One week later. Floor 4.
[Current Stack: 52 Common Fragments. 3 Rare Fragments. 1 Boss Chest.] [Current Multiplier: 140%] [Warning: Physical capacity at 85%. Vault Pressure is reaching critical mass.]
Yuto's vision was blurring at the edges. His Stigma wasn't just glowing anymore; it was leaking an ominous crimson mist. Every step he took in the ruined tunnels felt like he was walking underwater. The sheer weight of his hoarded, unspent stats was crushing his organs.
He was leaning heavily against a concrete pillar, trying to catch his breath, when the wall fifty meters ahead of him exploded.
A massive, three-meter-tall Scrap-Oni—a beast grafted with rusted subway steel—roared into the tunnel. But Yuto wasn't looking at the monster. He was looking at the girl who had just been thrown through the concrete by it.
She wore a pristine white kimono, heavily contrasted by the scuffed, high-tech katana in her hands. She hit the ground hard, coughing up a spatter of blood.
Ayase. Yuto recognized her immediately. She was the rising star of the remaining Yakuza-Samurai faction, the only group that ever tried to protect the Ash-Tribes from the Ouroboros Guild. What was a Floor 10 prodigy doing down here?
The Oni raised a massive, hydraulic fist to crush her. Ayase squeezed her eyes shut, her mana completely drained.
Yuto's finger hovered over his interface. [Claim All?] If he clicked it, the fused power of 50+ vaulted fragments would instantly blast him into the upper echelons of power. He could obliterate the Oni in a single punch.
But as he looked at the glowing interface, the compound timer ticked over to a new day. The multiplier jumped to 145%.
If I blow the vault on a random elite mob, I waste the potential, Yuto calculated. The greed won.
Instead of hitting 'Claim', Yuto gripped his rusty iron pipe. Relying purely on the bizarre, heavy density of his unspent stats acting as a physical anchor, he sprinted forward, diving directly between the Oni and the swordswoman.