Danmachi: Strongest Familia

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Although Bete's snide remarks hadn't been directed at him specifically, Bell couldn't bear the mocking tone. Heat rushed to his head, and without thinking, he abruptly left the tavern—he didn't even pause to pay his tab.

Sitting across from Sol, Alfia caught sight of Bell as he dashed out. Though she'd never seen the boy as a grown adventurer, a sense of familiarity struck her immediately—his unmistakably long white hair and a face that echoed memories from years past.

'That's Bell,' she thought. When they'd first entered the tavern, he'd been sitting in the far corner, hidden by the adventurers surrounding him. She hadn't noticed him earlier, but Sol's words rang true; she'd truly encountered her nephew, just as he'd predicted.

But why had Bell suddenly run out? Surely, he hadn't left to dodge the bill, had he? Then again...white hair, "tomato," a low-level adventurer... Alfia had overheard Bete's loud taunts, though she'd dismissed them at first as idle chatter. Now, however, it seemed she'd unwittingly found herself in the middle of the gossip.

The werewolf from Loki Familia had ridiculed her nephew, the boy entrusted to her care by her late sister. The Minotaur on the upper floors had been the Loki Familia's mistake—yet instead of taking responsibility, Bete had the gall to mock a new adventurer. How arrogant!

Alfia, who had maintained an indifferent expression earlier, now wore a distinctly colder look as the realization hit. She was truly furious, and for the first time, Sol could clearly sense her anger.

Of course, nearly everyone in Sol's Familia shared this protective tendency. He didn't see it as a flaw, though.

"Sol-sama, I have something to take care of," Alfia said, her voice steely, a palpable malice in her tone. 

Anyone with sense could guess what she intended.

"That boy has his own Familia now; he doesn't need you comforting him. Are you sure you want to reveal yourself to him so soon?" Sol's voice was low, but loud enough for Alfia to hear.

Alfia halted, reluctantly resuming her seat, though irritation still simmered beneath her calm exterior. Her piercing gaze locked onto Bete in the distance, causing the werewolf, who was still "interacting" with Gareth, to shiver unexpectedly.

'Fine, enjoy yourself now,' Alfia thought, 'but soon, you'll learn what true trash looks like…'

Late into the night, the Loki Familia's banquet wound down. Bete's drunken antics had caused a minor disturbance, but it hadn't dampened everyone's spirits. None of them took his remarks seriously or thought twice about Bell's sudden departure. After all, Bete had a point—newcomers were newcomers, no matter the circumstances. In a world where strength ruled, only fists could restore dignity.

Meanwhile, Sol and Alfia quietly finished their dinner in the tavern's corner. Alfia had stopped eating early, her focus entirely on Loki Familia's members, particularly Bete. Finally, she saw the group starting to disperse.

"I'll be back shortly," she murmured.

"Don't take too long, and remember to conceal your identity," Sol replied, sipping from a fine bottle of Soma's divine wine. He'd specially requested it from Syr to enjoy with his meal, partly to linger and allow Alfia time to "settle her personal matters."

It certainly wasn't because he'd craved a taste after sampling Freya's wine the previous evening. 

'If she doesn't vent her frustrations on behalf of her nephew tonight,' he mused, 'she might not sleep well at all.'

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The Loki Familia members trickled back in small groups, some intent on extending the night's revelry. Most of the women had already departed earlier, with Loki in tow, eager to enjoy a hot bath with the girls.

The last to leave were Bete and a few others, including Finn and Gareth. As the night settled over Orario, an ominous silence filled the streets.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the darkness. "You've got quite a filthy mouth on you."

"Huh? Who's there?" Bete, still jesting with his teammates, froze mid-sentence. Though he'd had his fill of wine, his senses remained sharp. The group followed his gaze upward, where a tall figure, draped in a black robe, stood poised on the roof of a nearby building, face hidden in shadow.

"Who are you?" one of the others called out.

Some members, still flushed with drink, had left their weapons behind. But with Gareth, an LV6, present, Loki Familia's adventurers were unafraid, unaware of the gravity in Gareth's expression as he scrutinized the figure.

Even though the figure merely stood there, Gareth felt a chill—a premonition of danger. The black-robed figure stepped forward, descending gracefully in a silent, controlled flip, landing with barely a sound.

"Stay alert! That guy is not simple!" Gareth called out, every muscle in his body taut. The alcohol might still have lingered on his breath, but his mind was fully alert.

The group, noticing Gareth tension, immediately adopted defensive stances. They moved swiftly and in unison, responding instinctively to Gareth's unspoken command. Their discipline showed: these adventurers didn't hesitate, despite their inebriated state.

It was almost like muscle memory.