We finally reached the last town before the capital—a bustling place full of merchants, travelers, and the kind of noise that reminded me this was no longer a quiet village. The streets were alive with movement, colorful stalls lining every corner, and the air carried the scent of spices and fresh bread.

  Angelica, Sayo, Flora, and I moved through the crowd, making our way to the adventurer’s guild to register. Becoming official adventurers was a necessary step if we wanted to operate openly in the kingdom and take on missions without raising suspicion.

  The guild was a sturdy stone building with banners fluttering outside. Inside, I handed over our documents and awaited the results of the registration test. I couldn’t help but notice my own score was the lowest among the group.

  Angelica had the highest rating—no surprise there, her sword skills and magic were exceptional. Sayo and Flora scored nearly the same, close to each other but above me.

  I mulled over my score quietly, feeling a mix of determination and slight irritation. I knew I was stronger than the number showed, but sometimes rules and systems had their own way of measuring strength.

  After finishing the formalities, we set out to find a place to stay. The town was filled with inns and hotels of various sizes and qualities. We wandered through narrow streets until we spotted a cozy-looking inn with wooden beams and colorful lanterns hanging outside.

  The smell of cooked food wafted from inside, and our stomachs reminded us it was time to eat. We stepped in, greeted by a warm fire and the chatter of other travelers. We found a table near the hearth and ordered lunch, ready to rest a bit before continuing our mission toward the capital.

  As I sat down, watching the flames flicker, I knew this was only the beginning. The challenges ahead would test us all—but with Angelica, Sayo, and Flora by my side, I felt ready to face whatever came next.

  While we rested at the inn, I received a detailed report from Beta. The news was both encouraging and worrisome. Our forces had completed 90% of their mission—taking control of the villages around the imperial kingdom.

  Only a few remained, and those were the most important: the economic sources that kept the empire running. Securing those villages would be crucial to weakening the kingdom’s corrupt power.

  But there was more.

  Beta informed me of a new threat—or perhaps a challenge—that had surfaced: the Cardinal Heroes. This was a special team of seven elite warriors, each wielding a legendary Cardinal Weapon.

  The list was impressive: one sword, one spear, one bow, a unique weapon called Special Dragger, designed especially for ninja or assassin types, one wand, an absolute defense armor with a shield, and one final mysterious weapon—the blood of a god.

  The leader of the Cardinal Heroes was a woman named Deathes. She was the first ever to fully drink the blood of a god, a feat that left a glowing crest starting at her neck and stretching down to the top of her chest. That mark was said to be a symbol of overwhelming power and mastery.

  Deathes specialized in ice magic, and from what Beta’s information suggested, her magic was possibly stronger than anyone else’s—perhaps even rivaling the strongest mages I had ever known.

  I stared out the window, watching the town bustle below, and thought, I will meet them soon. Our mission was about to enter a new phase. The final villages awaited, and beyond them, the full power of the empire’s defenders.

  The time to prove ourselves was coming.

  Meanwhile, far away in the imperial palace of Gizelotte, the queen sat proudly on her grand throne. The room was vast, adorned with shining tapestries and polished marble floors that reflected the golden light streaming from the crystal chandeliers. Her presence was regal and commanding.

  Standing to her right was her brother, Hero Orekus, the prime minister. His sharp eyes watched silently over the proceedings, a calm but powerful presence beside the queen.

  Before them, the seven Cardinal Heroes knelt respectfully, their heads bowed low. Their leader, Deathes, rose to her feet and stepped forward. Her icy-blue eyes met the queen’s as she began her report.

  “Your Majesty, the Northern fortress has been secured. The demons that threatened our borders have been defeated, and the area is now safe,” Deathes announced clearly, her voice steady and confident.

  Queen Gizelotte smiled with satisfaction. “Excellent work, Deathes. Your strength and dedication are invaluable to the empire. Return now to your mansion and take the rest you deserve.”

  Deathes bowed deeply once more before stepping back to rejoin her team. The queen’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if calculating what the future held.

  Her voice softened but carried authority. “Soon, the heart of this kingdom will be purified, and all corruption will be crushed.”

  Hero Orekus nodded in agreement, his eyes sharp and thoughtful. The battle for the kingdom was far from over, but the queen believed in the power of her Cardinal Heroes—and the empire’s survival depended on them.

