Chapter 20 – A One-Man Army
A thunderous roar suddenly shattered the stillness.
It came from beyond the thick veil of mist that hung in the distance—low, guttural, and filled with bloodlust. Two crimson eyes glowed from within, glaring with hatred and primal instinct.
Yet none of the members of Loki Familia showed even the slightest hint of panic.
On the twelfth floor, the monsters that spawned were rarely a threat. Even in rare irregularities, their strength wouldn't exceed Level 2. At best.
And their current party? Even their weakest member was already Level 3.
The difference in power was vast. Unbridgeable.
Moments later, a massive creature stepped out from the mist.
It was towering in size, with jagged claws, sharp fangs, and two curved horns crowning its head. Its scales shimmered with faint heat.
A rare monster—an Infant Dragon.
Despite the name, "Infant," it was still a dragon. And in the Dungeon, anything that bore the name "dragon" was not to be taken lightly.
On this floor, it was arguably the strongest possible spawn. For Level 1 adventurers, facing one was practically a death sentence.
"Oh, wow. An Infant Dragon, huh? It's been ages since I've seen one," Tiona murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips as she stared at the beast.
For someone like her, monsters on this floor were far too weak to even count as warm-ups. And with how rare these dragons were, a tiny part of her felt… nostalgic.
"Need a hand?"
Finn, standing beside Akira, turned toward him with a friendly smile.
To any new adventurer, facing a drake would be a terrifying challenge. And after the earlier incident with Bete, Finn wanted to leave a better impression.
"No need, Captain Finn. I'd like to handle this one myself," Akira replied calmly.
Without waiting for further discussion, Akira took a single confident step forward toward the roaring beast.
Behind him, the Loki Familia watched with sharp interest.
There was a quiet arrogance in his stride—but it wasn't hollow. It was the steady confidence of someone who knew what he was doing.
From beneath Akira's feet, his shadow rippled outward.
And from its depths, a long spear slowly emerged—rising from the dark as if summoned from another world.
He grasped it in one hand, and then—charged straight in.
The Infant Dragon roared, accepting the challenge with a surge of fury. It reared back, lifting one claw high into the air.
As a creature of the draconic race, its scales were absurdly durable. Most Level 1 adventurers couldn't even scratch them. Combined with its brute strength, this monster had earned its reputation as a beginner killer.
"A weapon… from his shadow?" Tione blinked in disbelief.
"That's got to be some kind of Skill," Finn said, chuckling softly.
"Skills are mysteries we can't fully explain—like Kekkei Genkai in the shinobi world or Devil Fruits in the pirate world," he added with a teasing tone.
But Riveria wasn't laughing.
Her sharp emerald eyes focused on Akira's movements. She could feel it—something magical. Was it sorcery? Or something else entirely?
Still, she remained silent.
Even among familia members, prying into one's abilities was considered rude. Especially when the person wasn't even an ally.
A sudden impact echoed through the chamber.
Akira's spear struck the dragon's scales. A visible dent appeared—but it didn't pierce.
"Too tough... No, I'm still too weak," Akira muttered through clenched teeth.
Tarakudo, the King of All Shadowkhan, had been a martial arts master. But his true power didn't come from his fists.
It came from magic—the Shadowkhan themselves.
Each of the Nine Shadowkhan Tribes was a creation of pure shadow-based sorcery.
The Infant Dragon retaliated with a sweeping claw.
Akira barely raised his spear in time to block.
The blow sent a shockwave through his arms, knocking him backward across the stone floor.
But he didn't falter.
No hesitation. No fear.
Instead, his shadow spread outward like a pool of liquid night.
From within it, weapons began to rise—one after another.
A longsword. A great axe. A war hammer. A bow. A halberd. A glaive. A curved blade. A mace. A heavy dagger.
All of them forged, aged, and weathered. All of them deadly.
Tiona narrowed her eyes.
"To store that many weapons… in shadows... Incredible."
For her, the Weapon Destroyer, losing weapons in the heat of battle was normal. But Akira's ability? It was the perfect match for her kind of fighting style.
Akira exhaled softly.
A small smile curved his lips.
Before him now stood nine weapons, each floating just above the ground.
He reached for the first spear—and hurled it like a javelin.
Then, one after another, the other weapons followed, streaking through the air toward the dragon like a storm of steel.
Ais, who had been silently watching from the sidelines, furrowed her brows slightly.
She tried to grasp the secret behind Akira's strength. But… this attack seemed pointless. Every weapon merely clattered to the ground around the dragon, failing to even pierce its hide.
She was right.
None of the weapons landed a decisive hit. They simply fell—uselessly scattering around the Infant Dragon.
But then—
"…Let the hunt begin."
A sudden shift.
Eight figures burst forth from Akira's shadow—all at once.
Each one emerged at the precise spot where the thrown weapons had landed.
The shadowy warriors picked up the weapons in unison, surrounding the drake from eight angles.
At the same time, Akira pulled a heavy machete from his shadow… and began walking toward the beast.
The atmosphere changed in an instant.
What had been a one-on-one duel now felt like a coordinated ambush.
A hunt.
The Infant Dragon snarled and whipped its tail at one of the shadow warriors.
The impact shattered the shadow instantly—dispersing it into dark mist. The weapon it held clattered to the ground.
But at the same moment—
Akira and the remaining seven Shadowkhan charged in.
Steel slammed against scale.
Axes and blades rained down. Even a war hammer smashed into the dragon's flank.
These weren't just ordinary weapons.
Though hand-me-downs from Tsubaki, their craftsmanship was elite—far above what most adventurers could afford.
Bit by bit, the dragon's scales cracked. Blood spilled onto the dungeon floor.
The beast roared, thrashing, trying to destroy the shadows—but it was futile.
Every time one Shadowkhan fell, another emerged to take its place. The cycle was endless.
"Th-this… this is a real siege...!"
From afar, the Loki Familia members stood speechless.
It wasn't uncommon to fight in teams against powerful monsters. In Orario, adventuring parties were built on roles—vanguards, supports, mages, healers.
But what they were witnessing now... was something entirely different.
This wasn't a team.
This was one person.
A one-man army.
Like the old saying: A single blade can open a whole new world.
And here, before their very eyes, they were witnessing that very miracle—unfolding deep within the Dungeon.
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