The Floor Where the Sky Disappeared
When Victor stepped onto the Seventeenth Floor, what greeted him were three steel golems—the sa towering constructs that Lane and Clara had struggled to defeat with their lives on the line.
The corridor trembled under their synchronized march. Their tal bodies scraped against stone, hollow eye sockets glowing faintly as they charged.
Victor didn’t slow.
He didn’t even sigh.
"[Wind Severance]."
The mont he invoked the spell, the air convulsed.
A massive crescent of compressed wind—wider than the corridor itself—exploded forward. It scread as it traveled, tearing apart the ground beneath it. The three steel golems were split cleanly in half before their arms even finished rising.
tal torsos slid apart.
Then dissolved into drifting mana.
Victor’s spell was nothing like Lane’s. The scale alone was absurd. The density of mana, the precision of control—each detail revealed a chasm between master and student.
He walked through the fading remnants without looking back.
Further ahead—
The corridor widened.
Then widened more.
And what he saw next finally made him smile.
Hundreds of constructs filled the chamber. Steel golems. Stone titans. Winged chiras fused from lion and eagle. Serpentine beasts with skeletal wings. Massive armored minotaurs gripping jagged halberds.
All cramd into an underground expanse.
Their combined presence made the air vibrate.
Victor rolled his shoulders slowly. Cracked his neck once.
Golden eyes glead.
"Now ti for a little warm up."
—
An hour later.
Clara finally forced herself upright.
Her breathing had steadied enough. Mana circulation stabilized. Strength returned in slow, aching waves.
She imdiately looked toward the staircase.
Victor had gone alone.
Her chest tightened.
Lane was still asleep beside her, utterly drained. The last battle had taken more from her than she let show.
Clara had options.
Leave Lane here. Chase after him.
Monsters usually required two days to revive after dissolution.
Usually.
But Dungeons were unpredictable. Ancient. Capricious.
There was always a chance.
Leaving Lane was not an option.
Waiting was not an option either.
Gritting her teeth, Clara lifted Lane over her shoulder.
"You better not get heavier," she muttered under her breath.
Then she ran.
When she reached the Seventeenth Floor—
Silence.
No debris.
No scorch marks.
No broken constructs.
No lingering mana turbulence.
Just emptiness.
The entire floor was clear.
Clara stared at the long corridor ahead.
He cleared all of this... alone? In under an hour?
Her grip tightened on Lane.
He was stronger than she had asured.
Much stronger.
But deeper floors ant stronger monsters.
Even if Victor was powerful—
No one could fight endlessly without a mistake.
She hurried downward.
Eighteenth Floor.
Empty.
Nineteenth Floor.
Empty.
The Twentieth Floor—where the forr Guild Master had fled in defeat—
Empty.
No guardian.
No trace.
Clara stopped breathing for a mont.
So the Twentieth Floor monster wasn’t the Dungeon Master.
She had underestimated him.
So he wasn’t just an arrogant fool...
Her eyes softened slightly.
He was arrogant for a reason.
A faint heat rose to her cheeks.
Still doesn’t an I like how he acts.
She continued downward.
When she reached the staircase leading to the next floor—
A roar echoed upward.
Deep. Ancient. Violent.
The air itself seed to recoil.
Victor was below.
Fighting.
Clara’s heart pounded.
She had to choose.
Leave Lane here and descend to help him?
Or wait?
What if she beca a burden instead?
What if she disrupted his rhythm?
But she was the proctor.
She had a duty.
Clara gently laid Lane near the staircase wall, brushing stray hair from her face.
"Stay here," she whispered, though Lane was asleep.
Then she descended.
—
Half an hour earlier.
Victor stood on the Twentieth Floor, looking down at the dissipating form of the guardian he had just slain.
It had not been brute strength that made it dangerous.
It had been cruelty.
The monster had taken the shape of soone he had once lost.
Her voice.
Her posture.
Her sarcasm.
Perfect imitation.
A psychological assault before physical death.
If the illusion had matched her mana signature perfectly—
He might have hesitated.
And hesitation would have ant death.
’So the Twentieth Floor monster wasn’t the Dungeon Master,’ he thought calmly. ’Still... that was clever.’
He had allowed it to speak.
Allowed it to mock him.
Allowed himself a few monts of nostalgia.
That was why it had taken ti.
Once finished with mory, he moved on.
The Twenty-First Floor opened before him—
And this ti, the Dungeon changed.
No corridors.
No walls pressing in.
Just one vast underground world.
It stretched farther than Fantom City itself.
The ceiling was so high it disappeared into darkness, even under his mana-enhanced vision.
This felt different.
Purposeful.
Victor’s lips curved slightly.
"So this is it."
A tremor shook the ground.
From the far end of the cavern—
Sothing moved.
Massive.
Scaled.
But not a King Drake.
The creature that stepped forward was far more grotesque.
A Void Tyrant Hydra.
Twenty-five ters long.
Multiple serpentine heads unfurled from a single armored body, each crowned with jagged bone crests. Black scales shimred like oil under dim mana light. Each mouth dripped corrosive venom that hissed upon touching stone.
Its wings were tattered mbranes of shadow.
Its many eyes locked onto Victor at once.
This was no pseudo-dragon.
This was sothing bred for slaughter.
Victor inhaled slowly.
Then—
He exhaled disappointnt.
"What a let down. I was expecting a dragon."
The hydra roared.
A shockwave rippled across the cavern.
It lunged.
A huge claw crashed down hard.
A swirl of movent carried Victor into retreat, his coat lifting like wings. Hair dark as midnight swept past eyes glowing amber when he shifted ground.
"Getting angry?" he said calmly. "I wasn’t really insulting you. I was just a bit disappointed."
A single mont brought three faces turning. Voices rose without warning. Each mouth moved before thought caught up.
Black flas erupted.
Burning air rushed forward, swallowing each object it touched while Victor leaped to the side. His boots slipped on cold stone, dragging behind his sprint.
Despite his tone—
He knew the truth.
With his current strength—
He was weaker.
Much weaker.
But that only made his pulse quicken.
This was real.
This was battle.
"Diana," he murmured softly, eyes sharpening. "Are you ready for our first true battle?"
For a heartbeat, silence answered him.
Then—
A woman’s voice echoed within his mind. Low. Amused. Dangerous.
"You’re finally going to use , Master?" Diana’s laughter curled like smoke. "Well then... let’s show this overgrown serpent what we can do."
Black mist coiled around Victor’s right hand.
A scythe manifested—sleek, obsidian blade gleaming with crimson edges. Its presence distorted the air itself.
Victor smiled.
Not gently.
Not politely.
But viciously.
Above the cavern—
Clara reached the edge of the Twenty-First Floor and froze.
She saw him standing alone before the monstrous hydra.
Wind whipping through his black hair.
Scythe in hand.
Golden eyes blazing.
And for the first ti—
Her irritation disappeared.
Only awe remained.
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