sort of kinship between them, and Aiz became the closest to Bete in all of Loki Familia. 
—I hate weak women most of all. 
Those words had become somewhat of a mantra for him at this point, the armor protecting him from the pain of his past. 
But they didn’t work on Aiz. 
On the “Battle Princess,” who abandoned herself to combat. 
A woman like her wouldn’t… 
Almost subconsciously, Bete felt a kind of hope begin to build up inside him. 
Bete had been beaten down by the shortcomings of the weak too many times in the past to put any effort into women. Which was why he refused to let himself grow attached to anyone who wasn’t the ideal now. 
At some point, watching that girl grow stronger, their fierce competition raging on, became the one joy in his life. 
Loki Familia’s roster was constantly changing. One year after Bete joined saw the induction of Tiona and Tione and, a year after that, Lefiya. The rambunctious girls were always pestering Aiz, and as time passed, Aiz began to smile more often. 
Bete, on the other hand, was not at all happy with this more “mellowed-out” version of Aiz the newcomers were drawing out of her. Even if the changes were good for Aiz herself, Bete could feel the “ideal woman” he’d created in his head start to blur. 
He began lashing out, giving the girls grief, first as an extension of his selfish desire but later, simply out of jealousy. And Bete, too, even without realizing it, was starting to lose his edge. 
Accept it. 
It’s not a bad thing. 
This isn’t like before, where you prided yourself as a lone wolf. 
The fang on his cheek, the pain in his chest—they were disappearing. 
However. 
“—Probably looked as pathetic as you do right now, huh? Like your precious little kitty just died or somethin’?!” 
Valletta’s shrill voice rung in his ears. 
It wasn’t only Leene’s face that weighed on his heart. It was Lena’s, too. 
Bete brought a hand to his cheek, fingers digging into his skin. 
 
