Max
"Alright," Max said, stepping up to the machine. "Let's see what I get." He grabbed the lightning-bolt lever and yanked it down.
The reels spun. They blurred into a dizzying kaleidoscope of powers. The world around him spun with it, spiraling into a vortex of concept and possibility. Max saw flashes—Haki, Bankai, Stands—and for a split second, he could have sworn he saw a blue slime grinning at him.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The reels slammed into place.
Golden light exploded from the machine, intensifying until Max had to shield his eyes. Letters formed in the air, burning with power.
INDEPENDENT ACTION
A loud, booming voice resonated from all directions, shaking the golden clouds.
"SO BE IT." The confirmation came as if a god were pronouncing a judgement.
With that, everything imploded, and Max was ejected back to reality. Everything hit him all at once—weight returning to his body, gravity reasserting itself, the golden clouds collapsing into darkness. Then, nothing.
-◈ -
When sensation returned, his mind was still half-caught in the golden clouds, the echoes of that booming voice fading. Then warmth registered—not the sterile comfort of a pillow, but something far warmer and softer. He opened his eyes, and his field of vision was immediately dominated by the deep plunge of a black neckline and the soft, pale curves of two barely covered mounds that defied gravity. The biological urge to reach out, to verify the softness pressed against his cheek, spiked hard in his brain.
Don't do it, his rational mind screamed. Do not grope the Goddess of Beauty.
He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them vigorously to banish the grogginess—and the temptation. When he opened them again, he tilted his head back.
Freya was looking down at him, her face framed by a halo of silver hair, a gentle, maternal smile playing on her lips. She was close. Dangerously close.
Startled by the proximity and the sudden realization that he was lying in her lap, Max instinctively tried to sit up.
"Not yet," Freya murmured.
Her finger pressed against his chest—lightly, yet with enough authority to freeze him in place.
"Your body has to recover from the integration. The Grimoire forced a slot open that didn't exist."
Max tried to move his legs and realized she was right. They felt distant, numb, like static was running through his nerves instead of blood. He slumped back, surrendering to gravity.
"I must say," Freya continued, her finger tracing a lazy line from his chest to his shoulder, "your new magic... it is very unique. And strong."
With her free hand, she retrieved a fresh sheet of parchment from the bedside table and held it up for him to see.
"See for yourself."
Max took the paper, his hands trembling slightly, and his eyes widened as he read the ink.
___
Status:
Maximus Stilbon
Freya Familia
Devil (Low Class)
Level 1
Stats:
Strength: I0 - I 97
Endurance: I0 - H 123
Dexterity: I0 - H 115
Agility: I0 - H 108
Magic: I0 - H 107
Lineage Powers:
• Devil
• Power of Destruction
?
Magic:
Ars Magna
Independent Action
Skills:
Lux Tenebris
___
Freya
While Max stared at his Status, deciphering the implications of a skill that sounded suspiciously like an immortality cheat code, Freya let her gaze drift over his face.
Her mind wandered, reminiscing on how rapidly their relationship had shifted.
It hadn't been long since she first saw his soul streak across the sky—and barely a week since he officially joined her Familia. Yet, the sheer amount of effort he put into every moment was enthralling. His self-control, his determination to catch up to Ottar (oh, she knows), his refusal to take the easy path... it was intoxicating.
She observed him now, a healthy, hormonal boy lying in the lap of the Goddess of Beauty. She could feel his tension; she knew his body wanted to wander, to explore the luscious form she presented so freely to him. Yet, his eyes—those amethyst jewels—would always inevitably glue themselves to hers.
What are you looking for in there, Max? she wondered, brushing a stray lock of blue hair from his forehead.
She loved how he thought silently in her presence, treating her not as a terrifying deity but as a companion in contemplation. She had a feeling he enjoyed watching her sleep earlier as much as she enjoyed watching him now.
It is quite odd, Freya mused, a pleasant warmth spreading through her chest. For a man to ignore the flesh and be drawn to the untainted, pure divinity inside... or perhaps he sees the darkness in me and loves that too?
Having him in her lap was incredibly relaxing. The weight of his head, the heat of his body—it was grounding in a way she hadn't expected.
Freya felt a crack in her formidable patience. If he continued to impress her this much—every time he walked through her doors with a new present, a new spell, or a new secret—her will to hold back might crumble.
She chalked it up to his nature. A Devil, she thought, savoring the word.
Her imagination, usually reserved for strategies and soul-searching, began to spin scenarios. How a Devil like him could charm his way past her defenses. How he might lay siege to her delicate heart not with prayers, but with that audacious, arrogant pride. The thought of being taken prisoner by him, of being claimed by the one soul she sought to claim...
She strongly wished for such a thing to happen.
Max moved again, a jolt of excitement running through him as he processed the status sheet. He tried to sit up, eager to ask questions, to test the magic.
