WiseTL

Is It Wrong to Want Luxury in a Dungeon? [4]

Added 2025-03-08 06:58:34 +0000 UTC

A Morning of Trials (and Poor Taste)

The first thing Calista noticed when she woke up was that her bed was not nearly soft enough.

The second thing she noticed was that she was still here.

Orario. Loki Familia. Adventuring.

Ugh.

She let out a slow, suffering groan, dragging the blankets over her head as if that would somehow banish reality back to whatever uncultured void it had crawled from. The mattress was firm, the sheets serviceable but unremarkable, and the air smelled of aged wood and oil lanterns rather than floral perfume and silk.

Where was the luxury? Where was the refinement?

She had traded a lifetime of opulence for—what, a career in dungeon spelunking?

Disgusting.

A soft knock interrupted her spiraling.

"Um… Calista?"

A girl's voice—hesitant, polite, and unreasonably adorable.

Calista ignored it. Maybe if she stayed perfectly still, she could will the intruder away.

Another knock. "It’s morning. Breakfast is—"

She groaned dramatically and shoved a pillow over her face. Morning? Absolutely not.

A pause.

Then, to Calista’s absolute horror, the door creaked open.

Her pillow snapped off her face as she turned her head sharply, ready to unleash righteous indignation upon this lawless barbarian—

Oh.

Standing in her doorway was a delicate blonde elf, clad in a crisp uniform, with wide, nervous blue eyes and the kind of soft features that belonged on a porcelain doll.

Her golden hair, brushed to perfection, framed a face that was both sweet and flustered—her lips slightly parted as if she wasn’t sure whether she had just made a grave mistake.

Her ears—pointed and twitching slightly—were the kind of unfairly cute detail that made Calista want to reach out and flick them just to see what would happen.

Adorable.

"…Oh," Calista said, blinking slowly.

The girl flushed instantly. "I—I knocked! And you didn’t answer! So I thought—!"

How delightful.

Calista’s lips curled into a lazy, catlike smile.

"Breaking and entering first thing in the morning?" she murmured, her voice slipping into a sultry lilt. "My, my. I never expected elves to be so forward."

The reaction was immediate.

Lefiya went red as a sunset, ears twitching violently. "W-What?! That’s not—I wasn’t—I just—!"

Calista stretched luxuriously, arching her back like a lounging cat, before propping herself up on one elbow.

"My virtue, stolen before breakfast," she sighed dramatically. "How scandalous."

Lefiya looked about two seconds away from self-combustion.

"I—I WAS JUST FOLLOWING ORDERS!"

"Mm." Calista hummed thoughtfully, letting her gaze drag up and down the poor girl in mock assessment.

Petite, blonde, far too easy to fluster.

Weak to teasing.

Oh, she was going to be fun.

"Loki told you to wake me?" Calista asked, tilting her head slightly.

Lefiya nodded frantically, as if that would somehow absolve her of this apparent crime.

"Well, I suppose that’s different, then," Calista relented, her smile turning slightly wicked. "But really, darling, you should have just climbed into bed with me. It would have been much gentler than barging in like this."

Lefiya made a noise.

It was a noise Calista had never heard a person make before.

Somewhere between a gasp, a squeak, and a strangled cry for help.

"BREAKFAST IS IN THE MAIN HALL PLEASE GET DRESSED GOODBYE!"

She practically ran out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Silence.

Then—

Calista burst into delighted laughter.

Oh, she was definitely keeping that one.

...

Calista stepped into the hall, pausing for just a moment as she took in the sheer energy of the place. The room was large, but packed—long wooden tables stretched across the space, occupied by adventurers in various states of wakefulness. Some were already talking animatedly, gesturing with half-eaten pieces of bread as they argued over something or another, while others hunched over their plates, moving mechanically as they shoveled food into their mouths with dead-eyed exhaustion.

The sound of conversation and clattering silverware filled the air, mixing with the warm scent of fresh bread, roasted meat, and whatever broth had been prepared for the morning. It was chaotic, loud, completely unrefined—nothing like the carefully arranged, civilized breakfasts she was accustomed to.

And, of course, sitting at the head of the largest table, lounging with one leg hooked over the arm of her chair like she owned the place, was Loki.

The goddess spotted her instantly, grinning ear to ear.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to roll outta bed!”

A dozen pairs of eyes turned to her at once.

Calista took exactly half a second to assess her options before exhaling through her nose and stepping forward, letting her stride fall into the easy, practiced grace of someone entirely unbothered by the attention.

