Chapter 18: Blue Lightning, Red Death
Crack.
The wolf vanished.
No—moved.
Leon barely registered it before the claws were there, slashing for his ribs. He twisted instinctively, one dagger rising in a block—just in time.
Clang!
Sparks scattered from the steel-on-claw impact. The force sent Leon sliding backward, boots skidding across stone.
'It's faster than the last one. Much faster.'
He landed low, rebalanced, already tracking—
Too late.
FWASH!
Another bolt of light exploded from the creature's horn, forcing Leon to dive behind a broken pillar. The stone ignited where the blast hit, scorched black and cracked.
'And it's using that magic on a cooldown. Ten seconds? Fifteen?'
He gritted his teeth, ducked low, and sprang left—
The wolf read the move.
It was already there.
A blur of blue-gray fur, and Leon felt the rush of wind before the claws came again. He blocked the first strike with both daggers crossed—
But the second swiped across his side.
Shhk.
Pain bloomed. A shallow slice.
The Ring of Minor Regeneration flared warm against his finger. The wound sealed even as he rolled away, biting back a hiss.
"...You're pissing me off."
He slashed forward—once, twice—but the wolf shimmered and twisted, a blur of motion and charged muscle.
Every time he tried to close distance, it danced out of reach. Every time he tried to bait it, it answered with speed and precision that made normal wolves look like toddlers with dull teeth.
It wasn't just a beast.
It was a duelist.
'It's reading me. Watching me. It knows how to fight.'
Another bolt.
Leon dove behind a tilted slab of wall just in time as the blast slammed into the stone like thunder. Debris scattered. The air sizzled.
His heart pounded.
'This is bad.'
'Too fast. Too smart. Too much reach with that magic.'
He popped the ring again as another shallow cut sealed at his shoulder. His breathing came steady, but sharp.
If he couldn't outpace it…
He had to outthink it.
His eyes flicked around.
The terrain.
Broken tiles. Collapsed columns. Runes scorched into old stone. A narrow gap to the left. Elevated rubble near the rear wall.
'Terrain's uneven. That's my edge. It's focused on speed, not balance.'
He darted left suddenly—not toward the wolf, but toward the broken arch where the terrain fractured. He feigned a stumble, just a heartbeat too slow.
The wolf took the bait.
It lunged.
Right into the kill zone.
Leon spun—his back foot kicking off the uneven slab as he pivoted mid-air. Both daggers came down in a perfect X-cross slash.
Slash. Slash.
Blood sprayed across the stones. One hit caught the wolf's shoulder. The second drove into its flank—but not deep.
The beast roared and retaliated, claws raking across Leon's chest.
Pain. Bright and sharp.
His ring activated again—twice—and he grit his teeth against the strain. It burned now. Overuse. But the bleeding stopped.
He didn't stop moving.
He couldn't.
"Let's end this—"
Leon ducked a strike, twisted under a second bolt, and landed a clean stab to the wolf's side. It howled and leapt back—but stumbled.
A limp.
He'd hit something vital.
Now or never.
Leon surged forward.
Three quick strikes.
One to the hamstring.
One to the throat.
And the last—he drove into the base of the creature's horn.
The blue light sparked—
Then died.
The wolf collapsed with a final, broken growl.
Its body twitched once.
Then went still.
Leon stood over it, chest heaving, eyes wide.
Blood covered his arms. His cloak had burn marks. The daggers dripped.
His ring flared again, numbing a cut at his side. Too many activations in too short a time. He felt the ache crawl down his arm, but ignored it.
"...Damn," he breathed.
"That… was a real fight."
---
Leon exhaled slowly and crouched beside the fallen wolf, his muscles tight with fatigue. The Ring of Minor Regeneration dulled the sting of his wounds, but it didn't fix the deeper strain.
"...Rest time."
He tapped his soul-bound inventory.
Flick.
A small silver spoon appeared in his hand.
The Spoon of Infinite Soup.
The moment he grasped it, a warm, fragrant steam began to rise from the air in front of him. In less than two seconds, a wooden bowl materialized—brimming with rich, golden broth, tender meat, and soft, savory vegetables.
He didn't hesitate.
He sat cross-legged beside the dead wolf, leaned back against a chunk of broken wall, and brought the bowl to his lips.
Sip.
'Still perfect. Still better than anything that inn ever served.'
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth settle in his stomach.
It was strange.
This simple soup—this ridiculous, gacha-born treasure—had become more comforting than anything else in this world.
Even more than Seraphine's arm-crushing hugs.
'…Okay, maybe not more. But close.'
His gaze drifted toward the corridor where he'd come from—blood still glistening faintly on the stones.
The horned wolf's corpse lay still. And beyond it… silence.
Leon tightened his grip on the bowl.
"This dungeon… is not what she said it would be."
He wasn't angry.
Just… unsettled.
Seraphine had said he'd breeze through it. That his preparation put him far above the bar. That this was just a formality.
But that last fight?
That was no formality.
That wolf was an elite variant—maybe not a boss, but close.
And if more like it showed up?
'This place wasn't meant for beginners. Not anymore.'
"Something's off," he muttered.
He sipped the soup again, slower this time.
'If this is a trial dungeon, then the difficulty was supposed to be balanced around young first-timers. Cores to gather. Combat to gauge. Some pressure, but nothing lethal.'
'This?'
'This was real.'
He let his head rest lightly against the stone behind him.
'And if this place is warping...'
'Then I'm either the cause—or the target.'
Either way, there was no going back now.
He glanced down at the spoon in his hand.
"Thanks for keeping me going, buddy."
The soup bowl vanished the moment he set it aside—absorbed back into his soulspace like it had never been there.
He stood slowly.
Rolled his shoulders. Checked his daggers.
His body ached. His mind was sharp.
And his eyes were cold.
"Break time's over."
Leon moved forward—slower this time.
Every step was deliberate. Every corner, cleared twice.
His cloak draped around him once more, and though it offered no sound or scent concealment, it gave him just enough edge to slip between shadows.
Then he saw them.
Bodies.
Not one. Not two.
Five.
Scattered across a widened hallway, blood still wet beneath them.
"...A group."
He crouched beside the nearest.
They weren't torn apart like the earlier victims—no savage claw marks or missing limbs.
They were just… dead.
Fast.
Precise.
Throats slashed.
One had a burned hole through his chest—charred edges still smoking.
Leon's expression darkened.
'This wasn't a struggle. It was a massacre.'
He stood, eyes sweeping across the rest.
Weapons drawn. Postures mid-defensive. Faces locked in surprise.
'They didn't expect what hit them.'
His grip on his daggers tightened as a single thought passed through his mind—
'They were stronger than me in terms of physical strength. Older. Equipped.'
'And they died anyway.'
He checked the surrounding floor for tracks—blood smears, claw patterns, even faint scuffs in the dust. What he found made his heart beat faster.
Paw prints.
Faint scorch marks.
Some... too large for a regular wolf.
He straightened slowly.
"The deeper I go, the worse it gets."
No voice answered him.
Only silence.
But it was the kind of silence that felt heavy.
Predatory.
Like the dungeon itself was watching now.
He stepped over the bodies, eyes sharp, feet light.
There was no time to mourn.
Only time to survive.