The Dungeon’s 9th Floor.
Before the 10th Floor, it was the final bulwark of the upper floors that stood in adventurers’ way—and the graveyard of every monster they had slain so far.
Yet at this moment, that place was dyed redder than ever before.
"Gareth, to the right! Ian, keep pushing forward!"
"Got it!"
"Understood."
Ian, who had drawn his sword from the 5th Floor onward, charged into the horde of monsters.
Goblins, Kobolds, Killer Ants, and other monsters formed a wall in his path, but none of them lasted even a second before becoming lumps of meat that dropped to the ground.
After clearing out the area, Ian wiped the blood from his sword and looked to the side.
A plain littered with crushed and split corpses.
It was Gareth’s handiwork.
There were no monsters in the upper floors that could withstand Gareth’s fighting style, which crushed everything through overwhelming brute strength.
To find monsters strong enough for that, they would need to descend at least into the middle floors.
"Ahead! A massive monster horde! Everyone, fall back!"
"Huh? Why?"
"Because of the magic, you idiot!"
Gareth grabbed Ian, who had raised his sword high and looked ready to charge out at any moment, and began retreating to the rear.
There was only one reason.
Riveria’s magic was ready.
"My name is Alv! Wim Fimbulvetr!"
The elf race was said to be blessed by magic.
And the three pillars of ice unleashed by the princess of the High Elves, the most exceptional among them, were powerful enough to freeze every monster charging toward them head-on.
"That’s overkill."
"Seriously. Did we even need to use magic?"
Having retreated a suitable distance, Ian and Gareth let out exclamations that were nearly ones of shock.
It was far too much to use against mere upper-floor monsters.
Anyone who saw this sight would think the same.
The truth was, Finn had only permitted Riveria to use magic because they could no longer carry any more magic stones and had to return—not because the monsters they faced were particularly formidable.
"Riveria, are you getting the hang of it?"
"To some extent."
Riveria examined her staff, then the traces left by the magic she had cast, and a small smile formed on her lips.
As Ian lingered nearby, he could tell that Riveria was pleased with her own growth.
"All right, then. Shall we head back now?"
"Already?"
"Yeah. We originally planned to go down to the 10th Floor, but... that seems difficult now. Our bags are full."
"Next time, we ought to bring along a supporter."
All four members of the Loki Familia clicked their tongues in disappointment.
Most complained that they could still keep going, that they had not properly enjoyed themselves yet. Some simply had the desire to descend a little farther.
As they made their way back to the surface, something with a familiar shape caught Ian’s eye.
That was... a chest!
"Oh, a treasure chest."
"Aaaah! Wait, Ian!"
"No, where are you going now... A chest?!"
"Somebody stop that idiot!"
Because Ian had previously struck a magic stone and summoned a massive horde of monsters, Finn, Gareth, and Riveria all panicked and tried to stop him. They failed, and Ian began shaking the chest roughly in an attempt to open it.
"Ah, what the hell... It’s locked."
"Whew... Thank goodness. It’s locked."
"Fuck."
"Fuck?"
Finn, who had been catching his breath in relief, absentmindedly repeated Ian’s curse.
There was only one time Ian swore: when he was extremely angry.
And in Finn’s experience, when Ian got angry...
"Aaaah! Ian, don’t hit it...!"
"You goddamn chest!"
He threw a punch first.
It was a kick, actually, but anyway.
The chest, having been kicked hard once, trembled violently before springing open.
Ian beamed brightly like a child at the sight of the chest opening, but that smile was soon overtaken by shock.
What lay inside the chest was not gold and jewels, but a pure white mist brimming with magical power.
Of course, Ian was also shocked that there was no treasure in the chest.
"Ian! Damn it..."
"You idiot! Get out of there right now!"
Just as Ian turned his head at the sound of his companions shouting chaotically behind him, his companions were gone—and a gigantic giant was looking down at him.
"...Huh?"
"Grrrrr..."
Ian tightened his grip on the sword in his hand.
Everything he had done until now had been the sort of stupid blunder only an idiot would make, but at least he had not thrown away his sword when opening the chest.
"GRAAAAH!"
"Oh, fuuuck...!"
Cursing, Ian threw himself backward to evade the giant’s fist.
After batting aside several flying fragments, Ian grimaced and let out a groan.
Regardless of who won or lost, this was going to be quite a difficult fight, Ian grumbled.
*
A gigantic fist plowed through the ground.
Shocked by power that could never be found in the upper floors, Ian calmly assessed the situation.
The mist that had emerged from the chest was probably not ordinary mist, but some sort of teleportation magic.
Which meant... he had fallen into a trap.
Ah, I should’ve listened to Finn.
Ian regretted his earlier actions, realizing he was about to embarrass himself again by ignoring his captain’s words. Still, he did not feel all that bad.
He had encountered a powerful foe, and he could fight it.
What could make a swordsman happier than that?
Ian let the fist tearing across the ground slide past him and considered something.
If that fist clashed with Gareth, who would win?
It did not seem as though Gareth would go down from a single blow, but neither was it a weak attack he could take lightly.
"GRAAAAH!"
"What the fuck is it doing now?"
Twisting his body and leaping high, Ian looked at the roaring giant, Goliath, and clicked his tongue.
Ian did not know what kind of creature he was facing, though even if he had, the situation would not have changed.
The monster Ian was fighting was a Floor Boss—a Monster Rex.
A formidable enemy that required at least Level 4 to defeat alone, yet Ian did not have the slightest intention of running away.
A Level 1 was supposed to be trampled to death like an ant.
An ordinary Level 1, anyway.
One noteworthy thing in Ian’s otherwise unremarkable life was that he had defeated a Level 3 even before receiving Falna.
In truth, he had received help from Kshar, a Level 2, but Kshar had only blocked a single attack. Everything else had been the result of Ian’s own desperate struggle.
Of course, if he had taken that one hit, his body would have been split in two.
Oops, I was spacing out too much.
Ian hurriedly raised his sword and braced himself in a firm defensive stance, but Goliath’s fist easily sent him flying and slammed him into the Dungeon wall.
"Ow, ow, ow." Groaning, Ian pulled himself free of the wall and landed on the ground.
His flesh had been brutally torn, several bones were broken, and several more seemed to have been shattered beyond repair.
Strangely, though, it did not hurt.
"Grrr?"
"Huh? What’s this?"
Ian looked questioningly at the red mist rising from his body.
Of course, it was not his first time seeing such mist.
But he had only ever seen mist this red in moments when he was about to end someone else’s life—and it was the first time he had seen it rising from his own body.
He shoved the intestines trying to spill from his waist back into his body, wrapped his coat tightly around the wound to bind it shut, and began to cackle.
Goliath had never seen an adventurer begin laughing while at death’s door, and the giant tensed up and shut its mouth.
It was satisfying that the giant was no longer making noise, but Ian wanted to make sure the creature before him could never open its mouth again.
"Whew. Tremble in fear, you dullard. Death will be coming for you soon."
"Grrr...?"
"Ngh... I’ve always wanted to say something like that at least once."
Letting out a sound that could have been either a groan of pain or an exclamation of delight, Ian raised the corners of his mouth, drew his sword, and charged at Goliath once more.
More than anything else, a crimson blood mist filled the 17th Floor.
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