chapter 219 problem of thief
Luthar remained seated beside the dying embers of the fire, his attention fixed on the layered projections hovering faintly before him. Routes updated at quiet intervals. Mana fluctuations remained within acceptable variance. No abnormal spawn behavior was detected across the surrounding corridors.
His thoughts were not on monsters.
They were on the messages he had received.
It was not surprising that Apollo had done something foolish. What Luthar had not expected was the loss of so many weapons. The theft felt like a challenge to his authority. If not for his objective of collecting the rare herbs on this floor, he would have already returned to the surface and demonstrated why provoking a Tech-Priest was a poor decision.
For now, restraint was logical.
He would gather the ingredients first. Then return and deal with Apollo.
First the demon. Now Apollo.
While he reflected on the curious trend of others testing his patience, six hours passed.
---
The first sign of waking came from within the tents—a rustle of fabric, the faint adjustment of armor straps. One of the Black Widows stepped out first, scanning the perimeter automatically before fully clearing her mind of sleep.
Seeing nothing unusual, she relaxed slightly and began checking the patrol markers.
A second emerged moments later. Then a third.
Natasha stepped out last. Her gaze swept the surroundings before settling on Daphne's tent.
She walked toward it and lifted the flap.
Inside, Cassandra was already awake.
Seated near the edge of the bedding area was a small white-scaled girl in oversized dark clothes, wings folded tightly behind her back.
Natasha stopped.
For half a second, nothing moved.
The girl looked up but did not attempt to flee.
Natasha's hand shifted toward her weapon—not drawing it, but ready.
Daphne pushed herself upright, hair slightly disordered.
"Oh. You found her."
The other Widows noticed the tension and stepped closer. Within seconds, three of them stood around the tent entrance.
Not attacking.
Containing.
The girl's tail curled inward slightly.
Natasha's gaze moved from the girl to Luthar, who remained seated near the extinguished fire, entirely composed.
"Explanation?"
"A Xenos," he replied evenly.
Silence followed.
One of the Widows lowered her weapon slightly.
"…What a cute creature."
Another observed quietly, "Is she a monster or one of those demi-humans?"
Daphne stretched lightly. "Think of it as both. According to him, she's a monster. But she has intelligence."
Natasha's attention returned to the girl.
"What is your name?"
The girl hesitated.
Before she could answer—
"Wiene," Luthar said calmly.
The tent went still.
Natasha's eyes narrowed. "You named her?"
"Yes."
Wiene blinked but did not correct him.
The Black Widows exchanged brief looks.
Natasha studied Luthar for a long moment.
"…Did you kidnap her?"
"I did not kidnap her," Luthar replied calmly. "It is comparable to taking in a stray."
Several of the Widows went quiet at that phrasing.
Natasha's expression hardened slightly, likely recalling their own past circumstances.
Daphne chose not to comment. Instead, she moved toward the pot and began reheating the remaining broth.
Breakfast was distributed.
At first, the Widows looked at the bowls with visible doubt. Only after Daphne stated it was edible—and demonstrated by taking a proper portion herself—did the others begin eating.
Reactions were mixed.
"…Acceptable," one muttered.
"…Better than rations," another admitted.
Wiene ate quietly without complaint.
Once the bowls were emptied, Luthar stood.
From one of the secured packs, he withdrew additional explosives and placed them methodically on a reinforced crate.
"Inventory check," he said evenly. "Ammunition. Structural integrity. Replace damaged components."
The Widows responded immediately.
He then produced two compact sidearms and set them aside.
"These are for you two. For self-defense."
Daphne stared at the weapon.
"…Can we really use them?"
"Yes."
He began explaining their operation with clinical precision—grip alignment, trigger pressure, recoil expectation, safety engagement, reload sequence.
Wiene watched silently from the side, oversized sleeves covering part of her hands, observing the group with the tentative sense that they might not be bad people.
---
After Daphne and Cassandra completed their first supervised reload cycle, Luthar retrieved another item from the system space.
A heavy mace. Dense alloy. No ornamentation. Built purely for impact.
The Black Widows noticed immediately.
"That's not for us," one said.
"No."
He turned toward Wiene, who had been watching the training from a short distance away. Her wings shifted slightly as he approached.
He set the mace down in front of her.
It struck the ground with a solid thud.
She looked at it, then at him. "What is that?"
"A weapon."
"For me?"
"Yes."
Daphne glanced over. "Does she even need that?"
"With her strength, it is appropriate," Luthar replied evenly. "Even without technique, she can apply force."
Wiene studied the mace. It looked too large for her frame.
She reached for it anyway.
The weight pulled her arm down at first, but she adjusted quickly, tail shifting to balance her stance. She tightened her grip and gave it a small testing swing.
The mace cut through the air with a deep, heavy sweep.
Dust lifted from the ground. The edge of a nearby tent fluttered.
Several of the Widows went still.
She blinked, then swung again—harder.
The rush of air brushed across their faces this time.
Wiene rotated her wrist and swung once more, smoother now, almost casual despite the weight. The sound alone made clear how heavy it was.
"…It's a little heavy," she muttered.
She shifted her footing and brought it down onto a loose stone at the edge of the camp.
The stone shattered.
Fragments scattered across the ground.
Wiene stared at the broken pieces, then slowly looked back at Luthar.
He did not comment on her enthusiasm. Instead, he projected a towering figure in front of everyone.
"Udaeus," he stated calmly. "Thirty-seventh Floor Boss."
The image rotated slowly, scale indicators marking its height and estimated reach.
"The chance of him appearing is high. If detected while we advance toward the fortieth floor, we cannot fight him directly."
The projection shifted to a corridor map. Several intersections were highlighted in red.
"Instead, we establish a firing range and deploy artillery," he explained while displaying images of heavy cannons.
"After deployment, we attract him."
Natasha folded her arms. "Attract how?"
"Perhaps you approach and fire a few rounds to draw his attention," he replied. "Once he enters the designated range, I will reposition you while the cannons engage."
Wiene shifted her grip on the mace, glancing between the projection and the shattered stone at her feet.
"You want us to die?" Daphne asked flatly. "We wouldn't survive a second against that thing, and you're talking about luring it."
Luthar did not argue.
"If you engage him traditionally, you will definitely die," he said evenly.
That answer did not comfort anyone.
He adjusted the projection, splitting the formation into two groups.
"Therefore, we do not engage traditionally."
A new overlay appeared.
"Black Widows establish the checkpoint. Cannons pre-mounted. Mines armed. Firing angles confirmed."
The skeletal projection shifted toward the marked corridor.
"Wiene and I draw its attention."
Wiene blinked.
Natasha's gaze sharpened. "You're putting yourself in front?"
"Since you are concerned about your own survival, I have no choice but to take the front line."."
He zoomed in on a narrow bend in the corridor.
"This is the fastest method available without resorting to extreme measures."
"And if it doesn't work?" Natasha asked.
"Then I teleport everyone out of the dungeon."
He dismissed the projection.
There was no heroic speech.
Only assigned roles.
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