Elius resumed their training with relentless focus.
Ron tore through goblins with raw power, his velociraptor form gliding across the ground in brutal sweeps.
Shiro moved with increasing confidence, learning to time his clone's attacks in tandem with his own.
Klee's green-glowing aura became more stable, healing quicker and reaching wider.
And Lina—after repeated scolding—finally began using her ninja clone not just as an attacker but as a shield, protecting Klee and redirecting ambushes.
But Elius was no longer impressed. Not because they weren't improving—they were. But because his mind was elsewhere.
More Martial Skill fragments had stopped appearing.
At first, he thought he had just run out of luck. After all, five fragments for a single skill was already excessive for this kind of dungeon. But something gnawed at his head.
They had roamed deeper into the dungeon now.
Torch by torch, cave by cave, they'd cleared every goblin lair.
More than fifty had died under his sword alone, not counting those handled by the team.
He'd taken breaks to cultivate too. Sitting cross-legged in quiet corners where the spiritual force felt thickest.
Drawing in qi, cycling it through his meridians. And after hours of effort—he reached it.
[Ding!]
You have reached the Seventh Level of Qi Condensation (Middle Stage)
The power bump had been noticeable. His claw technique felt sharper, his energy smoother, his stamina better. And yet, no new Martial Skill fragments dropped.
He recalled what the system had told him when they first entered.
[Tip: Dungeon Spiritual Energy affects respawn rates and Martial Skill generation. Absorb enough, and the dungeon monsters will stop reviving.]
He had done that.
By cultivating, he had disrupted the dungeon's revival matrix. But that also meant—no more goblins.
No more skill drops.
He'd killed too well.
And now, his opportunity was vanishing.
Elius stood quietly, arms crossed, as Ron and Shiro double-teamed a goblin brute while Lina held back a scout from flanking them.
Klee poured green light over Shiro's shallow cut, sealing it instantly.
They didn't even need him to supervise now.
His eyes narrowed.
"Maybe… it's time I checked the other side," he muttered.
He'd sent his clone there earlier—deep into the other wing of the cave.
A stretch of tunnels none of the others had visited yet.
The clone's mission was to keep potential threats at bay, make sure no monsters came to flank them from behind, find cultivation spots, and fight… only when necessary.
And now, that wing was quiet.
Too quiet.
His clone had returned recently, reporting the area was clear.
But he remembered something odd.
The system didn't notify him of any goblin kills while the clone was active. There were no XP pings. No system chimes. Nothing. It was as if the clone's actions were invisible to the system.
A thought struck him.
Maybe the Martial Skill fragments don't drop unless I kill them myself.
His eyes lit up.
Without saying a word to Ron, Lina, Shiro, or Klee—he turned and walked away, silent as a shadow. None of them noticed. They were too caught in the flow of battle.
He believed that they could survive on their own now. He also left his clone, even if it was faceless, he would just put a clothing cover on its face.
Meanwhile, Elius made his way toward the tunnels that the clone had scouted.
The air was cooler here.
Quieter.
The blood that stained most of the dungeon was absent.
The rocky ground was undisturbed, the torches still flickering steadily on their sconces.
There were no scorch marks.
No broken arrows.
No shattered swords.
This part of the cave felt untouched—pristine.
The only thing missing was life.
No goblin chatter echoed.
No angry shrieks or heavy steps disturbed the silence.
He walked with deliberate caution.
Every step echoed faintly on the stone floor.
He passed under jagged rock arches and winding turns. The natural corridors stretched onward like the throat of some enormous beast. But it was empty. Sterile.
There were signs of skirmishes.
Here, a broken club. There, a smear of green blood that had long dried. He could feel it—his clone had killed a goblin here. Quick, surgical strikes. Nothing messy. Only when necessary.
A goblin archer that had likely seen it.
A patrol captain that may have noticed.
But no fragments had appeared.
Elius continued walking. Slow. Careful.
The deeper he went, the more evident it became—his clone had cleared several sections. But each death had been clean, efficient, and unrecognized by the system.
He turned a corner and entered a wider chamber.
The air here was heavier.
The space felt more dense.
Not spiritually—physically. The walls seemed closer together despite the open space. And near the center of the chamber…
A small pile of corpses.
Goblin corpses.
They were twisted in agony, clearly surprised when they died.
Their weapons were scattered, their armor dented in the same spot.
Clone strikes, Elius confirmed. "But… no drop?"
He stepped closer.
And then he saw it.
Just behind one of the goblins—buried partially beneath a clawed foot—something glimmered faintly in the dim light.
A soft pulse.
Blue-green.
Systemic.
His heart leapt.
He knelt, pushing the foot aside gently, and uncovered a glowing shard of qi.
[Fragment of Martial Skill Found!]