“Apologies for my delay,” she said smoothly, moving toward the table. “I was busy fighting for my virtue.”

A fork clattered onto a plate.

Calista’s gaze flickered to the culprit—a woman with emerald-green hair, strikingly elegant despite the sheer absurdity of what was happening around her. Her long ears twitched slightly, blue eyes sharp as they studied her. She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t rolling her eyes. Just watching, cool and unreadable.

A presence.

Seated beside her was a man with short blonde hair and striking blue eyes, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and careful neutrality. There was something about him that immediately stood out—something in the way he carried himself, in the way the conversation naturally seemed to flow around him, even when he wasn’t speaking.

And then, to his left, an older dwarf with a thick beard and a presence like a stone wall—sturdy, grounded, unwavering. His arms were crossed, but there was a glint of something like quiet amusement in his gaze.

These were the ones in charge.

“HAH!” Loki barked out a laugh, waving her spoon in the air. “Did ya, now?”

Calista tilted her head, placing a hand over her heart with an air of deep suffering. “It was harrowing, but I endured.”

A soft, strangled noise came from further down the table. Calista’s lips curled slightly as she spotted Lefiya, ears burning bright red as she tried very hard to focus on her meal.

How delightful.

Loki patted the seat beside her, grinning. “C’mon, princess, grab some food before these animals eat everythin’.”

“How generous,” Calista murmured, slipping into the chair with the kind of elegance that did not belong at a table like this.

She barely had time to glance over the available food before Loki gestured toward the people beside her. “Alright, time for introductions. That handsome devil over there is Finn, our captain.”

The blonde man gave her a polite nod. “Pleasure to meet you, Calista.”

Likely the most dangerous person in the room, if she had to guess. She met his gaze and returned the nod. “Likewise.”

“The old rock over here is Gareth.”

Gareth huffed, shaking his head. “Rock, is it? That’s rich, comin’ from you.”

“And this lovely lady is Riveria. Smartest one here. Also real scary when she wants to be.”

Riveria sighed through her nose. “I see you’ve already taken a liking to her.”

Loki grinned. “Oh yeah. This one’s a keeper.”

Calista smiled. “A pleasure, Lady Riveria.”

Riveria gave her a long, considering look before finally inclining her head.

“She’s got manners, at least,” Gareth muttered.

Loki cackled. “Don’t be fooled, she’s got plenty of bite.”

“Wonderful,” Riveria murmured, taking a sip of her tea.

Before Calista could say anything else, a scoff cut through the noise.

“Gods, another noble brat,” someone muttered.

She turned her head slightly, catching sight of a man with wild grey hair and sharp yellow eyes, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

“How long d’you think she’ll last before she starts cryin’?”

Across the table, a dark-haired woman in an Amazonian outfit sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Bete, don’t start.”

“I’m just sayin’,” the werewolf continued, kicking his feet up onto the bench across from him. “Ain’t the first time some rich little princess came struttin’ in here thinkin’ she’s special.”

Calista propped her chin on her hand, watching him with mild amusement.

“You’re adorable.”

The entire table fell silent.

Finn lifted a hand to cover his mouth.

The dark-haired Amazon stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

The other Amazon, the one with shorter hair and a more playful expression, made a choked noise that quickly turned into laughter.

And Bete?

Bete just stared at her.

“…What?”

Calista smiled. “You remind me of a particularly aggressive chihuahua. All that growling and barking.” She tilted her head slightly. “Simply precious.”

Tiona immediately collapsed onto the table, howling with laughter.

Bete shot up, jabbing a finger at her. “I ain’t cute!”

Calista blinked slowly, like a cat playing with its food. “If you say so, dear.”

Loki choked on her drink.

Finn exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Gareth muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “This one’s got claws.”

Tiona, still laughing, pounded a fist on the table. “Oh, I like her!”

Bete, on the other hand, looked about two seconds away from flipping the entire table over.

Riveria sighed, rubbing her temple. “Loki.”

Loki, still wheezing, held up a hand in surrender. “Hey, hey, I ain’t stoppin’ her. She’s got spirit!”

Tione, the darker-haired Amazon, huffed. “She’s got a death wish.”

Calista took a dainty sip of tea, utterly composed. “Oh, not at all. I just have an appreciation for small, scrappy creatures.”

Bete opened his mouth, promptly closed it, then opened it again like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to fight her or throw something.

Loki let out a low whistle. “Ohh, you’re gonna fit in real nice here.”

Calista smiled, pleased.

At the far end of the table, another blonde woman sat silently, watching the exchange with quiet, unreadable eyes. She had an ethereal quality about her—calm, distant, something in the way she held herself that felt strangely detached.

