Rise of the F-Rank Hero-Chapter 151: cheeky one

The safe zone was large, but the emotional chasm dividing the room made it feel infinite.

On the left side, near the bubbling healing fountain, Oliver sat on a stone bench. He chewed on a strip of dried meat, his expression calm. Amy sat close enough to touch him, her shoulder brushing his, while Isolde sat on his other side, peeling an apple with a dagger that was far too sharp for fruit.

On the far right, huddled in the shadows, was the Hero group.

William lay propped up against a crate, holding a glowing blue potion to his swollen jaw. He looked pathetic—his armor dented, his face a kaleidoscope of purple and black bruises.

Lisa and Sophia sat a few feet away, eating their rations in awkward silence. They kept glancing between the two groups, unsure of where their loyalty should lie. They were the Switzerland of this war.

Meanwhile, Daniel, Jason, and Ren formed a tight circle around William.

"Spit it out, man," Daniel hissed, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. "What is going on? What did he mean by ’back then’? Were you... were you involved in the incident where he supposedly died?"

William didn’t answer. He just took a swig of the potion, wincing as the liquid touched his broken tooth.

"You know you’re not helping yourself," Ren whispered, his eyes narrowing. "If you pushed him... that’s attempted murder, Will. If the Emperor finds out, we’re all screwed by association."

"I didn’t push him," William mumbled through swollen lips, the lie tasting like copper. "He slipped. I just... didn’t help him. That’s all."

"Tch." Jason spat on the floor, crossing his massive arms. "Who cares if he slipped or was pushed? We don’t like that loser anyway."

"Yeah," Daniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But it seems he’s not a loser anymore. He took down those Golems faster than I could."

"And that pisses me off even more," Jason growled, his voice dropping to a venomous murmur. "The guy was a joke. An F-rank trash. He was our punching bag back in the academy. Remember how he used to flinch if we even raised a hand?"

"Yeah," Ren chuckled darkly. "He used to carry our bags. Now he thinks he can stand equal to us? Acting all high and mighty just because he got a few lucky levels?"

"He’s still trash," Jason muttered, glaring across the room at Oliver. "Trash wrapped in a cool coat is still trash. Once we get back to the surface, I’ll show him his place. No adventurer beats a Hero in a duel."

They thought they were being quiet. They thought the distance and the bubbling fountain masked their words.

They were wrong.

*****

Thirty feet away, Oliver continued to chew his jerky rhythmically.

His stats were far beyond human limits now. His [Heightened Senses] picked up every whispered insult, every scoff, every lie.

Beside him, Isolde had stopped peeling her apple.

Her grip on the dagger tightened until the leather handle creaked. Her knuckles were white. A faint, dark aura began to leak from her body, causing the temperature around their bench to drop.

"I’m going to kill them," she whispered, her voice a vibration that only Oliver could hear. "I’m going to cut out their tongues and feed them to the rats."

She started to rise, her crimson eyes locked on Jason’s throat.

Grab.

Oliver’s hand clamped down on her wrist.

"Sit down," Oliver said softly.

"Master, they are insulting you," Isolde hissed, her eyes flashing. "They called you trash. A punching bag. Let me—"

"I heard them," Oliver said, taking a bite of his apple slice. "But dogs bark at what they don’t understand. If you kill them, we fail the mission. And honestly... their opinions stopped mattering to me a long time ago."

He looked at her, his dark eyes calm and amused.

"Besides, didn’t you say you liked it when I was the ’underdog’?"

Isolde stared at him. The rage slowly ebbed away, replaced by a begrudging respect. She huffed, sheathing her dagger aggressively.

"Fine. But if that big idiot comes near me, he loses a hand."

****

Just then, the sound of heavy boots approached.

Three Royal Knights walked over from the supply pile. They weren’t the elite guards from the palace; these were the rugged field knights who had been part of the expedition to the Forest of Silence—the ones who had seen Oliver save Princess Elisha from the Orc Lord.

Now that the mask was gone, recognition had dawned on them.

"Mind if we join you?" the lead knight asked, a grizzled veteran named Ser Gerrick.

"Pull up a crate," Oliver said, nodding.

The knights sat down, looking at Oliver with a mix of curiosity and awe.

"Damn," Gerrick chuckled, shaking his head. "I didn’t know you were an Otherworlder. A ’Hero,’ technically."

Oliver laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, looking genuinely embarrassed. "Ha, ha... it’s not something to brag about. Please, just call me Oliver."

"Are you serious, man?" a younger knight asked, eyes wide. "You guys are legends. I mean, literally. Heroes usually stay in the high districts, eating off gold plates. Wherever you would have gone, you would have been treated like royalty. Why play mercenary?"