Freya didn't let him.
She pushed him back down, using more force this time, her hand flattening against his chest to pin him to her thighs.
"I said, not yet," she scolded gently, though her eyes burned with delight.
She saw the flush of excitement on his face—the thrill of power, the joy of success. And as she held him there, helpless and eager in her grasp, she savored the tingles that sent through her own body, content to keep her little devil captive for just a few moments longer.
-◈ -
Max
While he lay pinned, he studied the parchment again, his eyes widening as he tallied the numbers.
Damn. That's nearly 600 points of total growth.
For a single week of training, that was insane. Even by the accelerated standards of Freya Familia due to the sheer brutality, this was an anomaly. But then again, he spent the entire week being used as a punching bag by veteran adventurers, bludgeoned by a Level 3 Dwarf, and hunted for sport by a Level 4 Prum.
But his attention quickly shifted from the stats to the new magic.
Independent Action.
Max stared at the letters, the name triggering a distinct bell in his memory.
"Fate," he whispered, a spark of recognition lighting his eyes.
He wasn't a hardcore scholar of the Nasuverse—honestly, the sheer number of timelines gave him a headache. But he knew the basics. It was the Class Skill of Archers. It allowed a Servant to remain manifested without a constant mana supply from their Master. Autonomous. Untethered.
The translation split two-fold in his mind.
First: If he was the Master and his magic was his Servant, he could cut the cord and let them run wild.
But the second interpretation sent a jolt down his spine.
If I have Independent Action... am I the Servant? And Freya is the Master?
Could he act independently from her? Bypass the divine reliance? Auto-update his Status without her blood? Exist outside the Falna while still using it?
A tingle washed over his body—Devilish pride mixed with existential thrill. He didn't want to cut ties with Freya—not when they'd just started to truly understand one another—but the possibility... the concept of absolute freedom... it sang to his soul.
Then his eyes dropped to the fine print.
Magic activates automatically when predetermined conditions are met. Complexity and quantity scale with Level.
Max exhaled slowly. It applies to the magic. Not the Falna.
Relief. Though a small, rebellious part of his Devil nature felt disappointed he hadn't just broken the system entirely.
Still, he thought, pivoting to practicality. If it allows my magic to act independently...
It's like code. A background process running on a server.
If Ars Magna was the operating system, then Independent Action was automation. He could set parameters and let the magic run itself—no constant focus required.
But how does it scale? The description mentioned complexity and quantity scaling with Level. Did leveling add more processing power for complex tasks? Or allow multiple simple scripts simultaneously?
His mind drifted to the Uber service—the teleportation business he was planning.
Until now, the flaw was his involvement. If he had to personally facilitate every escape, it wasn't a business; it was a job that interrupted his grinding.
Wait. I can make it contactless.
Max's eyes lit up as the flowchart formed.
A magical toll booth. An Independent Action protocol acting as transaction handler.
Condition 1: User activates purple contract circle.
Condition 2: Protocol scans vicinity for payment (Valis/Magic Stones).
Action: If Payment == Sufficient, Teleport User -> Floor 1.
Result: Collect Payment into Storage.
He wouldn't need to be present. He wouldn't even need to be awake. The background magic would handle evacuations while he fought on Floor 37, dumping fees into his inventory automatically.
The ultimate AFK farming strategy.
Ideally, he'd program the circles to cannibalize the Dungeon's dense ambient mana—a self-sustaining loop with infinite range and zero personal cost.
But the Dungeon already rejects my permanent circles, he admitted grimly. Forcing it to feed magic it hates might be pushing too far.
Safer to start with a budget. Allocate a specific mana reserve beforehand—a prepaid data plan for the protocol.
If [Reserve] > [Cost], Execute.
If [Reserve] < [Cost], Service Unavailable.
A fail-safe ensuring he wouldn't suffer Mind Down mid-duel because business was booming.
But the complexity... Currency identification, value calculation, multiple users, budget management... it might exceed the protocol's processing capacity.
I won't know until I stress-test it.
Max nodded sharply. If it crashed, he'd pivot. But if it worked...
His goal was set.
"Max."
A gentle tap on his shoulder pulled him out of his tactical funk.
Max blinked, turning his head to see Freya looking at him with a mixture of affection and reluctance.
"I have to be somewhere," she said softly, her eyes drifting to the ornate clock on the wall.
Max followed her gaze. The hands read 4:00 PM.
His jaw dropped slightly. "Four? We've been here since morning?"
He hadn't felt the passage of time at all. The adrenaline of the Grimoire, the recovery, the analysis—it had eaten the entire day.
"Oh right. I'm used to skipping lunch," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
He slowly rose from her lap. He glanced around for the leather-bound book he had been holding, but it was gone. There was no trace of the Grimoire; it had likely been consumed during the integration process, its magical purpose fulfilled.
