The air changed the moment Arthur stepped past the archway leading to Floor 71.
Gone were the faintly humming rest runes and soft blue glow of the previous floor's chamber. In their place, cold silence blanketed everything, thick and absolute. The only sound was the crunch of snow under Arthur's bare feet and the slow, rhythmic drip of water melting somewhere deeper in the shadows.
There was no sun here—no sky. Just an enormous underground cavern stretched wide like a sleeping beast. Jagged ice clung to every surface, glittering faintly from veins of monarch crystals embedded in the cave walls. They pulsed with soft luminescence, casting ghostly reflections on the frost-covered rocks and creating the illusion of movement in the periphery of his vision.
Arthur exhaled slowly. His breath turned to mist before being swallowed by the bitter air. The temperature had dropped sharply—far colder than any other floor so far.
He shivered.
The only clothing he had was the same pitiful outfit he'd escaped slavery in: a pair of threadbare, ripped pants with more holes than fabric, and a tattered shirt that clung loosely to his lean frame, torn down the side and too thin to offer warmth. His caramel skin was marked with bruises and faded whip scars, some newer than others. His hair was damp with sweat from the previous battle, now freezing at the ends.
The only thing of value on him was the weapon in his hand—a jagged obsidian spear with a cracked shaft and serrated blade, looted from the First Floor's boss beast. It wasn't elegant, but it was deadly. And more importantly, it was his.
A deep groan echoed faintly through the cavern—far away, but definitely not human.
Arthur tensed.
Above, nestled within the hanging icicles, a pair of dim eyes blinked before disappearing into the snow-dusted stalactites.
Olivia's voice crackled softly in the crystal earring in his left ear—an enchantment she gave him just before he left the rest chamber.
"I see at least three of them," she murmured. "Stay sharp. Floor 71 isn't like the last ones. These beasts don't rush you. They wait."
Arthur scanned the surroundings.
The cavern looked empty. But that was the point. Floor 71 was deceptive—cold, white, and still. But lurking under the snow were serpents the size of wagons, beasts with glacial skin that blended seamlessly into their environment. Their breaths could freeze lungs, and their poison was slow, painful, and paralyzing.
And the only sign they were near?
The eerie sound of ice... shaking.
Not cracking. Not crunching.
Shaking.
A subtle, vibrating chime, like a thousand tiny frost crystals rattling together in warning.
Arthur swallowed.
He was alone. For the first time since entering the dungeon.
"Anything else I should know?" he whispered.
"Don't die," Olivia replied, light as ever. "I'm your knight in shining armor, remember? But I'm only allowed to jump in if you're bleeding out."
"Oh, that's comforting," he muttered.
She chuckled. "Have fun."
The connection went quiet.
Arthur gripped his spear tighter, pulse quickening. Then, without a word, he began to move.
He advanced slowly through the cavern, spear raised and eyes darting between the snowy outcroppings and glowing walls. His feet left shallow prints behind him, and he made a conscious effort not to disturb too much snow. Every step counted here.
The silence was crushing.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
Nothing.
And then...
Shhhhhh...
That sound. Like dry leaves rattling. Like glass powder skittering across ice.
Arthur froze.
He turned slowly.
A patch of snow behind him shimmered—not moved, shimmered—and then split open like a mouth.
The serpent burst upward in a blur of pale scales, its jaws wide and glowing blue with frosted venom.
Arthur ducked low.
The breath attack missed by inches, but the icy fog grazed his shoulder, instantly numbing his arm. He rolled, spun the spear, and jabbed upward just as the serpent's thick body slammed into the ground where he'd stood.
His weapon struck true—just behind the creature's eye—and a thick, tar-like ooze spilled out. But the beast didn't scream. It vibrated, the entire body rattling with a sound like grinding icicles, calling to its kin.
"Oh, hell," Arthur cursed, wrenching the spear free and stumbling back.
Another shimmer. Then another.
From beneath the snow, two more beasts rose—twin serpents with scales like compacted glaciers, eyes glowing with faint cyan fire.
He was surrounded.
On a ledge far above, Olivia crouched on a ridge of frozen stone, chin resting on one knee as she watched him through a translucent scrying crystal they got from the last floor.
"You're not doing bad," she mused aloud. "But your footwork still sucks."
She twirled a strand of her damp hair. "Come on, Arthur. Show me something fun."
Arthur could barely feel his left arm, and the cold was seeping into his legs, but he refused to fall.
He spun his spear in a wide arc, creating distance, and then stabbed downward, cracking a chunk of ice and forcing one serpent to rear back.
He used the momentum to lunge forward, driving his shoulder into the smaller of the two. It flinched, but not enough. Its breath curled out again, and this time, Arthur didn't escape entirely.
His legs buckled. The poison was kicking in.
Pain rippled through his chest as cold fire coursed through his veins.
He screamed—but it was not in fear. It was rage.
He slammed the butt of the spear into his own leg, numbing it further but jarring his muscles back into action.
Then he roared and launched the spear in a perfect, spiraling throw.
It struck the first serpent dead-center in the throat.
The beast thrashed once... then collapsed in a heap, its blood hissing as it hit the cold ground.
Arthur collapsed to one knee, panting.
One left.
The larger serpent circled him, hissing.
His weapon was still lodged in the other body.
He had nothing now but his hands, his instincts... and his anger.
The serpent lunged.
Arthur moved faster.
He ducked under the bite, grabbed the spear handle with both hands, and ripped it free as the tail of the creature slammed into his back.
He was thrown like a ragdoll, hitting the wall hard enough to draw blood.
But he still had the spear.
He spat blood, rolled to his feet, and didn't wait.
With a roar, he charged the beast, planting the spear beneath its mouth and driving upward with all his strength. The blade pierced flesh, then skull, then brain.
The serpent convulsed.
And stilled.
Olivia raised a brow from her perch. "Damn," she whispered. "That was almost hot."
She touched the crystal. "You alive down there?"
Arthur's ragged breath came through the connection. "Define alive."
"Still dramatic. You'll be fine."
He chuckled, hoarse and tired. "I win, right?"
"Round one, maybe," Olivia said. "You still have the rest of the floor to clear."
Arthur groaned.
Then, somehow, he smiled.
He wasn't dead.
Not yet.
And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to feel alive.