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Most of the Killer Ants that Shirou had slaughtered earlier had already crumbled into purplish ash, leaving behind small, faintly glowing purple magic stones scattered across the cave floor. The stones were easy to collect—just a quick sweep of the hand or the toe of a boot across the ground.
But not all of them were so fortunate.
A few of the giant ants' corpses still hadn't fully disintegrated. Their bodies lay stiff, sticky fluids dried on the surface of their carapaces. Shirou turned on his flashlight and let out a long sigh.
"More dirty work…"
He drew his twin swords, Kanshou and Bakuya. With swift yet careful movements, he sliced open the carapaces one by one—crack—searching for the characteristic glint hidden within the monster's tissues. As soon as he extracted the magic stone, the ant's corpse immediately lost its form, collapsing into gray dust that drifted slowly through the air.
The process took quite a while.
Cut.
Extract.
Dust.
Repeat.
Sweat dripped from Shirou's temple—not from exhaustion, but from the creeping boredom. A few minutes later, he finally stood again in front of the cage where the ant queen had fallen earlier.
There, among the remains of the queen he had finished off, lay a magic stone far larger than the others. It shone more brightly, at least the size of one from a Level 3 monster—dense, heavy, and brimming with energy.
Shirou picked it up slowly, feeling the faint pulse of magical energy in his palm.
"At least… this one's bigger," he muttered quietly.
He stored the stone in his bag, took one last look around the silent chamber, then sighed.
Four more points left.
Shirou stepped out of the dark corridor, his boots squeaking softly on the damp Dungeon floor. Once he reached the main path of the ninth floor, he paused and reached into his robe pocket.
"Hmm…"
He pulled out the map of Floor 9 that he had tucked away earlier. At one corner was a sticky greenish stain—an ant's bodily fluid that had accidentally gotten on it during the fight. Shirou frowned.
"Great… now it's dirty."
A small pang of guilt stirred in his chest.
Ryuu stayed up all night drawing this…
He gently patted the damp spot on the map, then sighed softly, as if apologizing to its owner even though no one could hear.
Carefully, he folded the map back up, then opened the small bag he had projected earlier. Inside were already several rolled-up maps. Shirou swapped the Floor 9 map into the bag and took out the Floor 14 map in preparation for the next point.
He stared at the corridor ahead while thinking. Indeed, the ant queen earlier had been little more than a minor nuisance to him—their bites only caused brief itching and stinging. But the thought of a beginner adventurer getting lost down here made his chest feel slightly heavier.
"If a Level 1 or 2 adventurer ran into that…" Shirou shook his head. "They'd definitely become food."
He pulled his hood tighter and began walking again. Rudra's matter had to be settled quickly. The longer it was left alone, the higher the chance of more victims.
"Hopefully the next one isn't as annoying as those ants…"
With steady breaths, he continued toward the next marked point in the Dungeon.
Luck seemed to still be on Shirou's side. The next point marked on the map turned out to be far simpler compared to the nightmare of the ant queen colony on Floor 9.
He descended until he reached Floor 14. The air there was hotter, carrying a faint smell of sulfur. Following the map's markings, Shirou slipped into a hidden stone cave concealed behind what looked like an ordinary natural wall. Once inside, the passage narrowed and twisted before finally opening into a dimly lit, wide chamber.
"This is the place…" he murmured.
The beam of his flashlight swept across the room.
In front of him stood a large iron cage. Inside, it was crowded with black-skinned, giant dog-like creatures with glowing red eyes—a pack of Hellhounds.
The moment the light touched them, barking echoed through the chamber.
"Grrr… woof… woof…"
Strangely, the barking almost sounded… tame. Some of them even wagged their tails, pushing each other toward the bars as if they thought Shirou was their owner.
Shirou froze for a moment. "Hmm…?"
But in the next instant, one Hellhound sniffed the air. Its nose twitched. Its red eyes narrowed.
"GRRRRAAAAH!!"
In a flash, the entire pack turned savage. Flames erupted from their maws—WHOOOOSH!!
"Tch—"
Shirou raised his hand. A transparent shield with red-blue magical patterns formed in front of him.
