Three weeks had passed since Kenji's dramatic rebirth as The Dissolver of Bonds, and if you asked him, those three weeks had been the most epic character development arc in isekai history.
If you asked the dungeon slimes, it had been three weeks of the same guy showing up, dramatically announcing his presence, flailing at them with a rusty knife, and then doing victory dances over their "corpses" while they tried not to laugh.
But Kenji didn't know that. And honestly, ignorance was probably the only thing keeping his fragile ego intact.
He'd "defeated" approximately forty-seven slimes. He'd given each victory its own unique monologue. He'd practiced seventeen different victory poses. His hair had somehow gotten even more dramatically messy, and he'd stopped washing his vest because he thought the grime made him look more battle-hardened. It didn't. It made him smell like a gym locker that had achieved sentience and chosen violence.
"Level fifteen," Kenji announced to his reflection in a puddle, striking a pose. "The Dissolver of Bonds has reached level fifteen through blood, sweat, and the tears of his enemies."
The reflection showed a teenage boy in a crusty leather vest, torn school uniform, and hair that looked like several birds had nested in it and then immediately filed for divorce. But Kenji saw a dark warrior ascending toward godhood.
"The time has come," he declared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "The floor boss awaits. And I... I shall dissolve its very existence."
He'd been building up to this moment for days. The other slimes had mentioned something about a "big guy" deeper in the dungeon. Kenji had interpreted this as ominous foreshadowing. The slimes had meant it as "hey, maybe don't go that way, there's an actual dangerous thing down there that we're not being paid enough to deal with."
But The Dissolver of Bonds feared nothing. Except maybe his mother finding out about his math test. And deep water. And sometimes the dark when he couldn't find a torch. But other than that, nothing!
The corridor leading to the boss chamber was noticeably different from the rest of the dungeon. The torches burned brighter. The walls were actually clean. There was ominous music coming from somewhere, though Kenji couldn't figure out where. Probably just dungeon ambiance.
Actually, it was Gary from maintenance testing the new sound system, but Kenji didn't need to know that.
"This is it," Kenji whispered, his hand on the massive stone door covered in warning signs. Well, they looked like warning signs. Kenji couldn't read this world's language, so for all he knew they said "WET FLOOR" or "EMPLOYEE BREAK ROOM." But they looked ominous, and that's what mattered.
He pushed the door open with both hands.
CRRRREEEEAAAAK
The chamber beyond was massive. Easily the size of a basketball court, with a ceiling so high it disappeared into darkness. Torches lined the walls, casting dramatic shadows. And in the center, sitting on what could only be described as a throne made of bones and attitude, was the floor boss.
The Iron Slime King.
It was huge. Easily three times Kenji's height. Its body was a deep metallic gray that looked like liquid steel, and its single eye glowed with actual intelligence, not the goofy friendliness of the regular slimes. This thing looked like it paid taxes and was angry about it.
"Finally," the Iron Slime King said in a voice like grinding metal, and yes, it could actually talk in human language. "Another fool arrives to test themselves against me."
Kenji's brain short-circuited for a moment. "You... you can talk?"
"Of course I can talk, you absolute muppet. I'm the floor boss. We get dental and language lessons." The King shifted on its throne, looking distinctly annoyed. "Let me guess. You've been down here for a few weeks, killed a bunch of regular slimes who were just trying to do their jobs, decided you're some kind of dark anti-hero, and now you think you're ready to challenge me?"
"I am The Dissolver of Bonds!" Kenji declared, trying to regain his dramatic momentum. "And I have come to claim your power as my own!"
"Right. Sure. The Dissolver of Bonds. Very creative." The King sighed, a sound like air brakes on a bus. "Look, kid. I'm going to save us both some time here. You're not ready. You're level fifteen. I'm level sixty. You've been fighting slimes who were literally pulling their punches because they felt bad for you. This is going to end badly."
"Your words cannot shake my resolve!" Kenji raised his rusty dagger, which looked particularly pathetic in the grand chamber. "I have transcended weakness! I have embraced the darkness! I have—"
"You have body odor that could kill a small horse," the King interrupted. "Seriously, when was the last time you bathed?"
Kenji faltered. "I... bathing is for the weak! The strong don't need—"
"Everyone needs to bathe. That's basic hygiene. This is exactly what I'm talking about." The King gestured with a pseudopod. "You edgelords always skip the practical stuff. You're so busy being dramatic that you forget to take care of yourselves. Darkblade was the same way. Spent three months down here, never once did laundry. We could smell him from two floors up."
