End of Dungeon Floor One.
A colossal chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. The stone walls, carved with ancient runes, are covered in moss. The air reeks of blood, mingled with growls and dying screams.
"UWAAAA!!!"
A scream tears through the chaos, joining the bestial roars of Orcs to form a cacophony—a deadly orchestra where survival and death are decided with every breath.
The human frontline is collapsing. Soldiers are being pushed back, their formations shredded. Cries of "Catch him!", "Carry him!", and "He's down!" ring out like funeral drums.
A trio of soldiers stand in a defensive circle, gripping their spears tightly. Sweat runs down their dirt- and blood-streaked faces. In front of them, three Orcs—levels 18–20—charge like wild beasts.
"THRUST!!" one soldier shouts.
Three spears strike out. One Orc is hit square in the gut but doesn't fall. It swings its axe down wildly. A spear snaps. One soldier is flung against the wall, blood arcing through the air.
"DIE!!" another roars, drawing a short sword from his hip and stabbing the Orc in the throat. Black blood sprays. But from his blind spot, another Orc lunges and hacks at his leg.
"AAAARGHH!!"
He collapses, clutching his severed limb. The last of the three stands trembling, throwing his broken spear in desperation.
A hopeless throw. The soldier stares up in despair.
Then—
A radiant sword cleaves down like lightning. The Orc's head flies, black blood splashing on the soldier's face.
It's Celestia.
"Fall back to the second line!" she commands. The soldier nods frantically and is carried off.
Further away, near the main gate, a squad of ten fights to keep the hallway clear for the wounded to retreat.
"V-formation!" a commander yells, severing an Orc's arm.
These are low-level Orcs, level 10 to 15—but far too many. For every one they kill, two more take its place. Blood, shattered armor, and moans flood the corridor.
A squad leader takes an axe to the chest.
"GHK...!!"
His armor fails to stop the blow. The steel splits like tin, his chest cleaved open. He falls without a word, but the troops behind him shout and surge forward like machines defying death.
"Hold the line! Don't let those bastards break through!"
"KILL THEM!!"
An Orc pounces, jaws open to bite a soldier's head. But Anatolia appears like a shadow. Her sword spins in a deadly arc, slicing the Orc's neck artery with a single twist.
In the chaos, two Level 30 Leader Orcs rampage through the lines. The human defense collapses, pushed into three directions.
BOOM!!!
An axe swings like a thunderclap. A soldier is flung like a ragdoll, chest armor shattered, blood gushing.
"The formation's broken! We can't hold them!!"
Amidst the confusion, the two Leader Orcs crush the frontline like living storms. Each step shakes the ground. Each swing of their axes takes lives.
But then—a white flash slices through the smoke.
Celestia, bloodstained armor gleaming, appears like lightning.
"[Variable Speed]!!"
Her body blurs from the burst of speed. In an instant, she closes in on a Leader Orc. Her longsword slashes upward from its side to chest—a lightning-fast strike that would kill any normal Orc.
CLANG!!!
The giant axe blocks the blow, sparks flying. The counterforce sends Celestia flipping through the air. She lands on one knee, blood at her lips.
"...Its skin is like black steel."
The Orc roars and charges like a war machine. Celestia tightens her grip.
"Come on."
She rises, her steps steady, like walking to a sacrificial altar. Magic light gathers around her.
---
On the left, a soldier cries out as the second Leader Orc rushes in—but Anatolia darts forward like a shadow.
"Fall back. I'll handle this."
No emotion in her voice.
No one believes she can hold back a monster twice her size, weight of a carriage, and raging mad. But she doesn't wait for belief.
The Orc swings its hammer sideways.
Anatolia ducks, rolls, and counters with two swift stabs to its leg. Blood spurts—not much, but enough to make it falter.
WHAM!!
The hammer crashes where she had stood. Stone shatters.
"Not fast... enough." She grits her teeth. Her legs are giving out. Every dodge, every strike is a dance with death.
At the center, Celestia shouts:
"[Goddess Prayer]!!!"
White light bursts from her body like dawn piercing bloody fog. Her eyes glow golden. [Goddess Prayer]—a unique skill that temporarily boosts all stats. Her mana drops by over half instantly. Then she adds more buffs: "[Variable Speed], [Muscle Strength]!"
Speed, power, divine might converge.
She charges, her sword trailing a brilliant arc. The Orc swings to block—but it's too slow.
SLASH!!
Her blade cuts from shoulder to waist. Black blood sprays. The monster roars and crashes down like a fallen tree.
She doesn't look back.
"One more."
On the other side, Anatolia staggers.
Seven stabs given. Eight times nearly died.
Wounds on arms and legs. Each breath is a battle. Yet her eyes still burn.
"If I fall now... I die."
She knows the gap between her and the Orc is insurmountable. But if she retreats, every soldier behind her will die.
No magic. No skills. Only speed, instincts, and a sword that saved her countless times. But now, against an Orc built for brutality, her legs are faltering.
Celestia approaches, her shadow stretching across blood-soaked ground.
Anatolia stands, a lone figure facing a roaring monster.
"You hold him." Celestia says.
"Got it." Anatolia nods.
Then, like a second storm, Celestia strikes. No warning. Her sword slices the air, plunging into the Orc's neck. She follows with a thrust to its chest—right where Anatolia had weakened the armor.
The Orc lets out a final roar—and collapses. Nightmare shattered by human resolve.
