Raven's POV
The Vanguard moved first he raised its arm.
The ground beneath me shattered, a shockwave ripping outward as stone cracked and buckled. At the same instant, the two black wolves split apart—one circling wide to cut off my retreat, the other launching straight for my throat.
The ghoul moved last.
Slow. Patient.
Waiting for an opening.
I didn't give them one.
I pivoted away from the Vanguard's strike and drove my heel into the charging wolf's skull. The impact was brutal—bone caved in, blood spraying as the creature was launched backward like a broken doll. It slammed into the cavern wall with a sickening crunch, the stone behind it fracturing before the wolf collapsed in a twitching heap.
No time to confirm the kill.
A massive shadow swept in from my right.
The ghoul's club whistled through the air. I twisted just enough to let it graze past me, feeling the pressure tear at my side. The shock alone sent a jolt through my ribs.
Too close.
I spun—
Just in time.
The second wolf was already behind me, claws stretched wide, talons glinting like blades inches from my neck.
I raised my left hand.
Black mana condensed instantly, forming a long, razor-edged dagger. With a single precise motion, I severed the wolf's arm at the shoulder.
The cut was clean.
Too clean.
Blood erupted in a violent spray as the limb hit the ground. The wolf howled—a broken, wet sound—before I kicked it away and let it bleed out.
Then—
The Vanguard descended from above.
Both of its fists came down like falling pillars.
I didn't dodge.
I raised my sword and met the strike head-on.
The impact detonated beneath my feet. The ground collapsed into a spiderweb of cracks, my arms vibrating violently as raw force slammed into me. Pain shot up my shoulders—but I held.
I twisted my blade downward, carving deep into the Vanguard's leg. Dark blood poured out, steaming as I ripped its mana straight through the wound, dragging the energy into myself.
Power surged.
Not enough.
It barely slowed.
A roar thundered beside me.
The ghoul slammed into my flank.
I blocked—barely—but the sheer force sent me flying backward. I hit the ground hard, skidding across stone, blood spilling from my mouth.
I didn't stop, I rolled once, twice.
On the third movement, I exploded forward.
My legs screamed as I pushed them beyond their limit. The world blurred as I closed the distance in a heartbeat.
The ghoul barely had time to react.
I drove my sword straight into its chest, piercing its heart. I didn't pull back—I ripped upward, tearing flesh and bone apart as the blade carved a massive, fatal wound.
The blade should have killed it.
It didn't.
The ghoul staggered backward, its chest torn open, blood flooding the stone beneath its feet. For a brief moment, its massive body trembled—
Then the wound began to close.
Flesh knitted together unnaturally fast. Muscle reformed. Bone sealed. Even the torn organs regenerated, as if time itself were being reversed.
Within seconds, the gash was gone.
No scar.
No mark.
No weakness.
The only proof I had ever wounded it was the black-green blood coating my sword and soaking my clothes.
The ghoul rose again.
Whole, alive, unbroken.
Morivain's voice echoed in my mind, tense with disbelief.
"…Its regenerative ability is incredible."
Before I could respond—
The wolf I had smashed into the cavern wall moved.
Slowly.
Unsteadily.
Its skull was cracked, blood pouring from its face, one eye hanging uselessly in its socket—
but it stood.
Breathing.
Growling.
Refusing to die.
Then the second wolf joined it, they attacked together this time.
Perfect coordination.
No hesitation.
No fear.
I vanished.
Wind screamed as my body tore through space itself. The air split violently as I reappeared above them, my speed ripping pressure waves through the cavern. Flames coiled around my blade, spiraling like living serpents as gravity pulled me down.
I landed between them, The impact detonated the ground, Stone erupted outward. Fire exploded in all directions.
One wolf was incinerated, its body torn apart by flame and pressure, reduced to burning fragments.
The other tried to flee.
It turned.
It leaped.
It failed.
I was already behind it.
One step.
One motion.
One thrust.
My blade pierced straight through its heart, The wolf collapsed instantly.
Dead, And I felt it.
Mana.
Warm.
Dense.