Martial Skill: Unknown
Type: Normal Type
Owned: 1/5
Effect: Fragment only. Collect remaining pieces to unlock full skill.
Elius narrowed his eyes. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"So that's it," he murmured. "My clone doesn't register as a 'user' to the system."
He stood.
"It can kill. But it can't claim. Fragments only drop when I make the kill directly… or perhaps, only when I discover them."
He looked around the chamber.
This was just one of many places the clone had passed through.
That meant—
There could be more.
More Martial Skill fragments.
More strength.
Hidden in untouched corners, scattered throughout the half of the dungeon he hadn't even explored personally.
And now…
He had a reason to check every single one.
Elius turned back toward the tunnels. His mind was already calculating.
It's time to retrace every footstep my clone took. Every chamber. Every corpse. Every dark corner.
With a faint grin, he whispered into the silence:
"I see… so my clone couldn't really detect the fragments."
His eyes gleamed.
"And now, I have to check the places it visited."
He disappeared into the dark.
…
Back to the four.
Ron, in his half-velociraptor form, tore across the battlefield like a scaled demon, his elongated claws raking across goblin hides.
With every kill, a primal thrill burned deeper into his bones. He had begun to smile in battle—his toothy maw opening wide as he clashed and clawed.
Shiro, the silent ninja, worked in tandem with his clone.
Both forms flickered in and out of visibility, striking with smoke bombs, disappearing, and slashing from the shadows.
His movements grew more refined with each skirmish, more dangerous, more practiced.
Lina, the ghostly girl, shimmered in and out of phase. Her translucent body weaved through goblin blades and spears as if she were mist.
Her ghost form allowed her to flicker behind enemies and shove her cold palm through their chests to disrupt their flow of energy.
When it was too dangerous, she phased completely out, then emerged again behind another target.
And Klee—sweet, glowing Klee—stood at the heart of the battlefield like a beacon of emerald light.
Her palms emitted gentle green pulses that wrapped around her allies, closing wounds, stitching muscle, soothing bruised flesh, and reinforcing their stamina.
The more the others fought, the harder she worked. Her hands never stopped glowing. Her feet never stopped moving.
But Elius…
He was detached.
Sitting cross-legged atop a slab of stone, cloaked in robes that had formed from his own qi, he looked like a meditating monk—or a silent judge.
A layer of mist hung over his shoulders, and his five floating swords hovered like sentinels around him.
A mask of shadow had draped over his face—not a literal mask, but a shadow born of his immense concentration.
His mind was elsewhere, deeper into his meridians, farther into the spirals of his qi sea.
He barely looked at the others now, only lifting a finger to direct his swords when needed.
And even then, the swords didn't hum with the same casual cruelty as before.
They struck slowly.
Deliberately.
As if each kill cost a fragment of thought.
When another goblin group appeared—six of them this time—Ron's claws snapped open with excitement.
"Elius!" he called out, breathing heavily. "Can you… make it six this time? I think we're ready."
Elius didn't speak.
He simply raised his hand, and a sixth sword shimmered into existence behind him.
Then he nodded once, slow and deliberate.
No words.
No instructions.
Just silent approval.
The goblins charged forward—larger than before, their snarls deeper, their leather armor covered in dark tribal markings.
One of them had a club laced with crude metal spikes.
Another wore bones strung into a necklace that clattered with every step.
They were different. Stronger. Smarter.
But none of the four noticed.
Not right away.
They rushed in.
Ron tackled the first goblin, but the beast twisted unnaturally and drove its elbow into his ribs with shocking force, sending him reeling back.
Shiro's clone lunged for the second, but the goblin blocked it with uncanny timing, then spun into Shiro's real body, slashing across his chest. Blood flew.
Klee gasped and fired a healing pulse mid-combat.
Lina tried to slip behind the third, but it turned—almost sensing her approach—and drove a dagger into her intangible form. It didn't pierce, but the contact made her reel with spiritual backlash.
The goblins didn't die easily this time.
They coordinated.
They grouped in pairs—using one to bait, the other to punish.
The four's confidence cracked quickly.
Ron was panting, his claws trembling.
Shiro had blood staining his ninja outfit, both from the enemy and himself. His clone flickered weakly now, unable to hold form for long.
Klee was drained. Her breathing was rapid, and her green light dimmed, flickering with each cast.
Lina gritted her teeth, spectral hands clenched into fists. She tried to shield Klee, but the goblins moved with strange cunning.
One even used a dead goblin's corpse as a shield to absorb an energy blast.
Minutes dragged on.
They fought desperately—claw against blade, clone against spear, healing light against brutal wounds.
Every movement burned like fire in their bones.
Every misstep cost them blood.
Eventually—barely—they won.
One goblin remained, snarling, and Shiro's clone leapt from the shadows and drove a dagger into its throat. It gurgled. Dropped. Twitched.
Silence.