Chapter 29: Revenge
Chapter 29 – Revenge
Leon landed gracefully on solid stone—both feet flat, his posture controlled and deliberate. No stumble. No awkward crash. Just a clean, silent descent, perfectly balanced.
He straightened slowly, dusting off his cloak with practiced movements as his eyes adjusted carefully to the dim new surroundings.
The tunnel had expelled him into another chamber, but this one felt starkly different. No jagged throne dominated the room. There was no lingering scent of burnt mana, no ashes scattered around. The air was noticeably cooler here, quieter, carrying an unnatural stillness that settled on his skin like a delicate veil.
'Still inside the dungeon... but somewhere else entirely.'
His gaze methodically swept across the chamber, taking in every detail. Dim crystals embedded within the ceiling pulsed rhythmically with a slow, faint blue glow, casting soft, shifting shadows upon the smooth, untouched floor. The walls were bare and unscarred, a stark contrast to the battle-torn chamber he'd recently departed. In the distance, soft echoes of water droplets reverberated gently, whispers resonating through stone corridors with a quiet, haunting melody.
There were no signs of previous battles here. No mangled corpses, no scorch marks, no scars of unleashed mana. Only a deep, profound silence—and beneath that silence, Leon could sense a lingering pressure, subtle but unmistakable, patiently waiting.
Leon exhaled slowly, the sound of his breath audible in the encompassing stillness, and began walking forward. His boots clicked softly, the gentle echo punctuating each step.
'So... that thing wasn't the final boss after all.'
He knew he should have felt dread, fear perhaps. But instead, what rose up inside him was an entirely different sensation. Excitement. Anticipation.
'If that creature was just the gatekeeper... then what the hell's waiting at the top?'
His heartbeat quickened—not with fear, but from a potent blend of thrill and curiosity. Deep within his soul, the part of him that once starved in shadowed alleys, the part that once sold bowls of soup merely to survive, now craved this challenge, hungered for it.
Yet beneath that excitement hummed a chord of caution. Strength, Leon knew well, did not mean immortality. He vividly remembered the near-death experience just days prior. How close he'd come to total defeat. The agony of broken bones, bleeding wounds, and sheer powerlessness haunted his memories.
He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling determination solidify within his chest.
Then slowly, confidently, he smiled.
'But that was before.'
'Before the Orb. Before the merging.'
'Now?'
He rolled his shoulders deliberately, savoring the sensation of wind swirling eagerly around his limbs in response, coiled and ready to obey. The air itself felt richer here, the mana answering his call quicker, more vibrantly. He could feel it pulsing through him, strong and sure like a second heartbeat, immeasurable in its depth.
And most absurd of all?
He was still completely full.
'I didn't get a single wound in that last fight. Didn't even need healing.'
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, imagining for a moment what might happen if he truly unleashed everything he now possessed. If he pushed his newfound limits even slightly further.
'If I used my full mana... would there even be a dungeon left?'
The thought drew a quiet chuckle from him—dry, calculating, confident. This wasn't arrogance, Leon knew. This was clarity, precise and well-earned, born through trials, bloodshed, pain, and victory. Whatever boss lay hidden deeper within this dungeon—he was more than ready to face it.
Adjusting his grip on his trusted daggers, he pressed onward.
'Let's find out what's behind the next door.'
Leon moved silently through increasingly narrow, darker corridors. The dungeon seemed almost aware, tightening around him, pressing closer as though attempting to halt his advance. But it couldn't stop him—not anymore.
Not with the newfound power humming beneath his skin, waiting eagerly to be unleashed.
Eventually, he reached another large chamber, just beyond a cracked stone archway, and paused abruptly at the sight before him.
There, lying at the center of the room, was a scene plucked directly from recent memory.
The red-horned wolf.
Massive, heavily scarred, still radiating heat like embers left smoldering. Around it were five smaller wolves—lean, their fur streaked with vivid blue lightning. Exactly like those that had previously hunted him down.
Leon halted cautiously, eyes narrowing as he scanned the room carefully. The large red wolf remained curled, breathing heavily, clearly not yet fully recovered from their previous confrontation. But the smaller wolves stood instantly at his arrival, electricity crackling through their fur, snarling fiercely as they moved protectively around their wounded alpha.
Leon felt amusement curl his lips upward.
'Oh... we're doing this again?'
Unhidden, he stepped openly into the chamber, silver eyes glowing softly in the dim blue light. His footsteps echoed gently, the sound drawing all wolfish gazes directly to him.
They recognized him immediately.
Snarls deepened. Eyes narrowed dangerously. Claws scraped anxiously against the stone floor.
With a single unspoken signal, the wolves charged.