"Well," Oliver shrugged, gesturing to the bruise on his cheek. "I wasn’t exactly the ’Hero’ type back then. I was pretty weak. F-Class. The lowest of the low."

He glanced sideways at the Hero group, who were still whispering.

"Back when I arrived, I couldn’t even lift a sword properly. I was... well, let’s just say I wasn’t popular." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Weak?" Gerrick snorted, looking at the massive pile of dead monsters they had left in their wake on the upper floors. "I saw you take the head off an Orc Lord while moving faster than my eyes could track. And today? You punched a Hero so hard he flew ten feet."

The knights laughed heartily.

"If that’s ’weak’ in your world," Gerrick said, clapping Oliver on the shoulder, "then I’d hate to see the strong ones."

"Strength isn’t just about stats," Oliver said quietly, looking at Amy, then at Isolde. "It took me a while to learn that."

Amy smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. "He’s the strongest person I know."

Gerrick grinned. "Well, Hero or Mercenary, I’m glad you’re leading the charge. Those shiny boys over there?" He jerked a thumb at Daniel and Jason. "They hesitate. You don’t. That’s why we’re still alive."

He raised his water skin.

"To the F-Rank powerhouse."

Oliver smiled, a genuine, tired smile that reached his eyes. He clinked his canteen against the knight’s.

"To surviving."

They drank in companionable silence for a moment, the fire crackling between them. The warmth of the liquid settled in their stomachs, contrasting with the cold, damp air of the dungeon.

"So... what do you think?" the younger knight, a lad named Rowan, asked quietly, glancing toward the gloomy corner where the Hero party sat.

"About what?" Oliver asked, wiping his mouth.

"About... this," Rowan gestured vaguely at the divided room. "I mean, the party is literally in shambles. The ’Leader’ took a beating, the Saintess has defected, and half the knights are looking at the Heroes like they want to stab them. Do you think this expedition is actually going to continue?"

Gerrick grunted, nodding in agreement. "He has a point. Usually, when a team cracks like this, we retreat. It’s suicide to go deeper with no trust."

Oliver stared into the flames. The reflection of the fire danced in his dark eyes.

"I don’t know about them," Oliver said, his voice steady and low. "But I am continuing ahead."

He tightened his grip on the canteen.

"We have suffered enough to get here. We lost three men on the 26th floor. If we turn back now... what was the meaning of those knights losing their lives? Just to walk halfway down and run home because of a fistfight?"

He looked up, meeting Gerrick’s gaze.

"I’m going to the bottom. I’m finishing this."

Gerrick looked at Oliver—at the unmasked face that held no arrogance, only grim determination. He slammed his fist against his chestplate.

"Well said," the veteran knight growled. "That’s spoken like a true commander. I will follow you."

"As will I," Rowan nodded eagerly.

Isolde, who had been listening with half-closed eyes, tilted her head. She twirled a lock of silver hair around her finger.

"But aren’t you boys supposed to follow their orders?" She pointed a manicured nail toward Daniel and William. "Didn’t the Emperor explicitly order the Royal Knights to assist the ’Heroes’?"

There was a pause.

Then, Rowan grinned—a mischievous, lopsided expression.

"We are following orders, Ma’am," he said innocently. "Technically... Mr. Oliver here is also a Hero, isn’t he? He was summoned just like them."

He gestured to Amy, who was dozing lightly on Oliver’s shoulder.

"And Miss Amy is a Hero too. So, if we choose to follow this specific Hero because his orders make more sense... well, we’re still following the Emperor’s decree to the letter."

Isolde blinked, then a slow, delighted smile spread across her face.

"You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you?" she purred. "I like you."

"Ha-ha!" Gerrick chuckled, slapping Rowan on the back. "The kid’s got a point. Besides, we’ve already worked with Mr. Oliver and Miss Isolde back in the Forest. We know your prowess. We know you as people."

Gerrick’s expression darkened as he glanced across the room.

"But them? I don’t know. Those guys seem... selfish. They hesitated when Garret died. You didn’t."

Oliver raised a hand, cutting off the praise before it got too loud.

"Alright, alright. Keep it down," Oliver whispered, though a faint smile lingered on his lips. "It won’t be good if they hear you talking mutiny. We need to keep the peace for at least a few more floors."

He stood up, stretching his back until it cracked.

"Okay. I’m sleepy now. You guys should rest too. No guard duty tonight—the Safe Zone holds."

"Yes, sir," the knights chorused—with more respect than they had shown Daniel all week.

"We will descend to the next floor after a proper rest," Oliver commanded.

He gently nudged Amy awake. "Come on. Tent time."

As the lights in the safe zone dimmed, the lines were drawn. The title of "Leader" had shifted silently, not by decree, but by the weight of respect.

And tomorrow, they would descend into the deep.