Powerful.
Flowing into me, Sinking into my veins, Filling my muscles, Strengthening my core, My breathing slowed, My heartbeat steadied.
My movements became smoother, sharper, stronger.
Morivain whispered in awe.
"…You're getting faster."
I wiped blood from my cheek with my thumb and smirked.
"That's what happens," I said calmly,
"when every enemy feeds you."
Then I turned.
The ghoul stood whole once more.
The Vanguard loomed behind it, towering, silent, watching.
My blade ignited again, Black mana and fire twisting together.
I smiled wider.
"Your turn," I said softly.
The Vanguard roared, Its body shifted.
Armor plates folded inward with grinding force, locking into a tighter, deadlier configuration. Veins of glowing mana burst across its frame like molten cracks in stone, pulsing with violent rhythm. Its stance lowered.
Its movements sharpened—
faster,
cleaner,
precise.
Morivain gasped inside my mind.
"…It's entering a second phase."
I inhaled slowly as its strike came down.
Steel met steel—
But this time, I didn't block, I stepped into the attack, The blade pierced my shoulder.
Pain detonated through my body, hot and blinding.
Black mana surged from the wound, spilling outward like living smoke before snapping back—dragging the Vanguard's energy with it. I drank it in directly through the contact, raw and unfiltered.
Its eyes widened.
I twisted my sword violently and tore free, then released everything I had gathered in a single instant.
Compressed air and flame erupted point-blank into its chest.
The explosion shredded its armor, tearing metal and mana apart as the Vanguard was hurled backward.
I landed lightly despite the blood dripping from my arm, my eyes glowing faintly in the dim chamber.
"This is really fun," I said with a smirk.
I raised my sword and dagger and launched forward.
The Vanguard swung a long, brutal arm toward me—
I ducked beneath it, my movement a blur.
In one fluid motion, I slashed the back of its knee.
The cut was deep.
Bone cracked.
The Vanguard crashed down onto one knee with a thunderous impact.
I didn't give it time to react.
I drove my dagger into its back, carving a vicious wound as black mana surged again—ripping a massive amount of energy straight out of it.
The Vanguard howled, its roar shaking the cavern as blood poured freely from its wounds.
I raised my sword to finish it—
Too late.
The ghoul leapt, It came down on me from above with terrifying speed.
I sprang backward just as its massive strike hit the ground.
The impact unleashed violent shockwaves throughout the chamber, stone exploding outward as a crater formed where the blow landed.
Dust, debris, and shattered rock filled the air.
I slid to a stop, blades raised, eyes locked on both enemies now moving again.
The Vanguard struggled to rise.
The ghoul straightened, regenerating even as it turned toward me.
The chamber was a graveyard.
Charred stone. Broken pillars. Piles of twisted corpses littered the floor, soaked in blood so thick it clung to the air. The stench was suffocating—iron, rot, and scorched flesh. A crushing pressure pressed down from every direction, born from dense, malignant mana saturating the dungeon itself.
The Vanguard swayed on its feet.
And yet—
They kept coming.
The Vanguard staggered but refused to fall.
The ghoul regenerated wounds as fast as I carved them open, flesh knitting together with sickening speed.
Morivain's voice tightened inside my mind.
"Riven… this is turning into a war of attrition."
"Yes," I replied, eyes glowing brighter in the gloom.
"But only for them."
I stepped forward as mana surged wildly around me now, tearing at the air like a living storm.
"Because the longer this lasts—"
My smile sharpened, predatory.
"—the stronger I become."
Morivain's tone turned urgent.
"You need to finish this fight and leave the dungeon—now. The mana here is too heavy, too dark. You're absorbing it without restraint. You know what happens if you take in too much of this kind of mana."
"I know," I said calmly.
"I'll end it quickly."
I raised my dagger.
It was no longer the same weapon—its edge sharper, darker, humming with stolen power, reforged by the massive amounts of energy I had absorbed.
I launched toward the Vanguard, intent on killing it—
But the ghoul leapt in front of it.
It blocked my strike and raised its massive, spiked club, muscles bulging as it brought the weapon down toward me.
