The walk back through the Dungeon was uneventful at first.
Zamasu moved with steady steps, the massive slab of silvery metal tucked under one arm, his robe weighted with monster cores collected earlier.
The faint glow from bioluminescent moss reflected off the polished stone walls as the winding passages of Floor 17 passed by in silence.
He kept his pace even, his senses relaxed. Despite the metal's size, its surprising lightness made carrying it trivial.
His only mild concern was having one arm occupied, but the monsters on these floors had proven laughably weak.
Nothing here could threaten him.
Still, he kept his eyes sharp as he approached the winding descent back toward Floor 16.
The uneven cavern walls eventually narrowed, guiding him toward the well-worn corridor connecting Floors 16 and 15.
The faint metallic scent in the air dulled as he neared the transition, replaced by the subtler smell of moss and ancient stone.
His steps echoed quietly, his bare feet brushing against the cool floor as he moved.
Within minutes, the slope narrowed further, the ceiling lowering until the cavern compressed into the familiar passage that connected Floor 16 to Floor 15—the same stretch of Dungeon he had walked through two days prior.
Zamasu's expression remained neutral.
His mind briefly wandered toward crafting plans, wondering how quickly a blacksmith could evaluate the metal he'd found.
If nothing else, it would serve as material for his bracers or chest guard. Perhaps even—
"Hmph."
The sound came suddenly. Voices. Whispering. From ahead.
Zamasu's eyes sharpened instinctively, his thoughts snapping back to the present.
As he reached the last bend in the passage—the natural threshold between Floor 16 and 15—he immediately sensed it: tension in the air, the faint stir of movement, figures shifting into position.
He stepped forward cautiously, emerging fully onto Floor 15—and stopped.
They were waiting.
Five figures, cloaked in mismatched armor, faces hidden behind crude masks.
They encircled him quickly, stepping out from the surrounding rock formations like shadows materializing from the cavern walls.
The moment their formation locked into place, one of them spoke, voice muffled beneath the mask.
"There he is. Told you he'd come back this way."
Another chuckled darkly. "Never doubted you one bit."
Zamasu's eyes narrowed. His posture stayed loose, but his mind raced.
An ambush.
They spread out, cutting off every retreat—two ahead, two flanking, one behind. All armed, swords and daggers glinting faintly under the moss-light.
"The hell's with those eyes? Think you're some big shot?" one sneered, his voice distorted slightly by the mask.
Zamasu didn't respond at first. His gaze flicked between them, observing their spacing, their grips on their weapons.
A strange sense of detachment settled over him—not fear, not anger, but realization.
Not the fighting. That was familiar. The threat of violence didn't bother him. It was the situation—the setup—the intent behind it.
Kidnapping. Mugging. Predators hunting the isolated.
'In my old world… things weren't like this.'
Back in his previous world, it was the modern world.
Concrete, cities, technology. People fought—but not like this.
Fights were bar brawls, street arguments, occasional violence, but rarely did strangers mask themselves and orchestrate ambushes in the shadows.
All his focus had been on monsters—the predictable rhythm of killing, collecting cores, exploring. Never once had he thought to defend against kidnapping.
A mistake.
One of them—likely the leader—took a step forward, blade drawn casually.
"You're worth a fortune, y'know that? Pretty little thing like you wandering alone… folk'll pay good money for someone like you."
Laughter rippled through the group.
Another added, "Too divine-lookin' for your own good. Whether you're a god, a demi-human, or just some freak—makes no difference to our pockets."
Kidnapping? That only happened in the news.
To people in other countries, other neighborhoods. It never touched his life directly.
Zamasu's lips pressed into a thin line. His heartbeat stayed steady, his breathing controlled. And yet, under the calm surface… something stirred.
Since waking up in this strange world, danger was everywhere, yes—but straightforward.
The Dungeon tested his strength, he faced beasts, but never schemers.
'I let myself get comfortable.'
It was the truth. His strength, even without full control of his old abilities, had made these early days feel effortless.