“Haaah? Finn and his cronies have set up camp in the sewers, have they?” 
Back in the restoration zone of the Pleasure Quarter, a number of figures continued to prowl about the now deserted ruins, melding into the shadows and rain—Valletta and her crew of assassins. They’d set up temporary camp in Belit Babili, the grandest of the quarter’s structures. After hearing the news from one of the Thanatos Familia patrols, Valletta curled her lip in disgust. 
“Yes, ma’am! It seems they also have sentries posted on Daedalus Street…and in Babel Tower.” 
“That obnoxious little mouse! Should have known he’d already be on top of things…So he plans on keeping us from returning to Knossos? Then…he’s after our key?” she mused, pulling out the magic item in question, a small orb engraved with the letter D, from her fur-lined overcoat. 
True to Loki Familia’s hypothesis, Valletta and the rest of her assassins had been using the sewerway beneath the city to move around. It was also how they’d arrived at the Pleasure Quarter, where they’d set up base now. By putting men there, on Daedalus Street and in Babel, they’d effectively cut off every one of their escape routes back to Knossos. 
Valletta cursed in annoyance, then gave a voracious smile. 
“Then they don’t care about all the Amazons we’re slicin’ to pieces? He-he-he…This is just like during the Twenty-Seventh-Floor Nightmare. How many people you gonna sacrifice, huh, Finn? And all without batting an eye…!” 
“Wh-what should we do, Lady Valletta?” 
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist! Thanatos and the rest of his guys are already at work as we speak, gettin’ ahold of Levis or whoever. And once that monster shows up, well, Finn can say bye-bye to this little net of his,” Valletta responded coolly despite her underlings’ growing panic. They simply had to be patient and wait for Levis and the others to cut a hole through Loki Familia’s web. 
She turned her attention from her fellow Evils to the hired assassins. 
“Hey! You guys about done cleanin’ things up yet?” 
“Yes, ma’am! Our comrades in arms have successfully wounded almost all targets with the cursed weapons. Though some were able to escape due to Loki Familia’s intervention, most of their leaders, at least, have been silenced…” the chieftain of the group explained, to which Valletta responded with a wave of her hand. 
“Good enough for me.” 
The number of people aware of the connection Ishtar had with Thanatos Familia was few, indeed. And those who knew of the key Ishtar possessed were even fewer—likely only those very close to the goddess. They shouldn’t need to worry about any of the remaining Berbera now gathered in Babel. 
The only thing Valletta hadn’t planned on was Dian Cecht Familia or, more specifically, Dea Saint. But it was ridiculous to think that she alone would be able to heal every one of the Amazons wounded by one of Barca’s cursed weapons. Which meant that today, almost all the Amazons had been killed—a thought that filled Valletta with sadistic joy. 
The sight of her, smiling viciously, was enough to make the rest of the Evils associates tremble. 
Valletta Grede. 
On the Guild’s blacklist now for six years, she bore the alias “Arachnia.” 
As a member of the Evils, she became intoxicated at the sight of blood, abandoning herself to the very cruelest of pleasures and reportedly responsible for the deaths of more adventurers than anyone else—a natural-born killer. Taking lives, for her, was the ultimate symbol of power, or at least that’s what she had asserted to her sworn enemy, Finn, in years past. 
The assassins in the room looked on in emotionless silence as she suddenly dropped her smile and lifted her head. 
“All that’s left is…Vanargand.” 
“What do you mean…?” 
“When we ran into him this morning with that Amazonian brat, he was clearly on his way to the palace. At a time like this? No way that’s a coincidence…” she hissed, the cogs clicking into place in her head. “He was definitely looking for the key. In fact, that little minx we killed might very well have given him some kinda clue—We need to take him down.” 
This announcement set the entire camp abuzz. 
“Vanargand probably wouldn’t seek help, would he…?” 
“As if! No way in hell that blockheaded mutt would go to his familia with his tail between his legs. If he’s got his sights set on revenge, he’s gonna carry it out himself…I know it. I am the one who massacred his cute little friends down in Knossos, after all, he-he-he-he-he.” 
Adventurers like him were all too easy to read, she added, her smile deepening. 
Even if the lone wolf, Vanargand, had any information on that key, he wasn’t going to keep it to himself; instead, he’d come straight to Valletta to settle the score. She could practically see him now, veins popping in his eyes as he marched his way toward them. 
“All right! I want y’all to do everything you can to find Vanargand—” 
But then something interrupted. 
The howl of a wolf off in the distance cut off Valletta’s words before she could finish. 
“…So he’s calling us out to play, is he?” She laughed, sliding her tongue across her smiling lips. 
 
The sound echoed throughout the entire city, masking even the steady sound of the rain. 
Humans and demi-humans looked up in surprise from inside their homes, wondering if they weren’t hearing thunder; the Guild members currently out managing the situation came to abrupt halts; and adventurers raced outside, gazes turned toward the sky. Every god in the city knew that something had started. 
The whole of Orario heard the howl of a wolf. 
“Is that…?” 
“It couldn’t be…!” 
Anakity and Raul murmured in surprise, both of them tasked with watching over the Amazons currently housed in Babel Tower. 
“He’s mad now.” 
“Aye. I’d reckon there’s no stoppin’ ’im now.” 
Loki and Gareth exchanged words from in front of the great white spire, both their eyes turned in the direction of the rain-filled clouds as the werewolf’s howl trembled against the sky. 
“Lady Riveria! Is that…?!” 
“Indeed. That would be Bete…It’s started, then, has it?” 
Riveria responded to Lefiya’s question from within the Dian Cecht Familia hospital, one eye closed as she confirmed the sound of Bete’s voice. 
“Ngh…?!” 
Aiz raced forward through the pouring rain in the direction of that lupine shriek, her feet speeding toward the Pleasure Quarter. 
 
And Bete, standing atop the roof of a dilapidated brothel. 
Looked toward the night sky, congested with clouds, and howled. 
He wanted to make sure those assassins hidden in the darkness knew exactly where he was. 
The battle was about to begin. 
And this howl, this furious roar of a werewolf, amber eyes red with rage, was its harbinger.