Is It Wrong To Level Up In A Dungeon?

Chapter 18. Recognition

Deep within the Dungeon, the sound of metal meeting flesh echoed through the dimly lit corridors. Ottar moved like an unstoppable force, carving through waves of minotaurs at Freya's command. Their roars of defiance meant nothing to him. Each swing of his blade crushed bone and shattered will, reducing the battlefield to a blood-soaked slaughter.

Then, amidst the carnage, a single minotaur emerged. Unlike the others, it wielded a weapon drenched in fresh blood, its stance unwavering despite the overwhelming pressure radiating from Ottar.

Intrigued, Ottar shattered its weapon with a single, precise strike, the fragments scattering across the Dungeon floor. But instead of finishing the beast, he tossed it one of his own weapons.

"Master it," he ordered, his deep voice carrying a challenge. The minotaur gripped the weapon with trembling hands, its fate now in its own grasp.

Meanwhile, on the 10th floor, Bell and Lili moved cautiously through the labyrinthine tunnels. With their day off approaching, they had decided to push themselves, exploring as deep as they could manage before returning to the surface.

It wasn't long before trouble found them.

A swarm of imps poured out from the shadows, their crimson eyes glowing with malicious intent. The air filled with their shrill screeches as they charged.

Bell wasted no time. His dagger flashed, carving through the horde with ruthless efficiency. Within moments, the imps lay dead at his feet.

"Igris."

Lili turned to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Ig—what?"

Before she could finish, a dark figure materialized beside Bell. Cloaked in shadowy armor, his towering frame radiated an eerie presence.

Lili stumbled back, eyes widening. "W-what the hell?! A summoned fighter? Since when could you do that?"

Bell smirked. "I just learned it, actually."

A heavy thud interrupted their exchange. More enemies emerged—a small band of orcs, their brutish forms looming over the remaining imps as they gathered together, readying for battle.

Bell's expression hardened. "Defeat them."

Without hesitation, Igris surged forward. His longsword cut through the imps with sickening ease, the creatures barely having time to react before being reduced to lifeless husks. The battle was over in less than five seconds.

Silence followed.

Bell stepped forward, looking up at his summoned knight. "Good work, Igris."

Igris gave a curt nod with quiet satisfaction at the praise.

At the break of dawn, Bell's blade clashed against Ais's once more, their sparring session continuing atop the city wall. The crisp morning air carried the metallic ring of their weapons meeting, each strike sharper and more controlled than the last.

Bell moved with newfound precision, his reflexes sharper, his movements more fluid. He was no longer the fumbling adventurer he had once been. He could keep up with Ais—perhaps not match her, but enough to no longer feel like he was being left behind.

They paused for a brief moment, catching their breath. Ais studied him, golden eyes filled with curiosity.

"You're getting stronger... fast," she murmured.

Bell exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "I've been training harder. Facing challenges head-on." He tightened his grip on his dagger. "There's someone I want to get stronger for."

To his surprise, Ais nodded as if she understood completely. "I know that feeling."

Her words lingered between them, unspoken yet heavy with meaning.