Whose Little Loli Is This?

"Who are you?"

Hearing the sudden call, Thor looked down to see a little girl standing behind him.

Thor's gaze swept rapidly over the figure before him.

Those slender limbs, the golden hair reaching her waist, and those iconic pale gold eyes...

Although her stature had shrunk significantly, the little girl before him was clearly a miniature version of Ais, or rather, her childhood self.

He immediately attempted to communicate: "Ais, this is..."

The words never left his throat; they were swallowed as if by an invisible wall. His vocal cords did not vibrate, and the air remained deathly silent.

What is this?

Thor's thoughts stirred as he looked down at a cartoon-style puddle at his feet.

The reflection staring back was not his own body, but a deep, writhing, and vaguely outlined black projection.

I can't even manifest a physical form?

Seeing the black shadow remain unresponsive, little Ais furrowed her brows, her pure curiosity rapidly shifting into vigilance.

She asked again, her voice carrying a childish chill: "Who are you?"

The only response was the silent darkness.

"Hmph!"

Without a moment's hesitation, little Ais's eyes sharpened. Her petite body tensed instantly, like a golden kitten with its fur standing on end.

Her movement was faster than imagination, leaving no visible trajectory. A longsword, nearly equal to her own height, was already gripped tightly in her hand, its tip pointing unhesitatingly at the mysterious black shadow!

That sword was none other than Ais's iconic weapon—the Sword of Despair.

It had been perfectly replicated in the dream, down to the last detail.

Tsk...

Deep within the black shadow, Thor's consciousness let out a silent sigh.

The weapon was replicated perfectly, at least.

It seems that forcing the dream ability of the Shy Bud with 75 Stardust, even a super-weakened version, was still too much of a stretch.

Should I force it by paying the Stardust cost?

Thor shook his head the moment the thought crossed his mind.

This wasn't a life-or-death situation; the cost of consuming Stardust directly was simply too high.

This ability to enter dreams sat between [Mortal-grade] and [Regional-grade], likely requiring 800 Stardust to be used freely in its complete form.

It wasn't impossible to force it, but it would require the permanent sacrifice of 8 Stardust.

Seeing that Ais had no memory of the night training and even viewed him as an enemy preparing to attack, Thor felt a wave of helplessness.

It seems the dream training has failed...

Just as Thor was about to give up, a surge of pure energy poured into his body without warning.

This energy...

Thor instantly perceived its essence—

It did not come from the Magic Stone of a Dungeon monster; it was closer, perhaps even identical in nature, to his own source energy!

It carried a familiar, gentle warmth that originated from divinity.

Syr?

Thor understood.

Did she do something on the outside, actively channeling her power to him?

With this infusion of power, Thor immediately felt his control over this cartoon dreamscape rising rapidly, and his previously blurred form began to stabilize.

But he had no time to ponder what was happening in the outside world!

"Hey!"

Little Ais clearly mistook him for a monster from the Dungeon. With a sharp cry, she brought the Sword of Despair—which was nearly as tall as she was—crashing down toward his head with a fierce, whistling sound!

Before the blade even arrived, the pure battle intent and cold killing aura washed over him.

No time!

Thor's thoughts raced. Leveraging this sudden influx of power, he immediately pushed his dream ability to the limit.

The pitch-black form fluctuated and reshaped violently the instant before the sword light struck!

He scattered the Dream Dust, drawing out the desires and needs hidden deep within Ais's heart.

Swish!

His body condensed in an instant, taking on the clear outline of a human figure.

Thor didn't even have time to see what he looked like before that lethal blade arrived an inch from his forehead!

He immediately called out, "Wait! I'm not an enemy!"

The sword stopped.

Little Ais's pale golden eyes stared fixedly at the man who had suddenly appeared before her.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment.

The next instant, that cold, vigilant gaze melted like ice and snow, instantly replaced by a look of incredulous joy.

"Father!"

The childish voice was filled with ecstatic rapture, nearly cracking from the intensity.

She didn't hesitate for a second; her small hand loosened, and the Sword of Despair clattered onto the cartoon-styled ground.

Her small body, carrying the clumsy momentum unique to a child, lunged into Thor's arms like a golden cannonball!

Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and her little face buried itself deep against him.

"Father! You're finally back!"

Thor was pinned to the spot by this sudden address, momentarily stunned.

