The air split with the sound of splintering wood and bestial roars. Without a word, Aiz and I launched ourselves across the rooftops, our bodies moving in perfect synchronization despite the chaos below. My enhanced level gave me the edge—I sailed over the gap between buildings like death itself, landing with predatory grace on the opposite roof.
Below, in the narrow confines of a debris-strewn alley, Bell Cranel danced with death.
The Silverback was a mountain of muscle and fury, its silver-streaked hide gleaming with sweat and blood. Each swing of its massive fists could have pulverized stone, yet Bell moved like liquid mercury, his knife flashing in desperate arcs. Dust and mortar rained from where the monster's attacks missed by mere inches, leaving craters in the ancient walls.
My hand instinctively found my weapon's hilt, fingers wrapping around cold steel. One strike. That's all it would take. But something in Bell's stance—the set of his shoulders, the steady rhythm of his breathing despite his exhaustion—made me pause.
He's not just surviving. He's learning.
Aiz landed beside me with feline silence, her golden hair whipping in the wind. The moment she saw Bell below, every muscle in her body coiled like a spring. She moved to leap—
I caught her wrist.
Her head snapped toward me, eyes blazing with desperate urgency. "What are you doing?!" The words tore from her throat, raw with fear. "He's going to die!"
"You already saved him once," I said, my voice cutting through her panic like a blade. Below us, Bell rolled beneath another devastating swing, his movements becoming more fluid, more confident. "Why not let him prove he's worth saving?"
Aiz's breathing was sharp, controlled—the kind of breathing that came before violence. Her free hand trembled slightly, caught between trust and terror. But after what felt like an eternity, she settled beside me, every line of her body screaming readiness to intervene.
The battle below reached its crescendo. Bell's knife found its mark—not once, but in a series of precise strikes that would have made master swordsmen weep with envy. The Silverback's roar became a death rattle, its massive form crashing to the cobblestones with earth-shaking finality.
Silence. Then, like dawn breaking, the hidden residents of Daedalus Street emerged from shadows and doorways. Their applause wasn't polite—it was thunderous, primal, the sound of people who had watched death be cheated in their very streets.
Bell stood over his fallen enemy, chest heaving, his white hair dark with sweat. The smile that spread across his face was pure and unguarded—the smile of someone who had just discovered they were more than they ever dreamed possible.
Hestia threw herself at him, her tiny fists beating against his chest as tears of pride and relief streamed down her face. "You magnificent idiot!" she sobbed, her voice breaking with every word.
I glanced at Aiz and felt my breath catch. The Sword Princess—the untouchable, emotionless blade of Orario—was smiling. Not her usual composed expression, but something soft and genuine that transformed her entire face.
"Told you he could handle it," I said, unable to keep the smugness from my voice.
"Barely." The word was flat, clinical, but I caught the slight tremor beneath it.
"What do you mean, barely?!" I gestured wildly at the scene below. "The kid just—"
Aiz pointed downward with the patience of someone explaining something to a child. My words died in my throat.
Bell and Hestia lay crumpled on the bloodstained stones, unconscious from sheer exhaustion, their victory pyrrhic but complete.
"Ah." I scratched the back of my head, feeling heat creep up my neck. "So... you think Loki might let them crash at your place for a bit?"
Aiz's sigh could have powered a windmill. When she looked at me, there was something almost fond in her exasperation. "I'm certain Goddess Loki will be absolutely delighted to open her doors to you, especially after you held a blade to her throat and called her a lying whore."
The memory of my earlier... diplomatic approach hit me like a physical blow. "That's... that's a yes, right?"
"Yes, you walking disaster." She was already moving toward the edge of the roof. "You carry Hestia. I'll take Bell."
As she prepared to descend, a thought struck me. Bell was definitely heavier than the goddess, and chivalry demanded I—
Then I remembered the way Bell's face went red whenever Aiz so much as glanced in his direction.
Oh, this is going to be beautiful.
The streets of Orario at night were a different beast entirely. Shadows pooled in doorways like spilled ink, and every footstep echoed with the weight of secrets. Aiz moved beside me with unconscious grace, Bell cradled in her arms like something precious and fragile.
"So they received the distress call," I said, the words tasting bitter. "But arrived too late to matter."
"We found your farm," Aiz said quietly, her voice carrying an odd gentleness. "We found your body. You were... there was so much blood." She paused, studying my face in the moonlight. "How are you here? How are you alive?"
The question hung between us like a blade. "I wish I knew," I admitted, and the honesty of it surprised me. "I remember the knight's sword. I remember falling. Then I woke up in a field of corpses with the mother of all headaches."
"Resurrection magic exists," she said slowly, "but it requires artifacts of immense power, or divine intervention on a scale that—"
"That doesn't happen to random farmers' sons," I finished. "Trust me, I've been trying to figure it out too."
We walked in comfortable silence for several minutes, our footsteps synchronized. Finally, Aiz spoke again, and there was something almost vulnerable in her tone.
"I'm glad you're alive. Whatever the reason."
The words hit me harder than they should have. "Yeah. Me too."
Twilight Manor rose before us like a cathedral of war and glory. Every stone spoke of battles won and legends forged. The architecture was aggressive, beautiful, and designed to intimidate and inspire in equal measure.
The Loki Familia's welcoming committee was already assembled—a wall of some of Orario's deadliest adventurers, their faces shifting from relief to suspicion as they spotted our unusual cargo.
"Well, well," Bete Loga stepped forward, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "Look what the princess dragged in. Got some balls showing your face here after what you pulled, farm boy."
The wolfman's words were calculated to provoke, to start a fight that would end with my blood painting their pristine courtyard. Under normal circumstances, I might have obliged him.
