After more experimentation with Scavenger, Rex learned a lot of details about wielding swords. First and foremost were the mechanics of performing specific attacks, starting with how to grip the sword correctly. He discovered that even the smallest adjustments to his fingers, wrist, and overall arm positioning could drastically alter the effectiveness of an attack.
For example, during a two-handed overhead slash, if he rotated both wrists slightly downward at the apex of the swing, the blade would cut deeper and with more precision. Conversely, if his wrists stayed too stiff or moved independently, the force of the strike would dissipate, leaving it weaker and less accurate.
He also realized the importance of maintaining a relaxed but firm grip—tension slowed his reaction time, while too loose a grip made his swings unpredictable. By cycling through various grips and testing their effectiveness with each attack, he developed a mental catalog of what worked best in different situations.
Next came movement, which was surprisingly complex. Foot placement during attacks, for instance, determined not only balance but also the power and fluidity of each strike. Experimenting with stances and attack angles, he found that keeping his feet too close together would hinder his ability to shift his weight.
Conversely, standing too wide apart would limit his range of motion, and positioning the back foot at a slight angle provided better balance and allowed for quicker follow-up movements. Proper rotation of the hips also added significant force to slashes and thrusts, amplifying the attack's momentum.
The most important discovery, however, was the role of breathing. Short, sharp bursts during attacks provided a surprising boost in strength and precision. For slashes, a quick inhale before striking followed by an explosive exhale during the motion helped stabilize his core and maximize power.
Similarly, controlled breathing improved endurance and focus. Long, steady exhales during slower movements conserved energy, while sharp, timed breaths during quick bursts helped maintain rhythm and power.
However, understanding these principles didn't mean Rex was a good swordfighter. It was one thing to watch or read about techniques; actually applying them in battle was a completely different challenge. Like someone who had binged sword-fighting tutorials online but never picked up a blade, Rex found himself struggling to bridge the gap between knowledge and execution.
Now, standing on the 8th floor, a scavenged gauntlet covered Rex hands, looted from the remains of a man torn apart by what appeared to be War Shadows. Ahead of him fluttered three Purple Moths, each the size of a housecat, their translucent wings shimmering with a bioluminescent glow, faint purple veins pulsing across the surface.
Their bulbous black eyes glinted in the light, their sharp, proboscis-like mouths twitched with hunger, and spindly legs dangled beneath them, each ending in tiny clawed tips that scraped the air as they flew towards him. Skittering among them were two Killer Ants, their crimson exoskeletons glinting dully.
Rex exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on the sword in his right hand. He held the weapon low and to the side, the blade angled slightly upward. His breathing steadied as he focused, and with a sharp inhale, he dashed forward, pushing off the ground with all the strength in his legs. The rush of air filled his lungs as his body surged forward, closing the distance to the first ant.
The creature snapped its pincers wide, mandibles clicking in an attempt to intimidate him. But Rex was undeterred. He thrust his blade forward with precision, the tip driving cleanly into the ant's open mouth. The force of the attack carried the sword through its body, skewering it like a piece of meat on a spit. The ant twitched violently as purple ichor splattered onto the ground.
Rex then spun on his heel, using the momentum to pull his sword free. The blade sliced horizontally, arcing like a wheel as he completed the spin. The movement tore through the ant's body, sending gore flying in sticky strings of purple. The sword continued its rotation, meeting the descending claw of the second Killer Ant in midair, the clash sending a metallic clang echoing through the dungeon.
Bracing himself, Rex angled his sword to the side, allowing the ant's claw to slide down the broadside of the blade and crash into the ground, then using the opening, he shifted his stance and executed an upward diagonal slash. The edge of his sword gleamed briefly in the light before severing two of the Purple Moth's four wings with surgical precision. The creature let out a shrill, high-pitched screech as it stumbled to the side, its balance disrupted.
Without hesitation, Rex adjusted his grip, turning his attention back to the disoriented ant. He stabbed downward with a sharp thrust, driving the blade into its neck, twisting it as the ant spasmed, purple ichor spraying from the wound. He ripped the sword free in a single motion, the fluid resistance causing his blade to hum as it emerged.
Transitioning seamlessly, he swung his sword upward once more, cleaving clean through the neck of the second moth. The decapitated head tumbled to the floor, its body following suit as it collapsed in a heap.
