Chapter 60: I am sorry Dante

"Floor One, the main concourse," a smaller, rat-faced hunter chimed in from the side. "Spit right out of a rogue warp gate. You lost, sweet thing?"

"Yes."

"Where’re you trying to get to?"

"Up." She fixed her gaze on the doors leading to the upper levels. "To a man named Dante."

A ripple of mocking laughter erupted through the circle. "Dante?" the scarred man chuckled, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, there are a hundred Dantes in the tower. You’re going to have to be a lot more specific."

"He is not like the others," Esabella said. Her voice didn’t rise, but it lost every drop of its feigned warmth, turning instantly to ice. "He is not common."

The laughter cut off instantly. A strange, suffocating chill seemed to sweep through the immediate air, forcing the hunters to take an involuntary half-step back.

Then the doors of the hall suddenly open, shattering the tension. Four men clad in capes marched into the concourse, carrying rolled parchments and sloshing buckets of glue. The backs of their capes bore the embroidered emblem of a rising sun flanked by wings. The Radiant Dawn.

"Clear the way!" the leader shout. "Official Guild notice! Step back!"

The crowd of hunters readily parted. The men strode purposefully toward The bulletin wall near the entrance, slapping coats of glue across the stone before pasting a poster directly over the old, weathered notices. They repeated the motion systematically until a monolithic row of identical sheets lined the wall.

"What’s the word?" someone called out from the back.

"A new bounty. S-Rank."

The crowd immediately drifted away from Esabella, drawn by the scent of coin. Esabella rose to her feet with silent grace, keeping the cloak pulled tight to her chest as she followed the throng at a cautious distance. She peered over the shoulders of the mercenary crowd.

A meticulously drawn charcoal sketch of a man’s face stared down at the room. It was a harsh, weathered face, marked by a prominent scar and short-cropped hair. She had never seen this countenance before in her life.

But the name beneath the portrait made her heart stop.

[DANTE GREY.]

She stared at the letters, then at the astronomical figure stamped beneath them. 500,000,000 credits.

’That isn’t him’, her mind screamed instantly, a protective fury rising in her throat. ’That’s a lie. That’s not his handsome face. His eyes aren’t like that. His hair isn’t like that. They’ve drawn a monster. ’ But it’s his name. They are hunting him. They are using his name.’

"Five hundred million," a mercenary whispered, his voice trembling with sheer awe. "For a single head."

"Alive or dead," the scarred man read aloud, a greedy smirk splitting his face. "Personally, I’d prefer dead. A corpse doesn’t talk back, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to carry."

"Grey..." another hunter mused, scratching his jaw. "Wait, wasn’t he the vanguard who vanished into thin air last year? The S-Rank?"

"That’s the bastard. Word is he sold his entire guild down the river. Left his own raid party to rot inside a catastrophic boss room while he tucked tail and ran."

"Marcus has been burning through resources trying to hunt him down ever since."

Esabella stood there, the world fading into a dull roar around her.

’Left.’

The word twisted in her mind .She vividly remembered the cramped carriage, the quiet, distant look in Dante’s eyes as he stared out the window. "In my world, the people who swore they would do absolutely anything for me... were the exact same ones who lef—"

He had cut himself off. She remembered how his jaw had clenched, refusing to finish the word.

’So someone abandoned him’, Esabella realized, her chest tightening with an agonizing empathy. ’Someone betrayed him. And now, these disgusting creatures are claiming that he was the one who ran.’

Beneath her cloak, her hands began to shake with a trembling rage.

"If I ever cross paths with him," the scarred man boasted, turning back to his crew with a cruel laugh, "I’ll slide a dagger right between his shoulder blades while he’s sleeping. Lop off his head, hand it over to the Dawn, and buy myself a palace on the thirtieth floor."

"You and every blade for hire in the tower," someone shouted, and the group burst into coarse, ugly laughter.

"Say that again." The words slipped from Esabella’s lips before she could stop them. They were entirely devoid of emotion.

The scarred man blinked, turning around. When he saw her standing there, his smirk returned, assuming she was merely flirting or playing a game. "What’s that, sweetheart?"

"The part about the blade," she murmured, stepping closer. "Say it again."

"Oh, that?" He let out a low chuckle, completely oblivious. "I said I’d put a blade in his back. Why? Don’t tell me you’re a fan of his?"

She stood perfectly still, her hair casting a shadow over her eyes. She didn’t speak.

’Rule four’, her mind pleaded.

She could see him so clearly in her head. Standing before her with his hands shoved carelessly into his pockets, looking down at her with those beautiful, indifferent eyes.

If you break one, I leave you behind. No second chance, no tears.

She wanted to be a good girl for him. She wanted to obey his every whim, to be exactly what he needed so he would never look away from her.

But there was a man standing in front of her who dared to breathe a threat against his life. A man who wanted to mutilate his body for paper money. And the entire room was laughing at the thought of his death.

’I’m sorry, Dante’, she thought, a manic devotion flooding her veins. ’I’m so, so sorry. lock me away, hate me if you must... but I cannot let them live after saying that.’

She raised her head, a terrifyingly menace empty smile spreading across her lips.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes wide and entirely hollow. "I know him."