Arthur awoke with a cold, numbing uncertainty that he had grown used to since entering the dungeon.
The perpetual darkness and uncertainty had long erased his grasp of time. In this place, day and night never existed. Only fighting, and rest. A cycle of bloodshed and anticipation.
As they descended deeper, he realised there was something different today. There was a lack of something in the air. It took him a while before he managed to place it.
Goblins screams. There was no screaming. None of the jabbering mad language echoing across the caverns. Instead, the air was still, as if it was holding its breath in anticipation.
It felt as if the dungeon was preparing something new.
"What's going on?" Arthur asked, gripping his spear tighter.
"Round two," Officer Reftia said, her tone unreadable.
He turned sharply. "What the fuck does that mean?"
She smirked. "It means we'll be fighting something new. Something stronger."
Arthur exhaled, frustration curling in his chest. The dungeon was already brutal. Yet, somewhere beneath that frustration, he felt something else—an edge of exhilaration. His body was adjusting, growing sharper. But he still had a problem.
"What's wrong?" Officer Reftia asked, reading his troubled expression.
"Mana" Arthur sighed. "I'm expending too much of it, I don't have a mana breathing technique."
Officer Reftia snorted, "Neither do I, look why do you think you need a mana breathing technique?"
Arthur paused. He had just assumed it really, after all, the MC got an OP mana breathing technique right at the beginning, he had assumed that he needed one early.
"So...what do I need?"
She laughed. "Has Officer Mara told you nothing? Look. A mana breathing technique is something you only really need when you become truly powerful, right now, the amount of mana you have isn't the problem. It's your efficiency when using it."
"I don't understand."
"Look, you have a flame affinity right?"
"Yes."
"So, how much of the mana do you convert into flames, actually becomes flames?"
Arthur frowned. "I-I, well I don't know."
"That's the problem," she said flatly. "You're hemorrhaging mana because you're wasting it. Focus when you use it. Train yourself to instinctively feel the conversion. Eventually, you'll understand how to use less mana for the same effect."
He nodded. 'Reading the novel made me think that I knew a lot about this world, but I only followed it from the perspective of the MC, who's broken in his own sense. I should keep my mind more open.'
A bone-chilling howl shattered the air, reverberating off the cavern walls.
Arthur's heart lurched. 'That… was not a goblin.'
He turned to Officer Reftia. "Werewolves?"
She shook her head. "Unlikely. Probably dire wolves."
He narrowed his eyes. "And that is?"
"In dungeons, there's a hierarchy," she explained. "Primary species are the original creatures that spawned the dungeon. Secondary species—successors—are monsters that mutate due to exposure to mana. Dire wolves are one of them. They're the reason goblins have been pushed outward. That's why things get stronger the deeper you go."
Arthur smirked. "Didn't know you were such a teacher. Should I be calling you Miss Reftia?"
He expected her to scoff or roll her eyes. Instead, she smiled—a quiet, wistful expression.
"I used to be one," she murmured. "Some habits die hard."
Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "You? A teacher?"
She shot him a glare. "What's so funny about that?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, though the image of her handing out homework and detention slips was amusing.
She went silent. Arthur hesitated, then decided to push forward anyway.
"…Why?" His voice was softer now. The question was obvious. 'Why did you join the war?'
Reftia took a deep breath, looking as if she might answer. "Eyes forward."
Arthur turned back just in time to see a beast emerge from the shadows.
A dire wolf
It was massive—easily twice the size of a normal wolf—with thick charcoal fur and piercing red eyes gleaming hungrily in the dim light.
Arthur tensed. 'This thing is nothing like the goblins.'
The beast lifted its head and howled.
A moment later, the howling was answered. A dozen voices.
A reverberating call of impending death.
Arthur's stomach twisted. "Shit."
Reftia moved first. A blur of motion. Twin daggers flashed as she lunged at the beast with inhuman grace.
Arthur hesitated only a second before charging with his spear.
Imperial Style—Third Form! Fifth Form! Second Form!
Each technique flowed into the next, but the wolf was fast. Too fast. Every thrust, every strike—deflected. Its massive paws battered him away before he could land a clean hit.
He wasn't fast enough. He wasn't skilled enough. He wasn't strong enough.
But he could distract it.
The dire wolf focused entirely on him, snapping and clawing while Reftia disappeared into its blind spot.
Then—steel flashed.
The wolf staggered, a dozen slashes scoring its body. It collapsed in a pool of its own blood with a gurgling snarl.
Reftia exhaled. "Good plan. You distract, I kill."
