A Journey Unwanted

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: The Deathless Fortress]

"I see… so you've decided to join the Retorta Guild?" The questioned came from Ivan. Dante and Tamamo had reconvened with him, Alexander, and Gretchen on the ground floor of the fortress not long ago.

"You seem unsure," Dante noted, turning slightly toward Ivan. "There is no shame in turning back if your conviction falters."

Ivan shook his head. "No. I'm standing by my word. If you're joining the Guild, then I'll stick with you. I said I would—and I meant it."

Alexander raised a hand half-heartedly. "Yeah, I'm with Ivan… and all that heroic nonsense, I guess."

Gretchen crossed her arms. "They're not going to dissect me the moment I walk into their base, right?" she asked blandly.

Tamamo flashed a fox-bright grin. "My dear, your worries are incredibly dramatic and completely unfounded. Try to breathe."

"I am breathing," Gretchen sighed. "Alchemy is just that valuable, and I'm not trying to flatter myself. But being an alchemist puts a target on my back. The Chroma tier of the Lex Caelorum isn't some hobby-tier art form."

Tamamo tilted her head, nine tails flicking. "You know a surprising amount about the Arbor Astrigaudium for someone who claims she only dabbles."

"It involves magic and alchemy. Of course I was taught the basics about the First Tree," Gretchen replied, brushing her hair aside.

Ivan and Alexander exchanged looks before Alexander raised his hands.

"Yeah, no. I'm not even going to pretend to understand any of that," he muttered. He turned to Dante. "But—what exactly did you and that Mortifer talk about? You said the Guild's goal matched yours, right?"

"Hm." Dante folded his arms. "She disclosed little—only information of certain members who boost their confidence. Their deeper plans remain concealed. Another reason why joining them is a necessity."

"I see." Ivan nodded. "If their methods become dangerous, you can intervene."

"Exactly," Dante said. "And it is in their best interest to stop the calamities. Proximity may reveal truths we lack."

Alexander raised a brow. "So all of us are seriously joining the Retorta Guild. But will they even accept all of us? We're not exactly a normal group."

"Well," Tamamo began, swirling her tails proudly, "Gretchen is an alchemist—so they'll practically throw rose petals at her feet. Ivan is a Nil—rare enough to be fought over by armies. As for me…" She gestured to herself grandly. "Think of me as an unbelievably adorable, radiant, powerful, and exceptionally fluffy mascot."

Alexander blinked. "…Then what about me?"

Tamamo sniffed dramatically. "Well… I've had my suspicions. You do reek faintly of wet dog."

Alexander's eye twitched. "I DO NOT—!"

"I'm sure you'll be welcomed," she continued breezily. "The only one I'm uncertain about is dear Dante." She gave him a mischievous glance. "You may have valuable information, but who knows? It'd be hilarious if you were the only one subjected to tests." She giggled.

Dante merely grunted. "Come what may, I shall simply move forward."

Tamamo chuckled. "Of course you will. Forward is the only direction your skull will allow."

"I shall inform the Mortifer of our decision," Dante said, ignoring the jab. "Remain with them for now."

"Aye, aye!" Tamamo chimed, hopping off Dante's shoulder and landing gracefully on Gretchen—who stiffened.

"Could you not?" Gretchen muttered.

"We delicate girls must stick together," Tamamo said with a theatrical pout. "I rather dislike lingering on the shoulder of a big, stoic man."

"You were literally on Dante the entire time," Alexander deadpanned.

"He is a delicate fellow," Tamamo replied primly.

Dante offered no response. He simply moved—and vanished in a burst of displaced air.

Alexander could not help but look impressively at the empty space where Dante was. "He really is fast. I couldn't even track him."

Gretchen watched the fading ripples of disturbed dust. "Normally I'd think he used magic to enhance himself, but his mana didn't shift at all…"

Tamamo, lounging comfortably, gave a smug little hum. "That's because Dante has no talent for magic. All of that is pure physical prowess."

Alexander's eyes widened. "Seriously? He can move that fast with just raw speed? Even I can't hit that level. And he also threw that giant stone slab into the sky like it weighed nothing…"

"Could it be due to that crest on his mana?" Gretchen speculated. "It's not a Maledictum Sigil like a Nil's. It feels… somewhat purer. Freshly carved into his mana, almost."

Tamamo clapped her paws. "Oh? You noticed that? Sharp eyes, indeed. That's what's called a blessing. Gods use them to mark their chosen—spawns of the divine. Dante is the spawn of the God of Strength." Tamamo explained. "Essentially giving him a portion of their own power."

Ivan let out a low breath. "So Gods really… interacted with mortals? That much? That directly? That's insane..." He tried imagining it, such powerful figures granting mere mortals their power. It seemed almost unbelievable.

"But is that why he's so strong?" Alexander asked.

"Not entirely," Tamamo said, flicking her tails. "He was terrifyingly powerful before the blessing. It gives him some advantages, but not nearly as much as you think. It's a minor advantage."

"A blessing from a God is a 'minor advantage?'" Gretchen repeated, incredulous. "You're joking."

Tamamo smirked. "Believe me or not—but that man is far more frightening without divine help."

Gretchen folded her arms, eyes narrowing slightly as she voiced the question that had been weighing on all of them. "Then what does someone actually need to do to receive the blessing of a God?"

