Danmachi: The Focalors Familia — Chapter 62

Chapter 62: Opening the Treasure Chest

The blazing momentum of the Flame Sword carried straight through, cleaving down the dead center of the Cryo Abyss Mage’s head. The strike neatly bisected the creature’s stout body and its wooden staff in a single, fluid motion. Scorching sword qi tore outward, gouging a charred trench across the hard stone floor. The edges of the deep fissure continued to burn, casting an orange glow over the ruins.

The severed halves of the Abyss Mage dissolved into scattered motes of light, drifting upward into the stagnant air. A heavy, absolute silence settled over the platform. The final wave was dead. Every monster within the Secret Realm Dungeon, Midsummer Courtyard, had been scoured from existence.

Noah exhaled, letting the conjured flames bleed away from his grip. The mundane iron sword beneath the fire had long since passed its breaking point. It let out a sharp, metallic whine. Spiderweb fractures raced up the length of the blade before it shattered entirely, raining a cascade of ruined steel fragments against the stone.

He released a long, ragged breath. The surging adrenaline and raw power granted by his auxiliary magic, Ever-burning Flame, receded like a pulling tide. A dull ache of fatigue settled into his bones. The fight was finally over.

A low, resonant hum began to vibrate through the massive circular altar. In the dead center of the platform, hovering just above the charred crater left behind by Lefiya’s destructive magic, particles of light began to violently converge.

A swirling blue-purple vortex tore open in the air, identical to the rift that had brought them here. It rotated at a sluggish, hypnotic pace, casting a soft halo over the stone—their exit portal.

But the phenomenon wasn’t finished. Beside the swirling rift, the ambient light condensed into a blinding, dense cluster. With a heavy thud, an ancient, ornate treasure chest materialized against the floor. It stood roughly waist-high, carved from an unknown, pitch-black wood and bound by thick silver inlays that twisted into complex patterns of stars and creeping vines. A massive azure gemstone sat embedded in the center of the heavy lid. It pulsed with a slow, rhythmic glow, breathing out a hypnotic wave of magical energy.

“A treasure chest.”

Noah’s lingering exhaustion vanished in a heartbeat. His dark eyes locked onto the ornate wood, lighting up with a sudden, intense fervor.

The cool, calculating sharpness he had maintained throughout the bloodshed melted away, replaced by the sheer, fanatic anticipation of a gambler. He rubbed his hands together, closing the distance in a few quick strides. “I’m opening it. Stand back, my luck is incredible today.”

Robin watched his sudden shift in demeanor, a soft, amused smile touching her lips. She lifted a hand to her mouth, stifling a quiet laugh. She had fully expected this reaction. Back at the Familia headquarters, whenever Noah used his System to spend an Intertwined Fate on a summon, he displayed this exact same feverish excitement.

Having experienced her own share of games in the past, she perfectly understood the primal urge that demanded every chest be looted immediately. Still, ever the diplomat, she remembered they had a guest. She turned her elegant gaze toward the young elf. “Miss Lefiya, do you have any objections to him doing the honors?”

“Ah? N-No, not at all.” Lefiya blinked, tilting her head as confusion swirled in her bright blue eyes. “Mr. Noah can open it if he wants to.”

The elf was entirely lost. In the Dungeon beneath Orario, loot was a simple matter—monsters died, and they left behind magic stones or drop items in the ash. The concept of a physical treasure chest spawning after a battle was completely alien to her. This strange, dramatic ritual left her intensely curious, yet deeply bewildered.

Taking her confusion as full permission, Noah rubbed his hands together faster, a look of absolute, unshakeable confidence washing over his face. He was a firm believer in his own elusive luck.

And why shouldn’t he be? He had pulled Robin, Tifa, and Hyacine—three flawless companions—in rapid succession without a single failure. With a track record that absurdly perfect, how could he possibly lose now? Today was destined to end in a shower of golden light.

He took a deep, steadying breath, gripping the heavy silver latch of the chest. He yanked it upward.

Click.

A crisp, mechanical snap echoed across the altar as the heavy lid swung open.

Instantly, several glowing orbs drifted up from the dark interior, each radiating a distinct, colored aura.

Noah’s triumphant smile froze dead on his face.

His body went rigid. Without thinking, he shoved the heavy lid back down, slamming the chest shut with a violent bang.

“Impossible… My eyes are playing tricks on me,” he muttered, aggressively rubbing his temples. Clinging to a desperate shred of hope, he threw the lid open a second time.

The contents hadn’t changed. Two soft blue orbs, a single bright purple orb, and a thick book radiating a sickly green glow rested quietly against the velvet lining. They sat there, silently mocking his boundless arrogance.

Noah’s expression darkened into an abyss of despair.

“Noah, is this… a bad pull?” Hyacine blinked, her curiosity piqued. She slipped past his petrified form, leaning over the rim of the chest to inspect the floating lights for herself.

“No gold? That’s impossible,” Noah whispered, staring down at his own palms in a spiral of deep self-doubt. The math didn’t add up.

Their party composition was incredibly under-leveled for this tier: Lefiya at Level 3, himself at Level 2, and three Level 1 companions. Five people in total, barely half of the Secret Realm’s ten-person limit. According to the standard ‘drop restriction’ theory, a lower average Rank combined with a smaller party size was supposed to drastically multiply the drop rate. Under these extreme conditions, how could he not trigger a single golden drop?

“Um… what exactly is wrong with Mr. Noah?” Lefiya whispered to Robin. She watched the young man staring blankly into the chest, looking as though the entire world had just betrayed him.

“It is nothing serious. Just give him a moment to process the grief,” Robin replied, offering the elf a helpless, gentle smile.

“Alright, enough sulking. Let’s actually see what we got.” Tifa, ever the pragmatist, stepped up to the chest. She reached into the glowing cluster, pulling the colored orbs out one by one.

The magical light shattered upon leaving the chest, revealing the physical items within.

The first was a delicate feather—a 3-star Feather of Homecoming, a piece of the Resolution of Sojourner artifact set.

Its plumage possessed a soft, ethereal gradient, shifting between a milky white and a pale, breathless cyan, looking like a physical manifestation of the first light of dawn. The texture was entirely unnatural; it felt as warm and smooth as polished jade against the skin, yet weighed absolutely nothing.

Looking closely at the translucent quill, faint wisps of cyan energy could be seen flowing through the hollow center, drifting like a quiet stream of memories. Just holding the artifact evoked a sudden, inexplicable wave of nostalgia—a deep, aching yearning for a distant home.

The second item Tifa retrieved was a heavy pocket watch—a 3-star Adventurer’s Pocket Watch, belonging to the Adventurer set.

Its bronze casing was heavily weathered, scarred by a web of tiny scratches and patches of green corrosion. It carried the distinct aura of an heirloom that had survived countless perilous mountain treks and desolate desert crossings alongside its previous owner.

The glass face held no numbers. Instead, the dial was marked by twelve ancient, jagged runes, each representing a different cardinal direction and celestial alignment. The hands of the watch moved with a mind of their own. A thin, elongated needle remained locked onto a specific, unseen star in the sky, while the shorter, thicker hand acted as a compass, stubbornly pointing outward toward the unknown horizon.

Gripping the cold bronze, one could sense a faint, indomitable pulse of magic radiating from the gears. It was the physical crystallization of an adventurer’s unyielding will to keep.