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TGGG — Chapter 83: New Hope
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 08:16:24 +0000 UTCBoris blinked at her compliment, then grinned in that usual self-assured way of his.
“Gahaha! You’ve got sharp eyes, madam,” he said, giving a polite bow. “Name’s Boris Ivanovich Volkov—Russian, ex-military, and connoisseur of fine drink. We’re looking for lodging for the foreseeable future.”
The woman chuckled, bringing a hand to her cheek, clearly flattered. “Well, Mr. Boris, you certainly know how to make an impression. I’m Merida, and this inn’s been in my family for three generations. We don’t often host Gimmel-rank divine warriors, but you’re more than welcome here. The longer, the better.”
Michelle and I exchanged a knowing glance and shared a small smirk. Of course, Boris would win over the widow innkeeper within seconds of walking in.
“Would you like two rooms or three?” Merida asked, still not taking her eyes off Boris.
“Three,” I answered quickly. “Separate beds, please.”
“Of course,” she said, finally blinking as she turned to the key rack behind her. “We’ve got two on the second floor and one on the third. Clean, private, and they come with breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening. It’ll be 120 soul coins per day. Oh, and I’ll throw in free dessert tonight as a welcome treat.”
“We’ll take it,” I said, nodding, each of us paying for three nights of lodging.
“Would you like to eat now or later?” she asked, placing the keys neatly on the counter. “Dinner’s fresh—today we’ve got a hearty root vegetable stew with wild herbs and soft bread. Just finished cooking.”
Boris leaned on the counter. “Bring the whole pot. I’m starving.”
Merida laughed again, clearly enjoying the attention. “You got it. Take any table you like. I’ll be right out with the food.”
As she vanished into the kitchen, the three of us made our way to a corner table near the window. It was quiet, with only a couple of other divine warriors seated nearby, eating in peaceful silence. The lighting was soft and warm, casting gentle shadows across the room. The oak furniture gleamed with polish, and the muffled clatter of dishes from the kitchen gave the inn a comforting, lived-in atmosphere. It was definitely in better condition than the inns we’d stayed in back in District E or F, being cleaner and cozier, but still retained the familiar structure and layout.
“I think Boris just scored us free dessert,” Michelle whispered to me with a grin.
“Let’s just hope he doesn’t end up as the co-owner tomorrow…” I muttered back.
To begin with, why were there so many widows here, all swooning over Boris?
Boris plopped down beside us, his heavy frame causing the bench to creak under his weight. “Are you talking about me right in front of me?” he asked half-jokingly.
I nodded. “Naturally. We’re just curious about your secret. How are you able to charm every middle-aged woman the moment you meet them for the first time?”
My question was obviously a joke and rhetorical, but I couldn’t help but ask anyway. The pattern was simply too consistent to ignore.
Boris laughed and clapped my shoulder. “It’s all about confidence, lad. Women—especially the older ones—appreciate a man who speaks boldly, looks them in the eye, and means what he says. Doesn’t matter if you’re handsome or not. What matters is that you carry yourself like you are.”
To be honest, that kind of information wasn’t useful to me. I wasn’t here to chase after women, after all. But understanding Boris’s personality and how he interacted with people was worth taking note of.
Michelle rested her chin on her palm, leaning closer. “So, basically, it’s all attitude?”
“That, and knowing when to compliment the right way.” He gave a confident grin. “Or maybe it’s just my overwhelming charm, hahaha.”
Well, typical Boris. He was always confident in every situation, and maybe that was his charm.
Before long, we turned our attention toward the kitchen as Merida emerged, balancing a large tray with practiced ease. She moved gracefully between tables and set the dishes down before us with a smile, especially before Boris. The table quickly filled with warm, hearty food—steaming bowls of savory stew, freshly baked bread, roasted vegetables, and a pitcher of chilled herbal drink. Not surprisingly, the taste and quality were far better than the meals we’d had at previous inns.
While eating, I brought up the topic that had been weighing heavily on my mind since my meeting with Istellia. It was none other than the Battle of Divine Will. I explained to Boris and Michelle that a great war that would involve every divine warrior in Fantasia would appear, and we needed to start preparing immediately. One of the most urgent steps was to clear the tenth scenario as soon as possible.
There might not be enough time left for us to reach Daleth rank before the Battle of Divine Will began, but there should be more than plenty enough time to max out our levels. The gap between a low-level Gimmel and a high-level one was almost like a chasm, and I had experienced that difference firsthand when I fought Erika.
As for the reason why I knew this information, I told them that after the duel with Graham, I had met Raphael, and she explained this to me. This shouldn’t make them even more suspicious about my extensive knowledge since I wasn’t lying about meeting with Raphael.
“About this Battle of Divine Will…” Michelle hesitated, her spoon paused halfway to her mouth. “Is it possible that the reason Lady Istellia issued a decree was to make her divine warriors stronger and to help them, including us, survive it?”
“Correct,” I said with a nod, though inwardly, I was aware that I was the true instigator behind that decree. “It’s not just about survival. From what I can infer, her goal is to win the battle. We won’t just be facing monsters or random enemies; we’ll be up against divine warriors of other gods. And they’ll be as powerful, if not more powerful, than Graham.”