  I checked my level again, feeling a mix of pride and worry. It had jumped to 40,000 — a huge number by any standard. Yet, in this kingdom, it was still the lowest among all adventurers I knew. I hadn’t even begun serious training or practice yet. That thought made me a little tense. How far behind was I really?

  The next morning, Angelica, Sayo, Flora, and I made our way to the guild. The building buzzed with activity — adventurers discussing jobs, guild master’s shouting out announcements, and the clatter of boots on stone floors.

  As we approached the quest board, a strange announcement caught my eye. It read:

  “A sudden dungeon has appeared nearby. Whoever clears it will be rewarded with 200,000 gold coins.”

  Two hundred thousand gold coins. That was an enormous prize for a single quest. My mind immediately began calculating the possibilities. This could be a chance to gain not just wealth but experience and influence.

  I shared my thoughts with the group. Angelica’s eyes gleamed with excitement. Sayo, calm as ever, nodded thoughtfully. Flora, still adjusting to this new world, seemed eager but cautious.

  “We should take this quest,” I decided aloud. “It’s risky, but it might be the opportunity we need.”

  Without hesitation, we gathered our gear and set out. The air was crisp, and a sense of adventure filled the atmosphere. The sudden dungeon awaited us — a mysterious challenge that could change everything.

  With determination, we stepped forward into the unknown, ready to face whatever awaited inside.

  We finally reached the dungeon—nestled deep in the heart of the forest, its dark entrance gaped like a mouth waiting to swallow whoever dared enter.

  The surrounding trees seemed to lean away, as if afraid of what lay within.

  As we approached, I noticed several parties emerging from the dungeon. Some were limping, bruised, and bleeding.

  Among them, two groups were made up entirely of girls—warriors and mages alike, their faces tired but determined.

  Another group caught my eye: a band of middle-aged men with hard looks and sinister grins. They gave off a villainous vibe, their eyes scanning for weaknesses.

  Finally, I saw a younger group—boys and girls who looked like they had just started adventuring. Their expressions were full of nervous excitement and fear.

  I stepped forward, sensing some in the villainous group were seriously injured. I raised my hands, preparing to use my healing magic to help them recover. But to my surprise, they outright rejected me.

  One of them sneered, “Why should we take help from you? Look at your team—all girls! What can you possibly do?”

  They laughed mockingly at us, clearly underestimating our strength.

  I chose to ignore their taunts. There was no need to waste time on fools. Instead, I turned back to Angelica, Sayo, and Flora.

  “We have our own path,” I said firmly.

  With resolve, we prepared ourselves for the challenge ahead. The dungeon awaited—and we would face it on our own terms.

  The entrance to the dungeon loomed before us, like a wound torn into the earth. Even with daylight pouring from above, a deep gloom swirled at its mouth. The trees around it were strangely silent, as if holding their breath.

  Dozens of adventurers milled around the clearing, some still bandaging wounds, others catching their breath. I noticed one particular group—a young party of beginners, barely older than children, maybe around fifteen or sixteen.

  But one boy stood out among them. His eyes weren’t full of excitement like the others’. Instead, they carried a quiet focus. He wasn’t strong yet, but his gaze was sharp.

  He was observing me.

  For a moment, I returned his gaze and offered a faint nod. He blinked, startled, then quickly looked away.

  I turned back toward my companions. Sayo, Angelica, and Flora stood beside me, scanning the wounded around us.

  I reached into my inventory space and pulled out three silver rings, each embedded with a gem that shimmered faintly in the light—artifacts I had forged myself using a small fragment of my own mana. Simple, yet powerful.

  “These rings will amplify your healing,” I said, handing them out. “They’ll let you mend wounds without draining your mana reserves.”

  Before I could say anything else, Angelica stepped forward and extended her hand.

  “Put it on for me,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, but her cheeks were slightly red.

  Sayo, surprisingly, mirrored her. “Me too.”

  “…You two,” I sighed softly, smiling despite myself.

  I gently took Angelica’s hand and slid the ring onto her finger. Her hand was warm, and she refused to look me in the eye as I did it.

  Next was Sayo. She was quiet, eyes fixed on the ring as I slipped it on. She didn’t say a word, but her ears were tinged with red.

  “Thank you…” she mumbled, barely audible.

