Allen raised his spear, recalling the Goddess's words.
Gods and mortals are not the same. The children of the Lower World are easily changed by others.
The desire to protect someone, to save someone, to grow closer to another—these faint, imperceptible wishes all become the catalysts for transformation.
But the pitiful gods, from beginning to end, are destined never to remake themselves.
Thus, the Goddess of Beauty—untouched from Heaven to the mortal world—yearned for a love strong enough to change her very being.
Though Allen swore loyalty to the Goddess, he feared that outcome from the depths of his heart.
If the Goddess were to change, to bare her heart to a fledgling youth, his sister might lose her place in this world.
Allen could never allow that boy to steal the Goddess's time. For that reason, he became a loathsome nightmare, letting malice consume and blacken his soul.
A bloodstained shadow moved, and the spear danced once more.
Silver light flashed, blood scattered.
Bell couldn't comprehend what was happening. He was like a fragile pebble, thrown again and again into the wall.
The golden light of healing clashed with the silvery glow of nightmare, weaving together an unending agony.
His whole body burned; his limbs felt as if they were being torn apart. He couldn't even open his mouth to tell Heith to run.
Bell couldn't speak. He couldn't save anyone like a hero.
All he could do was cling to consciousness through the unbearable pain.
And so, Heith became an "Accomplice".
She knew Allen's true intent, yet couldn't stop the treatment.
The difference in their strength was overwhelming. Once the golden light faded, Bell could die at any moment.
Heith couldn't gamble with the boy's life. She could only rush forward, becoming his shield and taking as many blows as she could.
"You fallen traitor! I'll report your wickedness to the Goddess herself!"
The golden light erased her wounds, leaving only fury burning on her face.
Allen sneered in contempt. Despite being cornered and outmatched, she dared to threaten him.
If Allen had truly meant to kill them, they would already be dead.
Her defiant words only confirmed that she had seen through him.
"So, you finally understand my intent? But you have no choice—you'll be my accomplice whether you want to or not."
The Vana Freya's speed was unmatched.
His spear struck again and again. Though Heith could heal quickly, there were always brief openings.
For Allen, even that fleeting gap was more than enough to crush a novice adventurer.
Bell's nightmare had only just begun.
Healing magic could mend his broken body, but not erase his memories.
The agony of torn limbs, the torment of drying blood—these sensations would remain engraved in his mind.
They would fester into a deadly poison, corroding the soul called courage, bearing fruit in the form of cowardice and fear.
Those who cannot move forward will never become heroes, nor ever touch the Goddess's divine will.
Besides, the boy had already fallen on the first floor. For someone this weak and powerless, abandoning the path of an adventurer was the fate he should accept.
Allen thrust his spear once more, twisting it within the youth's flesh.
Screams filled the air without end.
Heith could do nothing.
A Level 4 adventurer, one of Orario's top healers—yet all she could do was deepen Bell's nightmare.
The so-called Golden Witch was just a girl who couldn't even protect a rookie adventurer.
I'm sorry.
At some point, tears had filled Heith's eyes. She wanted to carry the boy away, to silence those screams, but even if she fell to her knees and begged Allen, nothing would change.
The only thing she could do was stop the Healing.
But what she intended to wager wasn't the boy's life—it was her own.
If she died, Freya-sama would sense it and send reinforcements immediately.
Without a healer, Allen wouldn't be able to keep torturing Bell.
Heith gasped for breath, horrified by her own dreadful resolve.
If she truly did this, even if the boy survived, he might never forgive himself, haunted by guilt for the rest of his life.
But Heith couldn't change what was happening.
She needed a [Trigger]—a miracle that could overturn everything.
They were now deep within the second floor, where the chances of encountering high-level adventurers were extremely low.
But Heith could only pray for the arrival of a [Hero].
Please... anyone—someone, save this boy.
Her plea was swallowed by the Dungeon. No one would come here.
And yet, the [Trigger] truly appeared.
"?"
"What?!"
The usually silent Allen spoke in shock.
He stared at the boy before him, his disbelief beyond measure.
Bell had stood up.
His clothes were torn and riddled with holes, his body drenched in dark, thickened blood.
Amid the endless torment, the youth used the wall for support, swaying but refusing to fall.
As if sensing Heith's thoughts, he looked at her with unwavering eyes full of determination.
"You've got to be kidding me!"
Allen's pupils widened as he stared at Bell in utter disbelief.
He had defeated countless opponents before. He knew all too well how to carve fear into a human body, how to crush a person's spirit—so well that he despised himself for it.
After enduring such agony again and again, no one should have been able to stand.
Allen felt as if he were seeing his own reflection—someone who had fed on hatred, rising again and again on the battlefield just to protect one person.
But the difference between himself and this boy was like the distance between heaven and earth.
To drive one's heart with darkness was easy.
But to preserve a pure white soul through endless agony—that was nothing short of a miracle.
Confronted by this overwhelming [Trigger], Allen froze.
Heith didn't let the moment slip away.
Even Bell himself probably didn't understand what it meant to rise again in such a nightmare of despair.
But he did it.
For the battle to protect the girl.
The boy once mocked by everyone had, at this very moment, become Heith's true [Hero].
Heith clenched her fists. What she had lost on the battlefield now blazed anew, rekindled by the boy's resolve.
The Golden Witch's fighting spirit roared back to life.
"Grit your teeth, you bastard!"
Her pink hair, freed from its barrette, whipped through the air. Heith's beautiful face burned with fierce resolve and rage.
Her right fist, glowing with golden light, struck Allen's face squarely, the full weight of her fury behind it.
The heavy blow twisted his face and sent his body hurtling backward, crashing into the gaping hole he had created earlier.
Dust filled the air.
When Allen lifted his head, Heith and Bell were gone.
He glanced toward the trio of rookie adventurers fleeing in the distance but said nothing.
He could easily have chanted his spell, summoned his Gralineze Fromel, and caught up with them in an instant.
But Allen abandoned the thought.
He had seen the anomaly that boy represented. Chasing him further would be meaningless.
In the end, all his actions felt like the antics of a fool—empty, pointless.
He would have to think about apologizing to the Goddess... and to the boy.
Neither would be easy.
Allen steeled himself for the worst. As long as he could keep his life and continue protecting his sister, he would leave the rest to the boy's judgment.
He lowered his silver spear and spat out a mouthful of blood.
"So, you say you lacked the talent of a warrior and changed jobs, huh... that monster of a healer."
...
Bell awoke to a faint, floral fragrance.
Above him stretched an unfamiliar wooden ceiling. Not far away, the sound of clinking glasses mixed with cheerful laughter.
"You're awake?"
By the bedside, a girl named Syr spoke gently.
Her smile carried a strange kind of magic—beautiful and natural, comforting and captivating all at once.
Only then, looking at the apron-clad waitress before him, did Bell realize—
The nightmare was over.