Preparation (1)

Record? What the hell is this old man asking?

Is he saying the two heads I haven't even shown him yet aren't enough proof? Or... does he know something?

If this had been Long Terror, our instance run might've been something like a Heresy Evidence Collection quest, with the client old man as the quest NPC and clear conditions like destroying the altar or submitting heretical 'records' or whatever.

For now, I played dumb and asked back.

"What do you mean by 'record'?"

"You said it was definitely heresy. There was even an altar. In any church, an altar holds great significance, right? And with a guardian there too, it must mean even more to the heretics. So I figured there might be something in the altar... or on the guardian."

It seemed like a reasonable guess to me. But the way he specifically said 'record' bugged me a little.

I shook my head anyway. The instance was bigger than expected, and it wasn't some request you could wrap up in one or two runs to begin with.

For now, just bringing back proof without scamming him built at least the minimum trust with the client.

"Wanting you to investigate more is just my greed. Stopping here is entirely up to you."

"I'll discuss it with my comrades first. Whether we push on or call it quits, we'll come back here with a decision."

"Good. Do that."

I stashed the evidentiary heads in a corner, pocketed the 2 gold, and left the tavern.

Visible gains from this instance run: 4 gold total, including the 2 from the elite monster.

Of course, factoring in leftover items and weapon upgrade costs, we'd made several times that—but liquid cash was just 4 gold and a few silvers.

Skill change is out of the question with this.

Even skill level-ups were impossible. You couldn't raise skill levels beyond your hero level.

Still, might as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠well window-shop while checking things out.

My body ached, but if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I went back to rest now, I wouldn't want to come out again.

Whipping myself onward, I headed to the hero training hall I'd half-visited during the tutorial.

"Welcome. How can I help?"

"Just browsing skills."

"Class?"

"Bounty Hunter and Battle Vestal."

"Got it. One moment."

The clerk rummaged behind the desk and handed me a paper. Glancing at it, I saw fields for hero team name, class, current skills, and levels.

I filled it out quick and handed it back. The clerk squinted.

"Hendrick of HAT?"

"Yeah."

"Level 1, and you just learned basics... At your level, there aren't many skills I'd recommend."

Is he worried, or just lazy? If worried, nosy busybody. If lazy, overstepping.

That face and tone screamed 99% the latter.

But I was barely level 1. A dime-a-dozen rookie hero tumbling through Seilroom.

Even a low-rank clerk at the city-run hero training hall deserved filtered words.

"I want to preview other helpful skills. Please."

"Haaah..."

The clerk sighed loud enough for me to hear.

This fucking bitch.

Let's see if that attitude holds when my level's sky-high.

While mentally shredding her, the clerk—who'd vanished briefly—started stacking skillbooks on the desk.

"Take a look. Just the first page. Go further, and it'll count as purchased if it activates. Careful."

"Thanks."

I snatched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the books and plopped them on a corner table.

Started with the Bounty Hunter class skillbook.

"What the fuck is this shit..."

My main DPS skill alongside Head Crush, Finishing Blow, had turned into eye-bleed garbage.

10% or 20% sounded big, but for me now, it was +1 or +2 damage at best, and the conditions were trash.

At 10% HP left, it was already scraping bottom anyway, so bonus damage barely mattered.

Sure, higher skill levels would boost numbers and ease conditions—but same for any skill.

Might as well stick with Head Crush: +2 bonus from level 1, +4 vs. humanoids, plus 33% accuracy buff.

Late-game, maybe. But with my nose to the grindstone, late-game could fuck off.

Fuck. What if this replaced Head Crush...

Chills. I slammed it shut like I'd seen a ghost and checked the rest.

All level-appropriate skills were meh. Game didn't have a huge skill pool anyway—real gems came from treasure chests or dungeon shop prices that'd make you curse.

Shaking off regret, I eyed the Battle Vestal skillbooks.

They're insane.

Battle Vestal's Penance or the existing Battle Vestal's Mortification—all self-harm based.

The cover showed a nun whipped raw. Imagining Kaya using it turned my stomach.

Even if effects were OP, which they weren't.

Then this caught me:

"Oh."

Finally, something decent. Top-tier CC Stun, and even on fail, it heals the frontline ally.

Position-limited heal and weak damage made it iffy for a combat-capable Battle Vestal... but with our hero team lacking hard CC, it tempted hard.

Double-checked for better options, but all had loose screws.

"How much for this skillbook?"

"Repent for Battle Vestal... 20 gold. First buy? 10% off, 18 gold."

"..."

Fuck.

Whatever. Wasn't fully my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠money anyway, and even if I could afford it, I'd consult Kaya first.

Not my skill. Never planned to buy. Nope.

Fuck.

That price spat curses. I meekly returned the book and left the training hall.

"...Time to rest. Tired just hearing that price."

Hero team strengthening was a brutal path.

***

Shhhhh—

"Haaa..."

In price-gouging, absurd Seilroom, if asked for the most 'conscionable' thing, I'd say without hesitation: the inn room's hot-water bath.

Space was tight, but private hot water? Paradise.

She unwound the bloodstained bandages clinging awkwardly, surrendered to the hot tap—and soon the floor ran red.

As crusted blood and scabs rinsed away, pale skin and toned feminine curves emerged on her beautiful form.

Her owner, Kaya, traced her fresh wounds thoughtfully.

Scars are... lighter than expected.

Checking every inch, she suddenly lifted her arm and sniffed.

"Smell... that bad?"

Kaya's cheeks flushed. Hot water? Embarrassment? Even she didn't know.

"Captain..."

Holy power had healed scars to near-invisibility unless inspected close; the smell was gone too.

She pictured the one man who led her.

Experience-wise, no different from her. Same level, gear. No grand feats yet.

Yet following his lead held no fear. Unshakable trust.

Fate. Fated community.

She recalled his bed words that made her heart quake.

The moment he uttered 'fate,' he became hers.

So she yearned to become his.

Different from the thrill receiving holy power from her goddess—but similar.

Getting that from a stranger? Wondrous. Fate, indeed.

Lost in captain thoughts, she remembered his bandaging touch.

Delirious then, it hadn't fazed her.

"Wh-what am I thinking."

He'd acted from pure worry for a comrade... For a nun to twist it impure? Wrong.

I'm... filthy. Symbol of misfortune. Only as goddess's servant can I be me...

Goddess's scourge. Dungeon-ender with captain. That sufficed. Enough.

Shampooing, Kaya closed her eyes.

Her chest inexplicably throbbed. Not fully healed? She thought.

Knock-knock-knock—

Clearing stray thoughts, she rinsed head to toe satisfactorily and shut the tap.

Drips fell sporadically—old plumbing—but nothing she could do.

Toweled meticulously, donned fresh undergarments from the corner, opened the bath door.

"Hoo..."

Post-bath, her wrecked armor's blood reek hit sharper. Must tidy before captain arrives, she thought, bending for it.

Bang—

"Kaya. I'm ba—"

"........."

"Ah, uh. Yeah. I'll come back later."

"Captain."

"Y-yeah?"

"This is our shared room. Not just mine. No need to act like you're sneaking in."

"Th-that's true, but."

Exhausted, eyelids drooping mid-stride—I froze at the pale skin feast, toned long legs aimed my way. Plain undies, damp and clinging just so.

Dizzying sight vaporized fatigue; I gulped unwittingly.

Creak-clank—

Door shut. Back still turned, Kaya spoke.

"...Thanks to your consideration, I bathed first. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Sounded calm, casual... but her whole body beet-red? How to handle.

Wonder how red I was.

Masking my lower half as natural as possible, I bolted to the bath.

Thankfully, unnoticed.