  Both girls admired the rings for a moment. Then, as if remembering the others around them, they moved to the injured adventurers and began using their magic—glimmering light flowing from their hands, enveloping wounds and stitching skin like golden thread.

  The ring’s effect worked beautifully.

  Flora stood beside me, already wearing her ring. “They act like this, but they’re good people,” she said softly.

  “I know,” I replied.

  I looked back at the dungeon. It seemed even darker now… or maybe it was just my thoughts.

  “I’m going in,” I told them.

  Angelica turned quickly. “Alone?”

  “You’ll stay and help the others. I want to scout ahead first,” I explained. “If I sense anything overwhelming, I’ll call you.”

  They didn’t like it, but they didn’t argue either. That was trust.

  I approached the dungeon mouth, each step light but measured. The air turned colder as I reached the threshold. With a deep breath, I stepped inside.

  And just like that…

  The light behind me vanished.

  The air grew heavy as I stepped onto the 26th floor. The previous levels, quickly dispatched by the advance party, had been little more than a warm-up, a stroll through a lightly-guarded park.

  A few low-level goblins, easily cut down, had been the extent of the challenge. But the moment my boots hit the cold, damp stone of this new level, I felt a shift. This was where the real dungeon began.

  A low growl rumbled from the shadows ahead, and then another. I tightened my grip on my sword, its familiar weight a comfort in my hand. From the gloom emerged a pack of goblins, not the scrawny, trembling runts of the upper floors, but bulkier, more aggressive specimens.

  Their eyes glowed with a malevolent green light, and their crude weapons glinted ominously. Leading them, a hulking hobgoblin with a scarred face and a massive, spiked club, sneered.

  “Intruder!” it bellowed, its voice a gravelly rasp. “You’ve come to the wrong place, human!”

  I didn’t dignify that with a response. Talking to monsters was a waste of breath. Instead, I charged, my movements swift and fluid. The first goblin, a scimitar-wielding fiend, lunged.

  I parried its clumsy strike, the clang of steel echoing through the cavern, and then my blade arced, a blur of silver, finding its mark in the creature’s chest. It crumpled with a gurgling cry.

  The hobgoblin roared, swinging its club in a wide arc. I ducked under the blow, feeling the rush of displaced air on my scalp. Two more goblins converged on me from my flank.

  I spun, a whirlwind of motion, my sword a deadly extension of my will. One goblin lost an arm, its shriek cut short as I followed through, impaling the other.

  The hobgoblin was surprisingly nimble for its size. It pressed its attack, each swing of its club powerful enough to shatter stone. I moved with a dancer’s grace, weaving in and out, deflecting blows, searching for an opening.

  Its attacks were telegraphed, brutish; it relied on brute force, not finesse. This was its weakness.

  I feigned a retreat, drawing it closer, and then, as it lunged forward with a wild swing, I dropped to one knee, sliding under its guard.

  My blade found the soft flesh of its thigh. The hobgoblin bellowed in pain, stumbling back, clutching its wound. This was my chance.

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  Before it could recover, I was on my feet, closing the distance. It swung its club wildly, a desperate, final effort. I met the attack with my own, the clash of metal resounding like a bell.

  But instead of parrying, I twisted my wrist, forcing its club downwards, creating an opening in its defense. My sword plunged deep, severing the monster’s life.

  The remaining goblins, seeing their leader fall, hesitated. Their courage, fueled by the hobgoblin’s presence, evaporated.

  They whimpered, their eyes wide with fear, and began to scatter, scurrying back into the shadows from which they came. I let them go. There was no glory in chasing down cowering remnants.

  I stood amidst the fallen, my breathing a little heavy, the metallic tang of blood filling the air. The fight had been quick, brutal, and exhilarating.

  This was what I had come for. I wiped the blood from my blade, a grim satisfaction settling over me. The 26th floor was clear. And deeper into the dungeon, more challenges awaited. I took a deep breath and continued my advance.

  Time truly does fly when you’re fighting for your life. After clearing the 26th floor, I pushed deeper into the dungeon. The further down I went, the more the nature of the hobgoblins changed.

  They weren’t just bigger, they were different. On the levels leading up to the 65th, I encountered hulking hobgoblins, their skin a deep, menacing blue, and others with a fiery red hue. Each color seemed to signify a different kind of ferocity.

  The blue ones were often surprisingly agile for their size, while the red ones were pure brutes, hitting with the force of a battering ram.

