Journey to Become the Zenith

Echoes Beneath the First Floor

Down on the first level of the buried Dungeon, the trio stepped into dim light. Only then did Victor start feeling where the foes stood around them.

Down there, where his feet met stone, everything changed. Heavier than it should be, the air pressed close, rich with unseen energy, whispering like insects deep below ground. Prior to stepping inside, he’d reached ahead - not physically - but through a slender thread of his own power, testing what lay within.

It had been blocked.

Just like the pocket dimension weapon shop.

The Dungeon rejected foreign probing as if it possessed its own will.

Yet now that they were physically inside the first floor, he could sense the enemies on this level clearly—scattered presences, small and crude. But beyond that? Nothing. The deeper floors were wrapped in silence.

His golden eyes narrowed slightly.

The walls might be interfering with mana entering or escaping... but then how can the Dungeon Core accumulate mana? Does it have a function that overcomes this little detail?

His fingers brushed lightly against the stone wall as they walked. The surface was cool. Almost alive.

While Victor was analyzing the structure of the Dungeon, the first group of monsters finally appeared.

They came from the shadows between the glowing stone pillars—goblins.

Green-skinned, barely three feet tall, hunched creatures with jagged ears and yellow eyes filled with feral hunger. Each one clutched crude weapons—rusted swords, chipped spears, splintered clubs, scraps of armor barely held together. Their movements were chaotic but eager.

There were dozens of them.

They screeched as they advanced.

Even as the enemy approached, Victor didn’t move.

They were too weak.

They wouldn’t even provide a proper warm-up, let alone satisfy the restless edge coiled somewhere inside him. This test, if anything, was a chance for Lane to sharpen her instincts. She had less combat experience than he did.

And right now—

He was far more interested in the Dungeon itself.

Clara noticed immediately.

A glance from her purple eyes landed on him. There he stayed, still as stone, dark strands falling beside a face cut like glass, amber gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room. The quiet stretched between them.

Her tongue made a quiet click against her teeth.

Unimpressed.

Lane moved without pause.

She stepped forward.

A quiet word slipped from her lips as she lifted her palm instead of reaching for the arrow. The air shifted before the string could even sing.

[Wind Slice.]

A small blade of compressed wind formed—thin, almost harmless-looking—and shot forward toward a goblin.

Clara watched with mild skepticism.

[Wind Slice] was a beginner spell.

It was used to cut twigs. Trim grass. Teach children how to circulate mana.

At best, it should scratch.

She was already preparing to step in—

The wind blade struck.

The goblin split cleanly in half.

Blood and viscera sprayed across the glowing stone floor before the corpse dissolved into drifting particles of mana.

Clara blinked.

What?

Before she could process it, Lane cast again.

Another [Wind Slice].

Another goblin cleaved in two.

Then another.

And another.

Stillness followed the clash, broken only by soft thuds. Step after step, Lane advanced, her motions smooth like clockwork, dark strands drifting behind. A blank look held firm, untouched by what unfolded around her. Mist rose where figures once stood, fading without sound.

Frowning slightly at the stonework, Victor stayed close to the wall - goblin halves falling just a few steps away meant nothing to him.

Clara stared at Lane in disbelief.

What made that happen?

Funny thing - they said Wind Slice was for beginners.

Footsteps still echoed while Lane cut through the goblins like storm wind through dry leaves.

Falling silent after the final goblin melted away, tiny specks floating downward like embers pulled under. Those fragments would find their way home again, absorbed by what waits below. Quiet returned, slow and thick, filling corners where noise had briefly cracked through.

Footsteps quiet, Clara moved toward Lane.

”How did you do that?”

Lane tipped her head a little, dark eyes empty.

”How did you make the spell [Wind Slice] do that? How is your version of that spell more powerful than it’s supposed to be?”

Lane blinked once.

Wasn’t it supposed to be that powerful?

If anything, she felt hers was weak.

When Victor had first taught her [Wind Slice], he had sliced through trees. Through animals. Through a stretch of forest like it was paper.

