Vengeance

(Interlude - Daughter of the Dungeon)

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8 years.

That was the amount of time needed by an average adventurer to go from level 1 to level 2, and half of them would never manage it in the first place.

Through hard work and dedication, the same average adventurer might be able to shorten the amount to 5 years.

Through hard work, dedication, and talent, the time could be further reduced to 3 years, or, in extremely rare cases, even 2 years.

Ais Wallenstein did it in a single year.

Oh, she was talented, sure. How could she not, when her parents were who they were?

But was this so-called talent what allowed her to break any and all previous records when it came to leveling up?

Was it enough to allow a 7-year-old girl to exceed all the so-called geniuses that came before her, in the hundreds of years since Orario had been founded?

Some might say yes, that the union between an adventurer of Albert Waldstein's caliber and a literal embodiment of nature couldn't result in anything less...but they would be wrong...

Because what allowed Ais Wallenstein to grow so fast, the ingredient that pushed her so far beyond the limits of what was considered possible was...

Sheer

Fucking

Desperation

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Day after grueling day, from the moment she got her falna, she trudged into the dungeon.

Each time, she fought until her body became a mess of bruises and blood and her limbs screamed for mercy.

Day after relentless day, she trained, pushing herself till she could barely stand. And every damn day, she paid with her own blood and sweat, her tears having long dried up.

Even as her muscles screamed in agony, threatening to give out under the strain, she kept swinging her blade.

Even as each move shot pain through her battered body and her companions told her to stop, she pushed through, fueled by pure, undiluted, desperation.

For growth. For strength.

For revenge against the one who took her family.

Until her hands, once soft and delicate, became torn raw flesh, the skin peeled away from gripping her weapon so damn hard.

Until blood oozed from countless cuts, her armor soaked even as she kept on fighting, ignoring the pain.

Until she was a walking mess of wounds, cuts crisscrossing her body like a war map.

But she did. not care.

She kept moving forward, her breath ragged, her chest on fire, refusing to collapse.

Like a machine, repeating the same actions over and over and over again...

.

'Until you got comfortable...' A small voice whispered in her mind. 'Until you took their advice to take it easier, to be more careful, to take some breaks from time to time...look where that led you now..'

Ais ignored the voice as she glanced instead at the many members of her familia surrounding her.

The rhythmic thud of boots on stone echoed through the third floor of the dungeon. Dust stirred, settling on armor and skin.

They moved in an orderly fashion as they descended, an impressive feat as their numbers exceeded 100.

She allowed her gaze to wander, her superhuman eyesight easily discerning every detail.

Struggling under heavy backpacks, she watched as the porters carried supplies—tents, torches, and rations.

Their eyes held both determination and fear, which was understandable as this was to be the deepest delve ever attempted by the Loki familia.

At the rear, skilled blacksmiths carried toolkits. Their role: was to maintain weapons and armor during the expedition. The clang of hammers against anvils would soon echo deeper into the dungeon.

A group of mages stood at the very center of the caravan, protected by the melee fighters yet able to provide ranged support whenever needed.

Ais stood at the formation's edge alongside a few of her comrades. Bete and the Amazon twins walked beside her, chatting all the while.

Finn's voice, high pitched yet steady, issued orders from time to time, echoing all the way from the front, yet the atmosphere was quite relaxed at the moment.

After all, the monsters on the upper floors were completely harmless to most of the caravan's members.

Conversations persisted as Tiona and Tione bantered with an annoyed werewolf, the sound only drowned out by the occasional metallic rings as blades severed the necks of weak monsters.

Slowly, Ais found her mind drifting, smelling the sweet aroma of healing herbs wafting from the pouches everyone wore, choke full of healing potions.

She remembered the countless times she had to borrow some from her comrades, as she had been drinking them like plain water in her earlier days...It was almost enough to make her smile...almost...

'Maybe if you kept doing that, you wouldn't have been trampled on by that Revis woman...'