She hadn’t spoken a single word, but she hadn’t stopped watching.

Calista met her gaze, curious.

For just a moment, something flickered across the girl’s expression—something like interest.

Then, without a word, she simply returned to her meal.

Interesting.

Breakfast continued, the conversation shifting away from her and back into familiar, chaotic banter.

Finn eventually set his fork down, glancing her way. “Have you ever fought a monster before?”

Calista sipped her tea.

“Not personally.”

Finn, Gareth, and Riveria exchanged a look.

“Well,” Finn said lightly, adjusting his gloves. “I suppose we’ll have to fix that today.”

Calista smiled. “How exciting.”

...

Breakfast had been… lively.

Calista hadn’t expected much from a gathering of adventurers, but Loki Familia certainly had its own brand of chaos. Between Finn’s measured leadership, Riveria’s quiet authority, Gareth’s steady presence, and the absolute mess that was Bete getting roasted in broad daylight, she had learned far more about her new Familia than she’d expected in just one meal.

But now, as plates were cleared and people began peeling off to handle their daily duties, it was clear that breakfast was only the prelude to the real work.

"So, Callie," Loki drawled, slouching back in her chair as she swirled a drink that definitely shouldn’t be happening this early in the morning. "Ya had a nice little feast, yeah? Time to get ya set up proper."

Calista arched a brow. "I assume that means something more dignified than being thrown to the wolves."

Loki grinned. "Depends. Ya any good with a weapon?"

Calista took a sip of her tea, considering. "I have an eye for quality."

Riveria sighed quietly. "That’s not the same as knowing how to fight."

"Ah, but knowing quality is half the battle," Calista replied smoothly, setting her cup down with a delicate clink. "A fine weapon makes all the difference."

Gareth chuckled. "That’s true, but a weapon’s only as good as the one wielding it. You’ll need to pick something that suits you."

Calista hummed, as if deep in thought. She had never needed to wield a weapon before—her entire life up until now had been one of luxury, where violence was handled by other people, far away from her direct concerns. But if she had to choose…

"Something refined," she murmured. "Efficient, elegant, precise. No clunky blades or brutish clubs."

Gareth chuckled, stroking his beard. "So no war hammer for you, then?"

Calista nearly choked on her tea. "Gods, no."

"Shame," he mused. "Would’ve been funny."

Finn, who had been quiet up until now, tapped his fingers lightly against the table. "You’ll head to one of the Familia’s trusted smiths. You’ll pick out a weapon, and get yourself properly outfitted with gear."

"Ah," Loki smirked, glancing to the side. "And for that, yer gonna need a babysitter."

Riveria, already anticipating what was about to happen, exhaled sharply. "No."

Loki clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, c’mon, Riv. You know ya love it."

"I do not."

"Sure ya do," Loki said, ignoring her completely. "Callie’s gotta learn how to read Orario’s script anyway, so this is just killin’ two birds with one very tall elf."

Calista tilted her head. "What does reading have to do with getting weapons?"

Riveria gave her a long, deeply unimpressed look.

Loki grinned. "Oh, she don’t know yet."

Calista narrowed her eyes. "Know what?"

A slow, wicked smirk spread across Loki’s lips. "You’ll find out soon enough."

Riveria stood up, placing her empty cup down with the grace of someone who had already accepted her fate. "I’ll oversee her equipment and assess her capabilities. But don’t expect me to tolerate nonsense."

Calista smiled pleasantly. "I never cause nonsense."

Across the table, Lefiya made a choking noise.

Riveria, deadpan, turned to the younger elf. "You’ll come as well."

Lefiya, who had been trying to disappear into her chair, jolted upright. "M-me?"

"Yes. You still have equipment to replace, and you could use the experience."

Lefiya opened her mouth, clearly considering arguing, then glanced at Calista.

Calista smiled at her.

Lefiya immediately looked away.

"...Okay," she muttered.

"That settles it!" Loki stretched, popping her shoulders. "Y’all have fun. And Callie?"

Calista glanced back at her.

Loki smirked. "Try not to bankrupt us on yer first day, yeah?"

Calista scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Please. I have impeccable financial sense."

Riveria, who had a feeling this was going to be a very long day, simply turned toward the exit. "Let’s go."

...

The streets of Orario were already bustling by the time Calista, Riveria, and Lefiya stepped out of Twilight Manor.