Arthur scowled. "Why do I have to be bait?"
"You want to kill them?"
"…Never mind."
The direwolves kept coming, but never in packs. It was strange. He had heard a dozen howls earlier, and yet. They only found a direwolf alone. Never in groups.
As if the dungeon was spacing them out, ensuring they weren't overwhelmed.
They dispatched their fifth dire wolf before he finally checked his status. Eager to see if he had gotten stronger since entering.
[ NAME: ARTHUR GRAVEWALKER
AGE: 14 YEARS OLD
RACE: HUMAN
CLASS:
SPEARMAN: LVL9 (Basic) (Imperial ***) (78%)
LVL1 (Basic) (Falling Sun style) (12.0%)
SKILLS :
MANA BOOST (lvl2) (45%)
AURA : LOCKED
BLESSINGS:
Hades Will -
Sun's Concept -
AFFINITIES : BLOOD, EARTH (locked)
Fire Lvl 1 (18.3%)
STATS -
RANK E-
STRENGTH: E-
AGILITY: E-
STAMINA: E-
INTELLIGENCE: E-
MANA CAPACITY: E-
CHARM : F
[ Falling Sun style (****) (LVL 1 – 1.0%)
First move – Shooting star : Proficiency (5.0%)
Second move ???
????? ]
'Huh not bad, I am improving. It's a shame though I can't work on my falling sun style because of Officer Reftia though.'
"ARTHUR!!!"
Officer Reftia's scream cut through the chaos like a blade.
He whipped his head around, heart hammering, eyes locking onto the dim reflection in the screen panel—movement, too fast. Too close.
Too late.
He barely had time to turn before something massive came for him. Instinct screamed at him to move, yet...it was too late.
He braced.
But the impact never came.
Instead, a force slammed into him, sending him sprawling. The world tilted. His palms scraped against the cold, unforgiving floor as he scrambled up.
Only to feel his blood curdle at the sight before him.
Officer Reftia stood frozen, her body trembling. A jagged, grotesque claw had punched straight through her stomach, its blackened talons dripping crimson.
Her mouth opened, a wet, choking gasp spilling out.
She turned her head toward him, eyes unfocused, lips trembling as she forced out one final, broken whisper.
"R-run."
Her body twitched violently—then the claw ripped back, tearing her open.
She crumpled.
Arthur's head went black in shock. 'Wha- what the fuck?' Everything had happened so fast.
His body tensed, on the brink of running, thoughtlessly obeying Officer Reftia.
But he stopped. "No," Arthur growled.
He turned to face the Direwolf, it's face fixed in an unnerving, intelligent bestial grin.
And he wasn't alone. There was another Direwolf, the same sickeningly intelligent smile on its face as it almost relished the agony on Arthur's face.
Arthur stuck out his right hand, allowing Ikaris to materialise. Its weight a familiar comfort.
"You bastard," he muttered. "I'm going to kill you."
Arthur lunged forward. "Mana surge."
Power ignited within him, threads of energy threading through his muscles, fusing into his very bones. His body screamed under the strain, but he pushed—harder. 'More. More.'
His veins burned, his vision sharpened to a razor's edge.
The fury inside him didn't explode. It cooled—honed itself into something sharper, colder, more dangerous.
More permanent.
"Falling Sun, First Form."
Mana flooded into Ikaris, the spear's blade roaring to life with writhing scarlet fire. The flames twisted and coiled like a living thing, eager, and hungry.
"Shooting Star."
The ground cracked beneath him as he vanished. The air shattered with a deafening boom, his speed blinding.
He didn't strike for the neck. There was too much of a risk of dodging.
Instead—he went lower.
The spear struck. A shockwave erupted outward. The direwolf's left front and hind legs disintegrated—bone, flesh, fur, all obliterated. A spray of blood and gore painted the ground as the beast collapsed, shrieking, a pitiful, mangled thing now.
Arthur staggered, the world tilting as the mana drain hit him like a hammer. His vision blurred for a heartbeat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The Falling Sun style was powerful—but his body still wasn't ready for it, and his mana use was still too inefficent.
For now.
The second Direwolf seized the moment. A blur of shadow and muscle—then a paw the size of a boulder came crashing down.
Arthur barely managed to twist away. The shockwave alone sent him hurtling backward, his body slamming against the ground with bone-rattling force. Ikaris flew from his grip, clattering across the blood-soaked dirt.
'Shit.' Without Falling Sun, he had nothing, he was simply too weak.