Instead, I gently transferred Hestia to Aiz's free arm and walked toward the manor gates. The guards moved to intercept—trained warriors with decades of experience.
I let my power slip its leash just enough.
Distressing washed over them like a tide of primal terror. Their faces went pale, pupils dilating, hands shaking as their bodies remembered what it meant to be prey. They stumbled backward, their training forgotten in the face of something that whispered of ending and eternity.
The courtyard fell silent except for the sound of ragged breathing and my footsteps on stone.
Every weapon was drawn now. Swords, axes, magic swords—enough firepower to level a city block. The air crackled with killing intent, with the promise of violence so pure it was almost artistic.
I stopped three feet from Loki and dropped to one knee.
The sound of my knee striking stone echoed like a gunshot. Then I bowed my head, leaving my neck exposed to a dozen different ways to die.
"Goddess Loki." My voice carried across the courtyard, steady and clear. "I kneel before you not as an enemy, but as someone who has acted the fool." I raised my eyes to meet hers—ancient, cunning, and currently very surprised. "I threatened you. I called you things that would make sailors blush. I acted like a rabid animal because I thought you had taken the only family I had left."
The weapons didn't lower, but I felt the killing intent waver slightly.
"But I was wrong," I continued, my voice growing stronger. "You didn't take Aiz from anything. You gave her everything. A home. A family. A purpose that goes beyond mere survival." I let every ounce of gratitude I felt color my words. "She's become something magnificent under your care, and for that, I owe you a debt that can never be repaid."
Loki's eyebrows had climbed toward her hairline. Around the courtyard, weapons began to lower incrementally.
"However," I said, and now I deployed my secret weapon—the technique that had gotten me out of trouble since I was old enough to walk. I made my eyes as wide and innocent as possible, tilting my head just slightly. "I have one tiny, insignificant favor to ask. Could my family please stay here while they recover from tonight's... excitement?"
The Puppy Dog Eyes were nuclear-grade. I could see Loki's resolve crumbling in real time, her face cycling through irritation, amusement, and resignation.
"You..." she started, then stopped. Tried again. "That's not... you can't just..." She looked around at her familia, silently pleading for support, but found only barely concealed grins and a few poorly stifled chuckles.
"Damn you," she muttered, then louder: "Fine! But you're going to tell me everything—and I mean everything—about how a dead farmer's son is walking around with abilities that make my children piss themselves." She extended her hand, and I could see both admiration and exasperation warring in her expression. "Deal?"
"Deal." I grasped her hand, and felt the weight of divine attention settle over me like a mantle.
The guest rooms of Twilight Manor were luxurious enough to make kings weep with envy. I settled Bell and Hestia into beds that probably cost more than my family's farm had been worth, watching as exhaustion finally claimed them completely.
Hestia's face still held traces of that fierce pride from when Bell had stood victorious. Even in sleep, her small hands were clenched into fists, as if ready to fight anyone who dared suggest her child wasn't the greatest hero who ever lived.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. Aiz stood in the doorway, her armor replaced by simple clothes that somehow made her look more dangerous, not less.
"Goddess Loki is ready for her answers," she said simply.
I followed her through corridors lined with weapons and trophies from dungeons most people couldn't even pronounce. Every step echoed with the weight of legend, of adventures that had shaped the very world we lived in.
The sitting room she led me to was an intimate space designed for interrogations that weren't quite torture but definitely weren't social calls. The entire Loki Familia executive committee was assembled—Finn, Riveria, Gareth, Bete, Tiona, Tione, and of course, Loki herself, wearing a grin that suggested she was about to enjoy herself immensely.
"What's this?" I asked, gesturing at their formation. "You look like children gathered around for story time."
Loki's laugh was sharp and delighted. "That's exactly what this is! You're going to tell us a story—the story of how a corpse learned to walk and talk and terrify my familia."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building. "Where do you want me to start?"
"The beginning seems traditional," Riveria said dryly, but her eyes were sharp with curiosity.
"What was your relationship with Aiz in your village?" Loki asked, leaning forward like a cat spotting prey.
"She was my best friend," I said simply. "Still is, if she'll have me."
I didn't miss the way Loki's shoulders relaxed slightly at the word 'friend,' or the way several of the others seemed to exhale in relief.
"Now for the interesting question," Loki said, her voice dropping into something more serious. "I saw your corpse, boy. Saw the blood, the wounds, the way your eyes stared at nothing. You were dead. So explain to me how you're sitting here making smart remarks."
"I can't," I said, meeting her gaze steadily. "I remember dying. I remember the pain, the darkness, the feeling of everything just... stopping. Then I woke up in a field of corpses with the worst headache in human history."
"That's not an answer!" Loki's voice cracked like a whip.
"It's the only answer I have!" I shot back, frustration bleeding into my tone. "You think I haven't been asking myself the same question every moment since I opened my eyes? You think I'm not terrified that whatever brought me back might decide to take me again?"
The room fell silent. When Loki spoke again, her voice was softer, almost gentle.
"Alright. I believe you." Then her grin returned, sharper than ever. "But that just makes the next question more interesting. What exactly are you now? What are these powers that make trained warriors soil themselves?"
I took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth.
"My primary ability is called Entity's Grasp," I said carefully. "It allows me to harvest the souls of the dead and transform them into physical manifestations with retained abilities and memories."
The silence that followed was profound and terrible.
"You're a necromancer," Riveria breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I prefer 'soul entrepreneur,'" I said with a weak smile. "But yeah, that's... probably accurate."
"What kind of abilities?" Loki pressed, and now there was something predatory in her attention.
And that's Chapter 12. The interrogation continues...