Anti-fire shield.
The flames crashed against the shield and scattered, heat roaring but unable to penetrate. The wave of heat swept through Shirou's hair and robe, but his body remained unharmed.
The moment the fire breath paused for them to inhale, Shirou moved.
"Trace on."
Dozens of silver swords materialized in the air around the cage. WHOOM—WHOOM—WHOOM!!
A rain of steel blades rained down in unison.
CRASH! CRACK! THUD!
The Hellhounds howled in agony.
"Aaaauuu… GRAAAGH!!"
Some tried to breathe fire again, others desperately rammed the bars, but the blades pierced their bodies mercilessly. Within seconds, the screams faded into silence.
The Hellhounds' bodies crumbled to dust, leaving behind faintly glowing magic stones and iron collars scattered across the cage floor—clearly man-made control devices.
Shirou slowly lowered his hand, his breathing steady.
"…They took good care of you, huh."
Seeing the old healed scars, the well-groomed and neatly brushed fur, and the clean condition of the cage, he could tell these creatures had not been treated as cruelly as other monsters. A strange feeling briefly touched his chest.
But he quickly shook his head.
"Still… a monster is a monster."
Shirou collected the magic stones and iron collars, stored them in his bag, and continued toward the next point, leaving the now-silent cave behind.
Step by step, Shirou descended deeper into the Dungeon's belly. Before long, the narrow stone corridors gradually became more orderly, and the cool air typical of the middle floors brushed against his skin. Ahead lay a large spiral staircase leading downward—a familiar landmark.
"Floor Eighteen…" he murmured.
He paused at the edge of the stairs, pulling out the map from his bag and opening it carefully. His finger traced the inked lines Ryuu had drawn, stopping at a small circled point. The next location was on Floor 18—the safe zone. Safe, relatively peaceful… but quite far from Rivira, the small town where adventurers usually rested.
Shirou frowned.
"Safe zone, but tucked away in such an out-of-the-way spot…"
He unconsciously scratched his arm.
"Tch…"
The itching was back. The Killer Ant bites from earlier had now turned into reddish welts. Not painful, but incredibly annoying. He scratched lightly, then stopped before making it worse.
"I should've bought anti-itch potion earlier," he grumbled inwardly. "Instead of losing focus in the middle of the Dungeon."
He made a quick decision. Rivira was closer than going back to the surface, and he could also check his condition before heading to the next point. With that, Shirou began descending the spiral staircase, his steps steady yet cautious.
A few minutes later, the characteristic sight of Floor 18 unfolded before him.
The crystal ceiling glowed with soft orange light, reflecting warm illumination like a frozen sunset underground. A gentle breeze blew, carrying the scent of grass and clean water—a complete contrast to the stifling corridors above.
Shirou stopped and looked around.
"It's already evening, huh…"
The orange light stretched his shadow long across the ground, and for a moment, the tension that had clung to him since morning eased slightly. But he knew this was no time to relax.
"Potion first," he decided. "Then continue."
After carefully folding the map and tucking it back into his bag, Shirou stepped into the territory of Floor 18, heading toward Rivira—to find medicine for a trivial itch before returning to face the remaining secrets of Rudra that had yet to be uncovered.
Shirou walked deeper into Rivira, passing rows of multi-story wooden buildings and suspension bridges that wound between the massive tree roots towering in the center of the town. The leaves rustled softly—shaaa… shaaa…—as if greeting the adventurers coming and going.
He glanced briefly at the colossal tree, then shook his head slightly. "Not the time for sightseeing," he muttered to himself.
Without wasting time, Shirou made his way along the edge of the open market. Many stalls were already closing, curtains being lowered, torches extinguished one by one. Yet in the corner of the street, a few stubborn street vendors still held out.
His eyes caught a middle-aged man with a thick beard sitting behind a simple wooden table covered in glass bottles and herb pouches. A faint herbal scent wafted from his wares.
Shirou approached politely. "Excuse me, sir."
The vendor looked up. "Yes? What are you looking for, young man?"
Shirou scratched his arm, still covered in welts. "I need a potion… something to relieve itching. Looks like I got bitten by Killer Ants."