It was much like her first impression of the city—crowded, chaotic, and entirely lacking in refined elegance. Merchants called out prices over the constant hum of moving bodies, the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread wafting through the air as adventurers and civilians alike moved about their daily business. It was a city that breathed, alive with an energy she hadn’t yet decided if she found invigorating or exhausting.

The two elves flanking her, however, barely seemed to notice the liveliness. Riveria moved with an air of calm detachment, her long strides unhurried but purposeful, while Lefiya kept close to her, glancing around nervously as if she half-expected trouble to appear out of thin air.

Calista, naturally, had no such concerns.

"So, are we actually going to a respectable establishment," she mused, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder, "or are you taking me to some seedy little forge tucked away in an alley?"

Riveria didn’t slow her pace. "We are going to a Familia-affiliated smith known for producing reliable equipment."

"Mm. Functional, then. Not fashionable."

Lefiya glanced at her. "You… care about how your weapon looks?"

Calista gave her a scandalized look. "Darling, please. Of course I do. I refuse to be seen with something hideous."

Lefiya blinked, as if struggling to comprehend the words. "But… it’s a weapon."

"Yes. And?"

Riveria let out a quiet sigh. "As long as it does its job, aesthetics are secondary."

"That sounds like something a person with no taste would say," Calista said solemnly.

Lefiya’s lips parted in pure offense, as if such a statement was personally directed at her entire worldview.

Riveria, to her credit, didn’t even blink. "Then I suggest you adjust your expectations."

Calista huffed. "Fine. But if I end up wielding something offensively ugly, I will be filing a complaint."

Riveria did not dignify that with a response.

The smith they arrived at was, fortunately, not completely horrendous.

It was a sturdy, well-kept establishment nestled in one of the busier streets, built from thick stone with a heavy wooden door that looked like it had withstood its fair share of abuse. The large open windows let out waves of heat from within, and even before stepping inside, the rhythmic clang of hammer against metal rang through the air.

Inside, the forge was filled with racks of weapons and armor, the scent of molten metal thick and cloying. Several apprentices bustled about, while a muscular, soot-streaked man stood behind the counter, inspecting a half-finished sword with a critical eye.

He barely glanced up before grunting, "Riveria."

Riveria nodded. "We need a starting weapon for a new recruit."

Calista stepped forward, offering her most dazzling smile. "And ideally, one that complements my aesthetic."

The smith did glance up at that, his brows furrowing as he took her in—the clean, well-maintained hair, the fine posture, the way she very clearly did not belong in a forge.

Then, to her horror, his eyes slid toward Riveria instead of addressing her directly.

"She serious?"

Calista gasped. The audacity.

Riveria, showing no sympathy, simply nodded.

"Unbelievable," Calista muttered under her breath, before raising her voice. "I assure you, I am quite serious."

The smith shrugged. "What’s your weapon?"

"That’s what we’re here to determine," Riveria supplied before Calista could say something about personal branding.

The smith exhaled through his nose, already looking like he regretted every second of this. He motioned toward the racks. "Go pick what feels right. We’ll see from there."

Calista turned her gaze toward the rows of weapons. There were swords of all sizes, daggers, axes, warhammers—absolutely not—and even a few more exotic weapons like whips and chakrams.

She skimmed over them with careful scrutiny.

Then, finally, her eyes landed on something that felt right.

A spear.

Long, sleek, and balanced, it wasn’t anything elaborate, but there was a certain elegance to it. The weapon’s shaft was sturdy yet lightweight, and the spearhead gleamed under the forge’s light, a simple but deadly piece of craftsmanship.

She ran her fingers along its length, testing the grip. Yes. This suited her.

Riveria, watching, gave a thoughtful hum. "A spear."

Lefiya tilted her head. "Why that one?"

Calista spun it lightly in her hands, feeling the weight, the motion. It had reach, speed, and precision—everything she wanted in a weapon.

"Because it’s civilized," she said finally, flashing a smirk. "Efficient. Refined."

The smith grunted. "Not a bad choice. You ever used one before?"

"Not exactly," she admitted, adjusting her grip, "but I’m an excellent learner."

Riveria eyed her for a moment before finally nodding. "Very well. That will be your primary weapon for now."

"Marvelous."

The smith shook his head. "You’re gonna break it in a week."

Calista gasped again, placing a hand over her chest. "Such little faith."

Lefiya muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, it’s justified.

With the weapon decided, they moved on to armor.

This was where the real struggle began.

Calista eyed the racks of padded tunics, reinforced leathers, and plated vests with thinly veiled disgust.

"These are ghastly."

Lefiya looked deeply distressed by this take. "They’re for protection!"

