Day 1-2: Foundation
Floor one is a blur.
Leon moves through the familiar corridors with practiced efficiency, Tsukikage cutting through goblins like they're made of paper. Each strike is precise, economical, carrying just enough Qi to ensure a clean kill without wasting energy.
He's not here to farm the upper floors. They're just the entrance—stepping stones to deeper challenges.
But as he walks, Leon experiments with something new.
Qi in the feet.
He channels energy downward, feeling it pool in his soles. The sensation is strange—warm, tingling, like standing on something alive. Leon takes a step.
Too fast. His body lurches forward, unprepared for the sudden acceleration. He catches himself against a wall, breathing steady.
Control. Always control.
He tries again. Less Qi this time, just a trickle. The next step is smoother—faster than normal but manageable. Another step, then another. By the tenth step, Leon's moving at twice his normal walking speed with no increase in effort.
This is the key. Not raw power, but efficient application.
Over the next two days, Leon practices constantly. Walking with Qi-enhanced feet. Running. Jumping. Dodging imaginary attacks. The technique becomes natural, automatic, as fundamental as breathing.
By the time he reaches floor four, he can shift between normal movement and enhanced movement seamlessly. The energy cost is minimal—maybe five percent of his total capacity per hour of continuous use.
Sustainable. Perfect.
Floor four's dungeon lizards become training dummies. Leon practices moving patterns—circular footwork, lateral shifts, explosive bursts of speed. Each movement combines his past life's martial knowledge with this world's energy system.
The result is something beyond what either system could achieve alone.
Day 3-4: The Test
Floor five welcomes him with that familiar heavy pressure.
The air is thick, warm, carrying weight that makes breathing require conscious effort. The walls glow dimmer here, shadows deeper. Sounds echo strangely—sometimes too loud, sometimes muffled.
This is where the Dungeon stops being forgiving.
Leon draws Tsukikage and channels Qi through the blade. The dark steel glows with golden light, humming softly with contained power. In his left hand, Kagezashi rests ready—backup, throwing knife, or close-quarters weapon as needed.
The first monster appears from a side corridor.
A dungeon lizard—larger than the ones on floor four, scales thicker, eyes more intelligent. It spots Leon and charges without hesitation.
Leon doesn't retreat. He nocks an arrow, draws his bow, channels Qi.
The arrow flies.
It punches through the lizard's thick hide like it's silk, the Qi-enhanced projectile carrying force far beyond what the bow's draw weight should produce. The creature's charge stumbles, blood spraying.
But it doesn't die.
Tougher. Floor five monsters have higher vitality.
Leon fires two more arrows in rapid succession—throat and eye. The lizard collapses and dissolves, leaving a magic stone notably larger than floor four drops.
More monsters appear. War Shadows emerging from darkness, moving with that familiar predatory speed. Kobolds in groups, wielding crude weapons but showing basic tactics.
Leon fights methodically.
Bow for distance—Qi-enhanced arrows dropping targets before they close. When his quiver empties, he draws Tsukikage and engages close.
The first War Shadow lunges. Leon sidesteps using Qi footwork—a burst of speed that makes the monster's claws whistle through empty air. His counter-strike is instant—Tsukikage cutting through the creature's neck with a single fluid motion.
Two more Shadow War rush him simultaneously.
Leon spins, using circular footwork to redirect their momentum. The first Shadow passes by, thrown off-balance by Leon's movement. The second receives Kagezashi through its chest—a quick draw, throw, and retrieval before it can dissolve.
Flow. Everything flows.
Combat becomes dance. Leon moves through monsters like water through stones—never stopping, never clashing directly, always redirecting, always flowing to the path of least resistance.
His [Battle Clarity] skill reads attack patterns instantly. His [Unwavering Foundation] keeps him calm despite multiple opponents. His Qi Control makes every movement efficient, every strike lethal.
By evening of the fourth day, Leon's cleared a significant portion of floor five. His pack is heavy with magic stones. His equipment shows wear but no damage—Hephaestus's craftsmanship proving its worth.
But he's sustained injuries. Claws that got too close, opening shallow cuts on his arms. A tail strike that caught his ribs, leaving bruises. Nothing serious, but accumulating.
