Three months later, Dungeon Level 76...
This was the deep within the Deep Floors, and the terrain here had become truly treacherous.
Starting from Level 65, everything had shifted into a completely different world compared to the floors above.
If everything up to Level 64 had felt like pleasant spring weather, then from Level 65 onward the Dungeon had turned into a frozen wasteland. A biting chill blanketed the entire floor, seeping into every corner of the region it had consumed.
The ground had become thick, slippery permafrost that made it difficult even to stand.
The walls had been eroded by the cold as well, transformed entirely into gleaming ice.
Within this frost-dominated zone, the temperature dropped sharply. The sky itself produced freezing rain, hail, and drifting snow—phenomena never seen on the earlier floors.
The deeper one descended, the more clearly the Dungeon's malice toward adventurers revealed itself. This pervasive, bone-deep cold was already proof of its absolute hostility.
Everyone knew that places subjected to such extreme, constant cold rarely supported much life.
Yet the Dungeon was an exception.
While most creatures struggled to survive in such an environment, those that could endure it were far stronger than anything found elsewhere.
The Frost Lizardmen were one such species. Their backs were covered in blue scales, while only their underbellies remained soft, packed with fat and stored energy—enough to keep them from freezing even in this permafrost world.
Unlike ordinary lizards, these lizardfolk stood upright on two legs and skillfully wielded weapons such as spears and throwing darts.
They also possessed the typical lizard abilities of camouflage and long, sticky tongues.
In this snowy, icy domain, their camouflage made them even harder to detect, allowing them to blend seamlessly into the terrain.
Their tongues could lash out so quickly that they pierced steel with ease. Once a Lizardman melded into the background, its tongue would be aimed straight at an adventurer's back.
Even the strongest adventurer wouldn't survive having their heart pierced clean through.
Unlike ordinary lizards, they also had the ability to manipulate cold, condensing it into ice orbs they spat from their mouths.
The range was short, but getting hit meant instant frostbite on any part it touched. Even if the shot missed and struck the ground instead, it would cause a sudden eruption of ice spikes, expanding the attack area in an instant.
Those rising ice spikes couldn't freeze a person immediately, but they were still extremely dangerous. They looked brittle, yet were incredibly hard—especially on a floor enveloped in this unnatural cold. Piercing steel was trivial for them, making ordinary armor almost useless.
In fact, wearing a few extra layers of thick cotton might offer better protection than metal.
Besides the Ice Lizardmen, another species thrived here: the Dragonkind.
Only beings with exceptional cold resistance and overwhelming vitality like the Dragonkind could survive alongside the Lizardmen in this frozen domain.
Unlike werewolves—wolves with humanoid bodies—Dragonkin were an entirely different type of existence.
Dragonkin looked like humans covered in a draconic outer shell. Not a single part of their bodies resembled a normal human's; the only similarity was that they stood upright.
The dragonkin's entire body was wrapped in azure-blue scales, leaving almost no weak points.
Its hands and feet were like dragon claws, capable of tearing through steel—or an adventurer's flesh—with ease.
Standing three meters tall, its heavily muscled body resembled a compact giant, granting the dragonkin overwhelming strength, endurance, and defense.
Its raw power was no weaker than the 17th-floor resident Lamia, and its speed rivaled the Iguazu on the 23rd floor.
Its dragon-like face showed rows of teeth sharp enough to rip apart anything, and faint sparks flickered in its breath.
Dragonkin excel at wielding fire. With just one deep breath, they could gather enough dragon breath to melt even metal of extreme hardness into molten iron.
In short, dragonkin were exceptionally dangerous and troublesome monsters.
Their superhuman physical abilities and natural armor put them at an advantage against any adventurer. The dragon scales covering their bodies granted them tremendous innate magic resistance; even mages struggled to break through their outer defenses.
Because of this, a dragonkin was practically as troublesome as a miniature Floor Boss.
"Clang!"
Ais drove the Desperate into the dragonkin's chest. Its astonishing piercing power even punctured the creature's scales, and blue blood seeped from the wound.
But the blood froze almost instantly in the extreme cold, stopping the flow on its own.
Still, no hint of satisfaction showed on Ais's face beneath her windbreaker and layers of padding. She was already struggling to pull the sword free.
The dragonkin's twisted expression, on the other hand, was filled with excitement.
"ROAR!!!"
Completely ignoring the gash in its chest, it swung its right claw straight at the human before it.
Its speed was so extreme that the air cracked with the sound of a sonic boom.
Ais immediately released the Desperate, but abandoning her weapon didn't mean abandoning her attack.
She burst forward, twisting her body to its limit to slip past the sweeping claw with a razor-thin margin.
And in that instant, she caught her opening.
"Bang!"
Her foot snapped upward and smashed into the dragonkin's jaw. Using the momentum, she kicked off the guard of the Desperate with her other foot, forcibly wrenching the weapon out of the dragonkin's chest and back into the air.
"Bang!"
The dragonkin reacted quickly, both hands slamming down toward its own heart.
But Ais had already anticipated the counterattack. The moment she sensed its reaction, she dodged, retreating with lightning speed.
As she fell back, her hand caught the spinning Desperate. Her boots planted firmly on the frozen ground, she reset her stance, ready for the dragonkin's next charge at any moment.
Though the dragonkin had a wound in its chest, it felt no pain at all.
The frozen injury trapped every drop of blood, not letting any escape.
For the dragonkin, this environment was perfect.
Ordinary wounds couldn't shake it; only a truly fatal blow could threaten a dragonkin's life.
But for adventurers, this kind of environment was a nightmare.
In the freezing cold, every burst of movement drained precious body heat. If a fight dragged on, any adventurer's life would be at risk.
For the dragonkin, this battlefield was advantageous. For Ais, it was practically the worst terrain she could be forced to fight in.