Note: The Skill Is BloodHound Step not Hound Step my fault
(***)
When you run into a mob, what do you do?
Simple answer: Bloodhound Step. Bloodhound Step. Bloodhound Step.
In the game, this skill was already strong. But here, in this world? It was utterly broken—because it really did grant true invincibility frames.
The Infested Barbarian's massive club whistled through the air and came crashing down like a falling boulder.
Stella reacted instantly, triggering Bloodhound Step. Her figure blinked out of existence—and reappeared several paces away, untouched.
"W-Whoa!" she gasped, heart pounding.
She hadn't expected something with such a dull name to feel this godlike!
A grin spread across her face, her earlier nerves forgotten.
"Hehe~ You can't hit me! You can't hit me!" she taunted, voice echoing through the crumbling street.
She danced around the lumbering brute, spamming Bloodhound Step with giddy abandon. The monster's enraged swings cut through empty air, smashing cobblestones and splintering decayed beams. Dust choked the air; chunks of debris flew like shrapnel.
But after a few more dodges, Stella felt her stamina draining fast. Her breath grew ragged; her legs wobbled slightly as the haze of exertion closed in. She stopped to recover—just as the Infested Barbarian bellowed and lunged forward, its grotesque muscles bulging with murderous force.
"Raaagh!"
The club swung for her head like an executioner's blade.
Then—
WHOOSH.
A strong arm seized her, yanking her backward. The next heartbeat, the world blurred, and she found herself several steps away, safe. Wade stood behind her, calm as ever, his claw weapon faintly glowing from the skill's afterimage.
"Don't get cocky," he said flatly. "One mistake and you're dead."
"O-okay…" Her voice came out small, chastened by the chill of near-death still clinging to her spine.
Once she caught her breath, the two of them blitzed the street together, spamming Bloodhound Step over and over. The grotesque Infested Barbarians roared helplessly as their prey vanished like ghosts.
Yes—skill spamming was just that strong.
Still, Stella didn't leave unscathed. A sharp sting flared in her backside mid-dash. She yelped, twisting around to see a blowgun-wielding creature perched on a sagging rooftop, its beady eyes glinting with malice. A poison dart quivered in her butt.
Her expression twisted into a mix of pain, humiliation, and rage.
"…Oh, you little shit—!"
By the time they cleared the street, her cheeks burned hotter than the poison, but the monsters had stopped chasing. Ahead stretched a network of shadowed alleys, eerily silent—yet heavy with menace. Wade had designed this section deliberately: after wearing adventurers down with relentless Infested Barbarians, he'd throw them against something far worse.
But Stella was no longer the same elf who entered this dungeon trembling. With shield-poking now second nature—and Wade at her side—she could face anything. Probably.
Finally, they reached a fog gate.
"What's this?" Stella asked warily, eyes narrowing at the strange doorway veiled in dense white mist. It loomed like a wound in reality, bleeding dread into the air. Every instinct screamed danger.
"A boss room," Wade replied, almost bored. "Other dungeons don't have this kind of fog wall, right?"
She shook her head.
"In normal dungeons, yeah, a door means a boss fight… but this mist…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It feels… oppressive. Like it's alive."
The two exchanged a glance, then stepped through. The fog swallowed them whole.
Shapes materialized slowly, crawling out of the mist. When Stella saw what waited, her blood ran cold.
Her breath hitched; her shield arm trembled despite her iron grip.
A Giant Basilisk.
At once, memories surged like a flood—being chased through the swamp by swarms of those bulging-eyed nightmares, lungs burning, panic clawing at her throat. That primal terror came roaring back, raw and suffocating.
Wade's lips curled into a faint smile. Exactly the reaction he wanted. He had placed this thing here for this moment—to savor that delicious expression.
"I—I'm going in!" Stella forced out. Her voice wavered, but she stepped forward anyway, planting her feet, raising her shield like a knight before a dragon. Fear or not—she would move forward.
The Basilisk's tongue lashed out like a whip—
—and wrenched her shield from her hands with shocking speed.
"Eh!? What—!?"
She froze for half a breath, stripped bare, the shield-shaped hole in her defenses yawning wide. Vulnerability stabbed through her like ice water.