Leon finds a defensible alcove and rests. He channels Qi internally, directing it to his injuries. The healing energy flows through damaged tissue, accelerating recovery. The cuts close visibly over the next hour, bruises fading from purple to yellow.
Sustainable. I can maintain this pace.
He eats dried meat infused with Qi during his morning preparation, drinks water, meditates to restore his energy reserves.
Then continues deeper.
Day 5-7: Refinement
Floors seven and eight introduce new challenges.
Dungeon Lizards here are bigger—six feet tall, heavily muscled, moving with disturbing coordination. Armored Beetles with shells that deflect normal strikes. Needle Rabbits that move in swarms, their speed making them difficult targets.
Leon adapts.
Against Armored Beetles, he learns to target joints—the gaps in their natural armor where Tsukikage can penetrate. Against Needle Rabbits, he uses area control—Qi-enhanced sweeping strikes that create shockwaves, disrupting their swarm tactics.
But the real refinement happens in his breathing.
In his past life, Leon mastered breath control—using respiration to regulate energy, calm the mind, enhance physical performance. In this life, with Qi as a tangible resource, breath becomes even more important.
He discovers a rhythm.
Inhale—draw Qi from his core, circulate it through channels.
Exhale—release Qi into his weapon or body as needed.
Strike during exhale—maximum power.
Defend during inhale—maximum recovery.
The pattern becomes automatic. Breathing and Qi flow synchronize completely. Leon's efficiency improves dramatically—he can maintain enhanced strikes twice as long, recover depleted reserves faster.
Combat becomes meditation in motion.
Between fights, Leon sits in meditation, stabilizing body and mind. The Dungeon's pressure no longer bothers him. The constant spawn rate becomes predictable. He settles into a sustainable rhythm—fight, rest, fight, rest.
By day seven, floor eight feels routine.
His Qi control has reached a new level. The energy flows as naturally as blood, responding instantly to his will. Weapon enhancement is effortless. Movement enhancement is automatic. Even the healing application happens almost subconsciously when he sustains minor injuries.
This is what I sought. The perfect fusion of past life knowledge and this world's power.
Leon camps that night in a secure corner, eating Qi-infused food, performing extended meditation. His body is tired but strong. His mind is clear, focused.
Tomorrow, he'll attempt floors nine and ten.
The deepest he's ever gone.
Day 8-10: The Depths
Floor nine feels different the moment Leon descends.
The pressure isn't just physical anymore—it's spiritual. Like the Dungeon itself is aware, watching, testing. The air carries a weight that presses against consciousness as much as the body.
This is where Level 1 adventurers usually stop.
The monsters here are qualitatively different. They move with purpose, show tactical awareness, adapt to his fighting style. Dungeon Lizards fight in coordinated pairs. Armored Beetles use defensive formations. Even War Shadows demonstrate pack tactics.
Leon's first real challenge comes on day nine.
Three Dungeon Lizards, moving in perfect coordination. One charges directly while the other two flank. Classic pincer attack.
Leon channels Qi through both feet and explodes forward—not retreating, but advancing through the center. The charging lizard doesn't expect forward momentum. Leon's Qi-enhanced speed carries him past its attack range.
He spins mid-movement, Tsukikage cutting the lizard's leg tendon. It collapses.
The flanking lizards adjust, converging on his new position. Leon flows between them, using circular footwork to stay in their blind spots. Kagezashi finds the first one's throat. Tsukikage removes the second one's head.
All three dead in under ten seconds.
Good. But exhausting.
The constant high-level Qi usage is draining. Leon's reserves deplete faster on floor nine. He has to rest more frequently, meditate longer, eat more of his Qi-infused provisions.
But he's learning. Refining. Growing stronger with every fight.
Floor ten is heavier still.
The monsters here are approaching Level 2 strength. Leon has to use burst Qi enhancement just to compete—channeling large amounts of energy into single devastating strikes.
Then, on day ten, he encounters it.
The Minotaur.
Not a full adult—those don't spawn until the middle floors. But a juvenile variant, still seven feet tall, massively muscled, carrying a bone club as thick as Leon's torso.
The creature's eyes lock onto him. It bellows—a sound that shakes the walls—and charges.
