As I rushed forward, two gnolls—one wielding a mining pickaxe, the other a rusty sword—lunged at me from opposite sides.
The gnoll on the left swung his pickaxe from top left to bottom right, as if trying to smash through solid stone, while the gnoll on the right slashed horizontally with his sword, aiming to cut across my body.
In the split second before impact, I shifted my stance, turning sharply toward the gnoll with the pickaxe. My left hand gripped the hilt of my sword, still sheathed at my waist.
With a swift, fluid motion, I drew the blade upward in a diagonal arc—from bottom left to top right—intercepting the pickaxe mid-swing. The clash of steel rang out as the force of my draw redirected the heavy weapon to the side.
As the gnoll's pickaxe was deflected upward and to the right, it collided with the rusty sword of the second gnoll—clang!—a burst of sparks flying as their weapons clashed unintentionally.
Not wasting the moment, I stepped in fluidly—closing the gap between us with a single stride.
My right hand, already holding the sword angled upward from the earlier draw, shifted. With a swift, clean motion, I slashed downward from the top right toward the front—my blade slicing through the air with deadly intent.
Slash!.
The arc of steel cut cleanly across the gnoll's neck. 1 died
The gnoll whose head had just been severed still had its body locked in place—its pickaxe arm still tangled with the other gnoll's sword.
Paul paused for a breath, then with a short, powerful motion, he lifted his leg and kicked the decapitated gnoll's torso.
Thud!
The force of the kick sent the corpse flying to the right,, crashing into the other gnoll. Both of them were knocked off balance and thrown several meters away.
At that moment, the last remaining gnoll caught sight of his fallen companion's blood soaking the ground.
With a guttural snarl, his eyes went wide, veins bulging as he entered a berserk state—roaring wildly.
Without hesitation, he raised his rusty sword high and slashed downward with full force, aiming to cleave Paul in two from head to toe.
Paul raised his sword just in time, bracing it diagonally across his body—hilt low to the right, tip angled up to the left—catching the berserk gnoll's heavy downward slash with a clang of metal on metal.
The force pushed him back slightly, but he kept his footing. At the same time, a subtle glow lit beneath his left foot as he activated the rune spell—[Rock].
Thunk!
With a swift forward kick, he launched a conjured stone straight into the gnoll's left leg. The creature howled as its knee buckled, throwing it off balance.
Paul didn't waste the moment.
He pivoted to the left, his body shifting smoothly with trained precision. In one fluid motion, he brought the edge of his sword forward, aligning it with the gnoll's exposed neck.
Slash!
The blade sang through the air, cleaving the creature's throat. Blood sprayed as the gnoll collapsed—dead before it hit the ground. That made two.
Without even a moment's pause, Paul's eyes locked onto the last gnoll. His foot pushed off the ground, and he charged straight toward it—his sword gleaming with momentum.
As the final gnoll snarled and caught sight of his fallen comrades, rage flared in its eyes. Its muscles tensed, chest swelling, preparing to unleash a berserk roar—
But it was too late.
Paul was already there—still mid-sprint, eyes sharp and locked. Without hesitation, he drove the tip of his sword straight forward.
Stab!
The blade pierced clean through the gnoll's open mouth, silencing the scream before it ever left its throat. Blood gurgled up as the gnoll twitched once, then collapsed. The third one—dead.
Paul pulled his sword free with a swift motion and flicked the blood off the blade. With calm precision, he slid it back into its scabbard.
From behind him, Greta clapped slowly once with a smirk and said,
"Why didn't you just shoot it like the spider earlier? Ciu ciu ciu…"
She held her hand up, mimicking Paul's finger-gun pose, pretending to fire like a child playing war.
As Paul continued walking forward, the drone on his back shifted into work mode again, its six legs clicking into action with mechanical grace. Without breaking stride, Paul answered Greta's earlier question with a thoughtful hum,
"Hmmm… practice,"
he said, stroking his chin as if in deep thought, though a small grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
Not long after, they rounded a bend and entered a short straight corridor.
There—four gnolls. Charging.
Paul didn't hesitate.
"Let me do it again…"
he muttered casually, stepping forward with confidence. Moments later, the battle was over—four bodies down.
But the pattern continued. Five more gnolls. Defeated.
Another wave. Then another. The encounters were relentless, as if the dungeon itself was testing him.
Finally, after dispatching yet another group, Paul exhaled and said,
"It seems like there are already a lot of them, huh?"
Suddenly—shff!
A chill tingled through his spine. His instincts screamed. He raised his hand to face level, fingers curled as if holding something invisible—snap!
Clink!
An arrow was caught mid-flight, inches from his cheek. Paul's sharp gaze locked onto the shadows. From within the dim corridor, three gnolls were revealed—bows drawn for another round.
Without hesitation, Paul called out,
"Greta. Do it."
Snap. Snap. Snap.
In the blink of an eye, three arrows flew past him with the sound of slicing wind—one after another in perfect rhythm.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each shot hit its mark—three clean hits to three gnoll skulls. They collapsed without a sound.
After confirming the area was safe, the group resumed their march in steady silence. The scattered gnoll corpses faded into the background as they pressed forward through the dim, musty dungeon corridors.
Greta, stretching her arms behind her head as she walked, finally replied to Paul's earlier question,
"Of course, this is a mid-level dungeon, and we're already on the 7th floor..."
Just as she finished her sentence, the group stumbled upon a spiral staircase leading down—its age-worn stone steps disappearing into the shadows below.
Without hesitation, they began their descent.
As their boots tapped down the stairs in rhythmic echoes, Paul asked casually,
"So, how many monsters do you think are on the 8th floor?"
