Chapter 128: First Blood, First Core [ 2 ]

The lightning struck the monster’s flank, shattering chunks of chitin and sending sparks flying across the stone wall. The beast let out a shriek that was equal parts pain and fury, staggering for the first time.

Sage didn’t hesitate. He channeled mana through the fire channel, feeling heat surge in his veins like molten metal.

“O flame, child of hunger, devour what stands before me…”

A circular glyph materialized in the air, thicker than a wind circle and layered with concentric rings and rune clusters that pulsed like a heartbeat. Then flames erupted outward in a roaring wave.

WHOOOOM!

The corridor exploded with orange light as fire surged forward like a living entity, crashing into the monster and forcing it back three steps. The cavern wall scorched under the onslaught, filling the air with smoke and the acrid scent of burning chitin.

Sage grimaced from the heat; sweat beaded on his brow. Yet he kept his focus on the monster because fire might be dramatic, but drama didn’t always equate to effectiveness.

The beast shook off its injuries, its plating blackened but still intact, and charged again, faster this time.

Sage reacted instinctively. This time he abandoned elegance for survival. He pushed wind beneath his boots again but did so more deliberately this time, shaping the circle cleanly while stabilizing the rune edges to allow mana to flow evenly.

“Wind Step.”

BOOM!

He slid backward across stone just in time to evade claws that sliced through the air where he had just stood. When the monster slammed into the scorched wall, Sage struck again; a lightning circle formed even faster now as he spoke with urgency.

“Lightning Thread!”

KRAK!

The bolt pierced through the monster’s head. It convulsed once before collapsing into a twitching heap.

Silence enveloped him.

Breathing heavily, Sage stared at the fallen creature as if it had personally insulted him. His hands trembled, not only from fear but also from mana backlash and a brutal realization: combat wasn’t poetry; it was chaos, and his body hadn’t yet adapted to it.

“…So this is what a dungeon feels like,” he murmured, wiping blood from his mouth.

He pressed onward. Floor by floor, deeper into the dungeon he went; each descent brought heavier air and denser mana while monsters grew increasingly aggressive, as if testing whether he belonged there or should be crushed like refuse.

The path wasn’t merely a staircase; it twisted through stone descents and narrow passages at odd angles, some corridors spiraled into circular chambers while others opened into sloped tunnels with dripping ceilings.

Sage quickly realized that this dungeon wasn’t random, it was structured like something designed intentionally. The monsters behaved as if following invisible commands: some patrolled corners with precise timing; others guarded choke points like living gates; some hunted actively based on sound and movement as though coded to do so.

And Sage,…Sage had suffered. He stumbled into an ambush on the third floor, barely escaping by detonating fire in a narrow corridor. The explosion sent debris crashing down with a violent BOOM! that nearly crushed him as well.

On the fifth floor, he misjudged the distance and took a claw slash across his forearm that burned like acid. Then on the sixth floor, he overcast lightning; mana surged too quickly, and the backlash blurred his vision until he had to press his back against a wall, panting like a man drowning on land.

Yet through all of this, something changed within him, slowly and painfully, not in his strength but in his mind. He stopped casting spells out of panic and began shaping them like tools.

He used wind to reposition himself instead of fleeing, controlled terrain with fire rather than simply burning it, and aimed lightning not as brute force but at weak points.

By the ninth floor, his coat was torn, every breath sent pain shooting through his ribs, and his mana pool felt shallow, like a lake during drought. But he had begun to sense the dungeon’s rhythm; once you recognized a rhythm, you could exploit it.

Then came the tenth floor.

The corridor opened into a cavernous chamber so vast that even torchlight seemed embarrassed to exist within it. The ceiling vanished into darkness while the fractured floor formed uneven platforms separated by a slow-moving river of glowing mana liquid.

This liquid wasn’t water; it pulsed faintly like condensed energy flowing lazily. Even standing near it made Sage’s skin feel hot and itchy, as if the mana wanted to crawl inside him.

“That’s a Mana River!” His eyes widened at the sight as heat ignited within them. “This is treasure, a really good treasure! This will fetch a huge amount of money.”

He quickly regained focus and turned toward the center of the chamber where the boss stood.

It was enormous, armored like a knight encased in layered chitin with limbs that seemed too long and claws resembling curved blades. Beneath its shell, veins of dull crimson light pulsed slowly as if something inside was breathing fire. It didn’t roar or announce itself; it simply watched Sage with an intelligence that felt more like programmed certainty, a weapon aware of its purpose without doubt.

Sage swallowed hard; his mouth was dry and his legs hurt.

Just then, the boss moved, crossing distance like a battering ram.

BOOM!

Stone shattered where Sage had been standing just moments before. The shockwave slammed into his chest, throwing him backward with brutal force as he hit a rock pillar.

His vision sparkled white; pain bloomed behind his eyes. He realized immediately, this wasn’t like earlier monsters. This creature was designed to kill groups, not lone mages who had learned combat only yesterday.

Forcing himself upright, he lifted his hand and desperately snapped out an incantation:

“Level 2 Lightning Spell — Thunder Lance!”

The magic circle that formed was larger and more intricate, layered with intersecting triangular runes and stabilizing rings. The geometry tightened like a lock, and when the circle snapped fully into place, lightning coalesced into a spear-like bolt, crackling violently.

“Pierce!”

KRA-KOOOOOM!

The bolt struck the boss’s chest and exploded outward in sparks and blue fire. But instead of penetrating, it skittered across the armor plating like a stone skipping over water. The boss barely flinched, and Sage felt a chill of disbelief settle in his stomach.

“Of course,” he muttered hoarsely, staggering sideways as the boss charged again. “Of course the interesting one is resistant.”

The claw swung down like an executioner’s scythe.

Sage threw wind beneath his feet, barely shaping the spell in time.

“Level 2 Wind Spell — Gale Step!”

The circle formed in a rushed spiral, runes snapping into place like wind chimes. The gust detonated beneath him.

BOOM!

He shot backward, skidding on stone, but the boss’s claw still clipped his leg, tearing fabric and flesh and sending a hot line of pain up his thigh.

Sage hissed sharply, nearly losing control of his mana flow but forcing himself to stay conscious and calculating; raw power wouldn’t win this, he needed to use the dungeon itself to his advantage.

He turned his head, eyes darting across the chamber. There it was, the mana river, fractured platforms, unstable ceiling rock above him, and those crimson veins pulsing beneath the boss’s shell like weaknesses waiting to be exploited.

“Alright,” Sage breathed through gritted teeth as blood dripped down his shin. “You’re not an animal; you’re a system product. That means you have rules.”

The boss charged again.

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