-◈ -
Freya
She let him stand without protest, though her hand lingered on his arm for a moment longer than necessary. She smoothed the fabric of her dress, composing herself into the perfect image of the Goddess once more.
"Enter," she called out, her voice projecting with authority.
The heavy doors opened immediately.
Hedin walked in. The elf was immaculate as always in his characteristic crimson robes, his expression neutral behind his glasses. He stopped a respectable distance away, sweeping into a graceful bow.
"My Lady," Hedin greeted.
He straightened, his sharp eyes shifting to Max. He took note of the boy standing beside the Goddess—not kneeling, not behind her, but beside her. A flicker of calculation passed through his eyes, but he said nothing.
Hedin gave a small, curt nod to the new recruit.
"And Max," the strategist said, his tone professional. "It is time."
Freya sighed softly, the sound barely audible, acknowledging that the bubble of their private time had officially burst. She turned back to the bedside table, picking up a fresh sheet of parchment—not the one Max had just read, but a new one she prepared. She picked up a quill, making a few final, subtle adjustments to the ink.
"Hedin, I'm aware you are to complete Max's registration with the Guild?" Freya asked, her posture straightening as she effortlessly slipped into her Goddess persona.
Max watched, fascinated, as the gentleness and vulnerability he had experienced moments ago vanished behind a veil of untouchable authority. The woman who had been laughing over healing theories was gone; in her place sat the Queen of Orario.
"Yes, my Goddess," Hedin replied smoothly.
"Max, dear, will you be entering the dungeon today?" she asked, turning her silver gaze to him. The affection was still there, but it was distant now, performative for the sake of the audience.
Max calculated quickly. It was late afternoon. By the time the bureaucracy was finished, it would be night. For most, a suicide run. For a Devil who thrived in the dark? Perfect.
"Yes, Lady Freya."
Freya nodded, satisfied. She blew on the ink of the parchment to dry it, then extended the sheet to the elf.
"His official status."
Hedin wordlessly took the document. He folded it and tucked it into the deep folds of his robes without glancing at it. He knew his place, and he knew that if Freya wanted him to check it, she would have told him to.
"You should be on your way," she said finally, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. "I have delayed you long enough."
Hedin executed a flawless bow and gestured for Max to follow.
Freya gave Max one last look—a fleeting softness in her eyes that communicated come back soon—before the mask settled firmly back in place. Max scooped up Kairu, hid the slime beneath his shirt, and followed the elf out of the sanctum.
The heavy double doors clicked shut, sealing the chamber away.
Hedin was silent as they walked down the short hallway to the stairs. He remained silent as they descended to the executive floor. His steps were measured, his breathing even.
Then, without warning, the air pressure dropped.
SLAM.
Hedin moved with the speed of a lightning bolt. One moment he was walking ahead; the next, he had Max pinned against the stone wall, his hand clamped around Max's throat.
"What were you doing with the Lady?" Hedin hissed, his face inches from Max's, his eyes burning with fanatical intensity. "Were you trying to take advantage of her desire for you? Manipulating her grace for your own gain?"
His grip tightened. It wasn't enough to crush the windpipe, but it was a warning.
Max's instincts flared. Under normal circumstances, a Level 5 grabbing a Level 1 was game over. But Hedin was a Mage first, and he wasn't using his full strength—he was testing.
Max didn't panic. He let his Demonic Power surge.
A rich, burgundy glow coated Max's neck, reinforcing the skin. His amethyst eyes flashed with otherworldly light as he brought his own hand up, gripping Hedin's wrist. He didn't try to overpower the elf; he simply applied counter-pressure, his mana grinding against Hedin's skin like sandpaper.
"N-no," Max coughed, forcing breathing space as his magic pushed back against the physical hold. "I was... explaining how my week went. And... I unlocked new magic."
Hedin stared at him, feeling the density of the mana resisting his grip. It wasn't the chaotic burst of a novice panicking under pressure—it was controlled, heavy, and dangerously potent. Like gripping a thunder bird that chose not to shock him... yet.
This wasn't manipulation or deception. This was power under discipline.
The boy wasn't begging. Wasn't bargaining. Just answering calmly while his magic did the talking.
Slowly, the elf released him, reassessing. He stepped back, smoothing his robes as if he hadn't just assaulted a familia member.
His eyes flicked briefly to the small, shifting bulge beneath Max's shirt—the newbie's familiar the executives were briefed about—but he didn't comment.
After a moment, Hedin spoke coolly. "I see."
He reached into his robe and pulled out the status sheet Freya had given him, reading it properly for the first time.
His eyebrows rose slightly behind his glasses.
Human? Level 2? Hedin mused. She falsified his race and Level? No... she is masking his true capabilities by inflating his rank to explain his strength against Ottar. Clever.