The final moth flitted higher, its claws scraping the air as it circled, trying to position itself for an attack. Rex didn't give it the chance. Steadying his breath, he dashed forward, his blade poised like a spear, then with a thrust, the steel pierced the creature's abdomen. Its twitching legs froze mid-motion as Rex twisted the blade, ensuring the kill. He yanked the sword free, the faint sound of tearing flesh accompanying the spray of ichor.
Rex stepped back, the faint glow of the dungeon ceiling light reflecting off his bloodstained blade. "Better than before," he muttered, walking toward the moth that struggled helplessly on the ground, its one remaining wing flapping weakly in a futile attempt to take off.
Without hesitation, he plunged his sword into it, killing it. Pulling his sword out, he flicked his wrist, the sticky purple ichor from his sword and splattering onto the dungeon floor. Though he had more easily taken down these monsters, Rex had a problem.
Every action during his required conscious thought—figuring out the ideal breathing technique, the right arm movement, the correct foot placement. While it might have looked smooth, that was only because he far outstats the ants and moths on this floor.
— — — — — — — — — —
[Strength] SS1002 | [Endurance] SS1001 | [Dexterity] SS1000 | [Agility] SS1002 | [Magic] H101
— — — — — — — — — —
His physical stats had all surpassed the cap of 999. Now, each scavenged stat point only added to his strength every 100 points collected, meaning to gain a single point in Strength now, he would need to scavenge 100 Strength points from dozens of monsters.
Since entering the dungeon at around 11 a.m., Rex had been hunting for nearly eight hours stright and on average, he killed a monster every two to three minutes, totaling around 200 kills, and even at that pace, his magic gains were underwhelming, barely 80 points. This was frustrating, but there was nothing he could so. He could push harder, maybe increase his kill rate to one monster per minute, but his body wasn't invincible. Outclassing these monsters didn't mean he was superhuman.
Especially since he hadn't brought any food or water with him.
The only reason he hadn't collapsed was because of sheer luck—he'd scavenged a canteen from a dead adventurer. Drinking from it had been unpleasant, but it was better than dehydration. Disgusting? Sure, but adventurers like him with Falna were nearly immune to mundane illnesses. It would take a disease on the level of a pandemic to affect him.
"I should probably stop absorbing these crystals," Rex mumbled, sliding his sword back into its scabbard. He drew his dagger, beginning the process of coring the five monsters. "There's no point in it anymore, and I need to start saving for better equipment."
The realization of his stats reaching 'SS' added to his frustration. It confirmed one of two possibilities: either he needed all his stats at 999+ to trigger a forced level-up, or he required high-rank excelia. The latter seemed more likely. Scavenger could absorb stats, skills, magic, and properties, but not memories or achievements—the things that truly defined high-rank excelia.
"I guess not everything will be easy," he sighed, pocketing the six magic stones into his pouch. He slid his dagger back onto his belt. "Let's go down to the lower floor—"
A loud growl cut him off.
His hand shot to the hilt of his sword, instinctively gripping it. His body tensed as his eyes darted around, scanning the shadows for the source of the sound. Then he realized—it was his stomach.
'...' He looked down at his stomach before releasing his sword. 'There is no point in phishing my self further.'
Rex had accomplished enough for the day, and his body was screaming for a break. With that decision, he turned and began his journey back toward the Soma Familia mansion, already envisioning the relief of a hot meal and some much-needed rest.
The Soma Familia estate, known as Chandra, was situated on the outskirts of Orario's industrial district. The complex was modest by Familia standards, dominated by a large, cylindrical brewery that served as its central feature. Surrounding the brewery were interconnected buildings with arched windows and sloping tiled roofs, housing living quarters and workshops. A tall, sturdy wall enclosed the estate, with a single iron gate with the Soma Familia emblem. Between the buildings lay a small, meticulously maintained garden, where grapevines and fragrant herbs were grown to enhance the Familia's brewing craft.
Despite its size, the Soma Familia was not especially powerful. Out of its many members, only two adventurers were Level 2, leaving the rest—including Rex—at Level 1. Still, Rex's role as one of the more active members of the Familia's hunter branch afforded him certain privileges. His room, while basic, was more spacious than most, though he still had to use the communal bathroom. Plumbing was a luxury reserved for the captain and Soma himself.
After a much-needed shower, Rex made his way to the communal kitchen. He ate quietly, sharing idle conversation with some of the other Familia members—faces he barely remembered and cared for even less. Once his hunger was sated, he retreated to his room and collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion pulling him into a deep sleep.
