Ray woke up, his vision blurry and senses tingling. He was lying on a cold stone floor, surrounded by damp walls and the faint smell of decay. For a moment, he had no memory of how he had ended up in this dungeon. The Teleportation Stone lay shattered beside him, useless. He had no choice but to find a way out.

  As he stood, his body felt heavy, unfamiliar with the limits of its own immense power. The residual energy of his “Monarch of Infinity” form was still inside him, but it wasn’t fully attuned. His muscles ached, and mana hummed erratically through his veins.

  Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the corridor. Low-level beasts emerged from the shadows, fangs bared and claws ready. Without hesitation, Ray drew his ghost sword. In a blur of motion, he slashed, impaled, and obliterated one after another. Each strike was precise yet restrained; he didn’t want to waste energy, but instinct guided his hands.

  Then came the red-tier orcs. Massive, brutish, and brainless, they charged like reckless bulls, swinging axes and clubs with wild abandon. Their foolish aggression made them predictable, almost comical—but dangerous in numbers. Ray moved like a shadow, cutting through them effortlessly. Each swing of his sword created shockwaves that splintered bone and crushed armor.

  Even though the orcs were unintelligent, their sheer size and brute strength forced Ray to anticipate every move. He dodged, parried, and countered, his reflexes honed by years of training and his inherited power. The dungeon walls shook with each clash.

  As he stood amid the fallen, Ray realized his body was still not fully adjusted to his powers. Every movement required focus; every kill reminded him that even the weakest enemies could be dangerous if underestimated. Yet, he felt a spark of exhilaration—this was the beginning of his trial, a test to rediscover himself.

  With the corridor silent once more, Ray’s eyes glowed faintly. He whispered to himself, “If this is my prison, then I will conquer it. One step at a time.”

  The dungeon ahead stretched endlessly, filled with unknown horrors, but Ray walked forward, determined to survive—and awaken the full might of the last monarch once again.

  Ray moved deeper into the dungeon, the air growing colder and heavier with every step. The walls were jagged, and shadows twisted unnaturally. Soon, a group of old ores, massive stone-skinned beasts, blocked his path. Their eyes glowed with ancient malice. Ray’s ghost sword clashed against their rocky limbs, sparks flying as he deflected crushing blows. He weaved through their attacks, striking weak points and shattering stone armor with precise, brutal slashes. The ores fell one by one, their weighty bodies crashing to the floor, echoing through the dungeon corridors.

  As he advanced further, weird flying Arcdemons appeared. They wielded fiery swords and could cast fire magic, but Ray moved faster than their flames. With swift, calculated strikes, he deflected their fire, cut through their wings, and sent them plummeting to the floor. Despite their intimidating powers, they were nothing compared to him—but the dungeon’s aura felt stranger, as if watching him, testing him.

  Suddenly, killer hounds with glowing red eyes emerged, their mouths foaming, thirsting for blood. Ray felt a twinge of thrill. He knew his power could obliterate them instantly, but he wanted to push himself further. Closing his eyes, he focused, summoning a dark Spirit Sword—a weapon with a spirit soul capable of taking humanoid form. Shadows swirled, coalescing into Nyxaria the Death, a sleek, ominous sword that radiated power.

  Nyxaria whispered, eager for the taste of blood. In exchange for feeding on his enemies, it enhanced his strikes. Ray swung the spirit sword with deadly precision, tearing through the hounds and remaining Arcdemons. Each movement was fluid, lethal, and elegant. The creatures fell, leaving trails of scorched marks and blood, the dungeon floor trembling from the force of his attacks.

  As the echoes faded, Ray paused, sensing the dungeon’s depths beckoning him onward. The battles had only made him stronger, but something darker and more powerful awaited further below. With Nyxaria in hand and his spirit awakened, he descended, ready for whatever lay ahead.

  Ray reached the deepest part of the current dungeon floor, the air growing thick and heavy. Before him stood an ancient door, darkened and carved with symbols that pulsed faintly. With a determined push, he opened it and stepped into the next floor.

  The scene that greeted him was horrifying—dead knights, their armor rusted and bodies decayed, yet their eyes glowed with unnatural red light. Without hesitation, they lunged at him, weapons raised. Ray’s reflexes were sharp; he swung Nyxaria the Death, cutting through dozens at once. The spirit sword seemed to feed on the despair and malice of the knights, growing darker and heavier with each strike.

  Despite his overwhelming power, fatigue began to creep in. His swings slowed, his breaths came heavier, and a strange pressure pressed against his chest, something unlike normal exhaustion. Yet, he pressed on, slicing through wave after wave of undead knights, each attack wiping out clusters of enemies in seconds.

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  Confused and frustrated, Ray summoned mana and stamina potions, drinking them quickly, hoping for relief. He expected a surge of energy or a slight recovery—but nothing changed. The fatigue remained, heavier than before, gnawing at his body and willpower.