The man examined Shirou's arm for a moment, then nodded in understanding. "Ah, I can see it clearly. Killer Ant bites, huh? Don't worry, I've got just the thing."
He rummaged under the table—crak… krek…—and pulled out a small bottle filled with clear green liquid.
"Here. Just dab a little on, and the itching will go down right away."
Shirou smiled in relief. "How much?"
The vendor quoted a modest price. Shirou nodded, then opened his small pouch. Instead of paying with valis, he poured several small purple magic stones onto the table.
Tick… tick… tick…
The amount was clearly more than enough.
The vendor's eyes widened. "Eh—eh! That's way too much, young man!"
Shirou shook his head. "It's fine. Consider it… a little extra."
The man looked moved. "Thank you so much… honestly, yesterday was rough for me."
Shirou frowned. "What happened, sir?"
The vendor let out a long sigh.
"Yesterday, some prankster threw a smoke bomb in the market. My goods got knocked over, bottles shattered, potions spilled… I'm just a small vendor, so the loss hit me pretty hard."
Shirou fell silent.
In his mind flashed images from the day before—clouds of smoke, panic in the market, people shouting, and him running alongside Ryuu chasing Jura.
A sharp pang of guilt stabbed his chest.
He looked at the remaining magic stones in his pouch, then, without hesitation, dumped them all onto the table.
"Here… take all of them, sir."
The vendor was stunned. "Huh?! Young man, this is too much—!"
Shirou bowed his head slightly.
"Consider it… compensation. Not just for the potion."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then the vendor let out a small laugh, his eyes glistening.
"Young people like you are rare in the Dungeon… may the gods bless you."
Shirou gave only a faint smile—half relieved, half regretful—before pocketing the potion and walking away, leaving the vendor with an unexpected windfall on his wooden table.
"Young man!"
Shirou stopped. He turned back as the hoarse voice called from behind. The bearded vendor stood, waving hesitantly but sincerely.
"Yes, sir?" Shirou replied, walking back over.
The man lifted another small bottle from behind his table. "Here, take this too. My bonus to you. A mild healing potion."
Shirou immediately shook his head gently. "Thank you very much, but really, it's not necessary. I still have stock in my bag. Besides… I've already troubled you too much earlier."
The vendor sighed briefly, then nodded. "Well then…" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Is there anything I can do for you? I'd feel bad if I didn't return the favor."
Shirou paused for a moment. He didn't need any more items—but there was something far more valuable.
Information.
He took half a step closer. "In that case… I'd like to ask about something. Have you ever heard of Evilus taming monsters?"
The vendor's expression changed instantly. His friendly smile vanished, replaced by a wary gaze. He glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then looked back at Shirou sharply.
"You're asking about heavy stuff, young man," he whispered. "From the stories I've heard… yes. There really are Evilus groups that can control monsters. Not just luring or repelling them—but truly controlling them."
Shirou's heart beat a little faster.
"They use that to ambush adventurers," the man continued. "Especially the rookies. A lot disappear, a lot die. The Dungeon's gotten crueler because of them."
The explanation felt like the final piece of a puzzle. It confirmed the suspicions that had been nagging him all along—about the overly well-trained Hellhounds, about the ant queen treated like an asset—slowly easing.
So it wasn't just my thoughts.
But the vendor wasn't finished.
"However," he said quietly, "it's not only Evilus that's managed to 'tame' monsters."
Shirou's eyebrows rose. "Who else?"
"Ganesha Familia."
The name made Shirou flinch slightly. "Them?"
"Yeah," the man replied. "A few months ago, they held a big event. Called it Monsterphilia. You didn't see it?"
Shirou scratched the back of his neck. "Ugh… I was too busy in the Dungeon back then."
The vendor chuckled softly. "Figures. The main attraction was a choreographed combat show. Adventurers fighting monsters—all carefully staged so civilians could watch without fear. They said the monsters were given special potions to make them docile."
Shirou fell silent longer than before. His gaze dropped to the scratched wooden table while his fingers unconsciously tapped lightly.
If even Ganesha Familia—who are clearly not Evilus—could tame monsters for a show… he thought quietly. Then it's not impossible in principle. But is it really "taming," or just forcing obedience with potions and tools?