———
It was eight in the morning when Rex woke, stretching and yawning before begrudgingly getting ready for the day. After brushing his teeth and eating breakfast, he stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection.
A man in his early twenties looked back at him. He had a lean, athletic, and agile physique with toned muscles, a golden brown skintone, and he stood at a whopping 191 cm (6'3"), taller than he was back on earth. His hair was short, reaching down to his nape, and jet black with subtle reddish-brown highlights like a Doberman's coat, while his ears stood pointed and erect above his head resembling cropped Doberman ears.
He would rate his face a genius 7 out of 10, maybe eight, with a long and strong jawline, deep amber eyes, a straight nose, and from his tailbone was a short, slightly curved tail, with a smooth coat matching the hair color.
He inspected his body, posing and flexing in front of the mirror before nodding. 'I like this body.' Appart from the dog ears and tail, everything about his body was perfect. It even looks better than his old body.
With his self love done, he donned a brown shirt, heavy brown cargo pants, sturdy boots, and leather gloves. Over his shirt, he strapped on a leather breastplate looted from another Familia member yesterday, silver gauntlets covered his hands, and leather knee pads strapped over his knee.
His utility belt was weighed down by weapons and pouches—his normal sword sheathed at his right hip, a magic sword at his left, and his dagger positioned beside it, and the other various pouches hung from the belt.
"I guess this is my new nine-to-five," he muttered, walking over to his bed to retrieve his knee-length black cloak, and draping it over his shoulders, the cloak concealing his body. "And I should take a bag this time."
As he was about to leave the room, he stopped. Without a supporter, he needed a way to carry drop items and extra water for breaks. Thankfully, there was an old bag sitting in his room which he slung over his shoulder.
The morning was already bustling by the time he left Chandra. Adventurers filled the streets, some coming back from the dungeon while others headed in, their weapons and gear clinking as they moved. Most stuck to their groups, but the occasional loner like Rex moved quietly among them. Conversations buzzed around him as he walked, a few catching his attention.
With everything in order, Rex ate quickly from the communal kitchen before heading out. The morning streets were bustling with adventurers, each group immersed in their own chatter as they headed toward the dungeon. Like before, he descended to the seventh floor, ignoring all the weak little shits that tried to chase him to begin his hunt.
"Should I go deeper?" he murmured to himself, pausing mid-step.
No matter how confident he felt in his stats, the thought of venturing past the ninth floor by himself filled him with unease. The original Rex had never been beyond that point, so he had no personal experience or knowledge to draw on. He'd heard stories, of course, but vague accounts weren't enough to prepare him.
'I should have asked someone at the Guild about the lower floors before coming in,' His thoughts were interrupted by the fluttering sound of wings, drawing his attention to a group of four monsters hovering in the dim light ahead. Three were familiar purple moths, their translucent wings glinting faintly as they darted around erratically, with one being blue, its wings leaving a faint sparkling trail in the air.
"Haah," he exhaled, adjusting his stance as he drew his sword.
The fight was over in a second and he crouched beside the fallen moths, placing his palm on one of the purple ones. "Scavenge…" His voice trailed off as a realization hit him. "Wait, wasn't I supposed to NOT absorb the stone?"
But it was too late, with the moths turning to ash, the blue one leaving behind a drop item. He groaned, shaking his head. 'So much for selling them.'
[+0 Strength, +0 Endurance, +4 Dexterity, +3 Agility, +0 Magic]
[+0 Strength, +0 Endurance, +0 Dexterity, +3 Agility, +12 Magic]
"That's…" Rex blinked at the numbers. "That's the most magic I've ever gotten in one go." His surprise gave way to curiosity as he glanced at the blue creature he had just killed. "Interesting. So the moths can—" He froze mid-sentence as recognition dawned on him. "Blue Papillon."
The shimmering creature wasn't just a blue version of the moth, but a rare monster—a butterfly known to occasionally appear on the lower seventh floor. Its delicate, light-blue wings were so thin they appeared almost translucent, scattering tiny, sparkling scales as it flew. Though blue papillon is relatively easier to find than other rare monsters, their drop items also sell for a very high price.
"Ah," Rex muttered, staring at the shimmering corpse. "So they give more magic. But for what purpose—" His words faltered as another set of screens appeared in front of him, ones he hadn't expected.
A skill!