  My sword sang a constant song of steel against hide and bone. I’d developed a rhythm: dodge, parry, strike, repeat. The blue hobgoblins tried to outmaneuver me, their movements quick and deceptive, but I relied on my experience, anticipating their feints. I remember one particular encounter with a group of four blue hobgoblins on the 58th floor.

  They moved in a coordinated fashion, trying to flank me, but I used the environment to my advantage, forcing them into a bottleneck where I could face them one at a time. My blade flashed, a silver streak against their azure skin, and soon, they lay still.

  The red hobgoblins were another challenge entirely. They didn’t bother with tactics; they just charged, swinging their massive axes and hammers with incredible power.

  On the 62nd floor, I faced a particularly large red one that took three direct hits to its chest before it finally fell.

  My arms ached from deflecting its blows, the vibrations running up my sword arm. But with each monster I defeated, my movements grew sharper, my instincts more refined.

  Then, I reached the 66th floor. The air here was heavy, almost oppressive. The light, already dim, seemed to fade even further. A low, guttural roar echoed through the cavern, and a massive shadow detached itself from the gloom.

  It was one of them. I recognized them instantly: the huge beasts that looked like oxen, their thick hides like armor, two menacing horns curving from their heads.

  And in their hands, they carried a large sword, a weapon that seemed almost too big for anything but these creatures.

  The first one charged, its hooves thundering on the stone, its sword raised high. It was a terrifying sight. I braced myself, knowing a direct hit would be catastrophic. I didn’t try to block its overhead strike; instead, I sidestepped at the last possible moment, the massive blade whistling past my ear.

  As it overshot, I brought my sword down, aiming for its thick leg. My blade bit deep, but it was like cutting into solid rock. The beast bellowed, a sound of fury and pain, and spun around, its horns narrowly missing my chest.

  This wasn’t a fight of finesse against brute force, like with the hobgoblins. This was a dance of evasion and precise strikes. I moved constantly, weaving around its powerful swings, waiting for my opening.

  Its sword was slow, heavy, and predictable, but devastating if it connected. I targeted its legs, the joints, any area not protected by its armored hide. Each strike was a deep cut, but it took many to wear down such a formidable foe.

  Another one joined the fray. Now I was fighting two of these behemoths. My movements became even more frantic, a blur of dodges and quick slashes. The ground trembled with their every step. I was breathing hard, sweat stinging my eyes.

  I parried a heavy blow from one, the impact jarring my arm, and then ducked under the swing of the other. This was exhausting, a test of endurance as much as skill.

  I focused on one at a time, trying to separate them. I darted between their legs, drawing the attention of one beast while quickly delivering a series of slashes to the other’s exposed flank.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the first ox-beast stumbled, its roars turning to a guttural gurgle as it collapsed.

  With one down, the fight became manageable. I focused all my attention on the remaining beast, my strikes becoming more deliberate, more desperate. It lunged, its horns aiming for my chest.

  I sidestepped, pivoted, and drove my sword into its neck with all my remaining strength. It bucked, roared, and then, with a heavy thud, it too fell.

  I stood there, panting, my sword arm trembling. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by my ragged breathing. My body ached, but my spirit was invigorated. These were the true monsters of the dungeon. And I had killed them.

  Sixty-six floors down. How much further could this place go?

  I had told Angelica to wait until dawn, but a plan had begun to form in my mind even as the words left my lips. Why wait? Every moment spent resting was a moment the dungeon held its secrets, its challenges, from me.

  Besides, a part of me craved the fight, the thrill of pushing my limits against the unknown. So, long before the first hint of morning light touched the world above, I was moving.

  The journey from the 66th floor to the 85th was a blur of steel and sweat. The ox-beasts continued to appear, their roars filling the air, their massive swords a constant threat.

  I had learned their patterns, their tells, and while each encounter was still a strenuous dance with death, I was faster, more efficient.

  The memory of their horns and the weight of their swords became less about fear and more about a challenge to overcome. I pushed past my exhaustion, driven by an unyielding resolve.

  Then, I reached the 85th floor. The air here was different, not just damp and cold, but faintly musky, with a scuttling sound that seemed to echo from every shadow. The first one emerged from a narrow passageway, then another, and another. My eyes widened. These were new, unlike anything I’d faced so far: humanoid mouse-type monsters.

