[DanMachi/Percy Jackson] Prytaneum

Chapter 17: Refractions​ part 2

I wasn't too proud to admit that fighting in the Dungeon alone could be scary. I mean, sure, I was a demigod and fighting monsters was now literally what I did for a living, but that didn't make throwing myself into the sometimes literal jaws of danger endlessly fun. Going into the Dungeon meant being underground, alone, and surrounded by horrible things that wanted to kill me. It meant being far away from safety, meant knowing danger was around every corner, meant having to prepare for the traps the Dungeon was sure to be laying for me. More than once, the Dungeon had caught me by surprise and nearly made me pay for it and with every day came the knowledge that someday, especially continuing on the course I was, my luck might run out. I was a demigod, an adventurer, and maybe even a hero, but that didn't change anything—I knew better than anyone that all three of those things could die. My mom had named me Perseus after a hero and demigod who'd lived to have a happy ending, but most hadn't.

The thing is, despite all that, the Dungeon also had rules. Rules it wasn't afraid to bend or trick you with or use against you, sure, but ones that it very rarely broke—and as long as you knew those rules, it was predictable, in its own way. The layout of the floors didn't change, period. The Dungeon would repair itself, but it wouldn't twist itself around like the Labyrinth. People had made maps a thousand years ago that were still used today, though they became less and less detailed the deeper one went, as the number of people who could reach those floors declined. Still, a few dozen floors had been maps out in their entirety and there were at least details of floors that no one had reached in years. Knowing the layout of the floors gave adventurers a significant advantage and most everyone could get ahold of at least the upper floor maps with a bit of effort.

Similarly, while it was far from unheard of for a monster to wander a floor or two from its point of origin, by and large the types of monsters that appeared on a specific floor remained the same and people had been fighting them for a thousand years. Again, details dwindled the further down one went, but on the floors that were well tread? The behavior and abilities of monsters had been researched extensively. While assuming all monsters were the same was a good way to get yourself killed since there were always exceptions, most of the time one could rely on that information—and for someone like me, who ended up fighting hundreds of the same types of monsters in a given day, it was pretty easy to get used to fighting on a specific floor.

Beyond that, there were other details that had been worked out over the years through trial and error. Where and how to find specific monsters, how to attract or repel specific creatures, what type of equipment was best suited where, what level of strength was best suited for a given area, on and on. In some cases, even things that must have been pretty hard to find out were treated as common knowledge after a thousand years. An interesting fact I'd learned from Eina was that the population of a given floor didn't change. The Dungeon would never, say, completely overrun the sixth floor with War Shadows and nothing else; it would produce them up to a certain number and stop making any more until some had been killed. Additionally, monsters weren't reborn instantly; the Dungeon needed a certain amount of time before it could birth a specific type of monster again, though it never took more than a day unless the monster in question was a 'Monster Rex.'

Eina had told me that no one was completely certain why that was the case, but a part of me went back to my earlier thoughts that Dungeon was like Tartarus and wondered if maybe it was a matter of souls. I had no way of confirming that, though, and it didn't really matter; what did was the fact that the Dungeon's hordes weren't infinite and that they obeyed certain rules.

It was a bit odd to say it, but on the whole, being an adventurer really did feel like a good. An extremely dangerous job, yeah, but one that people had been doing for a long time and it showed. People had figured out what worked and why, unraveled mysteries, explored the unknown, and passed that knowledge on to others. So while the Dungeon could be scary and dangerous to the extreme, it was something I could actually consider myself sorta, kinda, maybe prepared for, unlike most of my life. I respected its threat, but wasn't afraid to face it, even if I was alone.

Fighting in it with a friend, meanwhile, was outright terrifying.

If it was just me, I could deal with it. I screw up and make a mistake? I pay for it, simple as that. It's my fault and I deal with it. But if I'm not alone and I screw up, that means maybe someone else pays for it—that maybe they even die like, you know, everyone did when I screwed up the Prophecy. I mean, gods, look at my track record; it wasn't good. It went something like 'Percy Jackson messed up, it was horrible, everyone who relied on him died, the end.' And now someone was asking me to team up with them, watch their back, and help keep them alive?