Leon fires Qi-enhanced arrows. They pierce the Minotaur's hide but barely slow it. The creature tanks three shots and keeps coming.
Close combat. No choice.
Leon sheathes his bow and draws both blades. Tsukikage in his right hand, Kagezashi in his left. He channels Qi through both weapons until they glow like captured sunlight.
The Minotaur swings its club.
Leon uses Qi footwork to dodge—a burst of speed that carries him past the blow. The club strikes where he was standing, cratering the stone floor.
He counterattacks—twin slashes targeting the creature's legs. Tsukikage bites deep, cutting muscle. Kagezashi follows, severing tendons.
The Minotaur stumbles but doesn't fall. It backhands Leon, the massive fist catching his shoulder despite his attempt to dodge.
The impact sends Leon flying. He hits a wall, ribs screaming. Pain floods his system.
Not good. Not good at all.
The Minotaur charges again, limping but still deadly. Leon rolls aside, the creature's fist pulverizing stone where his head was.
Need to end this. One decisive strike.
Leon gathers Qi—not flowing it outward, but compressing it. Channeling everything he has into a single point. His entire reserve, focused into Tsukikage's blade.
The sword glows white-hot. Energy crackles along its edge, barely contained.
The Minotaur turns, raising its club for a finishing blow.
Leon moves.
Qi-enhanced footwork carries him forward faster than the eye can track. He's inside the creature's guard before it can react. Tsukikage thrusts upward—enhanced by every ounce of power Leon possesses.
The blade punches through the Minotaur's chest and out its back.
The creature's eyes widen. It tries to swing, but Leon twists the blade. The compressed Qi explodes outward from inside the Minotaur's body.
The shockwave is visible—a pulse of golden light that erupts from the wound. The Minotaur's chest cavity detonates. It collapses, dissolving into ash before it hits the ground.
Leon drops to one knee, gasping. His Qi reserves are completely depleted. His shoulder throbs where the backhand connected. His entire body shakes from exhaustion.
But he's alive.
And in the ash, among the normal magic stones, something else glows. A drop item—rare, valuable. A Minotaur horn fragment, small but perfectly formed.
Leon pockets it carefully, then finds a secure corner.
He needs to rest. Recover. Prepare for the journey back.
Mission complete. I reached floor ten. Defeated a mini-boss. Proved I'm ready for the middle floors.
But he knows he can't go deeper. Not this time. His supplies are running low, his body is battered, his Qi reserves need serious recovery time.
Time to return.
Leon camps one final night on floor ten, meditating deeply, letting his healing Qi work on his injuries. By morning, he's functional—not fully recovered, but capable of making the journey back.
Day 11: Ascent
The return journey is harder than the descent.
Leon's exhausted—physically and mentally. His Qi reserves are low from the Minotaur fight. Every muscle aches. His shoulder is still tender despite healing enhancement.
But he moves with discipline, taking no unnecessary risks.
When monsters appear, he avoids them if possible. When avoidance isn't possible, he uses minimal Qi—just enough to ensure quick kills without waste.
Floor by floor, he ascends.
Ten to nine. Nine to eight. Eight to seven.
Each floor feels easier as he climbs—less pressure, weaker monsters, familiar territory.
By the time he reaches floor five, Leon allows himself a moment of reflection.
Eleven days. Floors one through ten. Multiple injuries survived. A mini-boss defeated. Growth achieved.
But also: Alone the entire time. No backup. No support. One serious mistake would have meant death.
The thought follows him as he continues climbing.
Floor four. Floor three. Floor two. Floor one.
By evening of the eleventh day, Leon emerges from Babel Tower into the fading sunlight of Orario.
The evening air feels impossibly clean after eleven days of dungeon atmosphere. The sounds of the city—merchants, craftsmen, adventurers—are almost overwhelming after so much silence.
Leon stands at the tower's entrance, blinking in the light, adjusting to the surface world again.
I survived. I succeeded.
But as he looks at the crowded streets, watching parties of adventurers return together—laughing, supporting each other, sharing the burden—something shifts in his thinking.
I did this alone. But should I have?
The question follows him as he walks toward home, pack heavy with loot, body aching but alive, mind already turning toward the future.