Once Genichi stepped into the Dungeon, he stopped holding back.
Even though leveling up to Lv.2 reset his base numbers to zero, the across-the-board improvement that came with the level-up was very real.
He moved like a blade drawn from its sheath, driving straight for the lower floors.
The upper-floor Lv.1 monsters that used to take a bit of effort now felt as fragile as papier-mâché in front of him.
A goblin's club couldn't even touch him. A ground spirit's thrown stones were easily avoided with a slight twist of his body. He would close in immediately, his longsword carving a clean, simple arc, and the magic stone would already be his.
He didn't even need to activate any skills or use any magic. With nothing but his strengthened body and increasingly polished swordsmanship, he harvested experience and magic stones with ruthless efficiency, cutting through everything in his path like a hot knife through butter.
When he passed through the connecting corridor between the twelfth and thirteenth floors, the air grew noticeably heavier, and the density of magic power rose another step.
The middle floors (13-24) washed over him, darker light, more complex terrain, and stronger monsters.
Starting on the thirteenth floor, monsters like hard-shelled rats and killer ants appeared, quicker and tougher, the kind of Lv.2 threats that forced most newly promoted adventurers to brace themselves.
In front of Genichi, they still weren't enough.
His basic abilities were climbing at a frightening pace. With every kill, Greed would quietly trigger, and the monster's source essence, along with its magic, would be absorbed into him.
By the time he reached the fifteenth floor, the environment had turned far more dangerous.
Among jagged stone pillars, silverback apes gave threatening roars. Massive boars lowered their tusks and charged. Hellhounds spewed searing flames.
These were signature middle-floor monsters, solidly mid-tier even among Lv.2 threats.
Genichi finally felt a hint of pressure, but more than that, he felt something familiar, almost pleasurable, an excited thrill.
Compared to the cautious, inch-by-inch tension of facing middle-floor monsters as a Lv.1, he could now handle them with a measure of composure.
His longsword seemed to come alive in his hand. Sometimes he used deft force to deflect a silverback's heavy punch, flowing into the motion and driving his blade into its throat. Sometimes he used the stone pillars as terrain, luring a massive boar into a full-speed collision that left it dazed, then finishing it with a killing strike. Against hellhounds that spat fire, he relied on superior agility, slipping past fireballs by a hair's breadth and cutting off heads at close range.
Kill. Take the magic stone. Feel the steady, rapid tick upward inside his body.
That visible growth, that sensation of turning threats into nourishment, pulled him in for a while.
He became a precise killing machine, clearing every monster in sight, pushing steadily deeper.
Before he reached the safe floor, maybe he could grind one of his base stats up to C, or even B.
The thought made his sword a fraction faster.
But the Dungeon was never just a monster nest.
Right as he finished off a small pack of hellhounds and bent to collect the magic stones, his senses, far beyond human, caught something off.
Not monster roars. Not footsteps.
Low, deliberate human voices, and the faint scrape of metal armor shifting.
Without hesitation, Genichi flickered like a phantom into a shadowed corner formed by a rock collapse. His breathing dropped to almost nothing, his presence nearly vanishing.
A few seconds later, four figures emerged from another branching tunnel and entered the area that had only just finished seeing battle.
Their gear was mismatched. Old bloodstains and Dungeon grime clung to leather armor and weapons. Their eyes held the greedy, vicious look of wolves, nothing like the disciplined air of proper adventurers.
"Strange. Where'd that lone kid go? I swear I heard fighting over here."
A short, stocky man with a scarred face spat, scanning around.
"Keep looking. He's definitely nearby. He can't have gone far."
A tall, thin man spoke with a nasty edge, idly playing with a poison-coated dagger.
"I saw him by himself, killing clean and fast. His bag looked stuffed, and that light armor wasn't bad. Cut him down and we'll get a solid haul. Might even pick up some extra reward."
The third man was bald. He frowned, staring at the hellhound corpses that hadn't fully dissolved yet and the traces of the fight, as if thinking hard.
"By the way… don't you think that kid looked kind of familiar? I only caught his side profile and build from far away, but I swear I've seen him somewhere…"
In the shadows, the word familiar hit Genichi like a spike.
He focused on their faces. Memory fragments surged up, snapping into place.
Scarface. The lanky one. The bald man…
And the last one, who hadn't spoken, a one-eyed man silently watching the surroundings with wary vigilance.
They were from the Dungeon-world Genichi's memories.
These faces had appeared in that other Genichi's brief and desperate "punching bag" life.
They belonged to the dark familia that had deceived him, dragged him into the abyss.
Under the name of "training," they had beaten him at will, used him as a living punching bag, squeezed out the last of his value until he was barely alive, then abandoned him to die. In despair, he'd been dragged into the arena, where he became nourishment for Genichi's rise…
Even if it had been another "him," the fused memories made it feel immediate and real, and in an instant, an icy rage ignited in Genichi's chest.
Killing intent boiled up like a tangible cold current, gathering in his eyes.
The original plan, avoid trouble and head straight for the target floor, scattered under that sudden surge of brutality.
Interest.
He'd collect a little interest first.
Since they'd crossed paths, there was no reason to let them go.
This wasn't just revenge. These dark-familia scum were also excellent feedstock, their souls far higher quality than any Dungeon monster.
Devouring them would be beneficial.
Genichi drew a slow breath, pressing the rising bloodlust back beneath the frozen surface of his heart, turning it into absolute calm.
He assessed their strength. A four-man team. Judging by presence and equipment, they were probably all Lv.2, with one of them possibly Lv.3.
A direct clash, one against four, carried risk, but it wasn't unwinnable. Especially if…
His gaze swept the scorch marks left by the hellhounds, then flicked up to the stalactite-like stone spires hanging overhead, which looked solid at first glance.
A rough plan formed instantly in his mind.
Like a predator buried in shadow, he waited for the best moment.
His right hand settled lightly on his sword hilt.
"Split up. He's probably hiding in some corner."
Scarface waved, signaling them to spread out and search.
Now.
Cold light flashed in Genichi's eyes.
He whispered a single word of chanting.
"Fukuin."
Condensed magic became a nearly invisible shockwave, striking a preselected weak point in the rock.
Crack…
The fine sound of splitting stone was razor-clear in the quiet corridor.
"What was that?"
The one-eyed man reacted first, jerking his head up.
Too late.
A chunk of rock, not enormous but heavy enough, dropped with a spray of gravel, falling straight onto the lanky man and scarface below.
"Watch out!"
The bald man shouted.
Chaos erupted instantly.
And Genichi was already moving, exploding out of the shadows like an arrow loosed from a bow, his target the one who'd looked up and lost focus for a fraction of a second.
The one-eyed man.
The hunt began.
(End of Chapter)
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