Danmachi Familia from Hell

*

- Oh my gods! - shouted the innkeeper, listening to what "happened" to Hades and Belakher. - Those damn horses really did a number on you, Mr...

- Aides - replied Hades.

One of the advantages of being a god was having many, seriously many names, which allowed one to keep their most known identity a secret.
The aura of divinity of the Underworld King was also subdued.

- And this is my friend, Eubuleus.

Landgrave bowed deeply, removing his damaged wide-brimmed hat from his head. His name was not particularly known in any part of the world. In a few corners of the continent, rumors circulated about an elf capable of resurrecting the dead. However, these were rare, as the violet-eyed elf rarely used his abilities in front of clients. Summoning a goblin at a feast thrown by Ares was an exception. Moreover, the little skeleton performing a silly dance didn't reflect his true power. Nevertheless, the god of death operated under the assumption that caution was always wise, especially when there was a possibility they were dealing with a real demon. For that reason, he had lent the elf another of his lesser-known names.

- They call me Darius.

The man with a shaved head lowered his head in a gesture of good manners. He was just under fifty years old and had dark brown eyes. Despite the passing of his best years, he was still a tall, broad-shouldered man who could easily deal with clients who had clearly had enough of drinking for the day but were not the least bit eager to go home.

- Lucky for us, we had our purses pinned to our belts - said Landgrave, shaking a thick coin pouch.

- Haha - laughed Darius. - Indeed, very lucky. Well, come on upstairs. I’ll have a room for each of you. I’ll send my daughter to heat some water for a bath. In the meantime, she’ll wash your clothes, and before they dry, I’ll lend you a couple of my shirts and pants.

- Rooms? - The artificially golden-eyed looked surprised. - My apologies, Darius. I didn’t think we’d find an inn in... this area.

Of course, the god of the Underworld knew of this possibility from Thomas Loden’s letter. This question, however, allowed him to make his role a bit more credible and, as he hoped, get the innkeeper talking.

- You're not the first, Aides. You’re right, to some extent. You see, my dear "Drunken Jester" is actually an antique. My family has run this noble inn for almost three hundred years. And, as far as I know, during the Age of Heroes and the early years of the Age of Gods, there were no places here for travelers. However, such old buildings sometimes need to be renovated. My great-grandfather, seeing that people from outside our region began passing through these lands after most of the continent was reclaimed from the monsters, decided to turn the attic, which had served as a storage room, into guest rooms. For the goods, we built a small building next to the stables.

Indeed, both the god and the elf found the inn to be very old. While it didn’t have holes in the windows or the roof, the paint on the walls had completely peeled off, leaving them entirely gray.
The name of the inn had only been recognized by travelers now, as the drawing and inscription on the sign hanging above the door had been worn away by time.

- I see - Hades theatrically rejoiced, while his servant also wore a genuinely happy smile. - We thought we’d have to sleep under the open sky.

- In the end, those damn horses ran off with our tents - added Belakher with a displeased expression.

Darius laughed again, then turned and removed two metal, somewhat rusted keys from the hooks. He led the god and Landgrave upstairs, through the unbearably squeaky stairs, to their rooms. Neither of them expected the conditions to be as comfortable as in Ares' palace and even feared that in this building, nearly as old as the elf, they might end up with bedding full of more pests than an anthill. Luckily, it turned out that although the inn wasn’t the youngest, cleanliness was strictly maintained. No bedbugs in the beds, no stains from any alcohol on the feces, nor on the walls or floor. Running a finger across the small table opposite the equally modest bed, no dust could be gathered. These were actually the only pieces of furniture in both modest rooms, lit during the day by sunlight streaming through the window and at night by the flames of candles standing on the tables. Each room also had an old wooden stool. The Lord of the Dead had the misfortune that the one assigned to his room leaned terribly on one leg, causing the god to nearly knock out his teeth after an unsuccessful attempt to sit down.
Soon after, a wooden tub was brought for each guest, into which a woman, over twenty years old, poured steaming water, bucket after bucket.