Chapter 17: No rest inside the Dungeon
Leon began to move—daggers in hand, cloak hugging his body like mist.
And death followed, silent and unseen.
Three wolves.
Three blades.
Two held in Leon's hands.
One sharpened in his mind.
'Right flank's exposed. The middle one's the alpha—slightly larger, more scarred. Third one's jumpy, head flicking side to side. I hit the right first. Fast. Quiet. One strike.'
Leon slid forward through the half-shadow, barely disturbing the stone beneath his boots. The Cloak of Mild Invisibility held. The wolves continued tearing into flesh, unaware that death now watched from behind their blind spot.
He crept within five paces. Four.
Three.
Then—
Step. Draw. Lunge.
The blade kissed fur and muscle.
Slice.
The dagger went straight through the wolf's neck from the side, cutting into the artery with no resistance. A soft grunt, a twitch—and it dropped.
'One down.'
Leon didn't stop. He didn't pause to gloat.
His other hand pressed the cloak again, reactivating the mild invisibility just as the two remaining wolves jerked up—snouts twitching, eyes wide, confused.
The corpse of their packmate hit the ground with a final thud.
They snarled—but couldn't see him.
'Keep it tight. No sound. Don't let them guess. Alpha's sniffing the air. Damn. It's catching scent. Twenty seconds tops before it tracks me.'
Leon ghosted left, circling with silent precision. He calculated every step, every angle.
Then the alpha lunged—not at him, but toward the nearest cover, expecting a direct attacker to retreat.
Wrong move.
Leon used the opening.
Dash. Leap. Strike.
From behind, he drove his right dagger deep between the wolf's shoulder and spine. It howled, but his second blade followed instantly—slicing into its hamstring before it could turn.
'Lame it. Drop it. End it.'
The alpha staggered—then buckled as Leon's blade pierced the base of its skull.
Thud.
'Two.'
Blood sprayed across the stone floor. Leon's cloak flared and dropped—timed deliberately. The last wolf 'saw' him now. Eyes wide. Terrified. Alone.
It backed up, tail low, growling.
Leon just stared at it. Calm. Measured.
He raised a single dagger and pointed it at the beast.
"Run."
It didn't.
It charged.
Leon exhaled once, steadying his stance.
'No more hiding.'
The wolf leapt.
He dodged.
Swipe. Feint. Parry.
Its claws grazed his arm—barely. The Ring of Minor Regeneration flared softly, sealing the scratch before blood could flow.
Leon stepped back, used the beast's momentum—
Then dropped, swept the leg, and sent it tumbling sideways.
The moment its back hit the floor, Leon pounced.
Twin blades. Two strikes.
One stabbed through the wolf's lower rib.
The other slashed across its throat, deep and final.
Blood splattered across his chest.
The wolf spasmed.
Then went still.
'Three.'
He stood slowly, breath measured, watching for any movement.
Nothing.
Only silence.
Leon exhaled, wiping one blade clean on the fur of the beast before him. The adrenaline in his veins began to fade—but only slightly.
He'd won.
Clean. Fast. Surgical.
But his thoughts didn't rush to celebration.
Instead, they stayed… steady.
'If I'd made a single misstep… if one of them got behind me… if the cloak failed…'
He shook the thought away.
Victory was earned.
But it never came without risk.
Leon turned back to the bodies of the fallen candidates—their faces pale and slack. He didn't feel much. He hadn't known them. But he gave a slow nod of acknowledgment.
"Rest easy."
'Better performance. Higher class potential. That's what she said.'
He crouched, removed the mana cores from all three wolves—clean, efficient.
Then activated the cloak again and disappeared into the corridor beyond.
'Three cores down. No injuries. No wasted movements.'
'But this was just the warm-up.'
Time blurred as Leon advanced deeper into the dungeon.
Stone corridors twisted like a broken maze, walls carved with age-worn glyphs and veins of faintly glowing ore. But nothing caught him off guard. Not the flickering floor tiles meant to collapse. Not the thin threads barely visible across corners.
Seraphine had trained him for traps.
Painfully.
'"Check twice, step once. If you're lucky, it's just a dart. If not—it's your legs."'
Leon moved like a ghost—sweeping corners, testing pressure plates, ducking low when the air changed. None of the rudimentary traps stood a chance.
The wolves, though?
Those kept coming.
Two more attacked near a collapsed bridge. Leon disarmed one with a hamstring cut and ended it before the second even lunged. Another trio cornered him in a half-caved corridor. He danced between them—sidestep, parry, counter—blades glinting, movement flawless.
No hesitation. No theatrics.
Just efficient, clean violence.
Every time a body dropped, Leon crouched, retrieved the mana core, and stored it within the shimmering inventory tethered to his soul.
The system worked perfectly. But something kept scratching at the back of his mind.
'Too easy.'
They never grouped in fours or fives. Always three or fewer.
It made him cautious, not careless.
Because if there's one thing he'd learned in both lives?
Easy doesn't last.
He never dropped his guard. Every time he took a corner, his grip tightened. Every time he bent to retrieve a core, his ears strained for the slightest sound.
This was real experience.
Not training. Not theory.
And it showed in the way his body moved—fluid, coiled, lethal.
The Leon from Grayridge would've died ten times already.
This Leon?
He was surviving.
No.
Thriving.
Then he saw it.
At the end of the next hall, through a broken arch, another wolf stood alone.
Same height. Similar mass.
But unlike the others, this one had a single curved horn jutting from its forehead. Its fur shimmered with streaks of sapphire blue, threading through the usual grays like liquid lightning.
And even from a distance—
It looked intelligent.
Eyes locked. Breath steady. Muscles still.
'It's not pacing. Not growling. Just watching.'
Leon narrowed his gaze.
Unique variant? Elite?
He crouched low, cloak fluttering as he ghosted along the outer edge of the wall. The dagger in his left hand tilted slightly, ready for a silent back-thrust.
Get in. Strike hard. Don't let it call for backu—
FWASH!!
A bolt of crackling light exploded from the horn.
Leon's eyes went wide.
He twisted—just enough.
The blast grazed past him, slamming into the wall behind and turning stone to molten slag.
His invisibility dropped instantly.
He hit the ground hard and rolled to his feet, daggers out, heart hammering.
'It saw me. It saw through the cloak—before I even moved.'
The wolf stepped forward, slow, calm.
Blue lightning crackled faintly along its horn.
Leon didn't waste time gawking.
He shifted his stance, eyes locked.
"...Well," he muttered, lips curling into a slow grin. "Finally. Something interesting."
''''
Neither of them moved.
Not the wolf, its eyes glowing faintly with that cold, crackling energy.
Not Leon, crouched low, cloak fluttering behind him in tatters of half-burned threads.
Stalemate.
But only for now.
Leon's breath slowed.
'That wasn't normal magic. That was lightning-based. A monster with a ranged elemental attack... and it saw through the cloak. Which means either enhanced senses—or it sensed my mana presence somehow.'
His grip on the daggers tightened, muscles coiled.
'If there's another one of these nearby… if they attack together…'
He didn't finish the thought.
He didn't need to.
One-on-one, he had options. Tools. Even advantages.
But two?
He wasn't Seraphine. He wasn't untouchable.
Yet.
'Stall it? No. It'll charge the second I hesitate. Close in fast? Risky if it has a second bolt. Flank it?' He scanned the corridor's jagged edges, noting raised stones and collapsed pillars.
'...Maybe. If I draw it toward the broken arch and kick off the wall—'
The wolf's claws scraped once against the floor.
A warning.
Leon narrowed his eyes.
'No time to overthink.'
If he wanted to win, he'd have to move.
Now.