Airen's fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword as the laughter swelled around him.
What he'd first taken for silent, lifeless treasure chests now stood upright on squat legs, lids gaping to reveal jagged rows of teeth. Dozens—no, a full hundred and one of them—ringed him in a crooked semicircle, their wooden grins stretched wide like carved masks.
The white-stone walls threw long, warped shadows across the floor, as though the room itself leaned in to watch. A cold, sourceless light gleamed on polished wood and slick fangs.
Airen exhaled slowly, steadying his pulse. "Figures. Way too easy to be real."
One mimic hopped forward, claws scraping stone, its maw dripping thick saliva that hissed when it struck the ground. More followed, shifting in jerky motions, their laughter turning into a chorus of creaks and hungry growls.
[There are a total of 101 chest monsters here.]
Airen arched a brow. "That's… a lot."
[They're weak. You can finish them with ease.]
"Is that so?" His lips curved into a faint smirk.
The mimics surged, completing their circle around him until there was nowhere left to back away.
Airen moved first.
With a single breath, he pivoted, sword flashing in a wide arc. Four mimics split cleanly in half, their halves crashing to the stone. But even as their limbs scattered, the broken bodies twitched—claws scraping, jaws gnashing—crawling toward him.
"Tough shells," he muttered. "Fine. I'll go for the core."
He blurred into motion, a storm of steel and movement. A heel slammed into one mimic's side, launching it into another. His elbow drove down through a third, shattering its lid. He slashed low, severing legs, then spun, blade humming through the air.
Every strike flowed into the next—kicks, punches, sweeps, and precise cuts—an effortless rhythm that left splinters and ichor raining across the chamber. Mimics tried to grab him even as their claws were hacked away, but Airen's footwork stayed sharp, his sword an extension of his will.
He vaulted over a lunging chest, planted a boot on its back, and drove his blade straight through its body. The monster convulsed once, then lay still—the core inside its chest shattered like glass. One by one, he crushed that vital point, until the laughter faded to silence and the room smelled of splintered wood and cold resin.
Airen flicked his blade, scattering droplets of black sap. "Too easy."
A pale blue panel shimmered into view:
[Experience Gained: 15,150,000]
[Points Gained: 151,500,000]
[Level Up! — Current Level: 49]
Airen's eyes gleamed, a trace of greed curling his lips. "Now… time for the reward."
At the far end of the hall, a single ornate chest sat waiting, gold fittings glinting in the faint light. He strode over, anticipation bright in his gaze, and threw the lid open.
Empty.
Airen froze. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and his brows drew low as he stared into the vacant interior. A memory flickered of how hard he'd hit some of the mimics—their bodies torn to scraps under his strikes—and his expression darkened.
"To the system," he said flatly, "why is there nothing?"
[Rewards are entirely random. I have no data on their contents.]
Airen clicked his tongue. "Tsk. Figures."
He cast one last glance at the splintered corpses strewn across the chamber. Well, at least they'll sell for something, he thought.
Moving briskly, he stored the intact remains. "Seventy-nine bodies collected," he murmured. "The rest… completely ruined."
With the room clear and his pack heavier, Airen turned toward the stairway descending deeper into the dungeon.
"Next floor," he said, voice calm but laced with anticipation.
He descended, each step echoing softly against the stone.
Fourth floor, he thought, already planning his route.
But when his boots touched the final step, he froze.
Before him stretched an open world that shouldn't exist underground: an island of lush emerald trees under a vast, cloudless sky. Sunlight glittered on an endless ocean that wrapped the land in a bright, silent embrace. A warm breeze stirred the branches, carrying the faint scent of salt.
Airen's eyes widened. For a heartbeat he simply stared, caught between awe and disbelief. "What the… I was in a dungeon a moment ago."
[You are still inside the Underground Dungeon. This is its fourth floor. The 'floor' itself is a sealed space containing this island and the surrounding ocean.]
His brows knit, lips parting slightly as he tried to process the explanation.
"So… still a dungeon," he muttered, face blank with confusion.
[As you progress deeper, each floor grows more complex. Beyond the third level, the dungeon begins shaping entire dimensions. Though it looks like another world, this is still the fourth floor.]
Airen exhaled through his nose. "Huh. A dungeon that builds its own pocket worlds… nice."
He glanced toward the forested interior. "How do I clear it?"
[Eliminate every monster within this space. Once the enemies are destroyed, the floor will collapse and you'll return to the dungeon's main structure.]
"Straightforward enough," Airen said, adjusting the strap of his pack. He stepped off the stone platform and onto soft grass, moving cautiously between the trees.
The air grew still as he entered the shade of the forest. He frowned. "What kind of monsters are we talking abou—"
A sharp whistle split the air.
Instinct flared. Airen tilted his head a fraction, and an arrow streaked past, close enough for its feathers to brush his hair. He rolled a shoulder, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, and scanned the canopy.
Perched high among the branches was a small, green-skinned creature. Its body was wiry, muscles taut beneath mottled leather scraps. Beady yellow eyes glimmered above a hooked nose, and its jagged ears twitched as it drew another arrow across a crude bowstring.
[It is a Goblin.]
Airen's gaze flicked around—and his pulse quickened.
Every tree surrounding him held more of the creatures. Dozens of goblins crouched on branches, bows trained on his head, their grins sharp and feral.
"Figures," Airen said under his breath, lips quirking into a cool smile as he shifted his stance, ready for whatever came next.