Michelle’s brows furrowed, clearly disturbed by the implications. Boris, meanwhile, sat silently for a moment before placing both elbows on the table and folding his arms.
“Then this is a serious matter,” he said. “If an eldritch being like the one we encountered in the Grand Colosseum appears again, we won’t stand a chance in our current state.”
His fists clenched as he spoke, and I noticed his expression hardening. The memory of that encounter hadn’t faded, it seemed.
“Mhm. That’s why,” I proposed, “tomorrow, I think we should rechallenge the fourth scenario. We can gain a few levels and complete the remaining extra condition while we’re at it.”
Though, to be completely honest, my true reason was to replenish my plausibility. I needed it in reserve for the upcoming sixth scenario and beyond. There might not be many safe opportunities later, and without plausibility, my signature skills were as good as dead weight.
Fortunately, both of them thought it was a great idea and agreed without question. With that decided, we spent the rest of the evening engaged in idle chatter, letting the tension of the day gradually fade before heading to our separate rooms to rest.
I took the room on the third floor and found that the room was cozy and well-kept, and to my pleasant surprise, it came with a private bathroom. Though rudimentary by modern standards, it was the first time I’d seen an indoor bathroom in Fantasia.
As a tribute to the Goddess of Imagination, Istellia, 100 Soul Coins have been deducted from your balance.
***
The morning air in District D was brisk and unusually quiet—the kind of stillness that only came before a storm. We arrived early at the plaza where the Rift of Scenarios was located, and it was already filled with divine warriors. Groups gathered near the entrance, each staking out their place in the slowly forming line.
We hadn’t yet had the chance to visit the blacksmith in District D to upgrade our equipment, but since we were only reattempting the fourth scenario, it could wait until we finished this run.
Michelle wore her sleek black leather armor, while Boris had his arms crossed beside her, quietly scanning the crowd. I’d donned my cursed coat again to dull my presence and help me avoid any unnecessary attention.
We were just a few spots away from getting our turn when a voice called out to us.
“Hey! You there. Are you people from… Earth?”
We turned.
A group of eight divine warriors approached us, each wearing matching blue-grey cloaks with a white emblem over their chest—a symbol of a tree growing out of a broken sword. I recognized the insignia immediately. As far as I recalled, it belonged to a relatively new faction known as “New Hope.” Boris had mentioned them before in our recent idle chatter, saying that it was a group formed almost entirely by divine warriors from Earth.
At the front stood a man in his late twenties, lean but not frail, with sharp eyes and neatly combed brown hair. He had the calm confidence of someone accustomed to leadership, though his demeanor was warm rather than arrogant. A high-grade rapier hung at his waist, and his well-fitted leather armor looked practical yet polished, clearly of quality craftsmanship.
Because I had my cursed coat on, his attention naturally went to Boris first, ignoring me entirely. However, he paused for a beat, noticing something as his gaze briefly flicked in my direction. It appeared that he had sensed me. That meant he wasn’t weak and highly perceptive. The coat suppressed most of my presence, and anyone who could pierce through it wasn’t a pushover.
“I’m Marcel,” he said, offering a handshake to Boris. “Leader of New Hope. We’re a faction composed mostly of Earthlings like you, trying to survive—and thrive—together in Fantasia.”
Boris took the handshake firmly. “Mine’s Boris.”
Quietly, I used Inspect Eye on Marcel.
Marcel Moreau
HP: 100%
Rank: Gimmel [3]
Patron God: Istellia (Goddess of Imagination)
Class: Visionary Duelist
Total Attribute Points: 1,981
He was not the least bit inferior to Erika, though I couldn’t quite tell how the two would compare in actual combat. What stood out more was his class—Visionary Duelist—a unique and interesting blend of swordsmanship and imagination-based abilities. The fact that he held such a rare class made me suspect he was one of Istellia’s favored divine warriors.
“I know who you are. I saw you leap into the Grand Colosseum without hesitation,” he said with a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he turned toward me. “And you must be the one who defeated Graham. I’ve been meaning to meet you… our hero.”
“Mhm.” I just nodded and cut to the chase. “So, what do you want from us?”
Around him, a few members of his group whispered among themselves. Their eyes studied us with quiet interest, like they were evaluating something—or someone—they hoped to recruit.
Marcel’s next words confirmed my suspicion.
“We’re gathering everyone from Earth who’s serious about survival and climbing the scenarios. There’s strength in numbers, and we believe you three would be a perfect fit.” He paused, then added, “Of course, we’re not exclusive to just people from our homeland. Anyone who shares our vision is welcome to stand with us. We’re building a community that helps each other.”
Boris raised an eyebrow. “You’re recruiting right before a scenario?”
“The Rift is a bottleneck,” Marcel replied calmly. “Everyone with the drive and courage to challenge the scenarios passes through here eventually. It’s the perfect time to talk.” He gave a casual shrug. “Besides, I’m not forcing anything. Just extending a hand.”
I glanced at his group again. Their gear was clean and well-maintained, and their mana signatures were stable. They were clearly organized. This made me sure of one thing: They only accepted divine warriors with potential. The kind that could rise through the ranks. As for the rest, they were likely left behind.
A pragmatic approach. Smart, even. But it didn’t quite match the spirit implied by their faction’s name. Still, that wasn’t my concern.
“Sorry,” I said curtly. “Not interested.”
