Clan Olympus. In its multipurpose room.
Usually, this was where strategy etings were held before dungeon dives: arranging party compositions, discussing coordination, and deciding the division of rewards. But right now—
I sat with my head in my hands, staring at Annette, the pointy-eared elf.
At her call, the first to appear was a cat-man, a warcat, by the look of him.
Unlike Eva, who carried herself with poise, this one slouched, eyes narrow and shifty, radiating the air of a stray. His character seed just as questionable.
“Well, well… So you’re that Dietrich Alex kept talking about, huh? Heard you were just a brat, but…”
“Yes, Dietrich Becker. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
I gave my na, but he didn’t return the favor.
…Well, I was only a ten-year-old brat. To expect them to treat as an equal before I showed results would be arrogance.
Best not to fuss over it.
Next ca a woman with deep green hair. She had pointed ears like Annette, though the air about her was different. Her beauty was striking, but her gaze held a furrow of suspicion.
“Di-Dietrich… And you are?”
Nothing.
Pointy-ears number two said absolutely nothing. Perhaps she was mute.
The rest were maids—also warcats, but of another breed: impeccable posture, graceful manners. Warcats with elegant figures were favored among the wealthy. Clearly, they had been recruited with that in mind.
I could evaluate their character later. For now, I had to prepare for the worst.
“At present, Alex and her party are attacking the dungeon without a healer.”
“Yeah, we know. Stupid bastards,” Stray scoffed.
I agreed with him.
Pointy-ears number two only deepened the wrinkle in her brow.
“Alex had requested I serve as Olympus’s healer. But if worst cos, I’ll need cooperation from everyone in the clan.”
Stray scratched his chin.
“Well, no matter how reckless that athead is, she’s bound to have healing potions on her. Don’t see why we should get worked up.”
“If that’s the case, fine. Call a fool afterward. But the problem is—what if she doesn’t? What if soone cos back with wounds too grave to wait?”
“Hmph. Not impossible.”
Stray was reasonable, despite appearances. He agreed that even Alex wasn’t immune to accidents.
Just like Annette and Pointy-ears number two, Stray had remained in the house to avoid such dangers. One could call it wisdom, or cowardice. Whether that made the best kind of adventurer, I couldn’t say. But personally, I preferred it to reckless bravado.
On one side, Alex—charging headlong into dungeons, heedless of risk.
On the other hand, these three—cautious, deliberate, unwilling to gamble their lives.
And then, at last, Pointy-ears number two opened her mouth.
“…Doesn’t matter to .”
“I see. May I take that as you have no intention of helping ?”
“Yeah. If soone’s weak enough to die so easily, Olympus doesn’t need them.” Google seaʀᴄh novelfire(.)net
I wasn’t surprised. In any group full of strong personalities, there’s always one like this. An individualist. To win their cooperation, you had to give them sothing in return.
“Anyway, I heard you removed Annette’s lump. That interests more.”
“Yes. And what of it?”
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.
“What’s ‘cancerous’?”
Individualistic, self-centered. She had to be an elf. Different from Annette in deanor, yet unmistakably of the sa race. But why the stark contrast?
“…It’s what we call a malignant tumor. Another term is malignant neoplasm.”
“Malignant… neoplasm?”
Egoists only moved when their own benefit was at stake. So I explained—leaning on both my knowledge and the wisdom granted by Mother Asclepia.
“Number two, do you know the difference between dungeon monsters and those outside?”
“They vanish once they leave the dungeon.”
“Correct. But if a monster gathers enough mana to take on flesh, it doesn’t vanish. Monsters with mana cores belong to that category.”
Even that much was a hassle to spell out. Explaining the nature of dungeons and mana was always a hassle.
“Normally, dungeon monsters disappear outside. Except in one place.”
“Our bodies,” she said, gasping.
Quick. Sharp. She didn’t need endless lectures.
Her eyes flicked from side to side, shaken. Any adventurer who entered dungeons carried scars. She must have her own—and her own fears about “lumps.”
“But the priests of Asclepia told mine weren’t dangerous…”
Other priests? I knew nothing about them.
“Yes. They spoke true.”
If benign, it was harmless. But under constant exposure to dungeon mana, it could turn malignant at any ti.
Suddenly, Mother Asclepia’s voice ca.
“My child. Our existence will not extend your lifespans. All humans live only the number of years allotted by heaven. Whether those years are lived in health, or in misery like a wounded beast—that is where we hold aning.”
Silence stretched. Stray clicked his tongue and gave a long look.
“Marielle. You hear that? Kid’s the real thing. No wonder Alex is hooked on him.”
What? What did I do?
“Enzo. That’s my na. You’ve got my respect, Doc.”
The stray, Enzo, extended a hand. I shook it.
“Thank you, Enzo.”
I hadn’t said anything relevant. I’d only repeated Mother’s words. Yet Enzo accepted .
“—!”
Pointy-ears number two trembled, then thrust out a thin arm from her oversized robe.
“Doc, welco to Olympus. I’m Marielle Grande, a mage.”
“Yes, Dietrich Becker. I look forward to working with you.”
We exchanged greetings. Only Annette sat back, chin tilted high, smugly nodding as though this had all gone according to her plan.
“So, what do you want from us?” Enzo asked.
Both Annette and Marielle were watching now, eyes sharp.
That was how selfish people worked—always weighing, but once convinced, they could turn fast, so long as you kept proving yourself.
…At least now we can begin preparations.
“First, gather as much Grisalis grass as possible. Roots and all. The more, the better.”
“Grisalis?” Enzo asked.
“It grows along riverbanks. Common weed. Grows all year.”
“So just a weed. What’s it for?”
“Alone, it works well enough. More importantly, it forms the foundation for nurous dicines, antidotes, salves, and stimulants. You can’t brew without it.”
“Never heard of it. Wouldn’t it be faster to buy potions outright?”
His ignorance grated. Just like Annette earlier, they had no grounding in dicine.
“You’re not wrong, Enzo. But the potions you’re thinking of are costly, sold by apothecaries. If the sa effects can be made from weeds, would you still rather bleed coins?”
The edge in my voice made him flinch; he stiffened.
“Well, I an…”
“If you’re only going to depend on store-bought redies, then I’m wasted here. Just haul a wagon of potions to the dungeon gates. That muscle-head will be delighted.”
“Muscle-head…”
Enzo barked a laugh. Beside him, Annette doubled over, shaking with hers.
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