The dawn sky was spreading across the horizon of Orario as Kazuma stepped away from the old church. He could no longer stay there—seeing the way Hestia looked at Bell with worry, the way she tended to his wounds with such affection. Something stirred within him, a feeling he didn't want to acknowledge.
Jealousy.
Kazuma snorted, laughing at himself as he continued walking with no clear destination. His feet carried him farther from the church, toward the empty streets in the early morning.
"Bell Cranel," he muttered.
Bell had what he didn't—a clear purpose. To become a hero. To grow stronger. Like the adventurers in the tales his grandfather told him. Simple yet powerful.
Then, what was his purpose?
When he first discovered that he had come to this world, to Orario, he was so excited. There was something that made him rise from bed every morning, something that made him train until his body was broken. But it wasn't because of a desire to become strong.
It was because of Hestia.
As a fan of anime and manga, of course he knew who Hestia was. The beautiful goddess with that famous blue ribbon.
Meeting her in person felt like a dream come true. But now, seeing how Hestia worried so much about Bell, loved him so much... it was clear that Hestia's heart belonged to Bell Cranel. There was no place for him there. No use in hoping.
He stopped walking when he realized where his feet had taken him—Babel Tower, the center of Orario. The place where the Dungeon was located.
Kazuma had no intention of entering it. He just sat on one of the stone benches near the magnificent fountain that adorned the tower's courtyard.
His eyes gazed into the distance, full of uncertainty.
"What's the use of becoming strong?" he whispered to the morning breeze. "For what purpose?"
To help the Hestia Familia grow? But what for, if not for Hestia?
To get the girl? But the girl he wanted had already given her heart to someone else.
"You look like someone who has lost his way, young man."
The deep voice made Kazuma turn. Beside him, from who knows when, sat an old dwarf. From his equipment—a worn sword at his waist, leather armor peeling in several spots—he was clearly an adventurer. But not a remarkable one. Just an ordinary veteran adventurer who had weathered many seasons in the Dungeon.
"Who are you?" asked Kazuma, slightly wary.
The old man chuckled. "Just an old adventurer who has lived too long. And you?"
"Just a young adventurer who doesn't know what he's living for," answered Kazuma with a bitter smile.
"Ah," the old man nodded, as if understanding something unspoken. "Matters of the heart, yes?"
Kazuma started, not expecting this stranger to guess so accurately. "How did you—"
"Eyes like those," the old man pointed at Kazuma's face, "belong only to someone who's heartbroken or has lost their purpose. And given your age, likely both."
Kazuma snorted, but didn't deny it. "Pretending to be wise?" he mocked.
Instead of taking offense, the old man just laughed. "I'm not wise, young man. If I were wise, perhaps I wouldn't have ended up alone in my twilight years like this."
There was something in this old man's tone—a familiar emptiness—that made Kazuma soften.
"Sorry," he said quietly.
"It's alright," the old man smiled. "Tell me, what made you become an adventurer?"
Kazuma was silent. What made him become an adventurer? Coincidence? Fate? Or just the dream of a young man lost in a world he had once watched?
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Maybe because there was no other choice."
"You always have choices," the old man said calmly. "You could have become a merchant, a craftsman, or even a thief. But you chose the path of an adventurer."
"Maybe because I wanted to protect someone," muttered Kazuma, the image of Hestia's face flashing in his mind. "But that person... has already found a better protector."
The old man nodded slowly. "Ah, so that's the problem. You've lost the person you wanted to protect."
"She was never mine to lose," Kazuma said bitterly.
"But she was your reason to become strong," the old man continued, more as a statement than a question.
Kazuma remained silent, inwardly acknowledging that the old man was right.
"You know, young man," the old man looked toward the towering Babel Tower, "strength is like a double-edged sword. It can protect, but it can also destroy—depending on how you use it."
"And in your opinion, how should I use it?" asked Kazuma, his voice almost a whisper.
"That's not a question I can answer," the old man smiled. "But perhaps... you can find the answer in your past."
"My past?"
"Yes. What has made you who you are now? Who influenced you? What have you promised yourself?"
Kazuma's thoughts suddenly drifted to his past. Not to his life before coming to this world, but to when he still lived in that small village—the village where he spent his childhood before coming to Orario.
---
*Flashback*
A light rain wet the ground as Kazuma, aged 13, stood at the village gate. A small supply bag was slung over his shoulder. His face was tense, but full of determination.
That day, he and Uncle Baros would try to kill the wild boar that had been eating the vegetables planted by the villagers.
"So you're really leaving, Kazuma?"