"I don't care about your past warriors!" Kenji shouted, his voice cracking. "I am different! I am—"
"You're really not, though." The King settled back on its throne. "But fine. You want to fight me? Let's fight. But don't say I didn't warn you."
What happened next could generously be called a fight if you had a very loose definition of the word "fight" and were feeling extremely charitable.
Kenji charged forward with his battle cry, dagger raised high.
CLANG!
The King didn't even move from its throne. It just extended a single pseudopod.
Kenji hit it like running into a steel wall. He bounced backward, his dagger clattering to the ground, and landed flat on his back with all the grace of a dropped sack of potatoes.
"Ow," he groaned.
"That's one," the King said calmly.
Kenji scrambled to his feet, grabbed his dagger, and tried again. This time he attempted what he thought was a spinning attack he'd seen in an anime.
The King's pseudopod moved almost lazily.
SMACK!
Kenji went flying sideways, crashed into a wall, and slid down it like a cartoon character.
"That's two."
"I'm not... done yet," Kenji panted, struggling to his feet. His vest was torn. His glasses were cracked. One of his shoes had come off. But he was The Dissolver of Bonds, and The Dissolver of Bonds didn't give up.
He charged again. And again. And again.
Each time, the result was the same. The King would casually swat him away like an annoying fly. Kenji would crash into something hard. Get up. Try again.
By the fifteenth attempt, Kenji was barely standing. His dagger was bent. His vest had more holes than fabric. He was pretty sure at least two of his ribs were cracked, and he could taste copper in his mouth.
"Kid," the King said, and for the first time, there was something almost like respect in its voice. "You've got heart. I'll give you that. But heart doesn't beat a forty-five level difference. Go back. Train more. Come back when you're actually ready."
"No," Kenji gasped. Blood dripped from his split lip. "No, I... I can't go back. I can't be weak again. I can't be the person they threw away. I have to... I have to..."
"You have to what? Die down here to prove a point to people who aren't even watching?"
That hit harder than any of the physical blows. Because the King was right. His classmates weren't here. They weren't seeing his struggle. They probably weren't even thinking about him. He'd built this entire dramatic arc in his head, but he was the only audience member.
"I..." Kenji's voice was small now. Not the dramatic tone of The Dissolver of Bonds. Just Kenji. Tired, hurt, and confused. "I don't know what else to do."
The King was quiet for a moment. Then it sighed again. "Look. I'm going to give you some advice, completely free of charge. You want to get stronger? Actually get stronger. Not this dramatic posturing garbage. Learn your skill. Figure out what it actually does instead of assuming. Eat proper meals. Sleep. Basic adventurer stuff."
"But I—"
"No buts. You're done here. Time to—"
The King paused mid-sentence. Its eye widened slightly.
"Oh. Oh no. Kid, move to your left."
"What?"
"YOUR LEFT! NOW!"
Kenji, confused and exhausted, didn't move fast enough.
The floor beneath him suddenly gave way with a sound like cracking thunder.
CRACK! CRRRRRUMBLE!
"NOT AGAIN!" the King shouted. "GARY! I TOLD YOU TO FIX THAT WEAK SPOT IN THE FLOOR! THIS IS THE THIRD ADVENTURER THIS MONTH!"
But Kenji couldn't hear the rest because he was falling. Again. Through darkness. Again. Screaming. Again.
His life flashed before his eyes. It was disappointing. Lots of failed tests and awkward social interactions. That time he'd tried to talk to Sakura and accidentally called her "Mom." The face Yamada made when throwing him down the first pit.
This was it. This was how he died. Not in glorious combat. Not in a blaze of dark power. But falling through a hole because of poor dungeon maintenance.
He hit something with a CRASH! that knocked all the air from his lungs.
Except it wasn't the ground. It was metal. Bars. A cage? No. A cell.
Kenji lay there, wheezing, staring up at a stone ceiling different from the one he'd just been under. Everything hurt. Everything. Parts of him he didn't know could hurt were hurting. His dramatic vest was basically rags now. His school uniform underneath looked like it had been through a shredder. His glasses were somehow still on his face, though one lens was completely gone.
"Oh great," said a voice. A female voice. Smooth, sardonic, and distinctly unimpressed. "Another hero."
Kenji turned his aching head toward the voice.
There, chained to the wall of the cell, was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life. And he'd watched a LOT of anime, so his standards were impossibly high.
She had silver hair that flowed like liquid moonlight despite being in a dungeon cell. Golden eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light. Features so perfect they looked photoshopped. She wore prisoner's rags that somehow looked fashionable on her, and the chains on her wrists and ankles were thick enough to restrain something way more dangerous than a regular person.