Stepping into the Dungeon again gave Dio the strange feeling that an entire lifetime had passed.
He stood before the enormous bronze doors at the entrance and looked up at the weathered reliefs carved across the lintel.
The ancient scenes of heroes battling monsters had been worn smooth by time, but they still carried a sense of history and solemn grandeur.
Adventurers constantly streamed past him.
Some traveled in parties of three or five, while others entered alone.
A few carried massive swords over their shoulders, others had longbows strapped across their backs, and some wore belts crowded with potion bottles.
Excitement, tension, and weary indifference appeared in equal measure across their faces as they filed into the vast passage descending underground.
Dio drew a deep breath.
The air carried a mixture of damp earth, sweat, and faint traces of blood.
It was hardly pleasant, but somehow, the smell helped settle the anxiety that had been hanging over him.
He had originally believed he would never need to enter the Dungeon.
All he had to do was enjoy himself inside his dreams, and his strength would increase on its own.
Unfortunately, the requirement of earning a great feat had ruined that wonderful plan.
He glanced down at his equipment.
A polished leather breastplate protected his torso.
It was not particularly expensive, but it was light and flexible enough that it would not restrict his movements.
A shortsword hung at his waist, its carefully sharpened blade gleaming coldly in the dim light.
A small round shield was strapped to his left arm, decorated with a simple stalk of wheat—the emblem of the Demeter Familia.
Demeter had found all of it among the possessions left behind by a retired adventurer from her Familia.
None of the pieces could be called exceptional, but for a new Level One adventurer, they were perfectly respectable starting equipment.
‘At least my status is much stronger than an ordinary rookie’s.’
Dio silently encouraged himself.
He remembered how miserable he had been when he first arrived in this world.
Every Basic Ability had been at I 0, and a few goblins had chased him through a cave until he fled in terror.
The memory of that helpless humiliation still made his face burn.
Things were different now.
His Magic had reached S 999, while his Strength, Endurance, Dexterity, and Agility were all at H 199.
He might still be Level One, but his numbers were already higher than those of many veteran Level Ones who had spent years exploring the Dungeon.
Of course, he needed to avoid using the two spells he had acquired from Alfia.
[Satanas Verion] and [Genos Angelus] had once been signature spells of Alfia, the legendary Monster of Talent.
If anyone knowledgeable recognized them, Dio would find himself in serious trouble.
He had no desire to be surrounded by curious adventurers demanding to know where he had learned Alfia’s Magic.
Even worse, he could attract the attention of enormous powers such as the Loki or Freya Familia.
For the sake of caution, his goals for today were limited to the ordinary monsters of the first and second floors.
This excursion was nothing more than a warm-up and an opportunity to adjust to real combat.
“All right.
Time to go.”
Dio gathered his courage and walked into the immense tunnel leading underground.
A cold, damp breeze greeted him the moment he entered the Dungeon.
It smelled of soil and stone, with a faint trace of decay lingering beneath it.
Pale blue stones embedded in the walls gave off a weak glow.
Their light was not especially bright, but it was enough to illuminate the uneven path and the surrounding passageways.
The ground beneath his boots was rough and pitted.
Shallow puddles had collected in several places, squelching noisily whenever he stepped through them.
After walking for around fifteen minutes, Dio finally encountered his first monster.
A green-skinned goblin was crouched near a bend in the tunnel with its back turned to him.
It appeared to be chewing on something, producing a series of unpleasant crunching sounds.
The moment Dio saw it, his pupils narrowed and a complicated mixture of emotions rose within him.
He remembered the cave he had entered during his first journey through the Dimensional Gate.
Goblins just like this one had charged at him with crude wooden clubs raised overhead and sharp-toothed mouths stretched into savage grins.
He had turned and fled without the slightest resistance, running until the gate closed behind him.
That humiliating retreat had bothered him ever since.
But this time was different!
A vicious smile slowly spread across Dio’s face.
“So it was you little bastards who chased me last time, wasn’t it?
Now it’s my turn.”
He inhaled deeply and wrapped his right hand around the hilt of his shortsword.
The blade slid free of its sheath.
His draw was still not perfectly smooth, but compared to the frightened traveler who could barely hold a weapon one month ago, the difference was enormous.
Dio raised the round shield on his left arm to protect his chest and throat.
His feet spread apart, and he lowered his center of gravity.
He had practiced this stance countless times inside his dreams.
The training might not have taken place in reality, but the movements had been engraved deeply enough into his mind and body that they now felt almost natural.
The goblin heard him and whipped around.
Its small yellow eyes locked onto Dio, and it released a harsh, chattering shriek.
Tossing aside whatever it had been eating, it snatched up a wooden club from the ground and charged.
Dried blood and patches of moss covered the weapon, making it look especially gruesome beneath the Dungeon’s pale light.
One month ago, Dio’s legs would have gone weak at the sight.
He probably would have turned and run before the goblin even reached him.
Now his gaze remained calm and his breathing steady.
He even had enough composure to study the monster’s posture and speed as it approached.
‘Too slow.’
The goblin’s apparently vicious charge was riddled with openings.
Its footwork was clumsy, its balance unstable, and the path of its club was painfully direct.
There was no feint, no attempt at deception, and no adjustment for how Dio might respond.
When the goblin reached striking distance and raised its club, Dio stepped slightly forward and to the left.
His body tilted just enough for the club to sweep past his right shoulder and strike nothing but air.
At the same time, Dio drove his shortsword diagonally beneath the goblin’s ribs, using the creature’s own forward momentum to push the blade deeper.
The steel pierced its thin green skin and sank into soft muscle and internal organs with a wet sound.
The goblin released a short, piercing scream.
Green blood ran down the blade and dripped onto the floor.
Dio did not hesitate.
He twisted his wrist, turning the sword inside the creature’s body, then ripped it free and immediately retreated two steps to create distance.
The goblin staggered forward and clutched the wound in its abdomen.
Blood poured between its fingers as its yellow eyes gradually lost focus.
A moment later, it collapsed onto the ground.
After several weak spasms, the monster stopped moving.
Its corpse dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, leaving behind only a small magic-stone fragment.
The crystal struck the floor with a faint clink.
Dio released the breath he had been holding and bent down to pick it up.
Magic stones dropped by Dungeon monsters could be exchanged for money and served as the most basic source of income for adventurers.
“One down.
That was easy!”
A satisfied smile appeared on Dio’s face.