The pale dawn light had barely begun to filter through the cracks of the hovel when Hikigaya Hachiman awoke. His body, as always, protested with the residual pain of continuous exertion, a map of fatigued muscles reminding him of the two intense weeks he had spent fighting for survival and progress in the Dungeon. But today, beneath the fatigue, there was something else: a feeling of solidity, of capability. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his mind clearing quickly, reviewing his current situation.
The numbers from the previous night's update were still fresh: Basic stats firmly in Rank F – Strength F-338, Endurance F-363, Dexterity F-303, Agility F-325. And most notably, Magic D-555. It was a quantum leap compared to the absolute zero of two weeks ago. Add to that the light, dark armor Hephaestus had given him – real, reliable protection, far superior to anything he could project or reinforce with his limited mana. And, of course, there were the Valis. Three hundred thousand. An amount that seemed almost obscene after having counted every coin in the early days. It wasn't wealth by Orario standards, he knew, but it was security, a freedom he hadn't had before. The crushing pressure for money to survive day by day had considerably lessened.
As he disentangled himself from Aqua's usual embrace – she murmured something about 'five more minutes' and turned over – Hachiman made his decision. 'With this level of status and equipment, and a decent financial reserve, it makes no sense to keep sticking to the safe floors. Farming levels 7 to 9 was productive, but I feel the gains are starting to diminish. I need bigger challenges to continue growing at this pace. I need to test my real limits.' His eyes turned metaphorically towards the Dungeon's depths. 'Tenth floor. Today's the day.' The decision wasn't driven by desperation, but by a logical assessment of his capabilities and the need to keep evolving.
He prepared with silent efficiency. He ignored Aqua's grumbles about breakfast when he picked up his Valis pouch (leaving an amount for her, as usual). He checked the straps and buckles of Hephaestus's armor, feeling the cold, protective metal against his skin. With a mental command – "Trace On" – he projected the familiar basic short sword, feeling the slight drain on his now considerable Rank D mana reserve. The projection was almost instantaneous now, a conditioned reflex. With the sword crudely sheathed at his belt, he stepped out into the cool morning air, leaving his goddess and the hovel behind, and headed with firm steps towards Babel.
The descent through the Dungeon was notably different from his first forays. The initial floors, which once seemed like menacing labyrinths, were now almost an inconvenience to be quickly overcome. He moved with speed and confidence through the bluish corridors of floors 1 and 2. Goblins and Kobolds crossing his path were met with almost casual disdain – an agile dodge, a quick, precise cut from his mana-reinforced sword, or they were simply ignored as he maintained his accelerated pace. He noted the subtle change in architecture as he passed into floors 3 and 4, the corridors perhaps becoming slightly narrower or having more blind turns, but the Dungeon Lizards that appeared were dealt with using the same brutal efficiency he had honed the previous week. His mind was focused on the goal: the tenth floor. Each step took him deeper, away from the relative safety of the surface.
Finally, he crossed the invisible boundary into the fifth floor. The environment still maintained the bluish walls, but Hachiman felt a subtle change in the atmosphere – a heavier silence, a sense of emptiness that seemed more expectant than peaceful. He slightly reduced his pace, caution resurfacing. Even if his goal was the tenth floor, complacency on any level of the Dungeon was an invitation to disaster. He was advancing down a wide corridor, senses alert, when the silence was broken.
First, the distant sound of footsteps – rapid, desperate, stumbling. Then, a low, guttural roar that vibrated through the stone, a sound laden with raw fury and overwhelming power. Hachiman stopped, hand instinctively on his sword hilt, turning towards the rapidly approaching sound.
And then they emerged around the bend in the corridor. The sight made Hachiman's blood run cold, despite the residual heat from exertion. A boy. Snow-white hair, red eyes wide with pure terror, stumbling as he ran for his life. He wore a chest protector so basic it was almost insulting given the danger pursuing him. And what danger it was. Right behind the boy, coming with thundering strides that made the floor tremble, was a Minotaur. Easily over two meters tall, a mountain of bovine muscle and primal fury, with long, curved horns and a two-handed axe that looked too heavy for any human to lift.
'Bell Cranel... and a Minotaur?! No... it can't be... Fifth floor?!' Hachiman's mind struggled with the cognitive dissonance. Minotaurs were monsters of the middle floors, fifteen or more levels down! It was impossible... unless... 'Unless this is that Minotaur. The beginning. The catalyst. Damn it, I walked right into the start of his story!' The realization hit like an anvil. He was witnessing – and about to be involved in – the event that would launch Bell Cranel on his meteoric journey.
Bell ran past Hachiman, eyes fixed straight ahead, not even noticing the other adventurer standing there. He was completely consumed by terror and the need to escape. But his passage had an immediate consequence for Hachiman. The Minotaur, perhaps having lost sight of Bell for an instant, or perhaps simply registering a new potential target, paused its pursuit for a fraction of a second. Its bloodshot red eyes fixed on Hachiman. With a roar that burst eardrums, the beast ignored the corridor Bell had fled down and charged directly at Hachiman, axe raised.
