The water in the basin turned a red, muddy purple-red as Bell washed the dried minotaur blood from his skin. He sat on the edge of the bed in her private quarters, staring blankly at the floor. The shallow gash on his cheek had stopped bleeding, and the bruises on his arms were already turning a deep purplish-blue.
She stood by the window, watching him with the quiet intensity of an officer evaluating a shaken soldier.
"The bleeding has stopped," she said, her voice dropping the heavy divine weight from earlier and returning to a calm, practical tone. "Now lie down on your stomach. We need to update your status and see what this encounter did to your soul."
Bell nodded silently. He pulled off his torn shirt and lay face down on the mattress, his shoulders still twitching with leftover adrenaline.
She sat on the edge of the bed and bit the tip of her finger. A single drop of golden divine ichor welled up. She pressed her finger against his bare back, and the air in the room grew instantly warm. The glowing sacred text of the gods expanded across his skin, reflecting a mass of data directly into her mind.
As she read the numbers, her soldier's brain immediately paused to verify the layout. The growth rate was completely abnormal for a single day of hunting.
Strength: I-0 -> I-25
Endurance: I-0 -> I-18
Dexterity: I-0 -> I-29
Agility: I-0 -> I-39
Magic: I-0
A normal Level 1 adventurer would need weeks of constant combat on the upper floors to see these kinds of gains. She scrolled down to the bottom of the glowing text, focusing on the hidden parameters of his soul.
[Skill: Bastion of the Hearth]
Status: Active. Growth acceleration is highly elevated due to a deep desire to stand beside the Sword Princess while maintaining absolute loyalty to the Goddess.
She pulled her hand back, and the glowing text faded into his skin. The skill had adapted exactly to his psychological state. His intense humiliation and his yearning to reach Aiz Wallenstein were acting as raw fuel for his physical growth, while his bond to the Hestia Familia reinforced his defensive foundation.
"Your stats went up," she said, handing him a clean shirt from the wash basin. "Considerably more than they should have. The shock of that fight ignited something inside you."
Bell sat up quickly, pulling the shirt over his head. "Is something wrong with me, Goddess?"
"No," she replied, standing up and crossing her arms. "But a weapon is useless if the wielder panics when the line breaks. You ran away because you felt weak. If you want to stand on her level, you need to master that fear."
"I want to be strong," Bell said, his voice dropping into a determined whisper. "I do not want to look like a fool again. I want to protect our home."
"Then the routine changes," she said cleanly. "Tomorrow, you go back to the first and second floors. You will clear your assigned sectors systematically. You will learn the terrain, you will learn how to handle groups of goblins, and you will build actual combat habits before you look at the deeper floors again."
The next morning, the new training cycle began at dawn. She spent two hours in the courtyard teaching Bell basic military footwork, focusing entirely on how to shift his weight during a retreat and how to keep his guard up when his muscles grew tired. She did not teach him complex sword forms. Her old experience told her that simple, repetitive drills were what kept a person alive under pressure.
By the afternoon, Bell returned to the Dungeon. This time, he followed his parameters perfectly. He spent hours on the second floor, applying the footwork drills against the kobold packs. He returned to the tavern just before dusk, tired and covered in dust, but completely uninjured. He placed a small bag of magic stones on a corner table.
"Twelve stones," Bell said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I kept my spacing exactly like you showed me."
"Good," she said, inspecting the stones. "This is steady progress. Go eat your dinner."
As Bell sat down with a bowl of Elara's heavy stew, the front doors of the tavern opened. A small girl wearing an oversized, hooded grey robe stepped into the warm room. She looked around the tavern with a careful, calculating gaze, her eyes lingering on the patrons' gear. A massive, heavy backpack rested on the floor right beside her feet.
She looked up from the table, and her unique divine sight activated automatically.
A thin, dark line extended from the small girl's chest. It was frayed at the edges and wrapped in a muddy, dishonest brown color. It was the visual signature of deceit. The girl was actively scouting the room, looking for an easy target to exploit.
She recognized the girl's traits from her lingering memories of the show's timeline. This was Lilliluka Erde, a supporter from the Soma Familia.
Lilli walked up to the bar counter where Elara was cleaning mugs. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are any independent adventurers here looking for a supporter to help carry their stones today?"
Bell looked up from his stew, his red eyes instantly bright with interest. "A supporter?"
Before Bell could stand up, she placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pinning him directly to his seat. Her voice was quiet, carrying the calm authority of a commander handling a perimeter breach.
"Eat your food, Bell," she said. "Let me handle the interview."