The entrance to the Dungeon was always a spectacle, even at this early hour.
Adventurers shouting, merchants aggressive display of goods and injured being scurried away.
Zamasu stood just outside the threshold, his white toga fluttering slightly in the gentle morning breeze.
His silver hair caught the pale light of dawn, giving him an almost ethereal glow that drew subtle glances from the nearby crowd.
Behind him, a small cluster of adventurers lingered, their voices low but full of curiosity—and something far more insidious.
"Hey. It's that guy again." one of them whispered, a stocky man with a weather-beaten face.
"Yea? The guy who caused a stir recently? Doesn't look like much!" His companion replied coldly.
"He-hey guys, a-are you sure we should be talking smack about a god?" A shorter guy quipped nervously.
The group of adventurers gathered a little closer, now that Zamasu had passed through the Dungeon's entrance.
"Didn't you see the Guild notice?" the stocky man continued, crossing his arms and watching the descending stairwell as if expecting Zamasu to reappear.
"Top brass confirmed it themselves. He ain't a god. Some kinda rogue that wandered into town and made a big splash."
"Yea, my familia did some digging last night," his taller companion added, pushing back his hood to reveal a mess of red hair and a scar across his temple.
"Turns out the guy's been in Orario for less than a week. No known affiliations. No sponsor. Hell, not even a name registered with the Guild until two days ago."
"No familia?" the nervous one echoed, frowning. "Then how the hell did he reach the fifteenth floor and walk back like he took a stroll through the market district?"
"That's the thing," the redhead grinned, his teeth sharp and yellowed. "Nobody knows how. But it's real. The Guild confirmed it. Said he brought back a load of monster cores—mostly pristine. Not even a scratch on him."
The stocky man gave a low chuckle. "Which means he ain't green. Not some newbie who got lucky. He's dangerous. But that's also what makes him valuable."
A new voice cut in from a nearby stall. A woman with a thin face and eyes like flint leaned in, her voice pitched low but clear.
"You see how he looks? That white hair? Those eyes? The way he talks? Even the way he moves. You know what someone like that would go for on the black market?"
The group turned to her, interest piqued.
"I've seen nobles pay bags of valis just for exotic company," she continued. "You sell someone like that to a collector in the Empire or a rogue alchemist from Ishtar's old network? You'd be rich. Not just rich—retired."
The redhead gave a whistle. "What're we talking? Ten million? Fifteen?"
The woman shrugged. "Depends. If he's got magic or royal blood? He got pointy ears, so most likely an elf. Could be triple."
The shorter guy visibly gulped. "Y-you guys are serious? You want to capture that guy?"
The stocky man's smile widened, mean and slow. "You saw him walk in alone, didn't you? That's the second time. No party. No escort. Just wanders in and out like he owns the place."
"He might just be cocky," the redhead added, glancing toward the Dungeon stairs. "Thinks his strength alone can keep him safe. But anyone who's been around long enough knows the Dungeon's a different beast when it wants to be."
The woman leaned in. "He sounds strong, yeah. But that's not the same as being invincible. Our guess? He's around Level Two at most. That'd explain how he reached floor fifteen and lived to tell the tale. Still impressive—but not unstoppable."
"Exactly," the stocky one said. "He may be strong, but not enough to take on four or five Level Twos if we hit him together. And if we hit him in the Dungeon, no one's gonna notice until it's too late. The Guild's not gonna go digging past floor ten to look for a corpse."
"I still don't know…" the nervous guy hesitated. "What if he's baiting us? Maybe he's from Freya's or Loki's familia and just keeping a low profile. You know those gods like to play weird games."
"If he was with Freya or Loki, we'd have heard about it already," the redhead snapped. "Those goddesses don't hide their pets. They parade them around like trophies. Besides, the Guild confirmed it—he's unaffiliated."
The woman gave a smirk. "And if he was really worth that much, someone else would've moved on him already. This is Orario. If no one's tried to catch him yet, that means no one's figured out what he really is."
The stocky man nodded slowly. "Then we'll be the first."
There was a moment of silence as the weight of what they were proposing settled over them.
"You sure we can take him?" the short one asked again, quieter now.
"If we wait long enough, follow him down and corner him when he's already spent some of his energy—then yeah," the redhead said confidently.
"Even if he's fast or tough, there's no way he can fend off all of us at once. Especially not if we hit him from range first."
"Paralysis knives, nets, sleep powder," the woman listed smoothly. "Not everything has to be a head-on fight."
"And besides, he'd sell for more if he has less bruises."
The stocky man scratched his chin, then turned back toward the Dungeon entrance.
"Alright. We follow. Slow. Don't engage until I give the word. Keep your distance. We watch his pattern, learn how deep he goes, then wait for the right floor."
"You want the mid-floors?" the redhead asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No. Too many monsters. Too unpredictable. I say Floor twelve. That's deep enough that the Guild won't patrol, but shallow enough that we can manage the cleanup."
"Fine," the woman agreed. "But if this goes south, we scatter. No names. No faces. Understood?"
Everyone nodded.
The redhead grinned again. "Let's go get ourselves a good product."
And just like that, the group turned toward the Dungeon's gaping maw, slipping in one by one like wolves on the trail of a lone elk.
Their steps were careful, calculated. Unaware of the growing shadow behind him, Zamasu was already descending.
As Zamasu stepped into the Dungeon for the second time, the stone walls felt less like an unknown maze and more like familiar territory.
The air was thick with energy as always, humming softly through the tunnels, and the dim lighting offered just enough visibility to see without distraction.
Down here, everything made sense—fight, survive, grow stronger.
His white toga swayed gently behind him as he descended into the depths, ignoring the goblins and kobolds that lingered in the upper floors.
He dispatched a few with a single sweep of his arm, not even slowing down to glance at the cores they dropped. They were so small, he doubted the guild would see them on the counter.
They weren't worth the time.
"No point in wasting energy on scraps," he muttered.
His goal today was clear: reach at least the 20th floor.
He needed stronger monster cores—ones that would sell for more than the pitiful handful of valis he'd earned from his first trip.
His initial dive had helped him understand how the Dungeon worked and how dangerous it could be, but now that he knew his strength was more than sufficient , it was time to go deeper.
The deeper the floor, the stronger the monsters, and the more valuable the cores.
More importantly, the deeper he went, the better chance he had of finding rare metals.
His thoughts drifted briefly to the workshop district of Orario—the rows of crafting stalls and forges, the loud haggling of artisans and armorers.
Materials there were expensive, almost absurdly so. Even something as basic as a lightweight but durable alloy for armguards was well beyond his current funds.
He sighed quietly, his expression hardening.
"Pursuing creativity on empty pockets," he said to himself. "It's rough."
But to manifest those designs, he needed materials: refined monster hide, enchanted threads, lightweight metals that could be molded and tempered into form-fitting armor.
Paying for those things outright would be time consuming and he was growing impatient.
Which meant he had to find them himself.
Dungeon metals weren't unheard of. There were rumors of alloys forming deep in the stone, or monsters dropping crystalline chunks of mineral with strange properties.
Even rare drops like scales, carapace shards, or horn fragments from certain monsters could be repurposed into armor.
If he could collect enough of those, he might be able to forge pieces by trading with a smith for labor instead of valis.
"Floor 20 should give me a better shot at all of it," he thought. "Better cores. Better drops. Maybe even a few pieces of dungeon-grown ore."
The thought lit a small flame of motivation inside him.
With a final glance back toward the tunnel behind him, he pressed forward, his eyes sharp and focused. The 10th floor was behind him now. The real descent was just beginning.
Chapter 16 end