On Zamasu's end, he moved with measured strides across the rocky terrain of Floor 15, his white toga not even stained from earlier scuffles.
He barely noticed the weight of the monster cores resting in his pouch. The tension of his first descent was gone. Now, it was just repetition.
He looked to his side, and looked down at a dead monster—a Dungeon lizard, its scaled body bent awkwardly where he'd struck it. Before it went up in smoke.
One punch.
Just one.
Its core had rolled into a corner, still glowing dimly. He didn't bother picking it up.
"Not worth it," he muttered.
Zamasu continued walking, arms loosely at his sides, each footstep soft but deliberate.
His silver hair drifted slightly with each movement, swaying like a banner in a breeze that didn't exist.
He wasn't tired. Not even slightly winded.
He hadn't taken a hit since he'd entered the Dungeon earlier that morning.
The monsters that leapt at him died too quickly for the fight to even count.
Although it's what he expected, it's still disappointing. He doesn't understand where this feeling is coming from, but it's almost as if he wants them to challenge him.
His first dive into the Dungeon had been interesting. New. Confusing. Full of unknowns.
The flickering torchlight, the howls echoing in the dark, the unknown threat of every shadowed turn—that had stirred something inside him.
Not quite fear, but something close enough to make his heart beat harder.
But now?
He crushed a goblin's skull with a backhand before it even finished screaming.
His face didn't change. His pulse remained steady.
"Why does it feel like I'm cleaning instead of exploring?" he asked aloud.
Only to receive no reply.
"GRRRAAAA-"
Another kobold came bounding at him from a nearby tunnel.
Zamasu stepped aside and delivered a straight jab. The creature flew backward, collided with the wall, and slumped over, unmoving.
*PUFF*
Its core tumbled free from its chest, bouncing once before coming to a rest near Zamasu's sandal.
He stared at it.
Glowing softly. Round. Warm.
He didn't pick it up.
He moved on.
Floor 16 brought little change. The air cooled slightly, the paths widened in places, and he saw evidence of older fights—bones scattered, walls cracked.
But the monsters here were still weak.
A needle rabbit darted toward him, claws raised. He caught it by the face, squeezing once before dropping it like garbage.
A pair of Dungeon ants tried to flank him. He stomped one into the dirt and smashed the other with his elbow without turning his head.
It wasn't even combat anymore. It was just maintenance.
Zamasu didn't feel tired, angry, or even particularly annoyed. He simply noted—internally, methodically—that there was nothing here worth his time.
"I should've just skipped straight to Floor 20," he muttered, stepping over the twitching remains of a frog shooter.
But he hadn't.
He has been strolling from Floor 1 till now to not miss any rare materials, and to see if he could get anything from the monsters.
But alas, they are too weak, they went up in smoke and they don't drop equipment.
By the time he reached Floor 17, the air had shifted. Cooler. Wetter.
He caught the scent of mineral-rich water somewhere in the distance, and the tunnel walls began to reflect the faint light from above.
Crystals lined some corners. Lichen glowed in patches of yellow-green, casting faint reflections across the otherwise silent chambers.
It was prettier than the last floors. But that was about it.
A large armored mole burst from the ground, howling. Zamasu blinked.
He didn't even slow down. He struck the creature with his foot in a rising arc.
Its body flipped through the air, shattered against the ceiling, and crashed into the floor with a sickening crunch. Its core dislodged and rolled away.
Zamasu watched it for a second. Then walked past.
A pack of five war shadows lunged at him next.
They rose silently from the walls, claws gleaming with poison, eyes glinting with malice. It would've been a problem for anyone else.
Zamasu weaved through them like they were made of mist. He struck one in the chest. Then another in the jaw. Then two more with a spinning backhand.
Each monster died immediately, disintegrating before they hit the ground.
He took the last one by the throat and slammed it against the stone, holding it for a few seconds longer than necessary.
It didn't fight. It simply died.
Zamasu dropped the carcass and stood there, surrounded by dust and drifting magical particles.
His hands were perfectly clean.
"This is pointless," he muttered.
***
A few minutes earlier…
Floor 15 had gone quiet again.
The lingering remnants from Zamasu's last kill drifted lazily in the stagnant air.
It hadn't even been a full five minutes since he disappeared down the tunnel toward Floor 16.
His footfalls, silent and deliberate, had long since faded.
But others were approaching.
From the opposite corridor, a group of five adventurers crept forward, weapons sheathed, steps hushed.
The one leading them—stocky, scarred, and grim-faced—raised a clenched fist to signal a halt. The others stopped without a word.
"Damn it," the redhead whispered, pulling back his hood and wiping sweat from his brow. "We missed him again."
"You sure?" the short, nervous one asked, glancing around the cavern with wide eyes.
"Look at the smoke," the woman with the sharp face said, nodding toward the fading remains of a Dungeon lizard dissolving in the corner.
"Still fresh. That thing died not even five minutes ago."
The fifth member, a lanky man with a crooked nose and narrow eyes, muttered, "Guy moves fast for someone walking."
"Too fast," the stocky leader said. "Either he's got some kind of movement Skill—or he just doesn't care what's waiting for him. He didn't even bother to clear the room."
"Cocky bastard!" the woman said coldly.
The group stood in silence for a moment, letting the implications settle. Then the redhead broke it.
