In Your Eyes, What Is He?

Syr's small face, usually adorned with a sweet smile, immediately puffed up like an indignant little pufferfish.

That porcelain-white face revealed clear dissatisfaction, her charming eyes brimming with reproach.

Her gaze drifted toward the lively area occupied by the Loki Familia.

She had been on the verge of saying something incredibly important—something regarding Thor's thoughts on recruiting new members—and she never expected to be interrupted so rudely!

Thor followed Syr's displeased gaze as well.

It had only been ten minutes since they sat down, yet the white-haired werewolf Bete already looked completely drunk.

He was laughing boisterously, slamming his hand against the table while using that grating, unreserved tone to recount the story of a Minotaur chasing a few "rookie" adventurers on the fifth floor of the Dungeon today, treating it as the most hilarious entertainment for his companions.

His voice was loud, filled with disdain for the weak.

The surrounding customers, mostly adventurers who operated in the middle or even upper floors, heard Bete's sweeping, indiscriminate mockery.

Although they understood he wasn't insulting them directly, their expressions turned sour, some even revealing a sense of embarrassment and resentment.

They silently lowered their heads or awkwardly averted their eyes, and the previously lively chatter died down significantly.

Because the contempt in Bete's words toward "low-level adventurers" struck a painful chord in the hearts of these ordinary adventurers, whose strength was similarly limited.

Bete's mockery showed no signs of stopping.

A stifling silence permeated the restaurant.

Some adventurers stared down at their meals, others pretended to be focused on their drinks, and the earlier festive atmosphere vanished entirely.

Somewhere in the crowd, perhaps a customer whose pride had been stung, or perhaps a staff member who couldn't stand the behavior, muttered in a voice barely audible: "What a jerk..."

This faint sound voiced the inner thoughts of many—

Mocking the weak, no matter where it happens, is always the most despicable act.

However, this whisper ultimately failed to coalesce into a wave of resistance.

The entire restaurant fell into a suffocating silence; not a single person had the courage to stand up and refute the werewolf who had begun to spout drunken nonsense.

Bete's words were certainly harsh and stinging, but in this labyrinth city called Orario, they didn't seem all that "unreasonable."

Because here, strength is the only passport, and power is the ultimate authority.

Survival of the fittest and the struggle of the weak are the cold laws carved into the very bones of the labyrinth city.

Here, you won't hear any virtuous declarations about protecting the weak; that sounds like a distant fairy tale from another world.

Even within the Loki Familia, most members chose to remain silent in the face of Bete's unbridled, malicious remarks.

They were all too familiar with their companion's terrible personality.

Mean-spirited, irritable, and devoid of pity for the weak.

As long as his target wasn't one of their own, everyone had long since grown accustomed to ignoring him as background noise.

After all, compared to correcting Bete's atrocious character, focusing on the food, wine, and the joy of a successful expedition was clearly more practical.

And as the deity of this powerful familia, Loki herself was currently squinting her signature narrow eyes, a faint, inscrutable smile on her face as she watched her outspoken child with great interest.

In the eyes of a god who had experienced near-eternal time and witnessed countless human ups and downs.

Whether her children's personalities were humble and polite or arrogant and conceited, it was all just a stroke of varying depth on a long scroll, a part of what constituted their unique vitality, even carrying a certain liveliness worth "appreciating."

She didn't feel the need to step in and stop Bete.

Until—

Bete's drunken, disdainful words recklessly touched upon the "protagonists" of today's incident on the fifth floor of the Dungeon.

He raised his voice, pointing his spear directly at the two he called "trash" and "idiotic companions."

The white-haired, red-eyed brat who, in his eyes, was only capable of being distracted and nearly getting himself and his companions killed, and the youth who was "standing there spacing out," looking equally useless.

"Ha! You guys didn't see the look on those rookies' faces! Especially that tomato-colored brat, getting drenched in my 'trophy's' stinking bull blood—the look on his face... hahahahaha!"

The moment Bete used an exaggerated tone to describe Bell's miserable state and once again referred to Thor as an "idiotic brat standing there spacing out," three minor changes occurred almost simultaneously.

Ais's fingers, holding her cutlery, paused imperceptibly.

Deep within those eyes, clear as a calm lake, a faint ripple passed.

In her mind, she instantly flashed back to that corner on the fifth floor of the Dungeon.

The desperate courage the white-haired boy showed when facing the Minotaur, and that youth's move at the critical moment—a move so calm it was almost eerie, a... teleportation?

Meanwhile, at the small table half-hidden by a screen, Syr, who had been sitting quietly beside Thor, saw her professional, sweet smile vanish completely for the first time.