Tamamo-no-Mae flicked two of her nine golden tails forward, the motion almost ceremonious. "Ah, a straightforward question." Her tone warmed, though her eyes sharpened. "The process sounds simple. But, as with all things divine, simplicity is deceptive." She raised one tail like a pointer. "There are two methods. The first way is straightforward. Gods peer into the many branching futures of certain individuals. If they find someone they like—someone whose fate, personality, or potential resonates with them—they bless that person. A gift of favor."

Alexander blinked, eyebrows lifting. "That's it? A God sees someone they like and just—decides? So the God of Strength looked at Dante, liked him, and just decided to bless him?"

Tamamo chuckled softly. "When you're eternal, liking someone's future is quite a compliment. But no—Dante did not receive his blessing that way." A second tail lowered slowly. "He earned his blessing through the second method."

Ivan leaned in, curiosity tempered by unease. "And that is…?"

Tamamo turned slightly, her nine tails swaying behind her. "A trial. A God's challenge." Her voice took on a quieter lilt. "The Gods offer trials to mortals who actively seek divine power. Survive their trial, and you earn the right to the blessing. Though it's a rare metod."

Alexander frowned. "Rare? Why?"

Tamamo's voice softened, the seriousness settling in. "Because trials of the Gods were… brutal. Grueling beyond mortal limits. Most died before completing even a fraction of their challenges. And the stronger the mortal was at the start, the harder the trial became."

Ivan hesitated, but the question spilled out anyway. "Then… what exactly was Dante's trial?"

A shadow passed over Tamamo's expression. "That is not mine to share," she answered softly. "And it is better—truly better—that you never know."

The weight in her voice silenced all three of them.

Gretchen exhaled slowly. "Then we won't pry. It isn't our business." Inside, however, she reflected uneasily: ("Power is never free. And whatever Dante gained… I doubt it came without bleeding for it.") She gestured at the bleak stone walls around them. "Let's get out of this place. This fortress is… honestly, an eyesore."

Tamamo hummed in agreement. "Eyesore is generous. Whoever designed this had absolutely no sense of aesthetic." She flicked an ear. "Not even a single decorative carving. Tragic."

Before Alexander or Ivan could chime in, a voice—gravelly and old—echoed down the stairwell above them.

"Quite a few hurtful things to say."

Ivan froze and Alexander felt his stomach drop as if the floor tilted beneath him. Gretchen turned sharply, frown deepening. Tamamo remained unbothered.

A suffocating, gray mana filled the air—a dull, heavy mass that pressed into their lungs. Gretchen felt it first, but Ivan tasted it on his tongue, metallic and wrong. Alexander felt a tremor crawl along his spine, muscles clenching involuntarily.

("What malevolent mana.") Gretchen noted, brows furrowing.

Descending the spiraling stairway was an old man with long, white hair and an equally long beard. His eyes—violet ringed with black sclera—felt like cold needles passing through them. His pitch-black robes, veined with thin gold lines, shifted unnaturally with each step.

He smiled, and somehow that was the most threatening part.

"Greetings," he said, voice smooth but rotten under the surface. "I am Sorcerer Koschei."

Ivan staggered a half-step back before he could stop himself. Alexander's heartbeat spiked, his body refusing to move no matter how he ordered it. Something primal screamed inside him—run, do not engage, survive.

Koschei continued to descend, his presence thickening the air like smoke.

Ivan whispered under his breath, barely audible, "…He feels worse than Conroy… far worse…"

Alexander couldn't answer—his throat had locked.

Tamamo, meanwhile, simply tapped her paws together. "You'll forgive us, but you really do lack any sense of style."

Both boys stared at her, stunned that she could speak so casually while they could barely breathe.

Koschei gave a grinding chuckle. "Perhaps you are right. Even dear Ella complains."

Gretchen met his gaze without flinching. "Why bother showing yourself now? You don't strike me as someone interested in small talk."

Koschei's eyes slid downward—lingering intentionally on her chest. Gretchen's glare dared him to continue. He did.

"Well," he said, ignoring her expression, "I am the owner of this fortress. And it is proper for a host to extend hospitality to his guests."

"We don't need hospitality from you," Gretchen snapped.

His smile didn't waver. "So harsh. Though understandable. My fortress… does have a reputation for its atmosphere."

Tamamo's tails rose slightly, sensing the tension. "Atmosphere? Is that what we're calling that presence festering in the depths?"

Koschei stilled. It was not long or exaggerated. Just long enough for all of them to see it.

His surprise flashed, then vanished.

"My, my…" he murmured. "What an intriguing little fox you are."

Tamamo met his gaze head-on. "Oh, I am more than intriguing." A sly grin crept over her lips. "But you are unpleasant. Deeply. So we won't be staying." She flicked her tails. "Come, children. We're leaving."

Gretchen nodded sharply, stepping past Koschei with one last cold glare. Alexander forced himself to move, legs trembling. Ivan avoided looking at the sorcerer entirely, knowing instinctively that eye contact would be a mistake.

Koschei watched them pass.

And when they had turned away, his smile twisted—hungry and cruel. His voice slipped into the quiet like a knife sliding under skin.

("And there they go… my future prisoners… walking deeper into my halls.")