Why? I want to know, seriously. What would make anyone possibly want to do that?

I still didn't know why Welf thought this was a good idea, but I was trying my absolute best not to screw up again. Over the last week or so, I'd gotten used to losing myself in the fray and thinking of nothing but the battle before me, letting time pass me by in a blur of motion and victory and occasionally pain. I'd stop when the battle did or when I absolutely had to, whether due to exhaustion or blood loss; otherwise, why stop? I kept fighting, kept pushing forward, kept throwing myself deeper and deeper into the Dungeon, and doing everything I could not to have to slow down.

But with someone else here, I didn't dare let myself go like that, for fear that by the time I came to, Welf would be gone, like Beckendorf or Michael or Annabeth or Silena or...well, it's a long list, okay? Instead, I had to keep my wits about me at all times, keep an eye on exactly what was happening, watch my enemy, make calls, and make sure I was ready to interfere when things inevitably went wrong. I wasn't reckless enough to throw Welf into the deep end, either; instead, I took a slow route through the first four floors to get him used to what being in a group with me meant and then carefully made my way to the fifth and sixth. Easy enough areas, at least for me, but between the faster spawn times and the stronger monsters, it was a bit intimidating. The way I figured, I'd let Welf see what being stuck around me would get him into and he'd either have second thoughts or, after a few days without making much progress, I be able to call it quits and continue on my own. I still needed to head further into the Dungeon after all, and even if it wouldn't be my main reason for cutting things off, I figured Welf would probably understand if I wanted to break things off after a while without me having to be mean to a friend or unsympathetic.

Even so, Welf hadn't been lying about his abilities and, at least thus far, he hadn't complained. We were engaging a pack of War Shadows and he was holding his own well with a massive, single-edged sword. From what Eina had told me, for normal adventurers at Level 1, the top floors could be divided as follows, based on the average abilities of adventurers—I and H for floors one through four, G through F for five through seven, E through C for eight to ten, and B to S for eleven and twelve. Given how Welf was doing her on the sixth, holding off an entire group of War Shadows, I had no trouble believing that he could fight an Orc, one-on-one. Between that and the fact that he stated he'd reached the tenth floor before, Welf's abilities were probably in the vicinity of D or C, from what I understood. In that regard, he was doing very well.

On the other hand, being in a party with me meant he was facing vastly more monsters than he would normally. While the monsters that spawned focused primarily on me, they didn't seem to mind killing Welf in the process and they still responded to anything they perceived as a threat. I was going out of my way to stick close, taking most of the monsters on myself to ensure he didn't get too far in over his head, but it was still dangerous. On the upside, the armor he'd made for the both of us seemed pretty good at brushing off the attacks from the sixth floor—and after going to the tenth, the sixth was nothing to me.

In fact...returning to the floors I'd already cleared was interesting, in its own way. My Status still wasn't something I truly understood. Hestia updated it pretty much every day, the numbers on my back went up, and occasionally the letters changed—but what that really meant I'd never been entirely sure. According to Hestia, it made me stronger, but that the results weren't really something that were easily be felt; I wouldn't suddenly feel like I was bursting with strength or that I was unbelievably fast, but I'd still hit far harder and move far faster and the effects would be noticeable. For someone like me who went steadily deeper into the Dungeon every day, however, I'd never really noticed. I struggled holding back tides of Killer Ants, then I struggled fighting armies of Goblins and Kobolds, then I did my best to hold my own against waves of Orcs. Maybe it was because I never really gave myself much of a break or tried to slow down, but I never went 'oh wow, this is easy.'

But now, returning to the sixth floor after experiencing the tenth, I thought I could see it. The War Shadows were slow to move or react, their guards easily broken, their attacks easy to hold back. I didn't feel any different, really, but they felt weaker now, and what worries I'd had before diminished somewhat. Even if something went wrong, if it was on the sixth floor, I should be able to handle it fine. Most of my abilities were in the H to G range now, after all, which was actually where I was supposed to be at for this floor, according to Eina—it was enough to make a difference and let me split my attention somewhat. I caved in a War Shadow's skull with a quick punch, cut one in half with a swing of my blade, and kept an eye on Welf to make sure he wasn't overwhelmed. In the end, I finished up my share of the monsters before him, but I didn't need to step in.