Subconsciously, he looked again at his reflection in a puddle on the ground.

He had transformed into a spirited, dashing young man.

The youth had sharp, well-defined features and deep, profound eyes.

This appearance... he instantly recalled a hero's statue standing in Orario, the Labyrinth City.

Albert.

The legendary ancient hero who, a thousand years ago, blinded one eye of the strongest monster, the Black Dragon, and drove it back.

So, Ais's father was Albert?

Thor understood in his heart.

He looked down at the small head buried against his waist with such attachment, each "Father" filled with pure joy and longing, stirring his emotions.

He unconsciously scratched his cheek with one hand, a subtle sense of awkwardness and helplessness creeping into his heart.

It seemed the power he injected was still lacking; it couldn't make Ais realize this was just a dream simulation.

However... being able to converse smoothly was already a much better situation than that black shadow from before.

He patiently waited for the little girl's excitement to subside slightly, and for the strength of her tight embrace to loosen.

The time was right.

Thor softly called her name, his voice intentionally lowered and gentle, striving to match the steady temperament of the Albert statue in his memory.

"My lovely child, Ais," he began, playing the role of a father with just the right amount of concern, "I have been very worried about you, too. To help you protect yourself better, I want to teach you a new sword style called Wind-Riding Sword Art. Would you like to learn it?"

Little Ais tilted her head up, her small eyes instantly bursting with a light brighter than the stars.

She nodded her little head vigorously, her cheeks flushing with a cute rosy glow from excitement, her voice crisp and loud: "Mm! Mm! I want to learn! Teach me, Father!"

She looked as if she had just received the most precious promise in the world.

Although he couldn't be sure if Ais would clearly remember this dream after waking up, Thor was certain of one thing.

Under the influence of Dream Dust, as long as little Ais practiced diligently in the dream, those honed techniques would be carved into the depths of her soul like instinct.

They would flow naturally even during the battles of the day.

Confirming this, Thor no longer hesitated.

With a flick of his mind, a delicately crafted, shimmering thin sword appeared in his hand out of thin air.

He leaned down and began to explain the basic opening stance and breathing rhythm of the Wind-Riding Sword Art in detail.

Little Ais looked up, her small face fixed intently on the sword in Thor's hand; her focus was so intense it was almost tangible.

She tried hard to imitate every movement, her small body held straight, clumsy yet incredibly earnest.

The undisguised adoration and total trust on her face made Thor feel a pang of emotion in his heart.

Looking at this expressive, simple-minded little girl, and then comparing her to the taciturn, stoic Sword Princess of his memories.

Thor shook his head inwardly.

The contrast... was just a bit too large.

Just as he was patiently guiding little Ais in practicing the Wind-Riding Sword Art, a wisp of his consciousness quietly withdrew, sinking into the next dream.

The scene shifted abruptly.

Damp, cold air, twisting and wriggling rock walls, and that pervasive, faint malice unique to the Dungeon—

Thor instantly recognized that this was the fifth floor of the Dungeon.

Where is this?

Thor was still puzzled when the crisp sound of blades clashing and the low, guttural roars of monsters suddenly echoed from afar.

Thor's thoughts stirred, and he followed the sound.

Passing through a narrow corridor, the view suddenly opened up into a relatively spacious chamber.

The scene in the center of the chamber made Thor's gaze narrow slightly.

Bell's figure was lunging and dodging within the fray, his clothes already soaked through with blood, making it impossible to tell if it belonged to the monsters or himself.

He gasped for air, every breath rattling like a broken bellows, yet he continued to throw punches with all his might, slamming condensed starlight energy into the several Minotaur surrounding him.

"Star... Burst!"

With another low roar, blinding white light exploded against the chest of the nearest Minotaur. The immense impact sent it stumbling backward, its thick fur charred black, clearly having suffered a heavy blow.

A flash of resolve crossed Bell's eyes as he forced himself to take a deep breath, preparing to deliver the final strike to the giant beast!

However—

"Whoosh!"

A white shadow, swift as lightning, streaked into the fray without warning!

It moved so fast that it left only an afterimage on the retina.

"Bang!"

A dull thud echoed as the massive body of the heavily wounded Minotaur was sent flying by this sudden kick, the monster instantly turning into ash and leaving only a Magic Stone rolling on the ground.

Bell's attack froze in mid-air, and he stared in astonishment at the figure that had barged into the fight.

