The Night of Harmony

The Night of Harmony.

Once a month, the dominant factions of Dungeon City gathered under the pretext of fostering fellowship.

Naturally, it was never merely about camaraderie. The phrase harbored far deeper implications. Some used the gala to forge fresh opportunities, while others seized the floor to flaunt their latest achievements before their peers.

House Drake, widely counted among the oligarchic families that ruled Dungeon City, never missed an attendance. In truth, they stood to gain very little from such an assembly; they possessed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠countless avenues beyond this hall, and whenever they desired, they held the power to conjure opportunities out of thin air.

Even so, they made an appearance every single time for one simple reason: to brazenly display House Drake's overwhelming supremacy, complacently basking in the envious gazes of everyone present.

Tonight, however, the atmosphere was entirely different.

"Have you heard the news?"

"About House Drake taking a blow straight to the jaw? Haha, of course I have."

The family's most guarded secret, the Drake Breath, had leaked to the outside. Worse still, their clandestine operation to apprehend those trading it had culminated in total disaster. Word of the humiliation spread like wildfire. Those who secretly envied House Drake, along with their longstanding rivals, leaped at the chance to put the scandal on their lips. And even among the neutral onlookers, it had become the single most tantalizing topic of conversation in the hall.

Alteon, Patriarch of House Drake, was quick to notice the whispers and narrowed his eyes into a sharp scowl. After exchanging perfunctory pleasantries with dignitaries from the major syndicates, he promptly retreated to a secluded corner far from prying eyes.

To suffer such a disgrace...

Seething with fury, Alteon emptied his glass in one reckless gulp.

Even a titan like House Drake could not boast a hundred-percent success rate. Yet, even factoring in the inherent volatility of their business, this debacle was a shock bordering on an outright insult. Not only had the critical operation to capture the seller failed miserably, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but the entire detachment deployed had been annihilated. To make matters worse, they had cornered the buyer within arm's reach, only to lose his trail completely. By all rights, they should have had him dead to rights, yet the man had vanished into thin air like an apparition.

Though they had hastily redirected the forces tailing the buyer toward the seller's location, the seller had already melted away into the shadows without leaving so much as a footprint.

"Useless wretches. Dying without returning a shred of value."

House Drake was not hurting for manpower. Cannon fodder was cheap and plentiful. However, if the family made an investment in its soldiers, those men were expected to produce commensurate results before they were granted permission to die. In that sense, the entire venture was an unmitigated catastrophe. Forget producing results—the fools had failed to preserve even their own worthless hides.

Alteon recalled that in the terminology of the dungeon world, such waste was referred to as a "sunk cost."

"Lord Patriarch."

Alteon, nursing his dark mood with heavy drink, looked up with an expectant expression. The Head Butler, who managed the family's core operations, bowed low before him.

"You've arrived? What became of that incompetent fool?"

"If you are referring to former First Butler Baster, he has been disposed of."

That did not mean execution.

Alteon understood the nuance immediately. Slaying him on the spot would merely satisfy a fleeting surge of wrath. Keeping him breathing to extract long-term labor was infinitely more pragmatic. Whatever administrative talents the man possessed, they would be ruthlessly wrung dry in service of the family's glory. If he proved entirely barren of utility, he could always be sold off to the slave blocks. All such operational details fell under the purview of the Head Butler standing before him.

Alteon trusted the man implicitly. Unlike common butlers who were cycled through like disposable tools, the Head Butler was the scion of a bloodline that had faithfully served House Drake for generations. His unswerving loyalty and capability were beyond question.

"I trust you handled it cleanly."

"I am humbled by your confidence, my lord."

"Was the delivery concluded without issue?"

The Head Butler surveyed their immediate surroundings with a discreet sweep of his eyes, then stepped a pace closer.

"Yes, the transaction was finalized in good order. However..."

"However what?"

At the butler's hesitant pause, Alteon's voice hardened, though the background din of the gala fortunately swallowed the edge in his tone.

"They have notified us that beginning next year, their quote will increase by twenty percent."

"Twenty percent?" Alteon's brow furrowed into deep, ugly ridges.

"And there is another matter of concern."

"What is it this time?"

"A Heresy Inquisitor from the Holy Alliance has arrived, demanding an audience."

"What?" Setting his crystal glass down with a heavy clatter, Alteon glared intently at the butler. "The Holy Alliance...? Why under the sun would they come looking for us?"

The Holy Alliance was a grand coalition forged by numerous religious denominations operating within the city. Under normal circumstances, they acted independently under their individual church banners; they only marched behind the banner of the Holy Alliance when confronting matters of extraordinary gravity. Invoking that name signified that the various subordinate sects had agreed to mobilize their collective authority.

"Have we ever had any entanglements with them? None that I can recall."

"To my knowledge as well, my lord, there are virtually no points of contact between our house and the Holy Alliance."

The Holy Alliance primarily dealt with the multitudes flooding into Dungeon City, offering holy magic, healing the wounded for hefty fees, and proselytizing to expand their flocks. While their priests did venture into dungeons, they almost always did so under the auspices of their individual sects rather than as the unified Alliance.