She lowered her eyelids slightly, her long lashes casting faint shadows beneath them.

When the contemptuous label for Thor spilled from Bete's lips again, a cold, icy glint condensed and flashed deep within her otherwise gentle eyes with astonishing speed, like ice crystals forming on a cold winter night—so fast that one might think it was an illusion.

As for Bell, upon hearing Bete's mockery.

He gripped the fabric over his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white, nearly tearing the rough cloth.

The joy he had felt earlier regarding his surge in strength receded like a tide, leaving behind only a cold, barren shore ground down by grit.

Intense rage and heavy self-reproach pressed down on his heart like two massive mountains, leaving him unable to breathe.

I! What on earth am I feeling happy about! It is only because of my weakness, my incompetence, that Lord God has been mocked and humiliated like this!

He had done nothing himself, relying entirely on the grace of Lord God to achieve this insignificant improvement, yet he had already become arrogant, forgetting the fundamental source of this power, and even forgetting the pathetic state he was in when facing powerful enemies in the Dungeon!

Bell's hands began to tremble violently and uncontrollably; it was rage at his own incompetence, a rage so intense, like molten lava, that it almost consumed him from within.

It was at this moment that someone within the Loki Familia could no longer stand by and watch.

The elven royalty with light green hair, Riveria, frowned and spoke up.

"That's enough, Bete. When it comes down to it, it was our negligence that allowed a monster from the 17th floor to escape to the 5th. Reflect on yourself properly."

She attempted to douse this flame of insolence.

"Bang!"

Bete, however, was like a powder keg that had been completely ignited; he slammed his hand onto the table, causing the plates and cups to clatter loudly.

He stiffened his neck and roared back in dissatisfaction: "Ha—?! What's wrong with calling trash, trash?!"

At that very instant.

A loud, sharp crash erupted from the corner!

The sound of a wooden table being overturned was piercingly harsh!

It shattered the subtle, tense balance of the entire tavern.

Everyone's gaze snapped instantly toward the source of the noise.

Unable to suppress his fury, Bell stood up abruptly, his chest heaving violently.

Hearing the loud crash, Bete felt the anger that had been stifled by the interruption find its most direct target.

Especially when he saw that the one standing up was the very same weak, incompetent rookie he had been mocking, that rage surged to its peak, burning his eyes red.

At this moment, the fire in Bell's heart had also reached its zenith, just like his opponent's.

It didn't matter how Bete insulted him or looked down on him! He could even endure that!

But only this—!

"You—!" Bell managed to roar out a single word, his body leaning forward instinctively, as if he would throw himself at Bete to fight to the death in the next second, regardless of the consequences.

Even if the opponent was a high-level adventurer countless times stronger than him, even if the outcome was destined to be a crushing defeat.

But at that moment.

A calm voice stopped his foolish act: "Bell."

Thor simply called his name.

Upon hearing Thor's voice.

Loki, who had been tipsy and squinting while watching the show, suddenly looked as if she had seen something terrifying; those eyes, usually narrowed, snapped wide open!

The relaxed, spectator-like expression in her eyes transformed into genuine, sheer terror at an astonishing speed!

Bell, who had been blinded by rage, felt as if a basin of ice water had been poured over his head the moment he heard Thor's voice, chilling him from head to toe.

His feet felt as if they were nailed to the floor, unable to move, and the intense unwillingness and humiliation in his eyes almost turned into tangible tears of blood.

It was clear that he was still struggling intensely within, extremely unwilling to let it go so easily; his fists remained clenched tight.

Until Thor spoke again, his voice still steady, yet carrying a majesty that Bell could not defy.

"Bell, I bestowed power upon you, not for you to engage in such meaningless brawls. Power has its own path to follow, not to be used for personal grievances."

Bell's body shuddered violently; he nearly ground his teeth to dust, a suppressed sob escaping his throat.

But in the end, as if all his strength had been drained away, he loosened his tightly clenched fists.

The savage force of the anger within his body slowly dissipated, and he forced himself to calm down.

"Yes, Lord God."

However, Bete over there did not seem prepared to let it go.

He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to continue his biting, sarcastic mockery.

Loki, who had been tolerant and even somewhat amused, now acted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

The god practically lunged forward, using all her strength to cover Bete's mouth, her face full of anxiety and panic, her voice distorted: "Shut your mouth, you idiot!"

As she spoke, Loki hurriedly signaled the Familia's captain, Finn, and the vice-captain who had just intervened, Riveria: "Quick! Help me hold this fool down!"

In an instant, Bete was restrained by the quick-reacting Finn and Riveria, and his troublesome mouth was stuffed tight with a sweaty sock—whose, no one knew—leaving him only able to emit muffled groans.