Leon didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and accessed his inventory. The familiar daggers shimmered briefly and vanished. In their place materialized a spear crafted from condensed ice and bound by swirling wind—the very spear that had shattered molten fury like fragile porcelain.
Leon caught it effortlessly, the weapon's weight comfortably familiar. The wind coiled tighter around the shaft, frost glittering vividly like stardust trapped within crystal.
Instantly, the room fell deathly silent.
The wolves froze mid-charge, momentum evaporating in an instant. Their claws scraped against stone as they hastily backpedaled, ears flattened, tails tucked submissively.
Their glowing blue eyes fixed upon the spear, primal terror reflected starkly in their wary expressions.
Leon tilted his head slightly.
'Yeah... I'd run too.'
He let the spear's base gently tap the stone floor, a quiet, resonant chime echoing outward. The blue wolves flinched visibly but held their ground, eyes fixed upon the deadly weapon.
And the red-horned alpha?
It remained curled, silent and watchful, cautious.
Leon exhaled slowly, shifting his grip, feeling power surge within.
'This time, I'm not the one running. And this score?'
'Long overdue for a rewrite.'
He twirled the spear, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. The wind swirling around its shaft had dulled slightly from storage, but he could remedy that easily.
With a mere flick of will, he summoned additional wind, coiling powerfully from his body. It condensed swiftly along the frozen weapon, regaining its deadly hum—low, menacing, intensifying with each passing heartbeat.
Leon locked onto the red beast, mana surging visibly through his veins, glowing faintly beneath his skin. The spear vibrated eagerly in his grasp, wind roaring along its blade, a war anthem heralding imminent battle.
Then, unexpectedly, the alpha wolf rose shakily, limbs trembling faintly.
Leon tensed, preparing for confrontation.
But the wolf didn't charge.
It turned abruptly, fleeing desperately toward the chamber's far exit, claws frantically scraping against stone.
Caught momentarily off-guard, Leon blinked once—then chuckled darkly.
'Oh no you don't. You don't get to run. Not this time.'
Gathering strength into his right arm, mana pulsed powerfully, enhancing muscles and bones, energy blazing beneath his skin.
Leon coiled back, focusing intently, then hurled the spear with devastating force.
It roared deafeningly through the air, striking true, detonating spectacularly in a blinding storm of ice and wind.
When the dust settled, the wolf lay pinned, defeated, unmoving.
Leon straightened calmly, exhaling slowly.
He had conquered fear, reversed roles from prey to predator.
Now, eyes forward, he moved confidently ahead, steadily toward the dungeon's final confrontation.
Chapter 30 – Not Alone—Mysterious Girl
The spear flew like a comet. A streak of howling wind and shimmering ice tore across the dungeon corridor, moving so fast it left afterimages in the air. The red wolf turned its head mid-sprint, sensing the danger far too late. It tried to dodge. Fate had already chosen its end.
CRACK— The spear slammed straight through the wolf's side, tearing a gaping hole clean through its body. Ribs shattered. Flesh split. Blood erupted in a violent arc, and the beast didn't even have time to scream. It dropped mid-step. Dead before it hit the ground. The spear kept going, trailing frost and force, until it collided with the far wall with a deafening BOOM, sending a shockwave pulsing through the chamber.
The five blue wolves trailing behind their alpha stumbled—legs buckling, balance shattered. They skidded to halts, ears pinned back, eyes wide with primal terror.
Leon exhaled softly, eyes fixed on the corpse. One down. No mercy. Leon was already moving. Before the blue wolves could recover from the shockwave, his figure blurred—motionless one instant, unstoppable the next. Wind screamed around him as he activated his Adept Rank Body Enhancement, channeling condensed air across his limbs like armor wrought from a storm.
He didn't draw his daggers. He didn't need to. Around his fists, wind compressed tighter and tighter—becoming visible, solid, like gauntlets of raw force humming with lethal energy. They shimmered faintly, razor-thin spirals coiled into dense impact cores.
He hit the first wolf mid-leap. The punch didn't just land—it detonated.
CRACK—WHUD. Bone shattered. Flesh burst. The beast's body was flung sideways like a ragdoll, dead before it even touched the ground.
Leon didn't pause. He was already on the second—then the third. Each strike was precise, brutal, and final. The wind around his fists shrieked with every blow, rupturing skulls and snapping spines in a single hit. By the time he stopped moving, all five wolves had collapsed. Slain without weapons. No effort. No mercy.
Leon turned toward the shattered wall where his ice spear had embedded itself. Despite the explosive impact it had caused—ripping through flesh, cracking stone, and scattering mana like a shockwave—it was still there. Still whole. Still perfect.