"Then why on earth do they seek a meeting?"

"The specifics..."

The Head Butler's voice broke off. His eyes sharpened abruptly into a cold glare. Sensing the sudden tension, Alteon turned his head to survey the hall.

"Ah, so this is where you were."

A man draped in pristine white priestly robes was gliding smoothly toward them. He carried a mild, courteous countenance, his vestments embroidered with the sacred insignia of the Holy Alliance. Yet, proving he was no ordinary cleric of the cloth, a longsword hung strapped to his waist.

"I believe..." the Head Butler interjected, his tone icy, "we explicitly informed your order that we would schedule a formal meeting at a later date?"

"An urgent matter has developed. I must beg your indulgence for my breach of etiquette." Despite the butler's biting hostility, the priest offered an easygoing smile and dipped his head in greeting. "I am Heresy Inquisitor Lucius. It is an honor to meet Patriarch Alteon."

"Just how dire is this matter that it justifies accosting me with such blatant impudence?"

Even in the face of Alteon's overt hostility, Lucius maintained his placid demeanor.

"A tip was formally submitted to the Holy Alliance."

"A tip?"

"An allegation that House Drake has been trafficking in religions originating from the dungeon world—specifically, ushering virulent heresies into our realm."

"What absurd nonsense—!"

Slam!

Alteon brought his fist crashing down upon the table and surged to his feet. The Head Butler likewise locked his gaze on Lucius with predatory coldness. Yet Lucius remained entirely unperturbed, drawing a crisp sheaf of parchment from the folds of his vestments. It was covered in dense, meticulous script.

"Allow me to pose a few inquiries. Does House Drake, or any faction operating beneath your aegis, hold ownership over the following registered addresses?"

He proceeded to recite roughly five specific properties.

Alteon's gaze shifted toward the Head Butler. After tilting his head in brief contemplation, the butler gave a firm, definitive shake of his head.

"None of those parcels belong to the family. While we would need to verify our peripheral affiliates, judging solely by the street names, they appear devoid of any investment value. Are those not all located squarely within the slums or their immediate outskirts?"

"Is that so? In that case, formal verification will be required."

At Lucius's unhurried declaration, Alteon's eyes narrowed into lethal slits.

"Verification?"

"Naturally. We cannot simply take your word at face value, so an official inquiry on our part is unavoidable."

"And what earthly reason do I have to permit such an outrage? Since when did the Holy Alliance presume to treat House Drake with such open contempt?"

"Contempt? Far from it, my lord. We merely wish to be thorough."

"That amounts to the exact same insult."

"If your conscience is clear, Lord Patriarch, you should have no reason to object to our oversight."

Hearing that, Alteon burst into a roar of harsh laughter, his mirth dripping with venomous fury.

"You think you can barge into my presence, demand access to my family's private ledgers, and claim there is 'no reason to object'?"

"Are you stating, Lord Patriarch, that you intend to obstruct the lawful duties of the Holy Alliance?"

"How dare a mere dog like you...!"

Alteon and Lucius locked eyes in a suffocating standoff, neither man harboring the slightest inkling of the unseen shadow who had orchestrated this entire clash from behind the curtain.

"How is it? Good, isn't it?"

"...It's edible."

Tossing a generous handful of popcorn into his mouth, Bennett gave an approving nod. This, too, was a delicacy salvaged from the dungeon world. From what he had gathered, it came in a dizzying assortment of varieties; the batch he was chewing through was lightly salted, but paying a few extra copper coins supposedly unlocked all manner of eccentric flavorings.

Crunch!

Bennett dusted the lingering seasoning from his fingertips.

Reuniting with Kyle and Edgar after their brief hiatus revealed that both men had undergone conspicuous growth. A subtle, commanding pressure, entirely absent during their earlier outings, now radiated faintly from their frames. He had heard that Mana Practitioners were categorized into distinct strata; judging by their current presence, neither of them lingered at the bottom rungs any longer.

"It seems the elixir lived up to its reputation."

"This bastard right here is a complete monster," Edgar chimed in, cutting Kyle off just as the swordsman parted his lips to answer. "We clearly took the exact same brew, but his mana swelled to the point where, if you exaggerated just a tiny bit, you'd mistake him for an Elite!"

"Haha... It's really not to that extent. Edgar is embellishing as usual," Kyle said, waving his hands with an awkward, self-effacing smile.

"Look at that! See? The guy's secretly reveling in every second of it!"

"Edgar."

"I knew it, Bennett! I knew you'd understand my pai—"

"Quit acting pathetic and wrap it up."

"..."

Though he possessed the rugged, towering build of a northern berserker, Edgar carried the gossiping, petulant temperament of a southern townsman.

Thud.

Bennett placed a weighty leather pouch onto the center of the table.

"This is the gold received from the handgun sale. Though, in the grand scheme of things, the coin is merely a bonus."

Bennett laid out the full terms of his pact with Balduin.

"While the contract itself is bound to my name, we can commission whatever arms and armor we require, so there's no need for restraint. Which brings me to the point." Bennett's eyes swept across his companions. "It's time for everyone to undergo a complete equipment overhaul."

