There was no warning. No grace period to adjust. The moment I stepped through the shimmering portal, I was thrown into chaos. The air was thick with rot and humidity. A dark, swamp-like biome stretched endlessly in all directions. Vines dangled from the cavern ceiling like twisted nooses, some thick as ropes, others thin and whip-like, each one slick with damp moss.
The ground squelched beneath every step, and each movement stirred up clouds of gnats that bit at exposed skin. The fog was the worst part—so dense and choking it clung to my body like a wet blanket. Visibility dropped to ten meters at best. My senses were on edge from the moment I arrived.
The stench was enough to make anyone gag. It was like rotting compost, blood-soaked mud, and stagnant water all mixed into one suffocating brew. Breathing felt like inhaling sickness. Even with a minor wind spell to circulate fresh air around me, the scent leaked in, subtle and nauseating.
And then came the monsters.
They were not passive. There was no watching from a distance like on earlier floors. They attacked immediately. From beneath the swamp water, from above the trees, even through the fog itself.
Fanged serpents slithered through the muck with unnatural speed, their bodies sleek and glistening like oil. Some had two heads. Their bites weren't just venomous—they disrupted mana flow, making spellcasting erratic for minutes after even a shallow wound. Then came the giant frogs—some taller than me, with bloated bodies and pustules that glowed faintly in the mist.
They spat acidic slime that corroded not just armor but magic barriers too. A single direct hit could melt through a steel plate in seconds. I learned that the hard way when one grazed my shoulder. The smell of sizzling leather and flesh stayed with me for days.
But the worst, at least early on, were the Swamp Golems. Massive beings of mud, stone, and rotting roots. They would rise from the ground without warning, their bodies camouflaged perfectly with the terrain. Their strikes were slow, but if one landed, it could crush bones through enchanted armor. They weren't just brutes, either—they worked together. Some would feign collapse to lure me in, while others flanked from the sides. Their coordination was eerie.
Like the previous floors, the low-tier monsters here didn't fight like wild animals. No, they moved with disturbing purpose. In packs. Coordinated. They used the terrain to ambush and corner. It became painfully clear after the second ambush that something—or someone—was influencing them, guiding their behavior from the shadows.
I fought cautiously. I had to. Wasting mana wasn't an option, and overexerting myself would mean death. I adapted quickly, laying traps behind me, using ice art to misdirect, and setting mana tripwires that would alert me if anything followed. The deeper I ventured into this floor, the more I realized that brute strength alone wouldn't get me through. It had to be a strategy. Precision.
After countless skirmishes and escapes, I stumbled upon a minor safe zone—more by luck than design. It was a narrow cave tucked between two collapsed rock pillars, surrounded by a natural barrier. My body was bruised, scratched and crusted with dried blood. I could barely keep my eyes open from exhaustion when I finally made camp there.
My rations were dwindling. I laid out a rope of detection around the perimeter, carving into the cave walls and infusing them with mana, creating a dome of early warning signals.
Lilith, as usual, remained in the safe zone. She sat at the edge of the firelight, her posture always the same—rigid, composed, distant. When weak monsters approached the cave during my absence or while I rested, I instructed her to defend herself. And she did. Without hesitation. Her movements were sharp and deadly, but mechanical. As though she was simply executing a program. No emotion. No pause. No hesitation.
The deeper I ventured, the worse things became. I fought for my life every single day. There were moments when I didn't know if I'd make it back to the cave. Sometimes, I only slept for an hour or two, relying on temporal acceleration spells to extend my recovery window. Mana potions became my lifeline. The landscape offered no comfort—just endless marshes, sinkholes, and eerie silence broken only by distant growls.
Once, while hastily eating a dry mana biscuit near a fallen tree, I sensed a disturbance in the air. I ducked instinctively—and a spear of bone whistled past my ear, embedding into the trunk behind me with a wet crunch. A pale giant loomed in the swamp water, barely visible except for its hollow yellow eyes. It had been stalking me silently for minutes, maybe longer. The fight that followed was brutal and swift. I won—but not so easily.
I adapted. Every monster was a lesson. Every new piece of terrain taught me something—how to move, how to hide, when to strike. Floor 28 wasn't just a test of strength. It was a crucible of endurance, of intellect, of willpower. It broke down adventurers who relied only on power. It demanded everything.
Then finally—I found the boss.
A towering creature, grotesque and majestic all at once. Its body was a fusion of bones twisted with vines and dark, almost tar-like water. A bark helmet masked its face, and long antlers spiraled out from its skull, dripping with crimson moss. It let out a roar that echoed like the croaking of a thousand frogs in unison. In its hands, it wielded a jagged spear—one I immediately recognized as a crystallized swamp core, its mana radiating corruption. This content is presented by M4VLEMPYR.
The battle stretched for hours.
I was pushed to the edge.
And when I could no longer hold back—I invoked it.
The ancient dragon's wrath.
A Rank SS skill, reserved for the direst of situations. It enveloped my blade in storm and flame, wings of ethereal energy flaring behind me. I became a storm of relentless strikes, slashing through the creature's vines, its bone armor, tearing toward the heart of its twisted core. The moment my blade pierced its chest, a pulse of dark energy erupted—then silence.
A burst of purple flame consumed it from within.
When the smoke cleared, nothing remained other than marshes which had now dried due to the intense heat.
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The teleportation scroll to floor 29 shimmered nearby, faint and wavering like a mirage above hot stone. The air around it was cooler, sharper. I hesitated for a moment.
This was no longer just about survival. This was my way of shedding the past—of destroying the helplessness that haunted me. I needed to be stronger. For my survival.
As I was teleported to floor 29, the shift was immediate.
The ground grew solid beneath my feet. Wind howled between towering canyons. The sky was open, or at least it felt that way—crystalline formations dotted the walls, catching light and refracting it in dazzling, disorienting patterns.
The mana here was heavy. Dense. It pressed down on me like invisible chains.
The challenge was clear. This was no swamp. No fog-covered battleground.
This was a new battlefield. I couldn't wait to become stronger