Danmachi: The Focalors Familia Starting from the Dungeon

”This sun... sure is a bit glaring.”

Aiden raised his hand and rubbed his eyes vigorously with the back of his hand, as if that could block the overly bright sunlight.

He sniffled, a hint of raspy complaint in his voice, acting as if he really was tearing up just from the sun’s sting.

He maintained this posture until those three figures turned into three small black dots on the horizon, no longer distinguishable.

The wind blew from the north, carrying the chill from the depths of the Dragon Valley. It messed up his white hair and dried the last traces of wetness on his cheeks.

He slowly lowered his hand. The feigned ease on his face had long vanished, leaving only a silence that didn’t match his age.

He turned and silently walked towards the wooden house.

Creak—

The wooden door was pushed open gently, making a familiar sound.

The furnishings inside were the same as always: simple, tidy, arguably even a bit desolate.

A wooden table, two chairs, a simple stove.

Every item seemed like an anchor for memory.

He could almost see Alfia sitting in that chair, eyes closed, listening quietly to the wind, her brows furrowing slightly because of the children’s noise outside the window.

He could almost smell the unique scent lingering in the air besides the wood and dust—a cold fragrance like winter roses atop a snowy peak, belonging to her.

He could almost feel the pressure that nearly suffocated him when she stared at him with emotionless eyes because he had done something wrong.

The bits and pieces of eight years—arguments, beatings, silent dinners, the occasional clumsy concern... countless images surged into his heart like a tide at this moment, as clear as if they happened yesterday.

”Goodbye, Alfia.”

Aiden tilted his head back, blinking hard, trying to force back the warmth surging up again.

But this time, the tears were uncontrollable. They slid silently down his cheeks, dripping onto the old floorboards, blooming into a small patch of dark water stains.

He knew better than anyone that the ”See you tomorrow” just now was merely an unrealistic fantasy, a lie to support himself from collapsing in front of them.

Alfia had a terminal illness.

A decay of the soul that even gods were helpless against.

This was the price of the curse named ”Talent” that the gods envied.

He also knew the purpose of her and Uncle Zald’s trip.

They would transform into ”Absolute Evil,” using their little remaining life to ignite the potential of the new generation of adventurers in Orario, becoming the cruelest yet most effective trial on their path of growth.

They would use their own destruction to compose a hymn of hope.

How great, and how cruel.

He knew he couldn’t stop her.

That woman was so stubborn, so willful. Once she made a decision, not even a god could make her turn back.

Moreover, what standing did he have to stop her? A burden she picked up? A mortal who couldn’t even accept Falna? He could do nothing.

A sense of powerlessness bound him firmly like a giant net.

Watching the person he liked resolutely walk toward the abyss of destruction while he could only stand in place, not even qualified to reach out and stay her hand.

This feeling was like a dull knife repeatedly cutting at his chest; every breath was accompanied by heart-wrenching pain.

For the first time, Aiden clearly understood what it meant to be in agonizing pain.

The grace of eight years of upbringing might turn into deep familial love for an ordinary child.

But for Aiden, who possessed an adult soul, this emotion had quietly metamorphosed during their day-to-day interactions.

He watched the pain hidden under her cold exterior, watched the loneliness of her bearing sin alone. That pity and admiration eventually fermented into something called love.

Even though this was just a one-man show.

”But...”

Aiden clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms. The stinging pain cleared his chaotic thoughts a little.

”I haven’t despaired.”

He murmured to himself, a glint of madness and determination flickering in his eyes.

”The laws of this world say that after an adventurer dies, their soul returns to Heaven... Very well, then I’ll go to Heaven and snatch your soul back!”

”My System can summon existences from fantasy... Then, items that can bring the dead back to life, miracles that can reverse cause and effect—they must exist in some world.”

He would not accept this ending.

He had no right to cry, and no time to despair.

Alfia chose to fight in her way, so he would use his own way to resist this destined fate.

Time was the fairest quicksand; it never stopped for anyone.

Spring went and autumn came; seasons changed.

Six years passed in the blink of an eye.

The small village in the North remained the same, peaceful and serene.

Early in the morning, the door of the wooden house was pushed open.

A tall young man walked out.

He was sixteen now. His formerly short white hair had grown longer, and his blue eyes had shed their childishness, becoming deep and calm.

Years of honing had made his facial contours more defined, and his handsome face always carried a faint detachment.

”Aiden, going to train again? Really diligent.”

The neighbor, Uncle Hake the blacksmith, carried his hammer and greeted him with a smile.

”Good morning, Uncle Hake.”

Aiden nodded slightly.

He walked through the village, nodding hello to every villager he met, then skillfully headed towards a dense forest outside the village.

That place had been his secret base and training ground for the past six years.

Although he still couldn’t inscribe Falna or become an adventurer, he had never given up exercising for even a single day.

He polished his body and skills in the strictest, most primitive way, all for that moment which would eventually come.

Six years ago, not long after Alfia and the others left, the ”Great Feud” event that shocked the whole world broke out.

Passing merchants brought news of Orario. In Aiden’s ears, that tragic battle known as the ”Dark Seven Days,” which lasted a full week, sounded like a series of familiar periods.

He knew that Alfia, Zald, and the god Erebus whom he met once had all completed their mission.

He knew that Alfia had passed her will and hope, like tinder, to the new generation of heroes in Orario.

But he didn’t allow it.

He absolutely would not accept it. Why pass your hope to others? Why use your sacrifice to achieve someone else’s greatness?

Aiden gritted his teeth, swinging the wooden sword in his hand faster, creating sharp whistling sounds in the wind.

He would use his own way, his own will, to change all of this.

He would stand before her personally, defeat her fair and square, and then tell her—

Your hero can only be me.