Then her survival instinct roared awake. Snatching up her lance, she lunged, driving the tip up beneath the monster's jaw. A guttural screech tore from its throat as it recoiled, coughing—and spat the shield back out with a wet clatter.
"My baby!" she cried, scooping it up like a long-lost child. Relief and fury burned in her eyes as she strapped it back on, whispering an almost tender, "Never leave me again."
Then came the rhythm of shield and spear—the dance she knew, the style she loved. Shield-poking, relentless and precise. Blow after blow hammered into the Basilisk, bruising its slick hide.
Until—
"Fwoooosh!"
A blast of inky black mist spewed from its maw, swirling like a living curse. The air turned thick with death. Stella staggered back, coughing, her eyes watering.
The Basilisk gave a guttural roar and leapt—
—not at her, but onto the ceiling, its claws gouging deep trenches in the stone.
Cracks spidered across the walls. From the jagged holes, dim lights blinked like eyes opening in the dark.
Stella's heart seized.
"Wait… no. No way—"
The "eyes" wriggled free. Dozens of small Basilisks slithered out, their grotesque forms glistening in the dim glow. One, two… then ten. A whole swarm, their gaping, dead-fish eyes fixing on her like a curse.
"Shit…"
Her throat tightened. Cold sweat prickled her spine. She whipped around, shouting—
"Maldron! A little help here?!"
"On it."
With a flick of his wrist, Wade dismissed his sickle—useless against mobs—and drew a slender staff that shimmered faintly in the gloom.
[Meteorite Staff]
[Skill: "No Skill"]
[Mana per use: 200]
He murmured incantations, each word like a crack in reality.
Glintstone Pebble!
Magic Glintblade!
Rock Sling!
Magic detonated through the air in bursts of cerulean light. Blades of arcane energy spun like spectral swords; meteoric stones crashed down with bone-shattering force. The swarm writhed and died in seconds, their death cries swallowed by the roar of spellfire.
Stella stood frozen, slack-jawed.
All these spells—she'd never even seen their names before!
"You… got those from this dungeon too?"
"Yep," Wade said, adjusting his grip on the staff. "Scrolls deeper in. Want to learn?"
Her eyes lit up like twin bonfires.
"Yes!"
"Too bad they're single-use. If you want one… you'll have to come earn it yourself."
That grin of his was infuriating. But her pulse raced with new resolve.
Then the Giant Basilisk, enraged by the slaughter of its brood, let out an ear-splitting roar. Its bulk hurtled down like a collapsing boulder—straight at Wade.
"I've got this!" Stella bellowed, throwing herself in front of him, shield raised high. She planted her feet like roots in stone, bracing for impact.
Wade blinked, almost amused. I could've just dodged, you know…
And so, once again, the shield-poking began. Steel rang, flesh split, the boss roared in agony—until, with a thunderous crash, it collapsed. Its vast body shuddered once, then dissolved into smoke, leaving behind a single glowing purple orb.
Wade gestured casually.
"It's yours. Don't need it anymore."
"Thank you." She bowed, reverent, and touched the orb. Instantly, knowledge flooded her mind:
[Soul of the Giant Basilisk]
[Consume at a Bonfire to slightly increase Stat]
[Or use directly to gain a large amount of Souls]
"Bonfire? What bonfire?" she murmured aloud. And 'souls'? What does that even mean? I'm not a necromancer…
"That," Wade said, pointing.
Where the Basilisk had fallen, an unlit bonfire had appeared—a heap of blackened wood crowned by a spiral sword, its edge humming faintly with otherworldly energy.
"Try lighting it."
"So mysterious…"
She struck a match and touched it to the pile. Flames roared to life instantly, warm and golden, washing over her in waves of soothing heat. The fatigue in her limbs melted away like snow in spring.
Then glowing text shimmered before her eyes:
[Use the Soul of the Basilisk?]
"Uh… sure, why not."
The orb vanished into the fire. The bonfire flared bright as noon. A sudden warmth bloomed inside her chest, spreading to her fingertips—a rush of strength so vivid it almost stole her breath.
Her eyes widened, disbelieving.
"My… strength… increased?!"