The image of the trembling ant queen in its cage flashed through his mind—its compound eyes filled with fear, the eggs beneath its body, its sharp screams when the iron ring shocked it. Then the well-groomed Hellhounds that turned feral the moment they caught an unfamiliar scent.
If they can be tamed… could monsters ever become pets? Or even… friends to humans someday?
The thought made Shirou ask softly, "In your opinion, sir… could monsters ever become friends with humans?"
The vendor laughed shortly and shook his head firmly. "No way, young man. Monsters are dangerous by nature. Their instincts are different." He snorted. "Even Ganesha Familia had an incident once. Their Silverback broke free. Luckily, no one got eaten."
Shirou bowed his head, absorbing every word.
So control is always temporary… and always risky.
He nodded respectfully. "Thank you, sir. That information helps a lot."
"Take care of yourself," the vendor replied. "If you get too involved with Evilus… the Dungeon can become far more dangerous than you think."
Shirou gave a faint smile, then turned and left the Rivira market—with thoughts much heavier, and resolve even firmer.
As he walked away from the bustle of Rivira, Shirou took out the small bottle of anti-itch potion he'd just bought. The liquid was pale green, faintly shimmering under the Dungeon's crystal orange light on the ceiling of Floor 18. He poured a little into his palm, then rubbed it onto his welt-covered arm.
"Hhh… that feels so much better," he murmured.
The burning, stinging sensation that had been gnawing at his skin slowly faded, replaced by a soothing coolness that spread across his entire arm. Though it wasn't a high-grade potion from Miach or Dian Cecht Familia, the effect was quick and sufficient. Shirou shook his arm a few times—no more sharp pain.
After putting the potion bottle back in his bag, he paused on the stone path of Floor 18. Carefully, he opened Ryuu's map, smoothed the folds, and traced the next marked location with his fingertip.
"Over there… in a corner rarely visited by adventurers," he whispered.
He walked through the increasingly quiet forest. The farther he went, the stranger the atmosphere felt—more humid air, soft echoes of his footsteps on the grass, and the orange crystal light above dimmed by natural rock formations.
The peacefulness here felt almost unnatural for a Dungeon.
Shirou sighed, looking around. Green moss bushes grew thick on the stone walls, water dripped slowly from stalactites, and not a single monster shadow stirred.
"What kind of monster are they hiding here?" he wondered.
On Floor 9, Rudra Familia had kept an ant queen with its entire colony. On Floor 14, they controlled a pack of trained Hellhounds. Both made sense—monsters native to those floors.
But Floor 18 was different.
This floor was known as a natural safe zone. Almost no monsters spawned here. Adventurers usually came only to rest, trade, or wait before descending deeper.
"So then… what could they possibly hide in a place that's supposed to be safe?" Shirou muttered, brow furrowed.
His thoughts were interrupted when he arrived exactly at the marked spot.
In front of him was only a low mound of earth covered in dense bushes and creeping roots. No cage, no cave entrance, no sign of a building—just a silent mini-forest.
Shirou crouched and carefully parted the bushes. Wet leaves rustled softly as he pushed them aside. His hand touched something hard and cold beneath the soil.
"…What's this?"
He cleared away more dirt and leaves—and slowly, the shape of a flat iron door emerged. A hidden trapdoor, nearly undetectable unless someone was actively searching.
Shirou held his breath for a moment.
"Found it."
He pressed his palm to the iron surface. No monster aura, no active traps—but a faint chill emanated from beneath.
With a bit of effort, Shirou lifted the trapdoor. The hinges creaked softly—kriiik—breaking the silence of Floor 18.
Below lay a stone staircase descending into darkness, so deep that even the Dungeon's crystal light couldn't reach it.
"Alright…" he whispered. "Let's see what Rudra Familia is hiding in such a safe place."
He took a deep breath and stepped down the stairs—disappearing into the darkness beneath Floor 18.
The stone staircase grew colder the farther Shirou descended. Damp air stabbed his lungs, carrying the smell of wet earth mixed with old metal. His footsteps echoed softly—tap… tap… tap…—as if the underground space swallowed every sound.
