"Finally, Floor 7. When is this going to end? I'm sick of this trash dungeon," Mythy complained, dragging his feet.

  The rest of the party chuckled, the brief tension from the previous floors seemingly forgotten.

  "Tell me about it. I could really use a stiff drink right now," Michael laughed, lightly bashing the rim of his massive shield against Uncle’s in a friendly gesture.

  Walking slightly ahead, Mosin remained completely silent. Beneath his flawless, stoic expression, a toxic rage was boiling over, feeding on the squad's blatant disrespect for the situation.

  "Everyone, heads up!" Meijin suddenly shouted from the shadows.

  Michael scoffed, not even raising his shield. "Another joke, Meijin? Really? Give it a—"

  Before the vanguard could finish his sentence, Floor 7 violently heaved. It wasn't just a tremor; it was a massive, localized earthquake that literally knocked both Michael and Uncle off their heavy, armored feet.

  From the cavern's depths, a deafening, unified roar shattered the air. A monstrous horde—no less than a thousand mutated beasts—poured out from the darkness, charging directly at the broken formation.

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  Before anyone could react, the air warped.

  "ENOUGH!"

  Mosin snapped.

  His eyes wide and bloodshot, the A-Class Psychic unleashed a devastating storm of telekinetic blades. Invisible scythes ripped through the frontlines of the horde, tearing flesh from bone and painting the stone walls dark red.

  "Stop screwing around, you idiots!" Mosin screamed, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated hysteria. He didn't stop attacking. He continuously drove his psychic weight down onto the already dead monsters, pulverizing their corpses into a sickening paste. "This isn't a fucking game! Your lives aren't toys! Stop acting like fools and focus on the damn job!"

  The party froze in sheer shock. They had never seen their cold, calculating leader lose his mind like this.

  "Mosin, stop! You're wasting mana!" Michael yelled, scrambling to his feet alongside Uncle and Sarah, trying to intervene.

  But as the rest of the thousand-strong horde surged forward to swallow the chaotic party, a terrifyingly cold gust of wind swept past them.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  Two deafening, concussive blasts of pure energy violently shook the cavern.

  The screaming of the horde vanished. The charging monsters didn't just die—they were instantly atomized, reduced to a massive cloud of gray ash raining down on the quiet floor.

  The silence that followed was suffocating.

  Mythy stepped forward. The thirteen-year-old boy was no longer looking bored. His eyes were dead, glowing with an overwhelming, monstrous density of S-Class mana that made the air itself hard to breathe. He looked past the ash, his gaze locking directly onto Mosin and the rest of the stunned party.

  "Tone it down," Mythy said, his voice dropping to a chilling, emotionless whisper. "If you guys don't shut up and stop this pathetic screaming... you're next."

  In a single breath, the boy had wiped out the entire seventh floor, leaving nothing but an explicit threat hanging over his own team.