13. The hunter's instinct

Dungeon – 10th Floor

The mutated Monster Rex lunged.

Its massive claws tore through the stone floor, sending shards flying. The adventurers screamed, scrambling to retreat.

Orcbolg did not run.

His sword was already moving.

A precise step to the side—just enough to dodge. His blade slashed at the creature's wrist, cutting deep into flesh.

A normal monster would have reeled from the pain.

This one didn't.

Instead, it turned toward him with unnatural speed.

Its glowing red eyes locked onto him, and for the first time, Orcbolg felt something strange.

This monster wasn't just attacking.

It was learning.

A Battle of Wits

Orcbolg narrowed his eyes. He had fought countless monsters. He understood their habits, their instincts.

But this one…

It was different.

It wasn't just using brute strength—it was watching him, reacting to him.

That meant one thing.

A head-on fight was too risky.

He needed to be smarter.

The Plan

He glanced around. The cavern was wide, but there were stone pillars—natural formations. If he moved strategically, he could control the battle.

He took off running.

The monster roared and gave chase.

To an outsider, it might have looked like he was retreating.

But Orcbolg never retreated.

He was leading it.

The Trap

The moment the creature lunged at him again, Orcbolg jumped.

He kicked off the cavern wall, using the momentum to land behind the monster.

His sword flashed.

Slash—

A clean cut to the back of its knee.

The beast howled, its leg buckling.

Orcbolg wasted no time.

Strike once. Then move.

That was the rule.

He darted to the next stone pillar just as the monster swung at where he had been. It missed.

It roared in frustration, turning its massive body.

Good. He had its attention.

Now, he just had to make it angry.

Exploiting Rage

Orcbolg knew that monsters weren't smart when enraged.

They became reckless.

Predictable.

He took advantage of that.

Hit. Move. Hit again.

Each time, he struck at a weak point.

Tendons. Joints. Eyes.

The monster tried to learn.

But it couldn't keep up.

Because he had already learned it first.

The Final Strike

The beast's movements grew sluggish.

Its roars turned into pained growls.

It was weakened.

Now—to finish it.

Orcbolg made his final move.

Using the last pillar as leverage, he leapt onto the creature's back.

One precise thrust—

Right through the base of the skull.

The monster shuddered.

Then, with a final, guttural breath—

It collapsed.

Aftermath

Silence.

Only the sound of his own breathing remained.

The adventurers stared at him in disbelief.

"H-He actually killed it…" one whispered.

Orcbolg pulled his sword free, wiping the blood off with practiced ease.

Then, without a word, he walked past them.

He had learned what he needed.

Monsters in this world were different.

Some were smarter. Stronger.

That meant—he had to get stronger too.

The hunt was far from over.