Leaving the side chamber through a connecting passage, Leon emerged back onto the main route.
If anything, returning to the standard path made him more alert, not less. He cranked his vigilance to maximum.
This was ironclad doctrine, paid for in blood by countless adventurers before him. Every rule in the Adventurer's Handbook had a body count behind it. The handbook's reputation was near-perfect, and for good reason: not many people survived long enough to leave a bad review.
That said, Leon also knew better than to treat it as gospel. Blind dogma got people killed just as fast.
There was a running joke among dungeon veterans: the Dungeon's malice will always find new ways to redefine what you think "unknown" means.
How else did Irregulars happen?
Fwssh...
A gust of killing intent lanced down from his upper left.
His heart lurched. He threw himself into a diving roll without thinking.
Crack!
Stone chips sprayed across the corridor. Where he'd been standing a half-second ago, the ground was shredded by razor claws. Leon spat grit from his mouth, eyes narrowing.
He didn't bother identifying the attacker first. Cloak whipping behind him, his right arm was already up, magic surging.
"Scorch!"
Two-thirds of a second charge.
FWOOM...
The Dungeon Lizard vanished inside a shell of flame. The stench of charring meat filled the air instantly.
"Son of a..." Leon swatted dust off his clothes, muttering curses as he got to his feet.
If you asked adventurers which upper-floor monster they hated most, the Dungeon Lizard would win by a landslide.
These tea-brown bastards were as long as a grown man, clinging soundlessly to walls and ceilings, their coloring blending perfectly with the stone. Patient as spiders, they waited for their prey's guard to drop, then struck without warning.
Ask any rookie where they got their first scar in the Dungeon, and odds were good it came from one of these things. Leon was no exception. His first encounter had left him scrambling across the floor in a panic, barely escaping with his skin intact.
That was the day he'd first felt the Dungeon's raw contempt for the people who walked its halls.
"And the damn thing was still chasing me after that."
He dug out the Magic Stone with practiced hands, grumbling internally.
If I had some kind of perception-boosting ability, at least this hundred-times-over Mind pool would have more practical use.
Shaking it off, he dealt with a handful of Imps, Goblins, and Kobolds along the way and soon reached the connecting passage to Floor 6.
Semi-natural stone steps descended into darkness, wide enough for several people to walk abreast. Leon paused to catch his breath and pulled out his monster compendium, reviewing the new Floor 6 species one more time: traits, attack patterns, weak points. A swig of water, a deep breath, and he stepped into deeper territory.
...
Floor 6. Still classified as the Dungeon's upper levels, but firmly in the middle stretch by floor count.
According to the Adventurer's Handbook and Guild standards, Floors 1 through 4 were the training grounds for fresh recruits whose Basic Abilities sat in the I-to-H range. That was the baseline for ordinary newcomers, of course. Outliers didn't count.
Floors 5 through 7 were recommended for adventurers in the G-to-F range. Reaching those numbers meant you'd accumulated real experience, developed actual technique, and learned the Dungeon's rules well enough to have a margin for error.
Leon's stats had cleared that bar a while ago. He'd stuck to Floors 4 and 5 purely out of caution. One life, no respawns, and he had no intention of losing it to something stupid. But now, with Scorch giving him ranged firepower, his safety margin had expanded considerably. Time to push the envelope.
The passage opened up, and the environment shifted. The yellowish ambient glow of the upper floors gave way to something colder, dimmer. The tunnels and chambers on Floor 6 were noticeably wider than anything above, the overall footprint larger by a significant margin.
Common knowledge: the Dungeon was shaped like a pyramid. The deeper you went, the vaster it became.
"Let's do this."
Leon tightened his grip on the short sword, senses dialed to their limit, and advanced carefully.
The deeper he pushed, the more it felt like the Dungeon had sensed a newcomer on its floor and decided to throw a welcome party.
Grrrrrrrr...
His feet froze mid-step. The walls on both sides split open, and a swarm of monsters clawed their way free, filling the passage ahead.
"One, two, three..."
"Seven. All War Shadows." His mouth twitched. "Really? Rolling out the red carpet on my first visit? I'm flattered."
He adjusted his weapon grip and snapped into a combat stance, right hand loose at his side, magic coiling and ready.
War Shadows. Matches the handbook description. Essentially living shadows, pitch-black head to toe, roughly 160 centimeters tall, bipedal. Cross-shaped heads with a circular mirror-like component embedded in the center.
Main threat: three hooked claws on each wrist. Close-range melee fighters. The hooks actually limit their reach, which works in my favor.
Slower than Goblins. Maintain at least five meters of distance for safe engagement. Getting clawed means burning potions and repair costs, and that adds up fast.
Analysis complete. Decision made.
Hit first, hit hard.
The War Shadows had barely touched down, still finding their footing, when Leon's spell was already flying.
"Scorch!"
A third of a second. That was all he needed.
FWOOM...
The targeted War Shadow didn't even manage a scream. It evaporated into a wisp of black smoke, leaving nothing but a scatter of ash.
Not flesh and blood. Interesting way to die. The thought flickered through his mind.
"Scorch!"
Two of their number gone in seconds. The remaining War Shadows went berserk. They could feel the threat radiating off this man. The mirror-faces on their cross-shaped heads flashed crimson. Wrist-claws snapped out with a metallic shing, and all five launched themselves at Leon like arrows off the string.
"Oh? That's faster than expected."
One eyebrow rose. He didn't hesitate. Immediate retreat.
On the move, he held his rhythm. Right arm steady, raised. Charge, lock, release. Run. Charge, lock, release. Run.
"Scorch! Scorch! Scorch!"
Fire bloomed across the charging shadows in rapid succession. In the span of a few heartbeats, seven had become two.
Leon pivoted, dropped low, and let his momentum carry him into a slide. Feet shifted, and he was facing the oncoming monsters, arm already rising.
Sizzzzz...
BOOM.
Flame swallowed the target. The blast lit his calm features in orange and red.
"Last one. Let's see what you've got up close."
He flicked the short sword out and charged to meet it.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Steel met hooked claw in a violent exchange, the shriek of metal ringing through the corridor.
Strength is mediocre. Agility and Dexterity are above mine, but its Endurance is rock-bottom, and the Magic Stone is a fatal weak point.
Overall potential is nothing special. But those claws are a serious problem. Fast, vicious, and they come from tricky angles. I can see why they call these things rookie killers.
A few exchanges in, and Leon felt a prickle of genuine concern. The claws were wickedly sharp, blindingly quick, and struck from angles that were hard to read. One lapse in focus and he'd be looking at a serious wound.
No wonder the War Shadow Finger Blade drop sells for 50,000 valis. These claws are no joke.
He deflected a savage swipe, rode the impact back half a step, and brought his right arm up, palm out.
"Game over."
"Scorch!"
...
Crunch.
Leather boots crossed the blackened ash on the floor, leaving crisp footprints.
Battlefield cleared, Magic Stones collected, Leon squeezed his waterskin and let his thoughts wander.
Seven War Shadows with stats roughly on par with mine, and I just... handled them. Without breaking a sweat. Without Scorch, that would've been a brutal slugfest. I'd have burned through potions, taken gear damage, and if none of them dropped materials? The expenses would've eaten the profits alive. I'd have walked away in the red.
He clicked his tongue. No wonder the exploration-focused familias were always crying poverty. Without lucky drops, the base income from Magic Stones alone was barely enough to keep the lights on. Anyone would crack under that math.
A long drink of water. The grin was getting hard to suppress.
"Now that's what I'm talking about."