Ais resisted the urge to sigh...of course, the voice took that opportunity to sour her mood...as it always seemed keen to do whenever she felt that her progress wasn't satisfactory.

She understood that these thoughts were illogical, that she couldn't possibly contend against a strong Level 6 with her strength as a Level 5...

'but maybe rationality should take a step back for a bit...maybe that's what I need to push past the threshold...to go beyond my limits...'

This time, she and the voice had the same thoughts. It was natural, after all, they were the same person.

The only difference was that Ais learned temperance over the years, taking to heart Fin's and Riveria's lessons and changing some of her beliefs.

The Voice did not.

The Voice remembered that day clearly, like a raw and eternal scar etched into the flesh of her memory.

It was a day drenched in blood, when the air crackled with the fury of battle, and the scent of death hung heavy on the wind.

That fateful day when the One-Eyed Dragon took her everything and more...and the Voice made sure to always make her remember.

'Just like I should' Ais thought in silence, and just like always, not a hint of emotion could be seen on her beautiful face.

.

She allowed her grip to loosen on her sword's hilt as her gaze continued to wander.

She had traversed this floor more times than she could count, and she knew this path like the back of her hand, so she didn't really anticipate stumbling upon anything intriguing... until she did.

Walking in the opposite direction compared to the caravan, came a young man who appeared to be almost naked.

His untanned chest was bare and across his hips, he wore what seemed to be a loincloth made from kobold skin.

His tangled, dirty hair hung around his face and dark circles etched beneath his eyes, like shadows that spoke of sleepless nights.

Despite his appearance, there was a quiet strength in the set of his jaw, a clear determination despite the weariness that clung to him like a second skin.

With each step forward, he moved with purpose, his gaze fixed in front of him, not even glancing at the caravan as he passed by them.

The Loki familia ignored him just as much.

Some glanced in his direction but his appearance wasn't anything special.

His choice of fashion was surprisingly common in Orario, and while his physique was well-developed and his face was by no means ugly, he didn't gather more than mild interest from whoever happened to see him passing by.

And yet...she felt that this adventurer's gaze held a glimmer of familiarity.

'The sun had barely kissed the horizon when the caravan assembled at the dungeon's entrance, and judging by his appearance, he had been delving all night.' Her mind helpfully supplied, but she had mostly stopped paying attention by now.

Instead, her thoughts began to drift toward the inkling of a plan she had already envisioned.

A way for her to break past the bottleneck that had been keeping her at the precipice of the 6th level for the past few months.

Alas, her sight remained directed in that peculiar adventurer's general direction, so when he finally passed by the caravan on his journey toward the surface, she was the sole person to still catch sight of him.

As a result, she was the only one who saw the horrific wounds on his back, like trenches gouged by a rabid beast's claws.

Blood oozed from the torn flesh, and the patch of exposed skin where one's falna would typically be displayed—was completely torn off.

When her shock faded, she almost shouted toward him to come back and take a healing potion, but he had already disappeared, having turned around a corner at some point.

'Just what happened to him? ' She wondered 'Those wounds look like they were made by a kobold but...'

The sight of those gruesome wounds lingered in her mind like a haunting specter.

And as her mind settled back into tranquility, she remembered his eyes and the familiar feeling they gave her.

"Just like the reflection I see whenever I look into the mirror...desperation...yet more than that...Madness? No that's not right..." Ais mumbled to herself, too softly to be heard by her bickering comrades.

As they descended further, the Road of Beginnings widened, revealing branching paths. The darkness thickened, and the amount of monsters attacking them steadily increased.

Ais didn't pay them any mind as she continued to march deeper into the dungeon, putting her thoughts on the weird adventurer on the back burner for now.

After all, she couldn't allow such a little thing to distract her from her goal...

'Until each of my blows becomes a thunderbolt, striking with all the force of a hurricane...Until each of my steps shakes the very ground...until all the monsters standing in my way are reduced to dust...'

.

...and then, one day, she would have her revenge...even if she had to sacrifice her life for it...