"You weren't kidding about drawing a lot of monsters, huh?" Welf asked, panting as a bead of sweat rolled down his face.

"You haven't seen anything, yet," I replied, not bothering the dress things up. "Wait until the Dungeon gets annoyed at us and then it'll really swamp us."

"Hah," He sighed, wiping his brow. "No wonder you're so strong, dealing with stuff like this every day."

"You can back out if you want," I replied. "Coming with me is dangerous, even on floors like this—you might be better off finding someone else."

"No, I'm fine," He answered firmly. "This is what I need—to be challenged every day, to earn experience so I can level up and become better as a blacksmith. If it's okay...can we form a party again tomorrow?"

This time, it was my turn to sigh.

"Sorry," Welf apologized quickly, smiling self-depreciatingly. "I must be holding you back."

"It's not that," I said automatically and was immediately annoyed with myself. Even if it wasn't Welf's fault, it would have been better if I'd said something harsh and convinced him to rethink things. "But the seventh floor's different from the sixth."

Welf nodded.

"The Killer Ants, right?" He guessed. "I remember the first time I fought one. I even saw a group of them once, a couple of years ago, but I ran away at the time. Given the way they can gather normally, though, I can only imagine how they must react to you."

"The Killer Ants are annoying," I agreed. "But the Purple Moths are worse. From what my advisor told, they aren't too bad in small groups? I wouldn't know, because I've never seen them in small groups. When they attack me, it's by the dozen and their powder falls like snow. I've been poisoned by them a bunch of times and it's always a pain in the ass. Now imagine fighting a swarm of Killer Ants like that.

Welf whistled under his breath and looked appropriately concerned.

"That could be dangerous," He said.

"Mhm," I replied. "Stuff like that's the worst thing about my skill—the Dungeon doesn't just swamp me with dangerous monsters, it brings along the most annoying things it possibly can. For me, the worst thing on the tenth floor isn't the Orcs, it's the damn Batpats; I had to deal with about fifty of them screeching in my ears the entire time. I swear I can still hear them and I was wearing earplugs."

"Damn," Welf said, eyebrows furrowing in consideration. "Maybe I could make something for that. I'd have to look into it, but I might be able to come up with something to help block noises. For Purple Moths, though...all I can really think of is buy a lot of antidotes."

"That's part of why I have a deal with the Miach Familia," I said.

"I don't suppose there's any chance you could get a few extra...?" Welf asked, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry to ask, it's just...stuff like that is expensive."

I hesitated before answering, wondering if I should turn him down and if that might convince him to change him mind—but no, from what I'd seen of Welf, probably not. Given that, I'd rather he be well equipped than risk him being reckless or unprepared.

"Sure," I said with another sigh. "I needed to make a trip down there for more Purple Moth and Blue Papillion Wings, anyway—I'm sure Miach would be fine with supplying a few more. But if you find any of those drops—"

"I'll give them to you," He said, nodding. "Or this Miach fellow. I don't have any interest in those drops anyway, and it's better to have a friendly potion-seller than to hand them over to the Guild. Man, the amount I've spent on potions over the years while I was fighting solo...if you're okay with it, I'll do my part."

"Okay then," I said, a little annoyed at Welf and a lot annoyed at myself. But if we dealt with the Moths, I should be able to cover him on the seventh floor as well—and I still had Mrs. O'Leary to fall back on. "We'll meet up tomorrow then. We'll consider it a quest to collect drops for Miach."

Welf nodded and then tilted his head, watching me closely.

"By the way, Percy," Welf said slowly. "That's an interesting sword you have."

"Riptide?" I asked, following his gaze to the magical blade. I suppose it made sense for him to wonder, seeing as it was literally glowing and I'd repeatedly pulled it out of nowhere. "Yeah. It's one of a kind."