When he reached the bottom, darkness greeted him like a thick curtain. Shirou instinctively reached for his pocket, intending to project a flashlight as before—but his fingers froze in midair.
"…Huh?"
On the wall of the narrow room ahead hung an old oil lamp. Its frosted glass was dusty, but the oil inside was still half full. The wick looked usable.
Shirou frowned, then approached slowly. Carefully, he projected a small match, struck it, and touched the flame to the wick.
Fshhh…
A small orange flame flickered, trembled for a moment, then steadied. Dim light spread through the underground chamber, chasing away the darkness and revealing its contents.
Shirou looked around—and blinked.
"…Huh."
What lay before him wasn't a monster, not a deadly trap, not a dark altar, but… a storage room.
Wooden shelves lined the walls. On them sat stacked crates, sacks, and metal boxes. On the floor lay piles of used weapons—short swords, broken spears, rusted axes, and cracked shields.
Shirou stepped deeper, the oil lamp in his hand illuminating each item one by one.
In the left corner, he saw rows of colorful potion bottles—red, blue, green—some still sealed, some half empty. Nearby lay camping gear: foldable tents, rope, iron pots, and even a worn sleeping bag.
On the other side lay several low-quality magic swords—their blades glimmered faintly, but the mana flow within felt weak to Shirou's senses.
He picked up one of the swords, closed his eyes briefly, then sighed.
"…Trash," he muttered flatly.
Compared to his own projections—or the weapons of Loki Familia—these items felt cheap. Valuable to bandits perhaps, but to high-level adventurers, let alone Loki Familia members, they were practically worthless.
Shirou returned the sword to the pile and continued circling the room.
"So it's just supplies," he said quietly to himself. "Rudra Familia really used this place as a warehouse…"
No oppressive monster aura. No signs of rituals. Just dust, old iron, and the smell of lamp oil.
"If this is all…" he murmured, a little disappointed. "Why hide it on Floor 18?"
Feeling he hadn't found anything important, Shirou started to turn back. He stepped toward the stairs, then stopped.
Something felt… off.
At the far end of the room, almost hidden in the shadow of a shelf, stood a small iron door. Unlike the others, this one was plain, unmarked, and fitted with a thick mechanical lock. Its surface looked newer than the surrounding walls.
Shirou approached, his ears catching an eerie silence—no hum of the lamp behind it, as if the room beyond was completely isolated.
"…Aha," he whispered.
He knelt and pressed his palm to the cold iron. The lock clearly wasn't meant for storing ordinary supplies.
"If there's anything important," Shirou thought, narrowing his eyes, "it's behind this."
He took a breath, prepared, and focused entirely on the locked room before him.
Shirou stood in front of the iron door for a few seconds, weighing his options. A vein throbbed faintly at his temple.
"Ah… whatever."
Without much thought, he swung his leg and BRAKKK! kicked the door with full force.
The metal screeched like a wounded animal—KREEEET!—then its hinges bent unnaturally. The small iron door tore free from its frame and slammed against the inner wall with a heavy thud.
Dust billowed.
Shirou stepped inside slowly, the oil lamp in his hand illuminating the previously hidden interior.
"…Huh?"
The first thing he saw made his eyebrows rise.
A thin mattress lay on the stone floor—worn, slightly damp, with a rumpled blanket folded haphazardly. In the corner was a rickety small table with a half-empty water bottle and a piece of hardened, stale bread.
The room felt like an emergency rest spot… or a temporary hideout.
Shirou raised the oil lamp higher, the dim orange light sweeping wall by wall.
And that's when he froze.
On the opposite wall hung something.
Not a weapon. Not a crate. Not equipment.
A creature.
Shirou's heart beat faster as he stepped closer.
The winged body hung from thick iron chains around its wrists and ankles, forming a cross-like pose—upside down. Its feathers shimmered greenish-blue like a peacock's, but they were dull and matted. Long hair draped over its face, some strands stuck together with dried blood.
Its wings were torn in several places.
Its pale skin reflected the lamp's light.
No movement. No breathing. No sound.
Shirou stopped right in front of it.