  They were roughly human-sized, covered in coarse brown fur, with long, whip-like tails and beady, intelligent eyes. They clutched crude spears and jagged daggers, and their movements were quick, almost twitchy.

  A high-pitched squeal ripped through the air, and suddenly, they were everywhere. Not just a few, but a force, a veritable swarm.

  They moved with a disturbing coordination, surrounding me, their numbers overwhelming. My instincts screamed. This wasn’t about power; it was about crowd control.

  The first wave surged forward. I didn’t try to block every attack; it was impossible. Instead, I focused on evasion and striking quickly.

  My sword became a blur, a silver arc cutting through fur and flesh. I spun, ducked, and parried, each movement precise, aimed at incapacitating as many as possible with minimal effort.

  A mouse-monster lunged with its spear; I deflected it with my forearm guard and plunged my blade into its chest. As it fell, another sprang from its side, aiming for my exposed back.

  I twisted, bringing my elbow back and smashing it into its face, sending it sprawling.

  They attacked relentlessly, a living tide of claws, teeth, and crude weapons. I fought with a desperate ferocity, my movements becoming a continuous flow of strikes and blocks.

  The air filled with their high-pitched squeals and the sickening sound of my blade tearing through them. I kicked, punched, and used the hilt of my sword when I couldn’t bring the blade to bear.

  I remember one moment clearly: I was backed against a wall, three of them lunging simultaneously.

  I thrust my sword forward, impaling the middle one, and then, with a desperate roar, I used the impaled creature as a shield, pushing it into the two others.

  They stumbled, giving me precious seconds to withdraw my blade and unleash a rapid series of slashes that sent them reeling, then falling.

  The exhaustion was setting in, but I couldn’t stop. Their numbers seemed endless, each wave replaced by another.

  I found myself adopting new tactics, using the momentum of their attacks against them, deflecting one monster into another, creating brief openings in their overwhelming numbers.

  The floor became slick with their dark blood, and the stench of fur and iron filled my nostrils.

  I don’t know how many I killed. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. My arms burned, my legs ached, but I pushed through the pain.

  The thought of reaching the next milestone, the 90th floor, was the only thing that kept me going. I fought my way forward, cutting a path through the unending swarm, each step a testament to my grim determination. The squeals of the mouse-monsters slowly began to thin, their numbers finally dwindling as I carved my way through their ranks.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I saw it: the shimmering archway to the next level. The 90th floor. I didn’t stop, didn’t rest. I charged the last few, battered and bruised, but unbroken.

  With a final, desperate surge, I cut down the last of the immediate threat and stumbled through the archway, leaving the chaotic, bloody 85th floor behind.

  The air on the 90th floor was different again, colder, a sense of immense power thrumming just beneath the surface.

  I leaned against a cold stone wall, gasping for breath, my body screaming in protest. I had made it. But what new horrors awaited me in the deepest reaches of this dungeon?

  The air on the 91st floor was eerily still, a stark contrast to the chaotic swarm I’d just escaped. The oppressive chill intensified, biting at my exposed skin. I pushed forward, my muscles screaming in protest, but my mind was sharp, ready for whatever fresh horror this dungeon had in store. And it didn’t disappoint.

  From the gloom emerged a new threat: knights. Not clumsy, brutish monsters, but figures clad in dark, intricate armor, their movements precise and deliberate.

  They carried fine swords, their blades gleaming faintly in the dim light, unlike any crude weapon I’d seen wielded by the dungeon’s inhabitants so far.

  These were intelligent foes, well-trained, and their posture exuded a quiet, deadly confidence.

  The first knight stepped forward, its visored helmet completely obscuring any face. It raised its sword, a silent challenge.

  I met its gaze, or where its gaze would be, and adjusted my grip on my own blade. This was a fight I relished. This was about skill against skill, steel against steel.

  The knight moved first, its advance surprisingly swift.

  Its sword flashed, a disciplined thrust aimed at my chest. I parried, the clang of metal against metal echoing sharply.

  Its blade was heavy, but its wielder was strong.

  I felt the impact vibrate up my arm. I riposted, aiming for a gap in its armor, but the knight shifted, deflecting my strike with a practiced ease. These were truly good opponents.

  Another knight joined the fray, then a third. I was now facing three armored warriors, their swords weaving a dangerous net around me.

