Danmachi: The Focalors Familia — Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Adventurer

The descent to the eighth floor brought a noticeable shift in the Dungeon’s atmosphere. The air grew thicker, carrying the damp chill of subterranean moss and stagnant water. The monsters here were no longer the scattered, mindless stragglers of the upper levels. Hilichurls had begun forming coordinated hunting packs, their strength and aggression scaling with the depth.

In the center of a spacious, dimly lit cavern, the trio finished their latest skirmish. Noah watched as the final Rock Shield Hilichurl crumbled into ash, its heavy wooden bulwark splintering against the stone floor. They were just lowering their weapons to catch a brief breath when a sound shattered the quiet.

“Ah! Help!”

A shrill, desperate cry echoed from the depths of a branching passageway.

Noah narrowed his eyes, his gaze shifting toward the dark tunnel. Robin and Tifa immediately halted their movements, turning to him in silent question. Over the past few days of handling the labyrinth, they had crossed paths with numerous adventurer parties. The unspoken rule of the Dungeon was strict: keep your distance, mind your own business, and never interfere with another group’s hunt. This was the first time they had heard a direct plea for salvation.

Noah saw the flicker of hesitation and deep empathy in Robin’s clear blue eyes. He understood her silent conflict perfectly. A faint, reassuring smile touched his lips.

“Let us go take a look. After all, we are aiming to be a Familia of justice. We should help if we have the power to do so. Consider it an early investment in our Familia’s reputation.”

He knew exactly who he was traveling with. Both Robin and their newest member, Tifa, possessed gentle hearts beneath their combat prowess. Asking them to simply turn a deaf ear to a slaughter happening just rooms away was an impossible demand. Yet, he appreciated that their compassion was not reckless. They looked to him, their leader, before charging into unknown danger. Noah despised the sort of blind idealism that ignored consequences and dragged everyone into the abyss. As long as it did not threaten his own people, he had no issue extending a hand.

With his command given, the three of them surged forward, their footsteps echoing rapidly down the winding corridor.

They breached the adjacent chamber seconds later, and the sight that greeted them made both Robin and Tifa avert their gazes. A sharp grimace of horror crossed their features. The cavern had been transformed into a macabre slaughterhouse. Severed limbs and shattered armor littered the uneven ground. Dark, pooling blood soaked into the porous stone, surrounding the mangled remains of several adventurers.

In the epicenter of the carnage stood a human adventurer, drenched head to toe in his own blood. He was desperately shielding a young Dog-kin woman with his body, stumbling clumsily to evade the brutal, sweeping charge of a massive Hilichurl. A crude, flaming arrow from a Pyro Hilichurl Shooter was already lodged deep in his shoulder blade.

The desperate man caught sight of Noah’s group entering the cavern. It was as if a drowning man had found a lifeline.

“Noah! Save us!” he screamed, his voice cracking with terror and exhaustion.

Noah blinked in mild surprise, finally recognizing the bloodied, disheveled figure as Luke, an acquaintance he had shared drinks with at the tavern. There was no time for hesitation.

“Gospel.”

The single, shortest incantation slipped from his lips. An invisible, concentrated shockwave of sound erupted forward like a fired cannonball. It crossed the cavern in a fraction of a second, slamming directly into the charging Hilichurl that loomed over Luke. The beast did not even have the chance to vocalize its pain before the terrifying kinetic force ruptured its body, reducing it to a sudden mist of dark blood and ash.

Noah gave a subtle nod. Tifa understood the silent directive instantly. Her lithe figure blurred into a streak of black, bypassing the collapsing Luke entirely. She launched herself straight into the rear line of monsters, a deadly dance of martial arts tearing through the remaining Pyro Hilichurl Shooters and a cluster of elemental Slimes.

“Luke, what happened here?” Noah closed the distance in two long strides, catching his battered friend just as his legs gave out.

