The mental drain didn't hit immediately; with Transformation active, Keyaru slipped into peak condition.
The full-body stat boost made it feel like even his cells were rejoicing.
He didn't rush in. He spent a few beats syncing with the powered-up body so he wouldn't misfire in combat from mismatched strength and motion.
"Time's about up."
Transformation has a timer.
When the buff ends, there's a brief window of weakness.
The plan was simple: use the three-minute boost to wipe every War Shadow in front of him.
Fights aren't turn-based galgames.
He kept reading the field to avoid getting swarmed. When a lane opened, he struck.
Supercharged stats let him explode forward. In a blink he covered nearly ten meters, both hands on the short sword, cutting for the waist. A hooked claw was about to rake his shoulder—
The edge bit, clean, and the War Shadow split, dissolving into black dust.
The ambush kicked the hornet's nest; the rest surged, overlapping attacks sealing off his escape angles.
There are no style points in a real fight.
Keyaru didn't care about looking good—only about walking out alive. He stepped back, dropped his center of gravity, and rolled clear to break the encirclement, opening space again.
"Stubborn things."
He popped to his feet, brushing off the dust. One solid hit from those claws and he'd be done. Still, it wasn't all bad news: the charge had broken their formation—good for him.
"Two more passes should do it."
Not much time left.
No hesitation—he charged the rookie-killers again, adrenaline sharpening everything. He saw the answers as the strikes came, slipping past and nailing their openings. His honed "sword feel" let every cut land perfectly.
High-intensity combat stretched the seconds thin. Bracing a War Shadow's claws on his blade, he stamped forward, raised an arm, and as his hand brushed that icy "flesh"—
Corruption.
No chant, no wind-up—just instant effect.
Its limbs went slack; there'd be no second swing. His sword finished the job.
"Finally… done."
Breathing hard, skull pounding from the psychic crash, he still didn't drop. He scanned the dark—no more threats.
He slumped against the cave wall. Transformation faded, and the weakness surged up like a tide trying to swallow him.
But the fight? Exhilarating.
He steadied his breath, yanked a canteen from his pack, and took a long pull, staying ready for anything.
If more War Shadows showed, he'd have to prioritize escape, using whatever energy he had left to reach a safe corridor.
"The skill's solid. My overall stats are the weak link."
Grinding stats fast—his dive pace might already surpass most of Orario's. But compared to that "cheat-code" white-haired, red-eyed rabbit, it still felt lacking. The Black Dragon's end-of-days wasn't far off; upping his power was urgent.
Sure, the original story hadn't finished—but you could bet the protagonist would save the world in the end.
He'd thought about leaving it to the "hero." But handing your fate to someone else? That was nonsense. He wanted his fate in his hands.
"So… is Looting a must-have?"
It wasn't that he rejected the power. But stealing other adventurers' stats? In Orario that's how you become Public Enemy No. 1.
Freya could enthrall the whole city because she had the strongest Familia. Without an adventurer coalition, no one dared squeak. If Looting ever got out, Keyaru didn't want to imagine the fallout.
Can talent and grind alone really let you seize your fate?
He had his doubts.
"Don't overthink it. There's still time. I'll find a way."
He shook off the noise, scooped up the magic stones and War Shadow Claws—today's cash flow—and, feeling he still had enough in the tank, pushed deeper instead of bailing. Make every minute count.
But mind—mana—doesn't refill fast.
Next: focus on honing live-combat, building experience, and raising stats.
…
The run stayed smooth. No more War Shadow packs; scattered kobolds and dungeon lizards couldn't touch him. Technique alone was enough to cut them down. In the dim corridors time didn't exist; he lost count of the kills, just kept swinging until the movements carved themselves into muscle memory.
When his stamina bottomed out, he slipped into a safe corridor between floors, ate, and rested so he could keep improving in top form.
"Good haul today. After Hestia updates my status tonight, I can prep for deeper floors."
Take every dive seriously—that was his rule. Power is great, but staying alive matters most.
As his mental and physical reserves crept back, he left the corridor and was about to resume when noise drew his eye.
Peering ahead, he spotted, tucked into a wall corner, a small cloaked girl with a huge supporter's pack—surrounded by adventurers. On their backs:
the unmistakable crest of the Soma Familia.
"Hm?"
"What's going on here?"