I didn't dodge.
I stepped closer.
In one smooth, precise motion, my blade flashed.
The ghoul's arm came off cleanly.
Its severed limb hit the ground with a wet thud, the club falling beside it. The ghoul screamed—a raw, agonized sound that shook the chamber.
I didn't stop.
I left it screaming and surged toward the Vanguard.
It opened its mouth wide, revealing rows of dagger-like fangs, and charged at me despite its injuries. Its steps were heavy, uneven, but fast enough to be dangerous.
When it reached striking distance, it lunged for my throat.
I slipped aside effortlessly.
It turned with surprising speed and swung an arm toward me—
I jumped.
High.
Midair, my dagger shifted, stretching and reforming into a long black blade, radiating immense magical pressure. Black mist poured from it like flame made of shadow.
I descended.
One clean strike.
The blade cut through the Vanguard from shoulder to waist, slicing it in two.
both sides crashing to the ground on opposite sides with a thunderous impact.
Silence followed.
Blood steamed against the scorched stone.
I landed between the remains, black mana curling around me like a crown of smoke.
I didn't waste a second.
I turned sharply toward the ghoul, ready to strike—
and froze.
The arm I had severed was back.
New flesh, newly formed muscle, the skin still slick with fresh blood as if reality itself had rewound for it.
My lips parted, genuinely impressed.
"…It can regenerate even lost limbs. That's… remarkable."
I glanced inward.
"Morivain—do you think I can copy that?"
There was a pause before she answered, cautious.
"It would benefit you greatly if you could. But… you've never copied an ability from a monster before. Only humans."
"True," I said calmly.
"Well—let's find out."
Morivain went silent, then muttered, "…What exactly are you planning?"
I didn't look away from the ghoul.
"I'll cut off an arm and a leg. Let it regenerate in front of me."
My eyes narrowed slightly.
"And I'll copy it."
She didn't argue.
She only hummed softly inside my mind—uneasy, but watching.
The ghoul roared.
It charged.
I noticed it immediately—
faster.
Stronger.
Its regeneration wasn't just restoring flesh. It was reinforcing it.
I ignored the danger and moved to meet it head-on.
Its left arm swept toward me in a blur.
I slipped past it effortlessly.
It followed with a brutal kick—
I ducked under its leg, feeling the wind shear past my head as claws sliced empty air. Before I could reposition, its right arm—still gripping that massive weapon—came crashing down from above with crushing force.
I leapt back several steps, stone shattering where I had been standing.
Before it could swing again—
I exploded forward.
Mana surged through my legs as I clenched my fist and dropped my center of gravity, eyes locked onto its lower body.
The ghoul noticed.
It jumped back, surprisingly quick for its size, trying to pull its leg out of range.
I didn't stop.
The dagger in my hand shifted, stretching, reshaping—
A long, razor-sharp spear of black mana formed in an instant.
I gripped it with both hands, Twisted my body, Closed the distance, One clean fluid motion, The spear flashed.
Its leg came off at the knee.
The ghoul slammed into the ground with a thunderous crash, stone cracking beneath its weight as it screamed in rage and agony.
Blood sprayed across the floor.
I landed lightly in front of it, spear humming in my hands, eyes glowing with focused intensity.
I let the spear dissolve.
Mana flowed back into me in a slow, controlled pull, sinking into my veins as I stepped away and leaned my shoulder lightly against the cavern wall. I folded my arms, watching.
The ghoul glared at me with raw hatred, screaming as it clawed at the ground, trying—and failing—to stand. Its severed leg was already regrowing, muscle knitting together inch by inch.
Morivain hummed inside my mind.
"I don't think you'll be able to copy that."
I raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I be able to?"
"Because it isn't an ability," she replied calmly. "It's its biology. Its body regenerates naturally. No spell. No mana. If a limb is lost, it simply grows back."
I exhaled softly.
"What a shame," I muttered. "I really wanted that one. but I've fought and killed countless ghouls—none of them ever regenerated like this."