"Do you mind if I see it for a minute?" He asked, staring at it with open curiosity.

I hesitated for a moment before handing it to him, seeing no real reason not to. As I did, my free hand went to Annabeth's dagger, just in case the Dungeon tried something. While I kept watch, however, Welf held Riptide carefully, looking it over from every angle as he hm'd and haw'd.

"Who made this?" He asked after a minute, still looking at Riptide. "Do you know? I've never seen anything like it. Hell, I don't even know what it's made of. I thought it was some kind of bronze for a minute, but..."

He gestured at it vaguely while I considered how or if I should answer. I liked Welf, but I wasn't sure if this was something I should go into detail about, seeing as no one else seemed to know about Celestial Bronze and such anymore.

But then I remembered something else and it made me sad—that Celestial Bronze wasn't the only thing that had been long forgotten.

"It was made by a woman named Zoe," I said, remembering yet another friend I'd lost.

"I've never heard of her, but she must have been an amazing blacksmith," Welf said, tone touched by admiration. "I wish I could meet her."

"As far as I know, it's the only weapon she ever made," I replied, though I felt a little saddened by the fact that I didn't know her well enough to say for sure. "She's gone now, though."

"Oh," Welf said, tone suddenly awkward. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I answered. "It's a sad memory, but Zoe deserves to be known by more people. She deserved better than what she got."

"What happened?" Welf asked.

"She made Riptide for..." I almost said Hercules before stopping myself. Hey, if Zoe didn't warrant a mention in his story, I don't see why he deserved one in hers. "A hero. Someone she thought she loved. She went against her father, her family, to help him, and gave him Riptide so that he could slay a powerful dragon. It was one of the things that made him famous."

Welf nodded, seeming enthralled.

"What about her?" He asked. "The smith who made the weapon. Did she...?"

"She was never mentioned," I said, not hiding the fact that it upset me. "He never mentioned her at all and left her behind. Her family disowned her and drove her out and people don't even remember that."

"I'm sorry," Welf said, anger and sadness both flashing across his features. "But then...if you don't mind me asking, how'd you meet her? Or get...Riptide?"

"I inherited it," I said. "It was a gift from my father. I met Zoe a few years later—and a few thousand years after the fact. She wasn't a smith, you see; she was a nymph. One of the Hesperides. We traveled together for a while. Became friends, before she..."

Welf drew back at that, looking shocked by that—but I was on a roll now.

"You asked what it was made out of," I continued. "It's called Celestial Bronze...but technically, it's just a hairpin she gave her power to. A hairpin that ended up slaying a dragon and no one even remembers where it came from."

"People seem to forget a lot of things," Welf asked, something in his tone that I had a hard time deciphering—but it was heated, I could tell that much. "They just take them and think they're owed to them and do whatever they want."

I looked at him oddly, but nodded.

"A Spirit made this sword?" Welf asked after taking a breath, handing Riptide gently back to me. "Is it...anything like a magic sword?"

"I guess you could say that," I replied. "But probably not in the way you're thinking. It transforms, like this."

I drew Riptide's cap from my pocket and pressed it to the tip of the blade, turning it back into a pen. Then I removed the cap again and it turned back into a sword.

"And if I lose it, it comes back to me," I continued. "It just appears right in my pocket. And it's a great sword, of course."

Welf nodded along, looking at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Why's it called Riptide, though?" He asked me.

I exhaled slowly, remember a dream I once had.

"Anaklusmos," I said sadly. "The current that takes one by surprise. And before you know it, you have been swept out to sea."

"Like love," He said. "The love she had for the hero."

I closed my eyes.

"You must think it's silly." I murmured.
"I don't think it's silly," Welf disagreed strongly, voice intent and loud enough to startle me. "I...I admire it. It's small and subtle when it's not needed, but it's always there. No matter what happens, it's always with its owner. It's something you can always rely on—it's the best kind of sword. Isn't it?"

I weighed Riptide in my hand for a moment before smiling.

"Yeah," I said. "It is."

Stuff like this was why I couldn't just turn Welf down. At least for stuff like this, we were both hopeless.