'No! Crap!' Hachiman reacted on pure instinct. He threw himself sideways, feeling the brutal wind of the axe pass where his head had been a millisecond before. The blow struck the stone floor, sending chips and dust flying. The raw power was palpable, the murderous intent overwhelming. Fear, a cold, primitive fear he hadn't felt since encountering the cosmic entity, shot up his spine. His Skill, 'A Loner's Protection', activated with full force, not as a conscious focus, but as a primal scream from his soul to survive. His senses sharpened, time seemed to slow minimally.
And in this state of heightened perception and mortal danger, something deeper took over. "Trace On." It wasn't a thought, it was an emanation. Mana surged, not for the simple sword he would normally create, but for something different, something demanded by the level of the threat. Bluish light exploded in his hands, solidifying not into one, but two curved, elegant blades. One black as polished obsidian, with red inscriptions; the other white as ivory, with black inscriptions. The Yin-Yang symbol adorned the base of both. Kanshou and Bakuya. The Married Twin Blades. They seemed to fit into his hands as if they had always belonged there, emanating a resonance of countless battles.
'But how?! I've never projected them before! Not consciously!' his rational mind screamed amidst the chaos. There was no time to analyze. The Minotaur, angered by its miss, was already turning for a new attack. Guided by an instinct that seemed to flow from the blades themselves, Hachiman moved. He advanced, not retreated. Kanshou, the black blade, rose in a swift arc, deflecting the Minotaur's arm as it tried to grab him. Simultaneously, Bakuya, the white blade, descended with surgical precision, cutting deep into the beast's chest and shoulder muscle.
The Minotaur let out a sharp bellow of genuine pain. Blood spurted, staining the floor and Hachiman. The cut was deep, much deeper than the simple sword could have managed. 'It works! They're strong!' Hachiman exulted internally. But the exultation was short-lived. The wound, though painful and significant, only enraged the monster further. It wasn't a fatal blow. With a roar of pure fury, the Minotaur ignored the pain and threw a punch with its free fist – a direct blow, without technique, but with the weight and force of a battering ram.
Hachiman tried to block, crossing Kanshou and Bakuya in front of him, channeling mana to reinforce them as much as he could. The blades withstood the initial impact with a metallic shriek, but the kinetic force was simply overwhelming. He felt the brutal impact in his arms, in his chest, and then he was thrown backward like a leaf in a hurricane.
He flew several meters down the corridor before colliding violently against the side stone wall, near the entrance of a dead end – the same dead end where Bell had cornered himself. The impact stole his breath and made his vision darken. He slid to the floor, coughing violently, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. Every bone seemed to protest. For a moment, everything went black.
Fighting unconsciousness, he managed to open his eyes. The pain was excruciating, but he was alive. He looked at his armor's breastplate. There was a deep mark, an ugly dent right in the center, where the Minotaur's fist had likely hit him through the blades. 'Hephaestus-sama... this armor... saved my life. Definitely.' Without it, the impact would have crushed his ribs, perhaps punctured his lungs.
With a groan of pain and effort, he managed to push himself against the wall and stand, though his legs trembled. Kanshou and Bakuya were still firm in his hands, a testament to their projection.
The Minotaur, however, wasn't finished. It looked at the fallen Hachiman, then at Bell cowering at the end of the dead-end alley. It seemed to assess the situation and decided that the original prey, now cornered and helpless, was the easier and more satisfying target. Ignoring Hachiman for now, the beast began to walk heavily towards Bell, its axe dragging on the floor, creating sparks.
Hachiman tried to shout, tried to move, but his body responded with agonizing slowness. He could only watch helplessly as the Minotaur approached Bell, raising the axe for the killing blow. The terror on Bell's face was absolute.
And then, the world dissolved into speed and light. A flash of silver and gold. A figure that moved so fast it seemed to teleport. A sharp, almost inaudible hum was heard, and the clean sound of metal cutting through flesh and bone.
The Minotaur stopped. The axe fell from its hands with a clang. A perfect red line appeared across its waist. And then, in an almost surreal silence, the monster's upper half slid sideways and fell to the floor, gushing a deluge of blood that drenched Bell Cranel from head to toe.
In the place where the Minotaur had stood, a blonde girl with golden eyes now stood. Her expression was a mask of impassive calm, almost indifferent. The rapier in her hand, Desperate, was immaculate. Aiz Wallenstein. The Sword Princess. She had eliminated the threat that had nearly killed two Level 1 adventurers with a single casual strike.
Slowly, Aiz sheathed her sword. The silence in the corridor was heavy, broken only by the dripping blood and Bell's gasping, shocked breaths. Then, Aiz's golden, unfathomable eyes turned. Her gaze passed over the Minotaur's body, lingered for an instant on the blood-soaked, shock-paralyzed boy, and finally landed on Hachiman – injured, leaning against the wall, but still standing, firmly gripping the strange twin swords that had appeared out of nowhere.