  Ray paused briefly, hands on his knees, looking around at the endless army of fallen knights. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones. This dungeon floor was suppressing him, testing him, or hiding a deeper secret he had yet to understand. Even as exhaustion weighed him down, Ray’s resolve hardened. He could not stop—not now. He gritted his teeth, preparing to face whatever lay ahead, determined to push past the strange force draining him.

  Ray found a small safe zone in the dungeon and sank onto the cold stone floor, letting his body relax for the first time in hours. Thoughts swirled in his mind. He knew his power was immense, yet uncontrolled. Perhaps he needed something to monitor and manage it, a system that could adapt with him and keep track of his growing strength. But the idea was too complex to handle in his current state. He pushed it aside for later and let exhaustion take over.

  As sleep claimed him, he slipped into a dream unlike any other. He was standing in a vast expanse of ruins, the remnants of a world torn apart—the Abyss. Memories of betrayal filled the air; gods and monarchs who had turned against him haunted the landscape. Only Serenith remained by his side. His mother, Aurelya, lay in eternal sleep, the cause unknown, her presence distant yet comforting.

  In the dream, Serenith leaned over him, her gaze soft but filled with worry. Ray felt the weight of their shared history and the power that had once consumed him. Serenith asked quietly, “Hey, Eryndor?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, calm yet commanding.

  “Do you think there is any force that can—” she started, but he gently pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her mid-sentence.

  “Don’t ever say that again,” he whispered, a firm promise in his voice. “There was, is, and will never be one who can do this.”

  He sighed, pulling her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he spoke with unwavering certainty:

  “Even fate, no matter how brutal, cannot tear us apart. Distance, horizons, time—they are meaningless. I promise you, I will come to save you, no matter the cost. After my mother, you are the one I love most.”

  He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and she blushed slightly, warmth spreading through the cold emptiness of the dream. The ruins around them seemed to fade, if only for a moment, replaced by the quiet certainty of their bond.

  Ray awoke with a start, the dream lingering in his mind, strengthening his resolve. Whatever the dungeon, whatever the abyss, he would control his power and protect those he loved, no matter the cost.

  Ray woke from his dream, tears streaking his face. The weight of guilt pressed heavily on his chest. So many promises he had made… and so many he had failed to keep. Yet now, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had a chance—a chance to save Serenith, to honor the bond they shared. Wiping his tears, his resolve solidified.

  “I will save you… and no one will ever make you cry again,” he whispered, voice trembling but firm. “The Balance God will pay for every tear.”

  With renewed determination, Ray rose to his feet. He did not know how much time had passed, or how many floors of this dungeon lay ahead. But he could not stop. Each step brought him closer to freedom, revenge, and redemption.

  Moving through the shadowed corridors, he descended to another floor. The space before him shimmered with countless forms—slimes, small and gelatinous, bouncing gently around the room. A peculiar warmth stirred in him. They were cute, harmless, calm—so unlike the horrors he had faced so far. He did not want to harm them.

  But then, he noticed something.

  As Ray walked cautiously through the floor, the slimes around him bounced innocently, their gelatinous forms shimmering softly under the dim dungeon light. Yet, something felt unusual—an aura unlike the others, dense and commanding, pressed against the air like a subtle warning.

  His eyes darted toward the far end of the floor. There, behind the sea of harmless slimes, a single figure emerged. At first glance, it appeared humanoid, almost like a woman standing gracefully. But as he stepped closer, he realized it was no ordinary humanoid—it was a Slime Monarch.

  Her form was elegant, her skin a deep forest-green hue, blending both slime and human features. A subtle shimmer traced the outline of her limbs, and her eyes glowed with a sentient intelligence that sent a shiver down Ray’s spine. She moved forward, each step deliberate, graceful, almost regal, until she reached him.

  Without hesitation, she extended her hand. Ray instinctively understood the gesture. A contract was being offered. He asked, his voice steady despite the sudden tension, “Do you want to form a contract with me?”

  The slime monarch’s form rippled, and she nodded decisively, the gesture filled with an unspoken promise of loyalty.

  Ray extended his hand and grasped hers, and in that instant, a surge of mana flowed between them, intertwining their essences. The slimes around him began to shift and glow, their colors transforming into a blue-violet hue, their small forms now pulsating with a silent power.

  The monarch herself transformed further, her green tones replaced by a striking violet with shades of black, a commanding and beautiful presence radiating pure authority. Ray looked at her, impressed and inspired by her new form. “I will call you… Violet,” he said, giving her identity in this transformed state.

  With the contract sealed, Ray now had eternal soldiers at his command—the slime clan, bound to him, their loyalty unshakable. Without a moment’s pause, he turned toward the stairs leading to the next floor. Violet and the newly transformed slimes followed, their forms moving fluidly, ready to support him in the deadly dungeon that awaited above.

  The journey continued, but now, Ray was no longer alone. He had allies in this abyss, and the floor ahead would witness the first true display of his growing power.