Thor merely glanced indifferently at the chaotic farce, his expression calm and unruffled, as if watching a ridiculous play that had nothing to do with him.

He stood up composedly and spoke to the counter in his usual tone: "It seems we are not welcome here tonight. Shopkeeper, please pack up the remaining food for us."

He paid the bill for the night in full, then led the dejected Bell and left the tavern calmly.

To him, Bete was nothing more than a stray dog barking at the stars.

He wasn't even worth getting angry over.

Only when the figure of Thor had completely vanished outside the shop door did Loki's tense body seem to lose its support, slumping forward in a sudden release of tension.

He let out a long, ragged breath, his face still deathly pale, wearing an expression of lingering terror.

That look of a survivor narrowly escaping death made him resemble nothing more than a white rabbit that had just barely slipped from the sharp claws of a lion.

This highly uncharacteristic behavior from Loki immediately drew the attention of everyone present.

She was Loki, the deity! A goddess who would never show a hint of timidity even when facing the greatest of gods, such as Zeus.

Finn, the captain, furrowed his brows deeply. Having followed Loki for many years, this was the first time—absolutely the first time—he had ever seen his own deity display such genuine, visceral fear.

This was completely wrong.

Finn addressed Loki directly by name, asking, "Loki, that person who just left, who exactly is he? Which god is he?"

His question voiced the doubts shared by all the core members at that moment.

How could the calm departure of that young man leave their deity so terrified?

Loki did not answer Finn's question immediately.

Still appearing shaken, she sat back down in her seat at the tavern table, her hands trembling slightly.

She snatched up the large wooden mug filled with ice-cold beer in front of her, tilted her head back, and downed more than half of it in one go, as if only then could she steady her nerves.

She set the mug down and exhaled a long breath, as if trying to expel the invisible pressure that had just been weighing on her.

Finally, she raised her eyes, her gaze sweeping slowly over the children of her Familia, especially the three executives and Ais.

She asked a strange question: "In your eyes... what did he look like?"

Ais answered almost without thinking, her cold, clear voice the first to ring out: "An unusual young man, with a... very special aura."

She recalled the inexplicable teleportation in the Dungeon and those eyes that seemed capable of piercing through her soul.

As soon as Ais finished speaking, the members of the Familia present, with the exception of the three executives, all nodded in subconscious agreement.

Indeed, he was just a handsome young man with a mysterious aura; although their deity seemed very afraid of him, that was truly all they had seen.

This was the perspective of 99.99% of the members.

However, the vice-captain, Gareth the dwarf, had seen a different image: "A black shadow shrouded in terrifying pressure. Just seeing him gave me the urge to prostrate myself..."

Finn, the captain, habitually licked the tip of his thumb.

He said in a deep voice: "What I saw... was a dragon."

His intuition as a leader had captured information on a deeper level.

Finally, the vice-captain, Riveria, the noble elven royalty, closed her eyes for a moment, as if struggling to see the image in her memory clearly.

When she opened those emerald eyes again, they were filled with unprecedented shock.

She added slowly: "That was no ordinary dragon. What I saw was a Star Dragon, its body so vast that its boundaries were impossible to imagine; the stars seemed like mere glimmers on its scales, and the universe was its nest..."

Her voice carried the ethereal quality unique to elves, yet it painted a grand, terrifying picture that transcended mortal understanding.

"What?!"

"This... how is this possible?!"

As Riveria's voice faded, the entire table fell into a deathly silence, followed immediately by irrepressible gasps and cries of disbelief.

The group looked at each other's eyes in horror.

A young man? A shadow of pressure? A shadow dragon? A Star Dragon?!

Only then did they realize with immense shock that the "Thor" each of them had seen was completely different!

This was by no means a simple difference in visual perception, but a massive chasm on the level of consciousness!

What kind of existence was this?!

All eyes, filled with intense questions and a trace of involuntary fear, refocused on Loki.

They waited for Loki to reveal the final answer.

Gareth, the vice-captain, speculated based on everyone's descriptions, especially Riveria's shocking account: "Lord Loki, so... is he some Dragon God who controls the stars, whom we have never known of? Or perhaps a powerful ancient god who holds dominion over dragons?"

Loki remained silent.

She looked at the mix of fear and thirst for knowledge on their faces, her expression incredibly complex.

She slowly shook her head, her demeanor filled with indescribable awe and even a lingering trace of fear.

"No, Gareth, you are all wrong." Loki's voice was so low it was almost a sigh. "That was no Star Dragon..."

"...And he is not even a 'god'..."