Reborn in Danmachi as a Dragon-Kin (Rewrite)

The air in the large meeting room hung heavy with a sense of dread.

Sunlight cast long, dancing shadows across the polished floor and the walls adorned with guild insignias, highlighting the makeshift transformation the space had undergone.

It was no longer a place for routine gatherings, but a war room, maps, reports, and strategic charts covering every available surface.

Here, within the secure confines, the goddess Loki and her core executives- Finn, and Gareth had convened, seeking one of the few havens left from the omnipresent threat of evilus spies.

A voice, rough and weary, broke the tense silence.

"The enemy has surrounded the city." Gareth delivered the grim report, his usual booming tone muted by fatigue and the gravity of the situation.

He stood near a large, crude map laid out across several tables pushed together, his finger tracing the enemy's encroaching lines around the perimeter of Orario.

He continued, his voice tightening with frustration, "Not only that, but all supply routes have been violently severed. Reinforcements are all but impossible. Even attempting to evacuate civilians south to Port Melen... it's a death march now." He paused, glancing towards the window, though the shutters were drawn tight against the light outside.

"Countless signal flares rose from Melen during the initial attack last night. Now? Silence. Utter silence." The implication hung in the air – the vital port city to the southwest, Orario's gateway to the sea, had likely fallen.

Loki, seated at the head of the tables, propped her chin on her hand, her expression unusually somber, devoid of her typical playful air.

"So it's a siege, then," she surmised, her voice low.

"They're not aiming for a quick victory. They plan to starve us out." Her gaze swept over the detailed map before her, which also showed known enemy positions and key strategic points within the city.

Beside her, Finn, sighed deeply, the sound almost lost in the quiet room, though the exhaustion in his eyes was plain for all to see.

"This... this is truly troubling," he murmured, running a hand through his already messy hair. "There's an overwhelming amount of work – tending to the wounded clinging to life, clearing the debris choking our streets, organizing the meager distribution of food, bolstering crumbling defenses..." He trailed off, the sheer scale of the tasks weighing on him.

"Every day that passes, our stores dwindle, our forces grow just that little bit weaker. And on top of it all, we have a ticking time bomb on our hands."

He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the map, but his thoughts clearly on the city's populace. "Sooner or later, desperation will set in among the civilians. Hunger, fear, displacement... the evilus know this. They are undoubtedly doing everything they can to accelerate that process, sowing discord, spreading panic."

Loki's brows furrowed, her earlier weariness replaced by a sharp, reflective intensity.

"No attack is scarier than this waiting game, eh? Letting the pressure build until something snaps," she mused, the irony of their situation not lost on her.

"Trying to protect the very people who might, in their fear, turn around and stab us in the back."

Gareth, picking up a fresh report from the table, let out a heavy breath.

"Our contacts in Melen... seems none survived," he muttered, the words laced with grief and frustration.

He crumpled the paper slightly in his fist.

"Gods... did they have to go that far?"

"Sadly, Valletta is precisely that ruthless and calculating," Finn replied quietly, a rare note of despondency in his voice, offering a silent acknowledgment of Gareth's pain.

Loki straightened, attempting to find a sliver of strategic coldness in the face of such losses. "Everything else aside, the only small comfort is that they can't assault the city with their full strength while they're occupied securing the walls and maintaining the siege perimeter."

"That's true," Gareth conceded, then shifted topics, his mind moving to the terrifying figures encountered during the initial assault.

"But setting that aside for a moment... do we have any more information on the third person? Besides Zald and Alfia?"

Finn adjusted a pile of scrolls.

"I've scoured the guild records, cross-referenced what little intel we have... it's frustratingly sparse. All I could confirm is his name: Mors. And that he was a member of the Set Familia... roughly a century ago."

"The Set Familia, huh," Loki echoed, a flicker of distant memory in her eyes.

"Haven't heard that name in ages. Ancient history, even for Orario."

"So," Gareth said, rubbing his bandaged arm, still aching from the near-fatal injuries inflicted upon him, "basically all we know is his name, that he uses a spear, and he's old?"

"No, we know a bit more, thanks to Allen and Draco's accounts," Finn corrected, his voice regaining some of its analytic edge as he referred to notes beside him.

"The key takeaway is this: Like Zald and Alfia, Mors is almost certainly a peak Level 7."

A low groan escaped Gareth.

"Ghh... that's devastating news." He instinctively clutched the thick bandages covering his chest and arm.

Alfia alone had brought him and Riveria to the brink of death with terrifying ease.

The confirmation of another foe of that caliber felt like a crushing weight on their already strained forces.

Confusion warred with lingering pain in Gareth's expression.

"Wait... if they possess that level of power... Zald, Alfia, and Mors... why didn't they just finish it last night? They could have broken us utterly."

Finn leaned back slightly, his pale eyes scanning a written summary of the available adventurers in Orario.

"That's the question, isn't it? I'm not entirely certain, but here's my working theory." He tapped the papers.

"Think of a Level 7 adventurer not just as a powerful fighter, but like a boss monster from the deepest dungeon levels – only with the speed, maneuverability, and strategic cunning of an adventurer. Their actions, or lack thereof, make a twisted kind of sense if you look at it that way."