"Thanks to you, Bennett, we upgraded our plate mail only recently. There's really no need to spend so mu—"

"I am not referring solely to chestplates."

When scavengers thought of defensive gear, suits of armor naturally sprang to mind first, but true survival demanded far broader coverage. Bennett himself wore not only reinforced under-armor, but articulated vambraces and greaves protecting his limbs from disabling strikes.

"There is undoubtedly superior armor waiting in the smithy, and what of your weapons?"

"...Ah."

The realization struck them like a physical blow. The party members mentally cursed themselves for failing to consider dwarven-forged martial arms.

"Since the thought has crossed our minds, we move immediately."

And so, Bennett's party set out for a sudden yet thoroughly exhilarating gear upgrade. Everyone was in high spirits—with the singular exception of Balduin, who found himself abruptly buried beneath a mountain of labor.

"Aaargh! Stop barging in here, you shameless leeches!"

While Kyle and Edgar were utterly engrossed in testing their newly refitted weapons and interlocking armor plates, Bennett walked over to Erika and held out a mechanical contraption.

"Bennett? What is this...?"

"A degraded repeating crossbow."

It was the exact same model ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sasha had brandished during their lethal skirmish: a magazine-fed crossbow capable of snapping off five consecutive bolts. Though its effective range was severely curtailed, it was an invaluable lifeline in desperate close-quarters scrambles.

"It's insurance, in case you find yourself unable to channel spells."

"I've never touched a crossbow before..."

"I will teach you."

Right there in the courtyard, Bennett guided Erika through the fundamentals of operation. Drawing upon ten years of gritty field experience, he imparted the optimal tactical scenarios for a rapid-fire mechanism, the posture required to arrest muzzle climb during sustained discharge, and the muscle memory needed to clear mechanical jams under pressure.

Watching Erika conduct her live-fire drills, Bennett crossed his arms and stepped back.

Her marksmanship was... to put it charitably, nowhere near acceptable. Part of the shortcoming lay in the degraded weapon itself. Its barrel had little ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rifling, its effective trajectory was stubby, and the bolts were ill-suited for stable aerodynamic flight. It was strictly an emergency instrument meant to blindside an assailant at point-blank range.

"This... my groupings are completely different from yours, Bennett."

"I have wielded one for years. It would be an insult if I couldn't shoot straight."

The tally of adversaries Bennett had sent to the grave with repeating crossbows was...

Wait, how many has it been now?

Well, keeping score was irrelevant.

"Keep drilling. Muscle memory will follow."

"Yes..."

Leaving Erika to her practice, Bennett turned his attention inward to resolve the pending level-up rewards and unallocated stat points he had postponed.

Scanning the choices presented by the interface, Bennett's brow twitched. Every single candidate appeared bizarre at best. He pondered the triad for a considerable time before reluctantly concluding that Ingestion Efficiency was the least objectionable of the lot.

With that settled, there remained a total of thirteen unallocated stat points awaiting assignment.

After weighing his combat requirements, Bennett distributed the points across his parameters.

This was the first time he had ever invested directly into Endurance, though he had always intended to raise it eventually.

While it didn't warrant top-tier priority over Strength or Agility for a skirmishing ranger, it remained a vital cornerstone that demanded periodic reinforcement.

Just as Bennett assumed the process was complete, his hands paused.

Regeneration?

"...Oh."

A brief, intensely satisfied smirk curved the corner of Bennett's lips.

Though he had avoided crippling mutilations in recent days, minor lacerations, bone contusions, and torn muscles were his constant companions in the field. How potent the passive would prove in practical combat remained to be seen, but from his perspective, a self-mending body was something to welcome with open arms.

Having brought every single preparation to completion, Bennett and his companions made their way toward the Pioneers' Hall.

As was always the case, a sea of scavengers crowded the concourse. Anxious, hardened faces watched the grand timers, silently steeling their resolve for the dimensional reset.

Rumble!

A ferocious vortex of atmospheric pressure swept across the flagstones of the Pioneers' Hall. In its wake, verdant green and brilliant azure portals tore through the fabric of space, pulsing with immense dimensional energy.

The vanguard exploration teams from the ruling factions, having secured the foremost positions, surged into the shimmering rifts without a second's hesitation.

Just as Bennett's party stepped toward the threshold of their designated gate—

"Out of the way!"

A sudden, aggressive push caught Bennett by the shoulder as an unfamiliar party bodily shoved past, throwing their forms headlong into the event horizon.

Catching his footing before he was sent sprawling across the stones, Bennett calmly turned his gaze upon the queue-jumpers.

...Every single member of the squad was an elf.

"Bennett! Are you all right?" Kyle called out, hand immediately resting on the pommel of his blade.

"I'm fine."

Wearing his trademark calm, unreadable expression, Bennett gestured for his companions to fall in behind him.

The moment they stepped through the swirling azure vortex, a massive gravitational vortex caught them in its grip, pulling them across the boundary of worlds.

In the very next breath, the blinding light collapsed, leaving them standing within the grand, silent halls of an unfamiliar mansion.