Greta let out a tired breath, voice dragging as she replied in a lazy tone,
"I don't know... there's definitely more."
Paul sighed lightly. More monsters. Of course.
8th Floor of the Dungeon
As usual, when we reached the 8th floor, we were greeted by a dimly lit chamber with several branching paths ahead. I glanced at Greta for direction. She sighed, visibly bored, and muttered lazily,
"Second left."
Without another word, we turned and followed the indicated path. The stone hallway curved slightly, the air heavier with each step.
Then, in the distance, I saw movement.
Five Kobold Dragonshields stood ahead—each one slightly larger than the average kobold, their scales thicker, armor rough but functional. The moment they spotted us, they snapped into formation with trained discipline.
Their heavy round shields locked together tightly in front, forming a defensive wall. From behind the shields, five spears angled outward and upward, ready to thrust at anything approaching. Their stances were tight, deliberate—like a practiced infantry unit preparing for battle.
Seeing the kobold unit tighten their formation, I raised my head slightly, exhaling as I muttered to the ceiling of the dungeon,
"Oh... looks like this'll be tiring. Guess it's time to get serious."
Without wasting a second, I dashed forward, my boots thudding against the stone floor. The kobolds immediately responded, their line holding firm, shields braced, and spears angled toward me with precision.
As I entered their spear range, five of them lunged at once—an attack as synchronized as a military drill.
In a split second, I twisted my torso leftward, narrowly avoiding the forward thrusts. The cold wind from the spears scraped past my face. As I completed the spin, I planted my right foot hard onto the ground, letting it bear all my weight.
My left leg snapped up.
While mid-spin, I activated the rune engraved on my left leg — [Fast].
In an instant, my rotation accelerated sharply, the air whirling past as my body became a blur. I was now only an inch away from the shield wall. Right then—[Weight] rune, activated.
My left leg surged with power as its weight tripled mid-motion. With the full force of momentum and enhanced mass behind it—
BAM!
My foot slammed into the side of the leftmost Dragonshield Kobold with explosive force. The creature's shield cracked on impact, and its body was launched sideways like a battering ram.
The kobold crashed into the others, breaking their tight formation like scattered dominos. The organized shield line crumbled as they were thrown to the dungeon floor in a heap.
Without pause, I dashed forward—my blade already drawn.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
One by one, the Kobolds' necks were severed cleanly before they could recover. The air stilled again, their bodies collapsing behind me as I rose slowly and sheathed my sword with a practiced motion.
After finishing the last of the five kobolds, Paul slid his sword back into its scabbard with a metallic shhk, then muttered with a tired look on his face,
"Huh... troublesome."
His eyes lingered on one of the discarded shields, still lying on the floor before it flickered and vanished—dissolving into motes of fading light. His mind replayed the formation they had used. Too structured. Too defensive. Too annoying.
Seeing his expression, Renya stepped beside him, smiling teasingly,
"Why, Prince? I thought this was practice too."
Greta and Kruger, casually behind them, nodded in agreement—each carrying that "yeah, she's got a point" expression.
Paul exhaled sharply through his nose and replied,
"At least give me an opponent without a shield..."
His shoulders sagged slightly in exasperation as he turned and began walking again, his boots echoing softly against the dungeon stone floor.
They rounded a corner...
And of course.
There they were.
Eight Dragonshield Kobolds.
Shields raised. Spears gleaming.
Formation locked.
Again.
Paul stopped in his tracks. Blinked once.
Then muttered in a dry voice,
"...You've gotta be kidding me."
From behind, Greta tried to hold in her laugh. Renya just sighed, "Your wish got reversed, huh."
When Paul saw the kobolds forming two tight circular formations—an inner and an outer ring—with their shields locked and spears pointed outward like the bristling quills of a porcupine, he immediately stopped in his tracks and let out an annoyed growl:
"Aaaa... even do that!!" Paul shouted, gripping his head with both hands as if trying to squeeze out the irritation. His voice echoed sharply through the cold, stone corridor, bouncing back with a mocking emptiness that only deep dungeons could give.
Everyone behind him tried (and failed) to stifle their laughter. Even Kruger let out a soft chuckle.
Renya, still smiling calmly, pulled out her dagger with a faint shiiing and said teasingly,
"Want me to help you, Prince?"
Her tone was playful, though her eyes were sharp as always.
Paul waved a hand behind him while stepping forward, his tone determined:
"No, I'll finish it soon... Looks like this will be my mana training too."
Then—he dashed forward.
Halfway there, spotting a momentary gap in the kobolds' coordination, Paul instantly activated:
[Fast]... [Fast]...
Boom—
A sudden burst of speed blurred his silhouette.
In a flash, he appeared right in front of the kobolds' circle.
Without a moment's delay, he activated [Weight] on his own shield and rammed forward with the full force of momentum and mana-enhanced mass.
BAM!!
The impact hit like a runaway carriage.
The shield wall cracked—kobolds flew backward like bowling pins.
Weapons scattered. Formation broken.
Before the monsters could even groan or get up—
Slash! Slash! Slash!
One by one, Paul struck them down with clean, precise cuts.
After it was all over, Paul slid his sword smoothly back into its scabbard with a click, letting out a quiet exhale.
"Come on, let's continue," he said calmly, his tone back to normal as if the intense fight moments earlier was just part of the routine.
Without waiting for a reply, he took the lead again—walking steadily at the very front, his back straight and eyes forward, the soft clink of his boots echoing through the stone hallway.
Renya, walking just behind, gave a small smile and whispered to herself,
"Never stops moving forward, huh..."
The group followed in silence, deeper into the dungeon's shadows.