He scanned the rest. Over 500 points in stats for a single week was impressive, regardless of the starting baseline. But it was the magic section that caught his eye.
Two spells. One was named vaguely—Shadow Arts—likely covering his binding and destruction magic. Though "shadow" hardly described the crimson destruction aura and golden binding circles the boy had used against Ottar. Either the name was deliberately misleading, or The Mistress masked the true nature of his magic entirely. But the second...
Independent Action? Hedin frowned internally. What kind of name is that? Is he bound by something to be independent?
He read the fabricated description Freya had penned: Enables the user to sustain focus and magical output separate from physical fatigue.
It was vague, but potent. And at the bottom, a single skill was listed, though its name and description was obfuscated by Freya's own seal. Hidden by the Lady herself. He truly is a project she intends to keep close.
Hedin folded the paper and tucked it away. His interrogation was over.
___
New Status:
Maximus Stilbon
Freya Familia
Human
Level 2
Stats:
Strength: I 97
Endurance: H 123
Dexterity: H 115
Agility: H 108
Magic: H 107
___
"As you are aware, I'm Hedin Selland, Chief Strategist of the Familia," he said, his tone shifting instantly to professional indifference. "I'll be accompanying you to the guild as well as to the dungeon entrance. Let's get started."
He turned and walked toward the stairs.
Instead of exiting the castle, Hedin led Max into the massive, bustling kitchen. He snapped his fingers, and a chef immediately scurried over.
"Something quick. Energy dense," Hedin ordered.
Five minutes later, two bowls of hearty porridge and beef stew were placed before them. They ate wordlessly, standing by the counter. It wasn't a social meal; it was refueling.
"Done?" Hedin asked as Max scraped the last of the stew.
"Done." Max confirmed.
"Armory." Hedin said.
They moved to the lower levels, entering the vast rows of weapons and armor maintained for the familia. Hedin stopped at the swords section and crossed his arms.
"Pick the equipment that fits you well. Do not take too long."
Suddenly put on the spot and allowed to ransack a high-grade armory to design his own isekai look, Max grinned.
He walked through the racks, ignoring the heavy greatswords and cumbersome axes. He found a fully armored mannequin displaying a light infantry set and began to pick it apart.
First, the weapon. He found a blade similar to the rapier he had used during the Baptism—slightly longer, with a reinforced guard and a dark leather scabbard. It felt balanced, swift.
Next, armor. He needed mobility. He grabbed a lightweight steel chestplate engraved with minimal runes for durability. He tapped it; solid, but light enough to fly in.
"No pauldrons," Max muttered, rolling his shoulder. Limits the wings.
He skipped the gauntlets—too heavy for fine magic control. He skipped the helmet—he hated having his vision obstructed. Instead, he found a pair of reinforced shin guards, perfect for checking kicks and protecting against low slashes.
Max strapped on the chestplate and adjusted the buckles. Beneath his shirt, Kairu shifted, vibrating with what Max recognized as excitement.
"Not yet, buddy. Soon," he whispered as he felt the weight settle comfortably across his shoulders—not restricting, just present.
He drew the rapier, testing the balance with a few experimental thrusts. The blade sang through the air, responsive to the slightest wrist movement. He dropped into a low guard, checking his range of motion. Good. No catching, no binding.
He channeled a flicker of his Power of Destruction into his free hand, watching the crimson-black energy dance across his knuckles. Clean. No interference from the armor.
Perfect.
There was a full-length mirror in the corner. Max walked up to it, adjusting the shin guards over his clothes, finally satisfied with his look.
"Ready," Max said, turning to Hedin.
Hedin adjusted his glasses, giving Max a critical once-over. He noted the lack of helmet and arm protection but didn't comment; Mages needed visibility and dexterity.
"Acceptable," Hedin decided.
He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling. "To the Pantheon. Try not to embarrass the Familia."
Max fell into step beside him, his hand resting on the hilt of his new sword, ready to face the bureaucracy of Orario.
--> Devil in a Dungeon <--
AN:
Hope the chapter clarifies what Independent Action does. We will see it in action in the coming chapters, so it would be even more clearer. And woah, Max got 550 points of Stat growth from the Baptism and unsurprisingly Endurance was his most grown stat because of all the dodging and beatings.
Aside from that, Kairu also got Status update, his growth will be revealed at appropriate time ;). and this is the shortest chapter so far at 3.5K. I felt it is an appropriate stop and didn't stretch it more.
Btw, this chapter officially ends Arc 2 and we will get to Guild Registration and Dungeon Dive from the next chapter.
Do share your thoughts on the chapter and how deep would Max be allowed to dive in a review/comment.
If you'd like to read 4 chapters ahead, support my work, or commission a story idea, visit p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m/b3smash.
Please note that the chapters are early access only, they will be eventually released here as well.
Next update will be on Friday.
Ben, Out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.