"And that," Calista said, "is the only reason I’m even considering them."

"How generous," Riveria muttered.

Eventually, they settled on something practical but not completely offensive to her sensibilities. A fitted set of reinforced leather armor—not bulky, but sturdy enough to provide basic protection. It wasn’t the most glamorous thing she had ever worn, but it didn’t make her look like a walking tin can, so she supposed it was acceptable.

Lefiya, meanwhile, had been watching this entire ordeal with growing exasperation.

"Are you always like this?" she finally asked as Calista inspected herself in the forge’s dusty mirror.

Calista turned slightly, admiring the way the armor hugged her form.

"Like what?"

Lefiya flailed a hand. "Like… this!"

Calista smirked. "Darling, you’re going to have to be more specific."

Lefiya opened her mouth, closed it, then let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh before turning helplessly to Riveria.

Riveria simply started toward the exit. "We’re done here."

Calista followed with a very pleased air, while Lefiya trudged after them, looking like she had aged at least five years in the span of a single shopping trip.

"That wasn’t so bad, now was it?" Calista mused.

Lefiya didn’t answer.

Riveria, however, smirked just slightly.

"You still need to learn how to read."

Calista froze mid-step.

Oh.

Right.

That.

...

The walk back to Twilight Manor was a pleasant one.

Or at least, it was pleasant for Calista. Lefiya, on the other hand, looked as though her very soul had been drained over the course of the morning.

The younger elf had spent far too long sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose, and casting helpless looks at Riveria, who had refused to intervene in Calista’s perfectly reasonable shopping choices.

It wasn’t Calista’s fault that most of Orario’s armor was deeply offensive to the eye. Nor was it her fault that she had standards.

Really, she had been very accommodating.

She had agreed to wear armor at all, had she not?

Lefiya should be grateful.

"I feel like I’ve aged at least three years," Lefiya muttered under her breath.

Calista glanced at her, amused. "Oh, don’t be dramatic, darling."

Lefiya shot her a flat look.

"You spent fifteen minutes arguing about the shade of brown in the leather options."

Calista huffed. "Excuse me for having an eye for detail."

Riveria, who had been pointedly ignoring their back-and-forth the entire walk, finally exhaled. "At the very least, you now have everything you need for tomorrow."

Calista spun her spear lightly in her hands, the weight of it comfortable, familiar. She had never used one in combat before, but she had always been good with movement, with control, with precision. A spear suited her—it was graceful, efficient, and most importantly, elegant.

"Tomorrow," she mused, testing the feel of the weapon in her grip. "Into the Dungeon at last."

Lefiya winced slightly. "You sound too excited about it."

Calista arched a brow. "Should I not be?"

Lefiya frowned, shifting the bag of supplies she was carrying. "The Dungeon isn’t something to take lightly."

"Of course not," Calista replied easily. "But if I were afraid of it, what kind of adventurer would I be?"

Lefiya looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, she simply sighed again. "Just don’t do anything reckless."

Calista grinned. "No promises."

Riveria shot her a look.

Calista smiled wider.

They reached the manor without further incident, stepping through the gates just as a few of the other members of the Familia were returning from their own errands.

The manor was just as lively as when they had left—adventurers moving in and out, weapons being sharpened, plans being discussed. Calista took it all in with mild interest.

These were the people she would be working alongside.

Some of them were strong.

Some of them were just bodies in the crowd.

Tomorrow, she would start to figure out which of them mattered.

Riveria slowed her pace as they entered the main hall. "We’re done here."

Lefiya let out a relieved breath, shifting the supplies in her arms. "Finally."

Calista rested her spear over one shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Such dramatics. It wasn’t that terrible, was it?"

Lefiya didn’t dignify that with an answer.

Riveria turned to her fully, crossing her arms. "You have your equipment now. The next step is preparation. You’ll need to understand the Dungeon’s structure, its dangers, and the limits of your own abilities."

Calista tilted her head slightly. "You make it sound so serious."

Riveria’s expression remained impassive. "It is."

For a brief moment, something in her gaze hardened—something that spoke of experience, of knowledge, of things seen and lost.

Calista didn’t miss it.

But she didn’t falter, either.

"I appreciate your concern," she said smoothly. "But I assure you, I don’t intend to be careless."

Riveria studied her for a long moment before finally nodding. "Good."

She glanced toward Lefiya. "Take the supplies to storage. I need to speak with Loki."

Lefiya blinked. "Oh, um—right!"

She turned to gather the rest of the gear, struggling slightly under the weight of it.

Calista watched.

And did not offer to help.