  I moved defensively, parrying, dodging, always looking for an opening.

  One knight feinted high, then went low, a swift leg-sweep. I jumped, clearing the attack, and used the momentum to spin, landing a solid kick to another knight’s armored side. It stumbled, giving me a moment.

  I focused on the first knight, recognizing its lead. Its attacks were precise, designed to overwhelm. I let it press, drawing out its moves, anticipating its next strike.

  As it lunged with a powerful overhead chop, I didn’t parry; instead, I shifted my weight, ducking under the swing and driving my own sword upwards, finding the joint beneath its arm.

  The steel grated, then bit deep. The knight stiffened, then crumpled with a heavy thud.

  With one down, the remaining two became more aggressive, but also more predictable. They tried to corner me, forcing me to keep moving.

  I used their own attacks against them, deflecting one knight’s swing into the other, causing a brief moment of disorientation.

  In that split second, I lunged, my blade finding the gap in another knight’s gorget. It fell without a sound.

  The last knight, fueled by a surge of defiance, came at me with renewed ferocity. Its swordplay was masterful, each parry and thrust executed with deadly precision.

  We exchanged a flurry of blows, sparks flying as our blades met again and again.

  I could feel my own movements growing sharper, my instincts guiding me through the intricate dance of combat. Finally, after a grueling exchange, I saw my chance.

  As it committed to a powerful thrust, I sidestepped, my sword sliding along its blade and then, with a final surge of strength, I drove my weapon into its helmet, silencing it forever.

  I stood there, panting, my sword heavy in my hand. The quiet returned, punctuated only by my ragged breathing.

  I had slain them all. And as I looked at the fallen knights, a strange thought flickered in my mind. My taboo skill.

  The one I had gained as a reward from slaying the undead god. It had evolved, become something more. Could I use it here?

  As if in response to my thought, a shimmering screen appeared before me, its ethereal glow illuminating the dark cavern. On it, in bold, glowing letters, was written:

  “SKILL: NECROMANCY AWAKENING”

  A jolt went through me. Necromancy. The power over life and death. The thought was both thrilling and chilling.

  I felt a surge of raw power, a connection to the very essence of the fallen. For a moment, an instinct rose within me, a deep-seated urge to reach out, to command, to…

  The screen shimmered before me, announcing the awakening of “Necromancy.” A strange, primal urge stirred within me, a deep connection to the silent, still forms of the fallen knights.

  This wasn’t the dusty, forbidden magic of old tales; this felt... different. More profound. A realization dawned on me, a whisper in the back of my mind.

  My skill, touched by the power that came from slaying an undead god, must be something more.

  I extended my hand towards the nearest fallen knight, a silent question forming in my thoughts. Could I truly command them? Could I bring them back, not as mindless puppets, but as something else entirely?

  “Resurge,” I whispered, the word feeling ancient and powerful on my tongue.

  As the word left my lips, the air around me thickened, growing heavy with an unseen energy.

  From beneath my outstretched hand, faint, ethereal chains materialized, a shimmering, almost invisible blue-violet.

  They snaked outwards, reaching for the fallen knights, binding their silent souls. There was no struggle, no resistance. Their essence was simply drawn, pulled into a new existence.

  Then, a breathtaking transformation began. A blue-violet hue, like an internal fire, ignited within the bodies of the dead knights.

  It pulsed, growing brighter, and as it did, their forms, once lifeless and still, began to solidify.

  Their armor, previously just an empty shell, now looked impossibly tough, like it was truly a part of their new, spectral bodies.

  The light coalesced, and where once there were just corpses, now stood the re-animated forms of the knights, their visors still dark, yet radiating an undeniable presence.

  “My king,” one of them rasped, its voice a low, echoing whisper, the words forming clearly in the air. My eyes widened.

  It could talk. And then, another sensation, a subtle thrumming in the air around them, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth.

  They had their own mana.

  This was no ordinary necromancy. This was something far beyond simple reanimation. These were true warriors, reborn from the abyss, complete with their own will and power, bound to me.

  “Remain vigilant,” I instructed, my voice firm despite the awe I felt. “Your purpose is to serve.”

  As if on cue, the re-animated knights began to shimmer, their forms becoming translucent. Slowly, impossibly, they melted away, not vanishing, but receding.