Compared to that—

Her version was nothing.

Clara saw the confusion on her face and realized she wouldn’t get an answer there.

So she turned to Victor.

He didn’t even look at her.

”Aren’t spells dependent on how powerful your mana is? In the first place, who said [Wind Slice] was beginner-level magic? Isn’t it supposed to be intermediate-level?”

Clara rolled her eyes.

Of course.

What did she expect?

How was [Wind Slice] intermediate-level magic?

If that were true, then Lane—barely fourteen—would be an intermediate-level mage.

The youngest intermediate mage in recorded history had been twenty-two.

Was Victor seriously suggesting Lane surpassed that genius?

Her jaw tightened slightly.

She decided not to think about it.

Neither of them were going to answer properly.

The group moved deeper.

Soon, the next enemies emerged—a pack of stone wolves.

Their bodies were made of rough, gray rock, glowing faintly along their veins with dull mana lines. Their paws scraped harshly against the floor, sparks flying with each step.

They growled in unison.

Just like before, Lane moved first.

And just like before—

Victor did nothing.

Lane killed every stone wolf with precise, brutal efficiency. Wind blades sliced through stone; arrows enhanced with mana pierced directly through skulls. She didn’t even draw her bow properly—she wielded arrows like daggers, coating them in [Enhance] to increase durability and sharpness.

She stabbed.

She pierced.

She crushed.

Her expression never changed.

The violence, paired with that emotionless face, made the entire scene far more intimidating than if she had shouted or raged.

Clara’s irritation deepened.

She finally snapped.

”Aren’t you going to do something? How can I grade you if you don’t do anything?!”

Victor turned toward her slowly, genuine confusion crossing his sharp features.

”What are you talking about? Why are you supposed to grade me? Don’t I get a B rank no matter what I do?”

Clara’s eye twitched.

”So you’re just going to let her do all the work while you do nothing but stare at the walls?”

Victor shrugged lightly.

”Well, those opponents don’t really matter to me. They wouldn’t even be able to satisfy a tiny bit of my battle lust. Also, why bother fighting here? We’re going deeper in. If the Dungeon Master is as strong as you claim it to be... then I will fight the Dungeon Master. Also, don’t worry about safety. If I feel either you or Lane are in danger, I’ll step in.”

And with that, he turned back to the wall.

Inspecting it.

Clara stared at him.

”What?! You’re planning to go deeper in? You’re even telling me that you’re going to fight the Dungeon Master of this Dungeon?! Weren’t you listening awhile ago? Even the former Guild Master—an S-rank adventurer—needed to flee from that monster!”

Victor glanced at her calmly.

”Please don’t categorize me and that cute lazy Guild Master under the same level.”

Silence.

Clara could only stare at him as if he were the most arrogant, unreasonable person alive.

What is wrong with this overconfident man?!

Is it such a chore to even try to be humble?

Where does he get that confidence from?

They were talking about a creature that forced an S-rank veteran to flee.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

Fine.

If he wants to die, then so be it.

While Clara was silently cursing him, Lane continued fighting the remaining stragglers. This time she didn’t even use spells—she used arrows reinforced with [Enhance], driving them straight through skulls and hearts.

The crunch of stone and bone echoed.

The floor was littered with fading mana.

When she finished, she turned toward Clara, intending—perhaps subconsciously—to intimidate her.

But Clara wasn’t even looking.

Lane’s lips pressed together faintly.

”I’m done.”

Her voice remained flat. Indifferent.

”You cleared the first floor. Congratulations, Lane. At least you’re doing your part in this test.”

Clara’s gaze shifted pointedly to Victor as she said that.

Victor finally straightened.

”Oh? Finally done? Let’s head deeper in, shall we?”

This time, he walked ahead first.

Lane followed without hesitation.

Clara stood there for a second longer, watching his back—black hair, relaxed posture, as if the depths of the Dungeon were nothing more than a staircase.

Her irritation simmered quietly as she followed them down into the deeper darkness.