A gentle woman's voice made him turn. There stood Aunt Mira, the bakery owner who always gave him leftover bread whenever Kazuma helped at her shop.
"Yes," Kazuma answered briefly. "It's time."
"You're still very young," Aunt Mira shook her head slowly. "The outside world is dangerous, you know?"
"I already know how to survive," replied Kazuma, a bit arrogantly.
Aunt Mira smiled slightly. "Of course. You're Uncle Baros's student, after all."
Hearing that name, Kazuma's eyes dimmed a little. "Yes."
"Kazuma!" Another voice came from behind them.
Kazuma turned and saw the village chief, who had once taught him to read and write, hurrying toward him. Behind him, several other villagers also approached.
"Chief?"
"You weren't thinking of leaving without saying goodbye, were you?" The village chief smiled, holding out a small package. "This is for you. Food provisions for your journey."
"And this," Jared the blacksmith handed over a dagger. "Just in case. Not my best work, but sharp enough to cut rope or stab small animals."
One by one, the villagers who had quietly watched over him—even though Kazuma always kept his distance—came bringing something. Some brought simple medicines, others gave thin blankets, and some children even offered wild flowers they had picked in the meadow.
"Why..." Kazuma looked in confusion at the items in his hands. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're one of us, Kazuma," the village chief answered gently. "You may not have been born in this village, but you grew up here."
"We're not asking you to save the village," added Aunt Mira. "We just hope you can be happy, live better, and maybe..."
"Become someone we can be proud of," continued Jared the blacksmith with a broad smile.
Kazuma fell silent, not knowing what to say. All this time he thought no one cared about him in this village. He thought he was just a strange child whose existence was tolerated. But it turned out...
"Thank you," he whispered, his throat feeling tight.
"And remember Uncle Baros's lessons," said Jared seriously. "He may not be the friendliest person in the village, but he taught you many important things."
Hearing that name again, Kazuma remembered the event that changed his life forever.
---
The wild boar's blood flowed from the gaping wound in its neck, soaking the damp forest soil. Kazuma, aged 13, stood rigid beside the animal's carcass, his entire body smeared with blood—partly the boar's, partly his own from the scratches on his arm and cheek.
His breath came in gasps. His eyes widened, still not believing what he had just done.
"You killed it," Uncle Baros's deep, raspy voice came from behind him. "Good."
"I-I didn't mean to," Kazuma stammered. "It suddenly attacked and I just..."
"Survived," Uncle Baros finished his sentence. "That's what you did. And that's the right thing."
Uncle Baros, the best hunter in the village who had been teaching Kazuma hunting for the past few months, approached the boar's carcass and examined its wound.
"Good thrust," he commented. "Right in the neck, cutting the main blood vessel."
"I... I killed it," repeated Kazuma, still in disbelief.
Uncle Baros looked at him sharply. "Yes, you killed it. And you will kill again in the future. To survive, to protect, maybe someday for revenge. That's part of life."
"But... killing is wrong."
"Who taught you that? The village chief?" Uncle Baros snorted. "The world isn't that simple, boy. There are times when you have to do 'wrong' things for the right reasons."
Uncle Baros crouched in front of Kazuma, gripping both his shoulders firmly, forcing him to look into his eyes.
"You know, Kazuma... I'm not a good person. I've never believed in justice or heroes."
"But I believe one thing—if you want to protect something, if you want to live... then become strong."
"Not strong to kill... but strong so that no one can take anything from you."
Uncle Baros took a water container from his belt and poured it on Kazuma's face, cleaning the dried blood there.
"I've failed to protect many things... But you, Kazuma... Don't be like me. Be stronger than anyone. Live... for yourself."
Those words felt heavy for young Kazuma. But somehow, there was a truth in them that he couldn't deny.
"What I want to protect..." Kazuma muttered softly.
"Yes," nodded Uncle Baros. "Find the answer, and that will be the source of your strength."
---
*Back to the present*
"Young man?" The old dwarf's voice brought Kazuma back to the present. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," Kazuma nodded slowly. "Just... remembering something."
"Something important, it seems," the old man smiled.
"Yes," Kazuma gazed at the brightening sky. "Something I should never have forgotten."
Silence enveloped them for a moment, filled only by the sound of the splashing fountain and the morning birdsong.
"Bell has his goddess..." Kazuma broke the silence, his voice soft but clear. "Someone who believes in him, who accompanies him at every step."
"I once wanted that too... someone who would embrace me when I fell, smile when I won..."
"But I didn't get that. All I had was an old voice that always taught me to survive."
"Uncle said... be strong, so that no one can take away your hope."
"But what if that hope... never comes?"
