(Author's Note:
Hello, readers! I apologize for not posting these past few days. I'm currently an electrical engineering student and going through a period of exams. I'll do my best to update regularly, and I want you to know that I have no intention of abandoning this fanfic. It's my first story, and I fully intend to see it through to the end.)
Hachiman awoke slowly, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window of his new room and painting stripes of light across the wooden floor. The morning silence was broken only by Aqua's soft breathing, who, like an inexplicable natural phenomenon, had migrated to his bed during the night and was now curled up beside him. He sighed, a sound that was a complex mixture of resignation, a touch of unwanted human warmth, and the persistent memory of pain. His entire body still protested, muscles screaming from the ordeal against the monster horde two days ago, and even more so from the fight against the Infant Dragon yesterday. His ribs, though likely healed by magic or potions, still felt tender with each deeper breath.
Careful not to wake the goddess, he sat up, his mind already working, replaying recent events. It was almost too much to process. In just over two weeks, he had gone from a reincarnated nobody to... well, to whatever he was now. A Level 1 adventurer with stats that defied logic: Rank A in Strength, Endurance, Dexterity, and Agility; and an unprecedented Rank S in Magic, surpassing known limits. 'S-930 in Magic... SS-1099 after yesterday's fight...' He mentally corrected himself, recalling the last update. No, wait, the update that took him to Rank C/S was after the horde fight. The fight against the Infant Dragon yesterday... he hadn't even asked for an update yet. 'I must be really exhausted to mix things up.' Regardless, the power he felt vibrating beneath the pain was real.
Add to that the growth armor, a priceless masterpiece gifted by Hephaestus, and the formal alliance with her Familia. It was a foundation of power and support he could never have imagined. But it came with a price: fame. 'The Black-Armored Novice who defeated the Monsterphilia Dragon'. Tsubaki wasn't joking. Unwanted attention was now a constant. And the enmity of Bete Loga and, by extension, perhaps parts of the Loki Familia, was a real threat looming on the horizon. Freya was also a constant concern, especially after the incident at the festival which had all the hallmarks of her manipulation.
'I can't relax,' he concluded, determination hardening in his eyes. 'I need to get stronger, not just for the Dungeon, but to survive all this out here. And there's still room to grow at Level 1. I have to push these Rank A stats to the limit before thinking about leveling up.'
With this resolution, he finally disentangled himself from Aqua and began to prepare. He donned the bluish-black armor. It felt different today; after the blood bond and yesterday's battle, it seemed even more a part of him, responding almost intuitively to his movements, light yet incredibly protective. He projected Kanshou and Bakuya – the twin blades seemed the most natural manifestation of his power now, especially with Rank S Magic. He ignored the issue of breakfast for now and headed out into the streets of Orario, as the city was still waking up.
The walk to Babel confirmed his concerns about fame. It was impossible to ignore the stares. Before, he was invisible, just another face in the crowd of adventurers. Now, people stopped to watch him pass. He saw groups whispering, discreet nudges, pointing fingers. He caught fragments of conversations: "...that's him, the one in black armor...", "...they say he's only Level 1, can you believe it?", "...alone against the Infant Dragon! How?", "...must have been lucky, or used some rare item...", "...I heard Hephaestus herself protects him...". The admiration was there, especially on the faces of younger adventurers who looked at him with a kind of stunned reverence. But envy and distrust were equally palpable in the eyes of others, older adventurers perhaps, who couldn't accept such rapid and spectacular progress. Some seemed genuinely annoyed, as if his existence were an insult to their own efforts.
'This sucks,' Hachiman thought, quickening his pace, the hood of his tunic over the armor pulled down a bit lower, trying uselessly to hide in plain sight. 'Every step I take now will be watched, analyzed, judged. Any mistake will be amplified. Any success will breed more envy.' It was an uncomfortable pressure, very different from the direct, honest pressure of the Dungeon. 'I need to be careful. Very careful.'
Finally, he reached the Dungeon entrance, a paradoxical refuge from the city's attention. He plunged into the familiar darkness, leaving the whispers behind. As before, he ignored the upper floors, descending quickly. His mastery over the monsters up to the ninth floor was almost absolute now; he passed through these areas like an avenging ghost, focused on reaching the levels where the challenge (and the excelia) was greater.
He reached the eleventh and twelfth floors. The grayish environment, the luminous mist hanging in the air. He unsheathed Kanshou and Bakuya, their light reflecting strangely in the fog. He prepared for the hunt.
The first encounter was with a mixed group: three sturdy Orcs and two agile Silverbacks. In the past, this would have been a cautious fight, probing for openings. Now? It was a massacre. Hachiman moved before they could even complete their charges. His Rank A Agility carried him between them like lightning. One Orc had its axe shattered by Hachiman's Rank A strength before it could even lift it properly. A Silverback that leaped from the walls was intercepted mid-air by Kanshou, the black blade severing vital tendons and muscles. Bakuya spun, decapitating another Orc. The blows were precise, devastating, driven by stats bordering on superhuman for a Level 1. In seconds, the group was eliminated, leaving only magic stones on the ground.
He continued. He faced a Gold Armored Bicorn. Before, it would have been a battle of attrition, searching for a weak point. Now, he used Trace On to analyze the carapace's structure in an instant, found a thinner seam near the neck, and with a single precise strike reinforced by his Rank S Magic, Bakuya pierced the defense, ending the fight quickly.
A swarm of Hard Armor Bats descended from the ceiling. Instead of dodging and looking for openings, Hachiman projected half a dozen simple daggers, minimally overloaded them with mana, and threw them in a scattered pattern. The resulting explosions weren't powerful enough to seriously injure larger monsters, but they were more than sufficient to stun and knock the bats out of the air, allowing him to finish them off on the ground with ease.
'It's... really become too easy here,' Hachiman had to admit to himself as he collected more magic stones. The combination of his Rank A/S stats and the growth armor, which seemed to respond and perhaps even amplify his movements, made the monsters of the 11th and 12th floors little more than fodder. He activated 'A Loner's Protection' out of habit, focusing on efficiency and perfect self-defense, which made the process even faster and almost automatic. His Skill-sharpened senses detected ambushes before they happened, his movements guided by instinct and absorbed knowledge eliminated threats with cold speed. Excelia still flowed, but he felt it was a slow trickle compared to the flood he received in more desperate fights. 'I need more. I need to go deeper.'
He spent a few hours clearing monsters on the two floors, almost mechanically, accumulating a considerable amount of spoils. He was starting to seriously consider descending to the thirteenth floor, despite the unknown dangers and his body not being fully recovered yet, when a sound made him stop abruptly.
A sharp roar. A sound that mixed reptilian fury with something almost juvenile, yet laden with Level 2 power. A sound that was etched into his recent, painful memory.
Hachiman turned, twin blades held firm, his expression tensing. The luminous mist ahead seemed to stir, and from it emerged a familiar, menacing figure. Gleaming red scales, sharp claws, reptilian eyes fixed on him with unmistakable hatred.
An Infant Dragon. Just like the one he had faced the day before. Fate, or perhaps just the Dungeon's respawn cycle, had placed his former tormentor in his path again.