***
Two weeks later.
Goro's Tavern.
City of Midgard.
That night, Silva drank more glasses of beer than the other four in her group. She had finished an entire bottle by herself, and none of them understood what had happened to Silva—why she was drinking so much today.
"What's wrong?" one of her companions asked.
"Agares... he still hasn't woken up," Silva replied, slurring her words.
"So today would be the—"
"It's been three weeks since he fell unconscious," Silva cut in.
She slammed her glass down on the table, causing several other shot glasses to fall and shatter. Her companions tried to calm her.
"Calm down, Silva. You've had too much to drink."
"He'll wake up. Maybe it's just that his body's weak," one of the men said, trying to reassure her.
"Hah?! He conquered 74 floors of this dungeon alone, and you're calling him weak?!" Silva snapped.