His pulse thundered. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. 'No time.'
"Fuck it," he snarled.
He lunged back to his feet, re-summoning Ikaris back into his hand.
He struck. The wolf struck back. A whirlwind of flashing claws and steel erupted between them. Dodge. Thrust. Parry. Repeat.
But it wasn't enough. Each time he attacked, the wolf capitalized—forcing him on the defensive, forcing him back.
His mind raced. 'Think. Think, you bastard!' Reftia wouldn't last much longer—if she was even still alive.
Another strike. Massive claws raked the earth where he had just stood, carving deep, jagged furrows into the ground.
Claws.
That was it.
He surged forward—this time, he didn't ignite Ikaris. Instead, he channeled the fire outward, directing it with each movement.
First Form.
He pivoted, barely slipping past a snapping maw. Flames gathered at his back, seething. He lunged—thrusting Ikaris straight for the wolf's chest.
The beast swiped to parry—but this time something answered back with a roar of its own.
Four claw-like arcs of flame materialized midair, slashing down in perfect sync with his spear.
The wolf shrieked as its own counterattack burned away, its paw left charred and smoking. It recoiled—and that was all he needed.
Arthur pressed forward, his body screaming, his mana draining with every strike. They clashed—again. Again. Again.
It became a battle of endurance. What would fail first?
His body?
Or the beast's?
Finally—the series of deep burns and brutal cuts overwhelmed the monster. It faltered. Its legs buckled. A low, gurgling snarl escaped its throat as it slumped to the dirt, its lifeblood pooling beneath it.
One last, pitiful howl—then silence.
Arthur staggered over to the first wolf, it was still alive, but barely. 'Not leaving any chances.'
He stabbed Ikaris through the neck, killing it.
He wanted to lay there, and just sleep. "But...jobs not over" he growled, using his words as a mantra to keep him conscious.
Arthur staggered to Officer Reftia's side, his breath ragged, his body screaming in exhaustion. He wanted to just give up and lie there, but the job wasn't done yet.
With a thought, he dismissed Ikaris, the spear vanishing into embers.
Blood seeped from the cuts littering his body—it wasn't hard to find a source. He pressed a gash on his arm to her slightly parted lips, letting the crimson blood flow. 'Come on.' His mind reeled with urgency. If she didn't react—if her body didn't take it in—
But she had lost too much blood.
Her body was cold. The gaping wound in her stomach still oozed, sluggish but unrelenting.
"Come on," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.
Slowly, her wounds began to mend.
Too slow.
The damage was too severe. At this rate, the healing wouldn't fix her in time.
His mind spun. What else could he do?
His blood had healing properties. That much he knew. But it had never drained his mana before. Why? Weren't all abilities based in mana?
A thought struck him. Mana wasn't just something they used—it was something woven into their bodies. A natural reserve of energy, reinforcing their bones, muscles, and very existence. It was why people in this world were so resilient, even from childhood to old age.
If his healing came from his natural mana that saturated his body.
Then maybe he could force more of it into his blood.
It would be dangerous. Stripping his body of its natural mana would leave him weaker, more fragile—exposed. In a dungeon, it was a death sentence.
But if he did nothing—she would die. And, he just couldn't let that happen. Ever since he had been brought into this world, he felt something within him change. Maybe it was something left over from the original Arthur. But he just couldn't let someone die. A funny feeling for a soldier.
Arthur's jaw clenched. His mind wavered for a fraction of a second—'She's a rebel. Letting her die would be easier. Eventually, you'll have to kill her anyway.'
No.
If she died now, suspicion would fall on him. That was the reason. That was the reason he told himself, anyway.
He closed his eyes, reaching inward. Feeling the faint, barely perceptible hum of natural mana thrumming through his bones, muscles, blood.
And he pushed.
It was like trying to move something that had never been meant to be moved. His entire body rebelled, his limbs growing numb, his vision swimming. He felt himself weaken, like the very essence of his being was unravelling.
His blood began to glow. A deep, eerie crimson radiance pulsed from the gash in his arm.
He held it over her mouth, forcing the infused blood to flow.
It worked.
The effect was immediate. The glow seeped into her veins, her torn flesh knitting together at double the previous speed. The gaping wound shrunk, muscle pulling tight, skin reforming.
Arthur exhaled a shuddering breath. "Thank God."
Then the world lurched.
The ground rushed up to meet him, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. He barely had the strength to breathe, his limbs leaden, his mind sinking into a whirling blackness.
'I'll leave the rest to you, Officer.'