He continued, "Remember the late stages of the battle? I called for all available familias to rally at Central Park. If the enemy had pushed for a decisive victory then, if they had cornered us and driven us to utter desperation, forcing a united stand... then it's possible." Finn didn't need to vocalize the rest; the unspoken dread was clear.

Being Level 7 didn't grant infinite stamina or magic.

Pushing hundreds, thousands of adventurers, even lower-level ones, into a desperate, cornered fight could trigger unforeseen variables – desperate last stands, miraculous saves, perhaps even divine intervention from other gods supporting their children.

It was a risk, a gamble.

"It's far more efficient for them to avoid that all-or-nothing scenario," Finn concluded.

"To whittle away at our resources, our morale, our numbers, little by little, until we're too weak, too fractured, too tired for a united stand. Only then will they strike the final, decisive blow."

Gareth listened intently, his face grim.

"Hmm, I understand the logic. The odds are still terrible... but that sliver of hope, however small, is perhaps better than none. Assuming... assuming we truly resolve ourselves to do whatever it takes to create that opportunity."

Finn's gaze grew cold and calculating, a chilling contrast to his usual calm demeanor.

"Yes," he confirmed, his voice devoid of emotion.

"We could force a decisive battle, create that outside chance. But only if we are willing to abandon the civilians to focus on the core fight... and only if we are willing to turn a significant number of adventurers into little more than cannon fodder to bog down their elites."

It was a brutal reality, a strategic necessity he was stone-facedly prepared to consider if their backs were truly against the wall.

Yet, beneath that composed exterior, Finn harbored a nagging doubt.

He presented his theory with confidence to Gareth, but it didn't sit entirely right.

There felt like a significant, missing piece to the puzzle.

If the enemy's plan was pure attrition, why weren't Zald, Alfia, and Mors actively rampaging through the city right now?

The adventurers were already stretched impossibly thin, grappling with civilian management, resource allocation, and the horrific task of body recovery.

Any organized defense they could possibly muster in such a state would crumble instantly before the might of the 'King,' the 'Queen,' and the 'Joker' of Evilus.

'Perhaps there's a reason they can't act... or won't?' Finn mused internally, his mind racing for alternative explanations.

Something restraining them? Or are they waiting for something specific?

His thoughts were abruptly shattered as the meeting room door burst open with a loud bang.

A young man, his chest heaving, his face streaked with sweat and dust, stumbled into the room, his voice echoing shrilly in the sudden noise.

"Captain! Loki-sama! The enemy... they're attacking again!" Raul, gasped the report.

"Ah, here we go again!" Loki muttered, her irritation momentarily overcoming her weariness. "Must be the harassment tactic that Draco kid mentioned a while ago. Where are they hitting this time?"

"The Factory District! To the northwest!" Raul reported, pointing roughly in that direction. "Draco-san set up a forward camp there this morning... we were running out of space in Central Park."

At the mention of the location, Gareth's eyes snapped towards the map.

He moved instantly, reaching for his battle helmet perched on a nearby table.

"I will go and reinforce the Bahamut Familia," he stated, his warrior's instinct taking over.

"That won't be necessary, Gareth," Finn said calmly, stopping him.

"I sent Riveria there around an hour ago"

Gareth paused, helmet in hand.

"What...? But Finn, they're just kids! And Riveria... she is still gravely injured! Sending her there... isn't that like sending her to die?" His voice was tight with worry.

A faint, smile touched Finn's lips.

"You are seriously underestimating the Bahamut Familia, Gareth. They are remarkably strong kids. And I didn't send Riveria there to fight." He paused, letting the implication sink in.

"I sent her to keep a very close eye on a certain someone."

Gareth felt a wave of embarrassment.

He had indeed witnessed the Bahamut Familia's strength several times, but their youth coupled with their leader's unconventional nature often led him to, perhaps unfairly, view them differently from the seasoned warriors of his own generation.

Yet, Finn's cryptic words about the "certain someone" still left him puzzled.

It was Loki who finally cleared the air.

"Ach, he sent that kid," she sighed softly, a hint of concern beneath the surface.

"Momma's can get a bit overprotective, even when their chick needs to fly."

Gareth's jaw tightened, his earlier worry returning with renewed force.

"Ugh, you sent Ais? You know exactly what happened the last time she had significant interaction with the Bahamut Familia!" His voice was laced with apprehension.

"Well, that's why Riveria is with her, isn't it?" Finn countered smoothly, his logic sharp.

"To mediate, to observe, and frankly, to ensure Ais stays focused. Besides," his smile broadened slightly, revealing his deeper hope, "perhaps she could learn a thing or two from children around her own age... children who have faced adversity and grown strong together."

Finn hadn't simply dispatched Ais to help fend off a harassment attack; he had orchestrated an opportunity.

He hoped that being immersed among the talented, extraordinary, yet fundamentally kindred spirits of the Bahamut Familia would finally allow the isolated Princess to form bonds and experience the mental growth that had so long eluded her.

Despite the rocky history between them, Finn gambled that this forced proximity, under Riveria's watchful eye, might just be what Ais needs.