Robin hurried to their side, her hands already uncorking a high-grade healing potion. She knelt to treat the Dog-kin woman Luke was still clutching in a death grip. But as her fingers brushed the girl’s skin, Robin froze. The young woman’s chest was perfectly still. The spark of life had already faded from her glassy eyes.

“Please… quickly, save her…” Luke begged, his voice a pathetic, trembling whisper.

Robin’s face fell into deep sorrow. She slowly withdrew her hand and shook her head. “I am sorry. She is already gone.”

The words struck Luke like a physical blow. He collapsed to his knees on the blood-slicked stone, his eyes wide and vacant, his arms tightening around the rapidly cooling body. The cavern fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the wet thuds of Tifa dismantling the remaining monsters in the background. After what felt like an eternity, Luke slowly raised his head. His eyes were entirely bloodshot, burning with a raw, agonizing despair. He stared directly at Noah.

“Noah, please! Help me kill them! Help me take revenge!”

Adventurers descended into the Dungeon chasing wealth, glory, and strength. Every single one of them walked in with one foot in the grave. They had no right to curse the monsters for doing what monsters did. They hunted the Dungeon, and the Dungeon hunted them in return. It was the absolute, inescapable law of Orario. Yet, knowing the logic of the world did nothing to dull the venom of hatred when a loved one was torn away.

Facing the blood-stained plea of a man he knew, Noah remained silent for a long, heavy moment. He reached down and drew the longsword from his waist. The steel hissed softly against the scabbard.

“Done,” he said, his voice calm, measured, and carrying an absolute weight.

He turned his back on the grieving man, stepping forward to join Tifa in the fray. Flashes of silver sword light and the heavy impacts of crushing fists intertwined. It was not a battle; it was a cold, methodical execution. Within minutes, the monster pack that had decimated Luke’s entire party was erased from existence.

Robin carefully administered a potion to close Luke’s physical wounds, but the man remained completely unresponsive. He knelt in the exact same spot, cradling the dead young woman, his eyes entirely hollow. Robin stood beside him, letting out a quiet, helpless sigh. There were no words to offer. Watching a companion—someone you shared meals, laughter, and dreams with every single day—die in your arms was a trauma that rendered all comfort utterly meaningless.

The fighting had ended, but the suffocating stench of the slaughter refused to dissipate. The sharp, nauseating copper scent of fresh blood mixed with the damp soil and rotting moss, clinging to the back of their throats.

Working in solemn silence, Noah, Robin, and Tifa helped Luke wrap the broken remains of his companion in a thick sheet of coarse burlap, a grim necessity carried by veteran adventurers for this exact purpose. Every movement felt burdened with an immense gravity. Every fold of the rough fabric served as a brutal reminder of just how fragile human life was within the abyss.

They formed a protective escort around the shattered man, guiding him back through the upper floors and finally stepping out of the Dungeon’s maw into the warm, blinding sunlight of the surface.

When they carried the blood-soaked, burlap-wrapped bundle through the grand entrance of Babel, the atmosphere shifted. The Guild staff member stationed at the registration desk barely reacted. They glanced up, their face a mask of absolute apathy, and simply drew a clean black line through another name in the massive registry book.

They were numb to the tragedy. In their early days on the job, these clerks would smile, memorize faces, share jokes, and wish the adventurers a safe and bountiful return. But time and death eroded that warmth. They learned to stop making connections. The smiling boy who waved at you on Tuesday would be a mangled corpse by Thursday, or worse, completely digested by the labyrinth, leaving nothing to bury. Every friendly conversation was just a down payment on future grief.

The other adventurers milling about the lobby were no different. They cast brief, fleeting glances at the weeping Luke and the bloody bundle, then hurried on their way with habitual indifference. In Orario, bringing a body back to the surface was considered a luxury. It was the greatest fortune one could hope for in a tragedy. The vast majority of those who fell in the dark simply vanished, swallowed whole by the Dungeon, leaving not even a scrap of bone for their families to mourn.

With the quiet, detached assistance of the Guild staff, Luke’s companion was laid to rest in the First Cemetery, resting silently on the quiet outskirts of Orario.