He didn't have to watch over his shoulder for every little thing.
He hadn't needed to. Until now.
This group changed that.
The realization settled in calmly, not in panic—but with cold clarity.
"I've been naive."
Assuming only monsters would challenge him. Forgetting that people, too, could be predators.
And in this… backwater world—whatever it was called—they saw him as prey.
The masked leader's smug grin snapped him back to the moment.
"Too late now, pretty boy," the man sneered. "You should've stayed home."
All of a sudden…
A whisper.
"Mortals daring to defy you… to lay hands upon you… how droll."
His own voice.
But colder. More venomous.
The words echoed not in the dungeon, but in his mind, curling like smoke around his thoughts.
"Look at them… scurrying insects with delusions of grandeur… thinking they can profit from the divine."
Zamasu didn't question it. He assumed it's his own thoughts.
The voice coiled tighter, seeding quiet, simmering contempt.
"Kill them. Show them what happens when mortals overreach."
Zamasu's hand subtly shifted on the metal slab beneath his arm, balancing its weight. His eyes remained half-lidded, calm despite the threat.
The leader smirked, mistaking Zamasu's silence for fear.
"What's wrong, little man? Realized you can't fight back when you're surrounded?"
Behind him, another spoke with amusement.
"No one's coming to help. You'll be asleep in a minute. The air's already laced with sleep powder."
Zamasu tilted his head slightly. Sleep powder? He'd heard of such tactics—probably something akin to tranquilizers used by hunters, meant to weaken or incapacitate targets.
"Five Level Twos," one of them boasted. "What're you gonna do against that? Your strong… but that alone can't save you, hehehe"
They stood waiting for something. Probably for him to show a sign of weakness.
Level Twos…
Zamasu had overheard adventurers speak of levels before—terms from games, stages of strength—but their significance here was still hazy.
It didn't matter. These insects placed faith in arbitrary numbers.
The voice in his mind sneered.
"They dare mock the divine… how quaint. Break them. Grind their arrogance into dust."
Zamasu's lips curved faintly at the corner—a smile so slight it vanished in an instant. His body shifted, weight lowering just a fraction.
The adventurers kept talking, oblivious to the storm building behind those silver eyes.
"Once he's down, bag him. The Guild'll look the other way for the right price."
"Or sell him straight to those black-market freaks. That face'll fetch a small fortune."
"Hope he doesn't bite. Hate scarring merchandise."
The voice whispered, coiling tighter.
"Do it."
Zamasu's silver eyes narrowed slightly. The calm returned, sharper this time.
"Lesson learned."
Zamasu moved.
A blur of white and silver streaked forward.
His free arm snapped up, fist coiled with every ounce of strength—reflex sharpened by his unnatural body, muscle and bone engineered beyond mortal limits.
The leader barely had time to flinch.
Impact.
Zamasu's fist drove into the man's torso—center mass, just below the ribcage.
There was no resistance. Flesh, bone, armor—all crumpled under the force.
The man's body compacted inward, folding grotesquely as the kinetic energy ruptured him from within.
Blood sprayed in a mist, mixing with fragments of shattered bone. The mask cracked apart. His spine buckled unnaturally.
The body was dead before it hit the ground—a mangled, twitching heap collapsing into itself.
Silence.
The remaining four froze, eyes wide behind their masks.
Shock. Confusion. Fear.
Zamasu straightened slowly, his silver gaze gleaming under the Dungeon's faint light.
The slab of unknown metal still rested under his left arm, unmoved. His striking arm hung at his side, coated faintly in crimson.
The voice in his head chuckled darkly.
"One down… the rest will follow."
The surviving adventurers tensed, weapons raising.
Their bravado faltered, cracks forming in their composure as the reality set in.
Their target was not helpless.
Their numbers meant nothing.
Zamasu's expression remained eerily calm as he shifted his stance, eyes flicking between them, calculating.
The air around them thickened—the predator now among the prey.
And he was only getting started.
End of Chapter 20
Current Power Level – 96