"…A Harpy…?"
He recognized the silhouette immediately.
An aerial-type monster—graceful, deadly, and usually only found on much deeper floors of the Dungeon.
But this one… was clearly dead.
Shirou lifted the lamp closer. Clear slash wounds marred its chest and abdomen, some crudely stitched together with rough thread—as if the body had been "tampered with."
The faint stench of metal and old flesh wafted up.
Shirou clenched his fist unconsciously.
"Harpy never spawns on Floor 18…" he murmured, his voice low and cold. "So why… is one hanging here?"
He stared at the iron chains around its neck, wrists, and ankles. The pattern resembled the monster-control collars he'd seen on the ant queen and Hellhounds—but far more complex, with strange runes engraved along the metal.
"…A hunting trophy?" Shirou thought bitterly. "Or… an experiment?"
Shirou brought the oil lamp even closer until its faint orange light touched the creature's face. The long greenish-black hair draped over most of its features, but the faint draft from the underground corridor occasionally shifted it, revealing soft lines that no ordinary monster should have.
The face… was beautiful.
Pale lips slightly parted, a small, refined nose, long eyelashes clumped with dried blood. Its teeth, faintly visible through the open mouth, were not sharp or jagged like those of wild Harpies he'd fought deeper down. Just a neat row of white teeth, similar to humans.
Shirou held his breath. His heart pounded strangely.
"Why… does it have a face like this?" he whispered, barely audible.
A tightness rose in his chest—like a knot suddenly tightening. Pity. The word flashed through his mind unbidden. He imagined this creature once breathing, once moving with those now-torn wings, once… alive. But instantly, that feeling twisted into a wave of revulsion that pierced him.
He stepped back half a pace, shaking his head hard.
"What the hell is this…" his voice rasped. "I came down here to wipe out whatever Rudra Familia was hiding. Not to… feel sorry for it."
But why?
Why did his heart waver just because its face looked like a beautiful girl? The other monsters he'd cut down—Killer Ants, Hellhounds, even Minotaurs—had never made him hesitate for a second. They growled, they attacked, they were monsters. But this one… was silent. Motionless. Just hanging there like a broken doll.
Shirou clenched his fist until his nails dug into his palm.
Stupid.
"Maybe it tore apart other people, too," he hissed at himself, his tone filled with self-directed anger. "Maybe it swooped down on adventurers, ripped their throats out with those claws—" His eyes dropped to the chained legs. Curved, razor-sharp black talons, still intact even though the body was lifeless. "—and here I am feeling sorry just because it's pretty? How… disgusting."
He let out a long breath, forcing his breathing back to even.
"Focus, Shirou."
He stepped closer again, this time with colder resolve. He set the oil lamp on the floor to keep the light steady, then raised his right hand toward the Harpy's blood-crusted neck.
"Trace… on."
A faint blue glow enveloped his palm. Structural analysis activated—he let his vision pierce layer by layer: skin, muscle, blood vessels, down to the lingering traces of mana.
The blood on its neck had dried completely. No flow remained. Time of death… yesterday. Maybe at night or early morning.
"But why kill it?" he muttered. "If this was a valuable asset to Rudra Familia, why wasn't it maintained? Why leave it hanging like this?"
He shifted his gaze downward, following the body covered in crude stitches. Abdomen, chest, arms—all bore slash wounds that had been roughly sewn shut. But near the left thigh was a different dried stain. Not blood. Not a cut. More… sticky. A whitish-brown color that had dried and flaked off in places.
Shirou's stomach churned.
He forced structural analysis on that area.
The result came quickly—too quickly.
Composition of the fluid: protein, enzymes, dead spermatozoa cells, mixed with natural secretions from the Harpy's reproductive tract. Age of the stain: roughly 12–24 hours. No signs of resistance in the area—muscles completely relaxed when the fluid adhered.
Shirou closed his eyes immediately, drawing a deep breath through his nose.
Nausea…
He backed up until his back hit the cold stone wall. His stomach roiled violently, but he forced it down. The disgust that had been faint earlier now surged into a burning wave that scorched his throat.
"Not just killed," he whispered, voice trembling. "They… even raped her first."