"I know," Morivain said. "Normal ghouls can't. But this is a Black Gate. Anything is possible here—especially in a dungeon designed specifically to kill you."
She paused.
"I suspect Seraphielle enhanced them. Reinforced their bodies. Their nature."
My jaw tightened.
"That damned goddess… always meddling."
I pushed off the wall and straightened.
"Enough. Let's finish this and get out."
The ghoul's leg finished regenerating.
It rose to its full height, eyes burning with hatred—and then it lunged.
Faster.
Much faster than before.
I clicked my tongue lightly.
"Looks like every time it regenerates, it gets stronger."
"Yes," Morivain replied. "I noticed that too."
My sword pulsed in my hand, eager, humming as it drank in mana. The ghoul was fast—but I was faster.
I slipped beneath the arc of its massive club and carved a deep gash into its leg. Twisting past its flank, I spun behind it and opened a brutal wound across its back.
It swung blindly behind itself—
I leapt high, then crashed down in front of it, blade flashing.
A single, clean slash tore from its shoulder down to its abdomen.
Still not enough.
I slashed its other leg, forcing it to one knee, blood pouring freely—yet even as it fell, the wounds began sealing faster than before. Flesh crawled together. Bone reformed.
Within seconds, it stood again.
Whole.
Morivain's voice sharpened.
"This is taking too long. Kill it now—before it adapts further. If it grows any stronger, you won't be able to overpower it."
I nodded once.
"You're right. Cutting it won't work anymore."
The ghoul regenerated as fast as I wounded it.
So I changed tactics, I rushed forward, Dodged its swing, Severed its right arm, Its weapon hit the ground.
I spun and took the left arm as well.
Before it could regenerate, I kicked it hard in the chest. The ghoul slammed into the floor with a bone-rattling crash.
I dropped my sword.
Stepped onto its chest.
Placed both hands flat against it.
Flames bloomed from my palms—black-edged, violent—and I layered an explosion spell on top of them, forcing a massive surge of mana into the core.
The blast was instantaneous.
The cavern shook violently. The ceiling cracked, stone raining down as walls partially collapsed.
The ghoul didn't scream.
It didn't regenerate.
It was reduced to ash in less than a second.
I straightened slowly, brushing dust and cinders from my clothes, a sharp smirk on my lips.
"Now try regenerating from that."
I looked around.
I was standing in the center of a massive crater—the cavern floor torn open by explosion.
Something caught the corner of my eye.
A faint glimmer—unnatural—shining from within the darkness of the crater I had created.
I moved closer, my steps slow and cautious, boots crunching softly against shattered stone. As I leaned in, the source revealed itself.
A sword.
Its blade was buried deep in the earth, almost to the hilt.
Silver—so pale it was nearly white.
I knelt, wrapping my fingers around the grip, and pulled.
The earth resisted for a heartbeat… then released.
The sword slid free in one smooth motion.
It was long and impossibly light, balanced so perfectly it felt like an extension of my arm. Despite being buried beneath stone and dirt, it looked untouched—clean, pristine, as if time itself had refused to claim it.
I drew it from its sheath.
The blade was thin, razor-sharp, etched from base to tip with unfamiliar runes—ancient, elegant, and faintly glowing. The hilt was beautifully crafted, its design deliberate rather than ornamental, and at its pommel rested a radiant yellow gem, gleaming like captured sunlight.
But that wasn't what made my breath still.
The mana.
It wasn't normal.
It pulsed—dense, vast, and alive—radiating a powerful aura that prickled against my skin the moment I touched it.
Morivain's voice slipped into my thoughts, wary and intrigued.
"What is that sword? That energy… it's strange. Was it truly buried here?"
"Yes," I replied calmly, turning the blade slightly, watching the runes catch the light. "Completely buried. It only surfaced when the explosion tore the ground apart."
"Then why would something like that be hidden beneath the dungeon floor?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But it's powerful. Very powerful."
I was silent for a moment longer, weighing the sword in my hand.
Then I smiled faintly.
"Well," I said, "I'll use it in the next fight."