Before he could react, the figure spun like a whirlwind, a powerful whip-kick carrying a sharp, air-tearing whistle slamming into his waist and abdomen!

"Ugh—!"

The excruciating pain instantly robbed Bell of his breath. He was sent flying backward, crashing heavily into a pile of rubble several meters away, curling his body as he began to retch uncontrollably.

"Hmph, small fry, get lost!" A haughty and mocking voice rang out.

Thor saw the newcomer clearly; it was the Fierce Wolf, Bete, of the Loki Familia.

In the dream, Bete stood over Bell, stepping on his head.

The corners of his mouth curled into a malicious arc as he continued his merciless taunts:

"Tsk, look at this pathetic state you're in, struggling so much against a few little cows... Heh, with a loser like you as a familia member, that guy named Thor must be nothing more than a third-rate god! Trash raised by trash, naturally, is trash!"

"You... what did you say?!"

Bell jerked his head up, his face, already twisted in pain, instantly flushing crimson.

It was not because of his own humiliation, but because the other party dared to insult the supreme deity in his heart!

A surge of unprecedented, wild, fiery rage exploded within his chest!

"I won't let you insult Lord Thor—!!!"

Ignoring the intense pain and weakness in his body, Bell erupted with his final strength like an enraged cub, recklessly launching a counterattack against Bete!

He saw only the figure who had insulted Thor, with only one thought in his mind: make him shut up!

However, the chasm of strength in reality was cruelly mirrored in the dream.

Facing Bell's chaotic charge, driven purely by rage, Bete wore only a look of contemptuous sneer. He couldn't even be bothered to respond seriously, merely side-stepping and raising a hand.

"Bang!"

Another heavy, dull thud.

Bell's forward momentum came to an abrupt halt as Bete precisely gripped Bell's throat, lifting him off the ground.

A sense of suffocation washed over him. Bell struggled in vain, his legs kicking wildly in the air as his vision began to blacken.

"Heh, trash is trash." Bete looked at the struggling prey in his hand, his eyes filled with mockery. "You don't even qualify to make me take this seriously. Your third-rate god is only fit to take in someone like you..."

Thor watched this scene quietly, his brows furrowing imperceptibly.

The intense humiliation and anger in Bell's dream, along with Bete's targeted insults, clearly did not arise from nothing.

It seemed the incident in the Dungeon a few days ago and Bete's mockery at the restaurant had been deeply branded into Bell's subconscious, even becoming part of his nightmare.

"Angry, are you?" Thor suddenly thought of something.

He had been wondering how to continue improving Bell's strength.

Now, it seemed he had found a promising direction.

Just as Bell was about to be jolted awake by the nightmare, and the surrounding space began to tremble, on the verge of shattering!

Thor made his move.

His figure flickered, and a long, narrow blade made of pure starlight condensed in his hand out of thin air.

Steel-Cutting Dash!

The blade's light, like a streak of meteor, precisely sliced into the arm Bete used to throttle Bell!

In the dream, Bete didn't even have time to react; that arm, along with the force of his grip, was instantly severed and dissipated!

"Cough! Cough, cough, cough--!"

Regaining the right to breathe, Bell collapsed heavily to the ground, curling his body as he choked and gasped violently.

A narrow escape from death.

He raised his head, his gaze toward Thor a mixture of intense shame and lingering fury.

His cheeks were flushed deep red from asphyxiation and emotion.

"I-I'm sorry... Lord Thor..." Bell's voice was hoarse, filled with self-reproach, "I... I've embarrassed you again..."

Thor watched him calmly, reaching out to steadily pull Bell up from the cold ground.

"My dear child Bell," his voice soothed with steady composure, "fury is by no means a purely negative emotion."

He looked straight into the churning flames in Bell's eyes.

"It can also become a key—a key to unlocking your inner strength and opening the door to brand-new possibilities."

The starlight blade in Thor's hand dissipated, and he raised his hand, pressing his fingertip to the center of Bell's brow.

A stream of information, containing ancient battle intent and an unyielding will, surged into Bell's mind in an instant.

"Now, I shall impart to you this skill known as Endless Fury."

Thor's voice was like a brand, clearly etched into the depths of Bell's consciousness.

"It will guide your fury and transform it into power that transcends your limits. It may even... allow you to briefly surpass death itself in the face of despair!"