The two Leader Orcs lie dead. Dark blood pools around them. Bodies and monsters litter the field. The stench of iron and death hangs heavy.
Celestia pulls her sword free, blood dripping.
Anatolia kneels, gasping. Her blade chipped. Hands trembling. Blood pouring from her shoulder. Yet her eyes blaze with fighting spirit.
Celestia approaches, silent.
"...You could've died." Her tone is cold, but no longer harsh.
Anatolia looks up. No excuse. Just a firm gaze.
Celestia studies her. Then—unexpectedly—offers a hand.
"Get up. Warriors don't kneel after battle."
Anatolia blinks. Then grabs the hand. A strong, resolute grip.
Behind them, soldiers shout:
"Captain! The corridor's clear!"
"We've recovered the Orcs' equipment!"
"Eight dead from support, fourteen from frontline..."
Celestia turns, eyes sharp as blades.
"Check the Orcs' bodies. Gather every item. Not a single ore or ring left behind."
She turns to a soldier:
"You! Rally the team. Wounded get healed. Others help prep for the next stage."
"Yes, Captain!"
Anatolia watches as Celestia commands the weary troops without hesitation. Her calm presence—a pillar of stability amid a nightmare.
Celestia speaks without looking at her:
"You're a free soldier. No unit, right?"
"...Yes."
"From now on, you're with my team. Survive Floor Two, and I'll request your recruitment personally."
Anatolia frowns, lips parting in protest—but she nods.
"Understood."
Celestia walks past her, leaving one sentence:
"A warrior fights with comrades. Alone—you're just reckless."
Minutes later.
The team regroups. Survivors bandaged. The dead lined outside—awaiting retrieval, or abandonment if the next floor proves fatal.
Celestia stands before a massive stone door to Floor Two, carved with ancient script—now glowing after the two Leader Orcs' deaths.
Without looking back, she says:
"Twenty-two died today so we could move forward."
Silence.
"If you want to quit, do it now. If your sword's drawn, don't expect to turn back."
Everyone nods.
Celestia raises her hand.
"Enter Floor Two."
The gate rumbles like an underground roar. Pale green light shines on weary but determined faces.
The journey continues.
---
Scene: The Devastated Tomb.
In stark contrast to Celestia's chaos, a nightmarish scene unfolds elsewhere.
Dozens of Level 40 Bloodsuckers lie maimed, limbs torn, wailing in madness. Blood pools on the cold stone floor, painting a scene of utter carnage.
At the center—King Bloodsucker, Level 50. The supposed invincible boss, now reduced to a pale corpse. Limbs ripped, eyes lifeless like a soulless doll.
THUD!
Its severed arm lands like trash.
The one who caused it all stands there—a hulking primordial being with a skull for a face. Two black eye sockets stare down with soulless precision.
Without pity, it stomps.
BOOM!
The King Bloodsucker's skull shatters instantly.
The creature mumbles, seemingly dissatisfied.
Moments later, the monstrous form shrinks. Ash covers it, giving way to the familiar figure of Gen—a man with terrifying power. A notification appears:
[Notice: Completed.] [Notice: Leave now?] [Accept] / [Decline]
Gen doesn't choose. He surveys the still-writhing Level 40 Bloodsuckers.
"Not done yet."
He smirks—and charges like a death storm. Each slash precise, each cut lethal.
[Level Up!] [Level Up!] [Level Up!]...
Notifications rain like war drums. Gen becomes a machine of death, leaving no monster alive. When it ends, he stands amidst the carnage, breathing in satisfaction.
Glittering loot surrounds him—rare items and gold. He grins.
The massacre is over, yet his eyes burn with desire, as if it was only the beginning.
He opens his status window.
Gained 26 levels. A satisfied gleam in his eye. His lips curl—a cold breeze across a bloody battlefield.
He glances toward where the King Bloodsucker died, hoping for a worthy drop. But what he sees shocks him.
Not treasure—but a naked girl lying motionless.
Closer inspection eases his alarm.
"So... just a doll."
Indeed, the "girl" is an exquisitely crafted doll—jet-black hair, porcelain skin. Almost lifelike. But the situation remains bizarre.
"Loli... Dolly?"
He reads the inscription aloud. This is the drop from the King Bloodsucker. But it lies still, eyes shut like a soulless masterpiece.
He nudges it with his toe.
"Wake up."
No response.
Frowning, he channels mana into it. A prompt appears:
[Activate Loli Dolly?] [Accept] / [Decline]
Without hesitation, he selects [Accept].
The doll opens its eyes. Empty, emotionless. It stands with perfect mechanical grace. Level 1 displayed overhead.
"Will you obey me?"
No reply.
"Can you speak?"
Still silent. His irritation builds.
"Don't test my patience."
He considers smashing it—but gives it a task instead:
"Pick up all items."
The doll moves. No protest. It walks exactly where directed, movements smooth and efficient. Soon, it returns.
Seeing its exposed body, he frowns.
"Where's the loot?"
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Suddenly, metal clatters. Items rain down—swords, rings, cloaks, gear. He flinches—then grins.
"So you're more than a doll..."
Eyes gleam in delight. This thing is more useful than expected.
Unbeknownst to him, Loli Dolly is both a warrior doll and mobile item storage.
He inspects the loot.
"Now... time to gear up."
He smiles.
He loves this world to death.