He blinked. You've got to be kidding me. The spear hadn't cracked, chipped, or even dulled. Its surface shimmered faintly, the ice gleaming like polished crystal, smooth and pristine. A weapon born of magic, pressure, and will—and somehow, it had endured all of it. He stepped forward, gripped the shaft, and with a firm pull, tore it free from the wall. The stone groaned. Dust fell. The weapon remained untouched.
Leon gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You're coming with me again." With a thought, he stored the spear back into his inventory—its presence like a quiet promise waiting for the next execution.
Leon moved steadily through the winding paths of the dungeon, calm and focused. His steps echoed lightly, his hands never resting. Every monster he felled, he took the time to retrieve its mana core, storing them in a neat mental tally. When he came across larger beasts—especially the bigger wolves—he stored their entire corpses. The rest, he left behind.
He didn't keep track at first. Somewhere along the way... he lost count. How many had it been? Thirty? Forty? More? At some point, the numbers blurred into motion. Movement. Breath. Instinct.
And now, as he stepped into a long corridor, he slowed. Because everything about this place—the shift in air, the stillness, the hum in the stone—told him one thing: the boss was ahead. It wasn't just instinct. The space itself announced it. The kind of ominous silence that came before something massive. Dangerous.
His heart beat a little faster—not in fear, but anticipation. He was ready.
Something else tugged at his thoughts. He glanced to the side, and his expression shifted—just slightly. Along the way here, he had seen them. Corpses. Not human. Not fresh either. Small wolves. The same blue-tinged lightning beasts he had fought before. Two of them, sprawled in different corners, cut down by something sharp. Clean. Precise.
I didn't do that, he thought, eyes narrowing. They weren't burned. Weren't frozen. There were no signs of stray elemental backlash—no crackling residue of lightning, no lingering frostbite, no scorched stone or frozen blood. And yet, something lingered. A trace of some other element—subtle, unfamiliar, almost like static under his skin. He couldn't identify it. Not yet. Just... clean kills. Which meant— he wasn't the only one here.
That realization settled in his mind like a quiet weight. Not fear. A new calculation. Because if someone else had gotten through this deathtrap of a dungeon... then the real question wasn't whether the boss was still ahead. It was— Who would reach it first.
Leon quickened his pace. He didn't activate the cloak's invisibility. Not this time. Too risky. If someone was ahead—or worse, watching—he didn't want to be caught mid-transition between seen and unseen. Especially not while using an artifact-level treasure. That kind of thing drew eyes. Questions. Greed.
And right now? He was still only wearing his underwear beneath the cloak. It wasn't about modesty anymore. His old armor and clothes didn't fit his new body—his frame had changed too much after the Orb's fusion. Too tall. Too lean. Too... different. So the cloak stayed on. Not as a relic. Not as a defense. Just as clothing. His only layer.
The hallway narrowed as he moved, its carved stone lit by soft, blue crystals embedded in the walls. The quiet hum of mana ran beneath his boots, steady and faint like dungeon breath. Then—he saw it.
A massive gate at the end of the corridor. At least three times his height, sealed shut, with ancient carvings winding across its surface like a map of veins. It radiated power.
That wasn't the first thing he noticed. Because sitting at the base of the gate—was a person. Draped in a dark cloak, hood pulled low, posture casual yet still. They were seated on the cold stone, back against the gate, one arm resting on their knees.
Leon stopped a few paces short. Silent. Alert. "...Well, looks like I'm not alone after all."
And he didn't know yet—whether that was good news... or a problem.
Leon didn't rush. His steps were quiet, measured, deliberate—more out of instinct than caution. He didn't need to see the person's face to know what this meant. Someone had made it to the final gate.
I thought I would be only one to reach here. That thought burned sharper than he expected. This wasn't about pride. Or ego. It was about opportunity. The boss room was more than just a final fight—it was a threshold. And defeating the boss alone could dramatically increase his chances of awakening a rarer, stronger Class. That was the whole point of the Trial Dungeon. Effort. Risk. Reward.
If he shared that room now... He clenched his jaw lightly. No. I'm not splitting this. He stepped closer, stopping a few meters away from the figure at the gate. The person shifted slightly—head turning, body adjusting—acknowledging his presence without speaking. Their cloak was thick, worn but high-quality, the kind issued to trained adventurers. A simple, emotionless mask covered their face, obscuring all expression.
Leon studied them carefully. Their posture was relaxed, not lazy. Balanced. Resting—ready.
Then he noticed something else. Her stature. Lean. Compact. Shoulders slightly narrower than his. The angle of her wrists, the way her legs crossed—details most people wouldn't catch.
But he'd trained under Seraphine. And Seraphine didn't let small details slide.
...She's a girl. That much was clear now.
Everything else? Still a mystery.
Leon kept his hands at his sides, not drawing his weapons, not turning his back either. Not yet. Not until he knew why she was here. And whether she planned to stand in his way.