The old man looked at Kazuma deeply, as if assessing something within him.
"Hope isn't something that comes to you, young man," he finally said. "Hope is something you create yourself, that you hold tightly even when the world tries to take it from you."
"So, I will become strong," Kazuma clenched his fist. "Not for love. But because no one will love someone weak like me."
"That's a lonely way to live," the old man commented.
"But it's my way," Kazuma replied firmly. "At least for now."
The old man nodded, as if understanding. "Then... I hope you find what you're looking for on that path."
"Thank you," Kazuma stood up, extending his hand. "For... I don't know, listening, maybe?"
The old man took Kazuma's outstretched hand, shaking it firmly. "Sometimes, all we need is someone who listens."
With a final nod, Kazuma turned and began to walk away. However, he paused briefly, looking back.
"I still don't know your name."
The old man smiled mysteriously. "Like you, young man, I too once lost my way. And now... I'm just an old adventurer you can call Gorgon."
Kazuma nodded, accepting the answer even though he wasn't entirely satisfied. He resumed walking, this time with more determination.
As he got farther away, his hand rose to brush his hair back. His eyes, which had been full of doubt, now changed—sharp, focused, and a little... cold.
He had decided. He would become strong. So strong that no one could take anything from him again. Not his hope, not his future, not even his heart.
If Bell was shaped by heroic stories and the love of goodness from Zeus, then Kazuma was shaped by harsh reality and the survival spirit taught by Uncle Baros.
And if this world tried to take from him, then the world would learn how terrifying a Kazuma who no longer doubted could be.
The old man watched Kazuma's departure with a look that was difficult to interpret—a mix of pride, concern, and a little... sadness.
"I'm curious about his future," he murmured softly.
He stood up slowly, gazing at Babel Tower once more, before walking in the opposite direction from Kazuma—melting back into the awakening crowds of Orario.
---
Back at the church, Hestia had finished treating Bell's wounds. Though not as severe as they looked, Bell still needed rest to recover his strength.
"Bell-kun," Hestia said softly, sitting on the edge of the simple bed where Bell lay. "You need to rest today. No Dungeon."
"But Goddess..." Bell was about to protest, but Hestia pressed her finger to Bell's lips, silencing the young adventurer.
Hestia wiped her teary eyes. "Bell-kun... I haven't slept all night. You must be tired too. So..." Her cheeks reddened.
"How about... we sleep together? To stay warm!"
Bell blushed.
"G-Goddess?! You mean—"
"Not like that!" Hestia waved her hands in panic. "I mean... we're family! It saves space too!"
Bell's face immediately reddened at the suggestion. "S-sleep together?"
"Of course!" Hestia nodded enthusiastically, her face growing redder. "We're family, right? Nothing wrong with sleeping together!"
Bell, too tired to argue and also feeling guilty for making Hestia worry, finally nodded in agreement. "Alright, Goddess. We'll sleep together."
"Yaay!" Hestia cheered happily, almost jumping for joy. Quickly, she took a position beside Bell, lying facing the young adventurer.
Bell's face grew redder as Hestia moved closer, but fatigue made him not think too much about it. Besides, this wasn't the first time they had slept side by side in the cramped space of this old church.
"Bell-kun," whispered Hestia, her voice almost muffled by the drowsiness beginning to overcome her. "I'm glad you came home safely."
"Sorry for making you worry, Goddess," replied Bell, his eyes starting to feel heavy.
"Bell-kun," Hestia whispered again, "you want to become strong, right?"
Bell nodded slowly. "Yes, I want to become strong. Not just for myself, but also to protect the people I care about."
Hestia smiled hearing that answer. There was sincerity there—sincerity that made Bell special in her eyes.
"In that case," said Hestia, growing sleepier, "I will always support you, Bell-kun. As your goddess... and as your family."
"Thank you, Goddess," Bell smiled sincerely.
Both fell silent, slowly carried to the realm of dreams by extreme fatigue. But before truly falling asleep, Bell remembered something.
"Goddess," he mumbled with half-closed eyes. "Where's Kazuma?"
Hestia, who was almost asleep, tried to answer but immediately fell silent. She just realized that all this time, Kazuma indeed hadn't been seen around the church.
"Wasn't he here earlier? Strange..." murmured Hestia, but drowsiness soon overcame her. "He must be... fine..."
And with that, both fell into a deep sleep, exhausted after a long night. Meanwhile, Kazuma had begun his new path in the Dungeon, determined to become stronger in his own way.
Two factions had formed within the Hestia Familia, two different paths that would lead them to new adventures. How would their fates unfold? Only time would tell.