Chop Chop. The Loyal Hound
Chop, chop. The quiet sound of wiping down the double-barrel shotgun's barrel with a cloth, restoring it to pristine condition, echoed through the air. It was the Hunter's routine, fresh off smashing an Outer God that had just popped up on the outskirts of Rondan, now inspecting her weapon.
"Huu..."
She'd heard the news. Leydan Tantun had blocked a Surveillance entity trying to claw its way through a dimensional rift—and in the end, tumbled beyond the veil with it.
She glanced at the Outer God's corpse sprawled right in front of her, lit a cigarette, and brought it silently to her lips.
That meant he'd crossed into the Outer Gods' world.
Even if the Hunter herself ventured there, there was no guarantee her mind would hold against the space's inherent suggestions. So the knights had apparently just written Leydan Tantun off as dead.
"...Bunch of clueless idiots."
The Hunter knew better. She'd witnessed every insane stunt he'd pulled so far with her own two eyes. Even now, trapped in that place, he'd be coolly analyzing his next move—hell, he might've already cracked an escape plan and put it into action. The Leydan Tantun she knew was the type to handle shit like this without breaking a sweat.
"...Might as well go out and greet him since I've got time."
The Hunter headed for Rondan's main gate. If he'd hitched a ride on a warped timeline, he sure as hell wouldn't land somewhere normal.
It was just payback for those who'd tried to help her—absolutely not because she gave a damn about the guy himself.
"...You'd better not be dead."
She muttered it under her breath.
The heat from the Americano the cook had given me lingered way longer than I'd expected. At first, I figured it'd fizzle out quick, but nope—every time it started to cool, that warmth surged back stronger. Like someone was keeping an eye on me from afar. Ah, no way—actually worried about me? Great cook, sweet personality. Total mom vibes.
...Anyway.
"...Hehehe, snow? Is it snow? Or salt?"
I'm still dragging her along, but seriously, what the hell is this chick? Judging from her nonstop babble, her brainpower's so pathetic it's barely scraping toddler level—like a three-year-old who can only spit out clear words. No clue...
She's human-ish, so I'm stuck with her, but honestly? Ditch-and-run temptation maxed out. First thing, I asked Ria if she was an Outer God—definite no, straight-up human.
"Ah, shit."
Been tailing these snow-stamped footprints this whole time, but they're fading fast as minutes tick by. Haven't spotted light yet, and it's already this bad? Kinda dicey. Cold's off the table thanks to Super Coward Mode, but food...
Ah, wait—call the cook?
Whatever. Can't predict what'll hit if I don't hustle back to Rondan, the main stage. If this world's sticking to the game script, it'll keep piling on the trials. Halfway quitter like me? No clue on the future—gotta prep.
"Hey."
"Hm? Uh-huh?"
"You remember nothing about who you are?"
The immortal woman stared at me with those milky eyes. No way she passed for normal. Swirling pupils, spiraling irises like she was hypnotized.
"Say something."
"Been thinking... 'cause I don't know who I am."
"Yeah, yeah—not that. Got a home? Somewhere to go?"
"Don't know that either... been thinking."
"Then a destination?"
"Don't know, so I'm following you."
Perfect. Conversation over.
Head pounding, I pushed on, clinging to footprints now barely visible—then something flickered into view far off. Squinted hard, made it out, and my shitty mood flipped.
"Fi-finally! We made it!"
Grabbed the immortal woman's collar and bolted toward the glow like a maniac. In this blizzard hell, something that bright? Gotta be people.
Finally skidded right up to it.
"Hey!"
Shouted at the folks trudging our way. One turned, eyed us—and bam, something felt off. Rondan knights rock bear masks. Sure, some like Mu Yeon skip 'em for armor, but these guys? Way off. Thick animal pelts for gear, faces hidden behind weird iron plates—not a bear in sight.
Still, people = help? I watched, hopeful.
"...Hearth City bastards?"
That line hit, and I knew—they weren't on my side.
"Sniff sniff. Ooh, that fire smell. Capital folk—Rondan!"
Tried backing off, but too late. One voice, and they'd circled us tight.
One piped up: "Damn, good nose. Hunter cultist spawn, huh? Picking up that Hearth scent?"
"I'm shit at smells. Hunter's got a whole different spectrum."
"Yeah, yeah—spare me the Hunter worship. Lucky us, though. Perfect timing to snag some embers. Rondan stock's top-shelf."
Dialogue clicked. Candles—the scum Mu Yeon mentioned. Ditched the Hearth's grace, bailed on the city, scrape by plundering outside. Even raid the city's fire, per her.
Heading for Rondan, then? Navigating this shitstorm? Navigation pros.
Snag one, and we're golden for directions.
"Wait, that chick next to him looks familiar."
"Who cares. Your imagination."
Such a standout look? Bullshit if it's "common." Secret celeb?
Anyway, back to Rondan, figure it out.
"Hey! Ignoring us? Surrender nice and follow, or—"
I blew off the Candle.
Too busy with the voice in my head.
Carefully fished the Party Flute from my pocket, lips to it.
Peep peep!
Tiny trill filled the air—nothing to your ears, but Candles? Freaked.
"E-ears! What the hell'd you blow, you fucker?!"
Figured us for easy pickings, no gear. Snag slaves, score loot if lucky. Or Hearth City obsession—us Rondan natives swimming in that grace? Special sauce.
To them, I'm a chump loaded with goodies.
Yeah. Fair at a glance.
Smell of death.
Candle noses twitched late—pupils quaking.
"F-fuck... what the—"
Hunter? Spotted it ages ago, geared up. Or worse.
These clowns? No Outer God hunters. Just man-flaying raiders.
"Yo, what's wrong? What'd he do?"
"Dumbass, still blind? Bail—fuck it, me solo—"
"Just smash him! Me and you—"
Smart play, maybe.
Never finished.
World-crack sound.
Raider with looted Outer God weapon lunged for my neck.
...Kitty-print baby fork? Zero scare factor.
Oh yeah—Surveillance begged for a name.
Urgent spot, short girl-name works.
Eyed the Candles, murmured low.
"Bell."
My voice echoed—weapon grazed my neck.
But no slice.
Holder? Gone. Clean vanish.
No Hearth nearby, so space ripped light—Surveillance burst through, gulped the decap wannabe.
Sliced-space clean.
Underground prison creep factor explained: Agartha, Hunter, me. Empty otherwise.
Boundary-lurker licked chops, beamed up at me innocent.
"My name! That's my name?"
"Yeah. Dig it?"
"Love it!"
Surveillance—no, Bell—bowled me over, slobbered my cheeks wild.
"Y-yeah, Bell. S-stop licking."
"Woof!"
Good pup—snapped to, panting hek hek.