37. Time skip

A year had passed since the Evilus Incident.

Nothing special had happened since then.

If there was anything of note, it was simply that Orcbolg had gained his second name—The Ashen Knight.

When the title was first bestowed upon him, the name spread quickly through Orario. Adventurers spoke of his relentless fighting style, his emotionless efficiency, and his ever-present helmet that hid his face from all. Wherever he went, eyes followed. He was recognized. He was acknowledged.

But that, too, faded with time.

Unlike Ais Wallenstein, who had climbed from Level 2 and then to Level 4 within a year and a half, Orcbolg had remained at Level 2. There were no sudden leaps in power. No grand tales of overwhelming victories.

He simply continued hunting.

And so, his fame dimmed.

But that did not matter to him.

The Dungeon still called. And he still answered.

Dungeon – Floor 23

The air was thick with humidity. Damp stone corridors twisted endlessly, their surfaces etched with glowing runes that pulsed with faint, eerie light. Shadows flickered in the distance, shifting as if alive.

This was Thebe Labyrinth—the 23rd Floor.

Orcbolg moved without hesitation, his round shield raised, sword ready.

A sharp chittering sound echoed from the darkness. Then—movement.

Two creatures emerged from the gloom, their razor-sharp scythes gleaming in the dim light.

Elite Mantis Warriors.

Their insectoid bodies stood tall, nearly as large as a minotaur, with chitin as tough as steel. They were not mindless monsters; they hunted like assassins—waiting, calculating, striking at the perfect moment.

One of them lunged.

Orcbolg met it head-on.

A flash of silver—his sword carved through its forelimb, severing it in a clean arc.

The monster screeched, ichor spraying onto the stone floor.

The second one struck from behind. Fast. Precise.

Its scythe descended toward his exposed back—

CLANG.

His shield caught the blow. The force pushed him back a step, but nothing more. Without pause, he drove his blade into its chest, twisting before yanking it free.

The mantis collapsed. Dead.

The wounded one screeched again, refusing to flee despite its missing limb.

Orcbolg stepped forward.

It tried to retaliate with its remaining scythe, but it was already too late.

One final strike.

The Elite Mantis Warrior fell.

The bodies dissolved into light, leaving behind large magic stones and a single jagged Mantis Jaw.

Orcbolg collected them, tucking the loot into his pouch.

Another sound.

But this time, it was different.

A low, unnatural rumbling.

Then, the stone beneath his feet trembled.

Two towering figures loomed ahead, rising from the cavern floor itself. Their bodies resembled massive stone golems, but their torsos pulsed with a sickly green glow, veins of poisonous energy coursing through them.

Toxic Bloom Golems.

They were tougher than the mantises. Their rock-like exteriors were resistant to normal slashes, and the toxic sacs in their bodies made close combat dangerous.

But that did not change what needed to be done.

Orcbolg raised his shield.

And advanced.

The cavern trembled.

Two Toxic Bloom Golems loomed ahead, their hulking stone forms crackling with eerie green light. Their bodies pulsed with toxic energy, and their movements were slow but deliberate—each step causing the ground to shake.

Orcbolg did not hesitate.

He moved forward, shield raised, sword steady.

The first golem lifted a massive arm and swung. A crushing blow meant to end the fight in one strike.

Orcbolg stepped to the side—just enough.

BOOM.

The impact shattered the stone floor where he had been standing. Shards of rock flew in all directions.

Close. But not close enough.

He countered. His blade struck the golem's arm—but barely left a scratch.

Too tough.

The Toxic Bloom Golem's body was more durable than the Mantis Warriors. His usual method of cutting through enemies wouldn't work here.

The second golem began to move, its core pulsating brighter—a warning.

Poison release incoming.

Orcbolg retreated.

A moment later, a sickly green mist erupted from the golem's torso, spreading across the battlefield.

A trap.

Orcbolg stayed just outside its range. The mist lingered for several seconds before slowly fading.

Rushing in recklessly would be fatal.

The golems were slow, but their resilience and poison made them dangerous foes.

Then—how to kill them?

He observed. Waited.

The glow in their chests pulsed rhythmically. The poison built up before each release.

Their arms moved with predictable, heavy swings.

And then, he saw it. The weakness.

The poison sacs in their chests.

Unarmored. Exposed.

That was where he needed to strike.

The first golem stepped forward again.

Orcbolg moved.

Dodge. Pivot. Step in.

He was beneath its arm before the swing could land.

A single thrust—aimed at the core.

His blade sank deep.

The golem shuddered.

The toxic energy inside it flared violently.

Then—a sudden detonation.

BOOM.

The explosion sent dust and shards of stone flying in every direction.

Orcbolg raised his shield, bracing against the shockwave.

When the dust settled, the first golem was gone. Only its magic stone and a broken toxic sac remained.

The second golem roared.

It charged—slower than before, but reckless.

Orcbolg waited.

Then, stepped forward to meet it.

One more kill.

The second Toxic Bloom Golem charged.

Its massive stone feet cracked the floor beneath it, and its pulsing core flared with unstable green energy.

Orcbolg stood his ground.

He had seen this pattern before.

The heavier a monster's body, the easier it was to predict.

Dodge too early, and they adjust. Dodge too late, and you die.

But dodge at the right moment?

The monster becomes vulnerable.

The golem swung its giant arm down.

A direct blow meant to crush him where he stood.

Orcbolg waited.

Then—he moved.

A single step to the side.

CRASH.

The impact shook the dungeon floor. But Orcbolg was already behind the golem—positioned near its exposed core.

His sword thrust forward.

Steel met flesh.

The blade pierced deep into the pulsing sac.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then—BOOM.

The toxic core detonated, sending a burst of poisonous mist into the air.

Orcbolg had already retreated—shield raised, eyes locked on the dissolving remains of the golem.

Two down.

The mist lingered for a moment before thinning out.

He surveyed the battlefield.

Nothing moved. No new threats emerged.

Clear.

Orcbolg stepped forward, retrieving the dropped loot: a magic stone and a shattered toxic sac.

He placed them in his pouch and adjusted his grip on his sword.

This floor was cleared. But the Dungeon would never stay empty for long.

The monsters would respawn in five hours.

If he stayed, he would have to fight them all again.

With that in mind, he decided to go back.