  They flowed into my shadow, not as if disappearing, but as if my shadow itself was a vast, inky realm, capable of holding an army of souls within its depths.

  I felt their presence there, a silent, powerful legion, ready to be called upon at a moment’s notice. My shadow felt heavier, yet strangely comforting, like an unseen shield.

  With my new, spectral army silently accompanying me, I pressed on. The remaining floors blurred into a single, determined march.

  The usual dungeon monsters, whatever they might have been, seemed to shy away from my altered presence, or perhaps it was the sheer force of my resolve that kept them at bay. No matter.

  My focus was singular.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but also no time at all, I stood before a massive, ornate door.

  It dwarfed me, intricately carved with symbols I didn’t recognize, emanating an ancient, immense power.

  This was it.

  The final destination.

  I reached out, placing my hand on the cold stone. With a deep breath, and a silent command to my hidden legion, I pushed.

  The door groaned, a low, resonant sound that echoed through the vast space, and slowly, majestically, it began to open.

  The light, or lack thereof, that spilled from beyond was unlike anything I had ever seen. The 100th floor. Here I was.

  The massive door groaned open, revealing the 100th floor.

  It wasn’t a cavern, or a twisted corridor, but a colossal chamber, vast and echoing, stretching into an oppressive darkness. And within that darkness, an army waited.

  Countless figures, clad in the same dark armor as the knights I’d just faced, stood in perfect formation, their silent presence a crushing weight. This wasn’t just a level; it was a fortress, a final stand.

  At the far end of the chamber, atop a dais of jagged, obsidian-like stone, sat a figure on a grand, menacing throne.

  A single, imposing presence that dwarfed even the surrounding army.

  This was the Dungeon God, or perhaps, as I thought, the Emperor of this abyssal realm.

  His aura was palpable, a chilling wave of immense power that radiated through the entire floor, pressing down on me like a physical force.

  He didn’t move, just watched, an unreadable stillness about him.

  Beside the throne, a single, hulking knight stood, easily twice the size of the others.

  Its armor was even more intricate, more formidable, and its sword, massive and cruel, rested casually in its hand.

  This was the General-level knight, no doubt the Emperor’s right hand. It too, remained calm, its gaze fixed on me.

  I stepped fully into the chamber, the silence of the waiting army almost deafening. My voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, yet it echoed with an unseen power that filled the vast space.

  “Resurge Animus,” I commanded.

  From my very shadow, the spectral figures of my Dark Obsidian Knights materialized. With a soft shimmer of blue-violet light, they appeared before me, coalescing from the depths of my personal abyss.

  Their forms were sleek, powerful, their dark armor now taking on a deeper, more profound obsidian sheen.

  And as they appeared, their swords, previously just fine blades, began to glow with the same blue-violet hue, sharpening, lengthening, transforming into even more formidable weapons.

  They were no longer just reanimated; they were upgraded, honed for this final battle.

  The Dungeon God’s knights, until now still and silent, finally stirred. A low, guttural roar rippled through their ranks, and then, as one, they charged.

  A wave of steel and dark armor surged forward, a deafening thunder of footsteps echoing through the chamber.

  My own knights met them head-on. The clash was immediate and brutal.

  The knights of the Dungeon God and the knights of Amahiko began fighting, a maelstrom of flashing steel and spectral energy.

  My obsidian knights moved with a supernatural grace, their newly upgraded swords cutting through the enemy lines with chilling efficiency.

  The air filled with the clang of metal, the shriek of parting armor, and the ethereal whispers of my summoned warriors.

  Amidst the chaos, I stood my ground, my eyes scanning the battlefield. The Dungeon God remained calm, a silent observer on his throne, his aura still radiating immense power.

  The General-level knight beside him also stayed perfectly still, its massive form an unmoving sentinel. They were waiting, watching, allowing their forces to clash, assessing.

  I, too, observed my soldiers, noting their movements, their effectiveness.

  They fought with a unified purpose, an extension of my will, yet with an independent ferocity.

  My gaze also swept across the entire, vast chamber, searching.

  I looked for any hidden corners, any dark alcoves, trying to discern if there was any victim remaining, anyone trapped or held captive here.

  But there was no one.

  This was not a rescue mission, not a dungeon with prisoners to free. This was simply a battleground, prepared for war. It was just the start of the fight.