"Well, we're not going to catch him by chasing. We're already behind, and you saw how fast he was last time."
"Then we wait," the leader said. "Right here."
The others turned to him.
"Here?" the lanky one asked. "On the fifteenth floor? You think he's gonna come back up through here?"
"He has to," the leader replied. "He probably hasn't mapped out the lower floors yet. If he goes to Floor 20 or deeper like the Guild reported, then eventually, he's gonna have to come back up the same way. And when he does…"
"He'll be tired," the woman finished, a smirk curling at her lips. "Deeper floors drain stamina fast, even for veterans."
"He's strong, yeah," the redhead said. "But strength doesn't mean endurance. Even Level Twos burn out if they go too deep without rest."
"And he doesn't have a party," the leader added. "No one to guard him while he sleeps. No one to cover his back. He'll climb back up here alone—and sore."
The nervous one shifted. "So… we jump him when he's weak?"
"Exactly," the woman said. She pulled her pack off her shoulder and unfastened a smaller pouch.
Inside was a set of small, ceramic vials and a tightly bound cloth.
"We still got the sleep powder?"
"Three doses," she confirmed. "High-grade. Dust-form. One good hit to the face and he's out for at least an hour or two. Maybe longer, depending on his resistance."
The lanky man nodded, unslinging a net from his back.
"Still got the tangleweave net. Coated with slow venom. Sticky and laced with paralyze thread. Not enough to stop a monster, but enough to bind up a human—maybe even an elf."
"We don't know if he's an elf," the redhead muttered. "His ears look the part, but something about him feels… off."
"He bleeds, doesn't he?" the leader snapped. "That's all that matters. Everything else is fluff."
The group paused as that last line lingered. Then the woman broke the silence again.
"What if he goes too deep? What if he doesn't come back today?"
"Then we wait," the leader said without hesitation. "We've already invested too much into watching him. Word's starting to spread—another day or two, and someone else will try to make a move. We strike now, or we lose the chance."
"He's got the face of a noble," the redhead said. "Someone like that goes for good money—especially to collectors, exotic slave traders, or black market tamers."
"He probably talks like a noble too," the lanky man added. "Calm. Too calm. Like nothing here scares him."
"That's why we're going to hit him at his most vulnerable," the leader repeated. "Overconfident. Probably thinks he's untouchable."
"Won't he sense us though?" the short one asked. "We've been following him for a while now. What if he already knows we're on his tail?"
The woman grinned. "Then he would've turned around and killed us already. No—he hasn't noticed. Or he thinks we're not a threat."
"Or," the redhead added, "he doesn't care. Which makes him a bigger idiot than I thought."
"Doesn't matter," the leader said. "This is our shot. We hit him when he comes back up this way. Corner him. Blind him. Hit him with the powder, bind him in the net, and then—"
"Then what?" the short one asked quietly. "We drag him out of the Dungeon? You think the Guild won't notice?"
"We'll use an old exit on Floor 7," the leader explained. "There's a hidden tunnel near the moss cavern. A smuggler's route. I've used it before. No Guild checkpoints."
"We just have to keep him under until then," the woman added. "And gag him before he wakes. If he has magic, we don't want to risk him chanting."
"Do we even know what he can do?" the redhead asked.
"No magic used so far," the leader said. "Just pure strength. That's the weird part. No chant, no spells, no enchantments. Just… fists."
"And one hell of a punch," the lanky man muttered.
"Which is why we don't fight fair," the woman said. "We overwhelm him with tools—not swords. We don't get into a brawl. We catch him while he's dragging his feet up from the lower floors, all battered and exhausted."
The redhead nodded. "He'll probably rest for a while down there. Maybe even sleep. We got time."
"So we wait here?" the short one asked again. "Right here?"
The leader looked around. The chamber was wide, with good sightlines in every direction. Multiple entry tunnels. A few broken stalagmites for cover. Not ideal—but workable.
"We take shifts," he said. "Two up. Three rest. Rotate every few hours. If he doesn't show by nightfall, we pull back, recover, and try again tomorrow."
"I'll take first watch," the woman offered. "I've got the best eyes."
The redhead sat down and leaned against a wall, already pulling a strip of dried meat from his pack. "Wake me when it's my turn."
The short one glanced nervously toward the tunnel Zamasu had disappeared into. "Do you really think we can pull this off?"
The leader didn't answer right away.
Then he said, "If we hit him hard enough—and fast enough—he won't even know what happened. Five of us. Traps, poison, powder. We don't need to fight him. We just need to make sure he doesn't get the chance to fight back."
"And if he does?" the lanky man asked.
"Then we scatter," the leader said, his voice low and serious. "No names. No heroics. If things go south, we abandon the op. We're not dying over this. Understood?"
Everyone nodded.
The woman tucked the powder back into her pouch and rested her back against a boulder.
"Still," she said, smirking faintly. "Would've been nice if we caught him on his way down. He looked too clean. Like the Dungeon couldn't touch him."
"That's what makes this work," the leader replied. "He doesn't expect anyone to challenge him. He thinks he's above everyone."
The short one still looked unsure.
The redhead saw it and leaned over, smirking.
"Relax. We're not fighting a god. He's just another cocky adventurer with a good face and weird powers. And in this city?" He grinned. "That just makes him a prize."
Chapter 18 end
Is this chapter good.