Bell stood at the threshold of the dungeon, his grip tightening around his sword as he glanced at Welf, who stood beside him in his usual battle gear.
"You good?" Welf asked, his voice low but carrying a faint smile.
Bell nodded, though his heart pounded in his chest. He remembered too clearly the last time he had faced death in this place—saved only by Ais. And instead of properly thanking her, he had blurted out a request for her to train him.
His mind flickered back to the week of brutal training. The relentless drills, the silent demands, and the exhaustion that never seemed to end. But it had changed him. Every muscle felt leaner, every reflex sharper.
Welf, noticing the faraway look in his eyes, nudged him with a grin. "Thinking about it, huh? The training?"
"Yeah," Bell said softly, adjusting his grip on the sword. "Ais pushed me harder than I thought I could handle. But now... I have to be ready."
Welf gave a slow nod, his expression turning serious. "Just remember—you're not alone down there. We've got each other's backs."
Bell managed a small smile. "Let's go."
Welf returned the nod. "Stay sharp."
As they descended deeper into the Dungeon, the first wave struck—goblins. Bell moved on instinct, and with two clean slashes, both creatures fell, their heads separated cleanly from their shoulders.
Neither spoke. Together, they advanced, monsters continuing to emerge from the dark. Kobolds, goblins, even the occasional needle rabbit—none posed a serious threat. This was their first true venture together since Bell's training, and while their movements weren't perfect, they were steady. Each swing, each dodge, fell into a rhythm.
They were beginning to fight like a team.
Eventually, they paused in a narrow corridor, taking a moment to breathe—when the ground trembled.
Bell tensed. "We can't be that unlucky again," he muttered.
The quake subsided, but an unnatural stillness followed. The ever-present noise of the Dungeon—distant growls, footsteps, echoes—had gone silent.
Welf's eyes scanned the dark ahead. "That didn't feel like a normal quake."
Bell nodded slowly. "It felt... heavy. Like something was moving."
"Yeah," Welf murmured, raising his blade. "We've cleared enough. Want to head back?"
Bell didn't answer immediately. His heart thudded—not in fear, but in anticipation. A feeling he couldn't ignore.
He shook his head. "No. Not yet."
"You sure?" Welf asked, frowning.
"If I turn back now," Bell said, eyes locked on the corridor ahead, "I'll never stop running."
Welf exhaled. "I must be crazy for teaming up with you."
As they advanced,The passage narrowed the walls illuminated by flickering magic stone light. Warped shadows danced ahead as they turned the corner—and heard it.
Breathing. Deep, guttural.
A heavy stomp. Then another.
Then a snort—wet and feral.
The Minotaur emerged into view. Towering. Muscled. Brutal. Its crude greatsword—clearly looted from a fallen adventurer—rested heavy in its grasp. Steam curled from its nostrils as it exhaled into the cold Dungeon air.
"Damn thing's armed," Welf muttered, stepping into a firm stance.
"It doesn't matter," Bell said calmly. "We end it here."
The Minotaur didn't charge—it watched. Studied. Then it roared. A thunderous, primal sound that shook the stone walls.
Bell felt it—the dread, the echo of fear from that first encounter. But this time, he held firm.
Welf moved beside him, drawing his blade. "You take the left. I'll distract—"
"No," Bell cut in. "We stay together. No space, no second strike."
Welf blinked, then nodded. "All right then. Let's do this."
The Minotaur lunged, unnervingly fast. Its greatsword screamed through the air, missing as Bell and Welf dodged in unison, veering to the same side. The blade struck stone, shattering it with a deafening crack.
Bell didn't wait. "Firebolt!"
A burst of blazing red magic struck the Minotaur's shoulder. The beast staggered—barely.
Welf charged, slashing at its hip. The Minotaur howled and swung wildly—Welf dove aside just in time.
Bell darted in again, dodging a stomp and casting once more.
The spell burned its chest, but the creature barely reacted. Bloodlust overtook it—it charged, faster, angrier.
Bell ducked a swing and drove his blade upward. It glanced off bone.
He felt the fear again. The same cold pulse. But he crushed it.
The Minotaur raised its sword again—when footsteps echoed behind them.
A long shadow moved overhead. Someone landed silently on a ledge above.
"Hey," came a voice. "That's the white-haired kid, isn't it?"
Bell didn't turn—but he recognized it.
"Should we intervene?" Riveria asked, calm and composed.
"No," Ais answered quietly, eyes never leaving Bell. "Let him fight."
The Minotaur roared and lifted its blade high. Bell met its eyes. His body moved before thought—instinct taking over.
"FIREBOLT!" he shouted, unleashing a triple burst. The final shot struck its face, and the beast howled in pain, stumbling, blinded.
He ducked beneath the monster's arm, slashing its knee. The Minotaur faltered.
Bell charged. Every lesson, every bruise, every scar from training surged through him.
He screamed and drove his sword forward. Steel pierced hide and muscle.
More blasts at point-blank range. Flame engulfed the wound, magic searing flesh.
The Minotaur dropped its sword, groaning in agony. It staggered—and collapsed.
The great beast crumbled, fading into ash and crystal. A magic stone clattered to the ground.
Bell stood there, panting, his blade in his hand. He slowly pulled it free.
Above, Ais watched—expression unreadable, but her eyes were warm. "Good," she whispered.
Tiona whistled. "That's still impressive. Two Level 1s fighting Minotaur."
Finn narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed on the fallen greatsword. "There's something off about this."
Welf approached, clapping Bell's back. "That was insane. You all right?"
Bell gave a shaky nod, his breath still unsteady. "I think… yeah. I think I am."