I sheathed my original weapon at my waist, keeping it close—but my hand remained on the new blade.
Turning away from the ruined chamber, I stepped forward without hesitation.
Toward the lair of the dungeon's boss.
I walked for a long time.
I passed through several chambers—empty, silent, stripped bare as if something had already devoured everything that once lived there. The deeper I went, the heavier the air became, until at last I reached it.
A tunnel.
Long. Vast.
And completely packed with monsters.
They filled the passage from wall to wall—wolves, twisted humanoids, malformed creatures snarling and scraping at the stone. All of them stood between me and the chamber of the dungeon lord.
I drew the silver blade from its sheath.
Its hum deepened, as if answering my intent.
I smiled.
"Let's test your strength."
I didn't use my speed.
Didn't enhance my body.
Didn't call on fire or wind.
I simply inhaled—and ran forward without hesitation.
As the first wolf lunged, I raised the sword and swung casually, without much force.
The blade passed through it.
Cleanly.
From shoulder to hip.
The corpse split in two.
But then I noticed something strange.
The monsters behind it—
were also cut apart.
Two. Three. Four bodies collapsed in perfect halves, as if the strike had continued long after the blade itself had stopped.
I slowed, lifting the sword slightly, studying it with open admiration.
"…Impressive," I murmured, a smirk tugging at my lips. "This sword amplifies the strike. Three—maybe four times over."
Morivain sounded startled.
"What do you mean by amplifies?"
I answered calmly, eyes never leaving the blade.
"I'll put it simply. That strike used maybe ten percent of my strength."
I glanced at the bisected tunnel.
"This sword turned it into thirty. Maybe forty."
She went quiet for a moment.
"I thought amplification applied only to the body. I didn't know a weapon could do that."
I smiled wider.
"What if I use fifty percent?"
I gripped the hilt with both hands.
Left foot forward.
Right foot back—three steps of distance.
A perfect stance.
Then I swung.
A wide, sweeping arc.
The sword screamed.
Everything in front of me was cut in half—monsters, stone, flesh, bone. The tunnel wall itself split open with a deep, brutal cut , a massive gash carved clean through solid rock.
Bodies fell in pieces.
Only a handful of monsters survived—those smart enough, fast enough, to leap away in time.
I didn't slow.
I closed the distance in a heartbeat and took their heads one by one.
Clean.
Effortless.
The tunnel fell silent again.
I looked down at the silver blade, its runes faintly glowing, its aura steady and eager.
I wiped the silver blade clean, dark blood—black and red—sliding off its edge as if the metal itself rejected the stain. When it gleamed once more, pristine and cold, I slid it back into its sheath.
A ripple of darkness opened before me.
The Black Void.
I placed the sword inside, watching it vanish into nothingness, then closed the space with a thought.
"Yes," I said quietly. "This will make a fitting gift for Princess Lyria—once she finishes her training and is finally capable of wielding a real sword."
Morivain clicked her tongue, amused.
"Oooh. How thoughtful of you. I didn't realize you cared enough about her to give away a weapon like that."
I shrugged, my tone calm.
"When she's done training, she'll need a true blade."
I lifted my own sword slightly, fingers resting on its hilt, and glanced at it with familiar fondness.
"And besides—I don't need it. I already have one I prefer."
Morivain hummed, a smirk slipping into her voice.
"Still… you could've kept it. Or given it to someone else. Why the princess, specifically?"
I started walking again, boots echoing softly against stone.
"Princess Lyria is a good girl," I said simply. "Kind-hearted. She visits the orphanage often. Brings sweets. Toys. Spends time with the children."
I paused for a heartbeat.
"Let's call it repaying a kindness."
Morivain laughed, low and knowing.
"If only you knew the real reason she comes to that orphanage so often."
I raised an eyebrow.
"…What do you mean?"
Her laughter rang louder, playful and infuriatingly vague.
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all."
I narrowed my eyes but said nothing more, continuing forward—
toward the dungeon lord's chamber,
toward whatever waited for me at the end.
Somehow, I had the feeling Morivain knew far more than she was letting on.