The cavern echoed with the clash of steel and roars of elemental energy. Nate stood bloodied, his breath ragged, his eyes locked on the four knights who surrounded him. Their armor glistened under the flickering dungeon light, each of them towering figures exuding merciless strength.
He had been battling them for what felt like an eternity. Every swing he made was parried. Every flash step was anticipated. Every spell interrupted.
The hammer knight lunged forward, its massive weapon crashing down like a falling meteor. Nate twisted just in time, the strike narrowly missing his head and shattering the stone floor beside him. But even before he could recover, the sword knight was already behind him—its blade slashing toward his ribs.
Nate raised his weapon just in time to block, but the sheer force of the impact sent him skidding across the battlefield. He rolled, blood smearing the ground beneath him, and landed in a crouch.
Damn it... can't I get a second to breathe?
He gritted his teeth as the archer loosed another arrow and the mage conjured a storm of magical energy. Nate flashed to the side, narrowly avoiding both.
His body screamed for rest, his muscles burned. And still, the knights advanced like executioners.
Meanwhile, above—
Isabella stepped into the ancient castle's dark hallway, and the heavy double doors groaned shut behind her with a thunderous slam. Dust swirled around her boots as the scent of rust and decay filled her lungs. Shattered armor and broken blades littered the ground like a battlefield frozen in time.
She took a cautious step forward—
Clank.
A sound echoed from the debris.
One by one, the pieces of armor began to shift—rattling, dragging themselves upright, forming the skeletal frames of cursed warriors. Glowing blue light flickered in their empty helms.
Isabella's eyes narrowed. "Great… just what I needed."
She raised her hand, attempting to summon her undead.
A necromantic magic circle flared—then shattered.
"What…?" Her heart skipped. Her summoning had failed.
A sudden explosion echoed from the upper floors—raw, chaotic, destructive.
Nate.
She clenched her fists, her fear turning into fire.
"Fine. If necromancy won't work… let's see how well wind does."
She raised her hands, and a swirling green circle formed beneath her feet. A cyclone exploded outward, shredding through the cursed armors and scattering them into fragments of steel.
Without wasting another breath, she dashed toward the staircase.
Below, deep in the dungeon—
Nate staggered, a deep gash dripping blood down his cheek. His grip on his blade was weakening.
"System…" he growled through gritted teeth, "…what level are they?"
[System]
All enemies: Level 60.
He cursed under his breath.
I'm Level 49. And I'm fighting four of them. This is suicide.
As if to confirm his despair, the hammer knight struck again—this time breaking through a nearby wall, disturbing the resting place of more cursed armors. They stirred to life.
Perfect. Just what I needed... more enemies.
But before they could surround him, a sudden burst of wind tore through the horde. Blades of air sliced the cursed armors apart.
He turned, stunned.
"Isabella?" he breathed.
She stood at the entrance of the broken chamber, her cloak fluttering in the wind, her eyes locked on him with fierce determination.
"I'm here," she shouted, casting another wave of wind that blasted the armors back. "Your lion said you were in trouble."
"You didn't have to—"
"Save it!" she snapped. "Let's end this!"
The two fought side by side, blades and spells flying, until the last of the cursed armors crumbled to dust. Isabella fell to her knees, panting heavily.
"That took… way too much mana," she muttered.
But her hand rose again. This time, a bright white magic circle appeared above her.
"Awaken!"
The shattered suits of armor lifted once more. This time, they shimmered with ethereal blue light. Their pieces pulled together, reforged by necromantic power. Thirty undead warriors stood tall, silent—and then they knelt before her.
Nate's eyes widened. "You… actually reanimated them?"
Isabella smiled, though exhaustion tugged at her face. "Looks like I did."
Suddenly—
[System]
Congratulations!
You have reached Level 50.
Title Unlocked: Armor Destroyer
Nate let out a weak laugh. "Not bad."
But his attention turned skyward—to the floor above, where the knights waited.
"I need to know," he whispered, "System. What level are her undead?"
[System]
Undead Cursed Armor: Level 45
He nodded, calculating quickly. Fifteen could go after the archer and sword knight. Isabella could handle the mage. That left him with the hammer knight.
It was a plan. A dangerous one—but a plan nonetheless.
They ascended.
The knights were waiting.
Unmoved. Silent. As if they had never left their positions.
"Go!" Nate commanded.
Isabella's undead rushed forward in formation. The archer fired a volley—one of the undead staggered, but barely flinched. The sword knight waded into the undead, slashing furiously. Isabella flung herself toward the mage, casting shield and slicing wind.
Nate clashed once again with the hammer knight.
His gauntlets materialized with a sharp snap of magic. The moment his blade locked with the knight's hammer, he dropped it—diving in with a punch to the gut. The knight stumbled back. The hammer fell.
"Let's see you fight without that."
He regretted his words instantly.
Without the hammer, the knight became faster—blindingly so. Nate couldn't track its movements.
Then—crack!
A powerful blow struck his spine.
He was airborne before he even realized it—his back slamming into the stone wall with enough force to crack it.
Blood poured from his mouth.
"NATE!!!" Isabella's scream cut through the chaos.
His vision blurred. His thoughts faded.
So this is how it ends?
He reached out weakly. One inch. Two.
Then—
[System]
New Skill Unlocked at Level 50: Monster Consumer
The words appeared—useless. Too late.
He crawled toward the hole in the floor, trying to escape.
But before he could reach it—
Slice.
Cold steel kissed his neck.
The world tilted.
His body fell to the ground—lifeless.
And as his head rolled away, his dying vision caught the sword knight—blade drenched in blood, expressionless.
Then—nothing.