Luthar's return to Orario was marked by subtle signs of his recent endeavors.
His servo-skull hummed with activity, and the vast materials stored in his system space made the journey unusually smooth. Though his goals were far from complete, there was a quiet sense of triumph—enough, at least, to begin the next stage of his work.
As he neared the city gates, tension spiked among the guild officials. Their fears had materialized: Luthar had bypassed Orario and sold dangerous inventions directly to outsiders. Now, in quiet urgency, they scrambled to find Hephaestus to ask her find a solution before it was too late.
He moved through the city silently, avoiding attention. Yet his reputation preceded him. Whispers followed in his wake.
Among those observing him was the goddess of beauty, Freya. Having caught wind of his large-scale purchases and unusual activities, she recognized the signs of something monumental. She sought a way—any way—to insert herself into his plans.
Luthar returned to the Crimson Church.
One by one he took out all the necessary things from the system space.
Outside, he studied the shattered remnants of the gunship and the Leman Russ chassis like a vulture stripping a corpse.
Pistons, cables, scorched plating—nothing was spared. Thank the Emperor no Tech-Priest walked this world, for their screams of blasphemy would have shaken the heavens.
He worked methodically, extracting anything of value. Then, with parts in hand, he began constructing the skeleton of a colossus—an armor meant not just for war, but for devastation. Something capable of destroying a city or standing against the strongest adventurers and monsters.
All around the Crimson Church courtyard, parts lay scattered: alloy plates awaiting reforging, servo-skulls ferrying fragments to improve his workstations. Each component, once sacred in its origin, was now torn from its context—repurposed into sacrilege. But Luthar moved forward, undeterred.
Freya watched in secret, transfixed. She didn't understand the nature of the machines, but she sensed a different kind of beauty in them—a beauty forged from purpose, from vision, from power.
At the quiet place Bell stood quietly, adjusting the straps of his newly acquired armor. It wasn't enchanted, but it felt solid—practical, comfortable, and quietly impressive.
"Yo!" Welf's voice rang out across the square.
Bell turned just in time to see the red-haired smith approach, his eyes falling on the armor.
Welf blinked. "Wait… where did you get that?"
Bell tilted his head. "Hmm? Oh, this? Found it tucked in a corner of the shop."
Welf's confusion shifted to excitement.
"You actually bought that?"
Bell looked sheepish. "Should I not have? It looked good."
Welf laughed. "No, no—it's just... I made that. That's one of mine. So If you wanted to buy something, you could've come straight to me. I' can give you a discount."
Bell blinked. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," Welf said, straightening with pride. "Not every day I get good reviews."
Bell looked down at the armor, more thoughtfully now.
"I'm... glad it found the right person," Welf added, quieter.
Bell met his gaze. "It's really good work."
Later, within the Dungeon…
The stone walls pulsed faintly with life, echoing with distant roars and footfalls. Torchlight danced in Welf's eyes as he grinned, exhilarated.
"This is incredible!" he shouted, smashing a dagger-beaked kobold with the flat of his blade. "Didn't think you had magic in you!"
Bell, panting, finished off a trailing imp with a firebolt. "You seem energetic."
"Of course! This is what I was made for!" Welf declared.
Bell smiled faintly. "Glad you're enjoying it."
Their teamwork flowed naturally. Bell darted through enemies with speed and instinct; Welf followed with relentless force, keeping threats in check and momentum alive.
Between battles—brief laughter, shared glances—their bond solidified.
But the terrain began to shift.
Bell glanced around, brow furrowed. "This doesn't look like the eighth floor anymore…"
Welf's grin faded as the walls changed—more ancient, more hostile. "Did we... go too far?"
Then the ground trembled.
A monstrous roar split the air—deep, primal, and furious. The very stone shuddered.
Bell froze. "I think we—"
"—Did something stupid?" Welf finished, dryly.
They stood still for one heartbeat.
Then Bell whispered, "Should we run?"
Welf didn't hesitate. "Absolutely."
They bolted, sprinting through the halls as another roar thundered behind them.
"I thought this was just a test run!" Bell shouted, half-laughing, half-panicked.
"It is!" Welf yelled back. "And the result is—we're not ready!"
Behind them, something massive stirred.
By the time they emerged into daylight, both were battered, panting, and grimy. Bell leaned against the tower wall, catching his breath. Welf flopped down beside him, laughing between wheezes.
"Well," he said, "guess that was the ninth floor."
Bell looked sideways, still pale. "Next time... we bring a better map."
Welf raised a hand weakly. "And a supporter."