Shirou found himself back in his room, the gentle creak of the wooden floor beneath his boots reminding him that he was no longer inside the dungeon. He moved toward the window, where the dusky indigo sky stretched endlessly across the horizon.
"Already night, huh…" he muttered.
The streets outside were mostly quiet, the occasional lantern casting its amber glow onto the cobbled path below. He placed his hand on the window frame, fingers brushing the cool glass. A breeze blew in, carrying with it the scent of rain and firewood. For a fleeting moment, everything felt... still.
The dungeon's warped time flow had always intrigued him. At first, he hadn't paid it much attention. Back then, emotions were dulled, and his focus was singular—survive. But lately, he has started to observe more, to care more. The time inside the dungeon moved slower than in the real world—by about half if he had to guess. A full day within could equate to just half outside. It explained a lot, especially how he could spend what felt like weeks inside and return to find only a few days had passed.
Oddly enough, Shirou felt grateful for that disparity. If the time were the same, people might start questioning his prolonged absences, and he wasn't ready to deal with that kind of attention. Not yet.
With a slight smirk, he raised his right hand, and crimson sparks danced across his palm. The red flames spiralled together, forming a solid shape—Ashbringer, his newest sword. It materialized in a brilliant display, dark red metal gleaming, and runes pulsing faintly across its edge.
No reason to summon it, really. He just liked it. A lot.
He turned it in his hand, watching the way the blade reflected the lantern light like liquid fire. It felt like a part of him, like a long-lost piece he never knew was missing.
"I did once complain about not having a powerful fire attack," Shirou murmured to himself, tracing a finger along the edge of the sword. "And now—even if I can't cast it myself—the sword does it for me. That alone is a massive boost."
He swung it a few more times in slow arcs, enjoying the weight-shifting feature that subtly adjusted with each movement. The sword practically danced in his hand. After a few satisfying swings, he dismissed Ashbringer, letting it dissolve into red sparks.
In its place, he summoned another familiar weapon—Emberstorm.
It appeared with a softer glow. The blade, though simpler, had an elegant design. A weapon forged for a fighter, not a showpiece. It didn't have Ashbringer's intimidating aura or its wild energy, but this sword had saved his life more times than he could count.
This was the blade that had accompanied him through many trials inside the dungeon. It had carried him across the many floors, cut through monsters, and shaped his skills. It wouldn't be wrong to say that without Emberstorm, Ashbringer wouldn't have ever entered the picture.
Still, Shirou couldn't help but feel… disconnected.
Emberstorm wasn't a bad sword by any means. It had great mana conduction, solid durability, and reliable attacks. Yet next to Ashbringer, it felt like a candle beside a wildfire.
"Ashbringer just outclasses it," he admitted quietly.
He considered dual-wielding—using both swords in combat. With the system backing him, learning a two-sword style wasn't impossible. The thought was exciting. Deadly, even.
But then the problem reared his head.
To use magic—or more precisely, any mana-based technique—he needed a free hand. That was the most efficient method: mana travelled from his core through the mana veins and out through the hands. Holding weapons in both would restrict that flow. In battle, that delay could cost him dearly.
The fight with Lord Ergus was proof enough. If he hadn't been able to cast his enhanced fireball at just the right moment to blind the giant, Ergus's own version of Ashbringer might have cleaved him in two.
He glanced down at Emberstorm in his hand.
"Dual sword fighting's a big no," he decided.
Which left him with only one option.
"I could sell it."
The idea felt weirdly cold. This was his first real sword, after all. A sword that had been with him and the sword which he excitingly brought. But practicality trumped sentimentality. He didn't want it rusting away in his inventory. And being fairly new, it might fetch a decent price.
But not at the same shop where he bought it. That just felt… wrong.
He ran his fingers gently across the blade's flat side. "Your sacrifice will always be remembered," he said in an overdramatic tone, attempting an expression of deep sorrow.
The attempt failed miserably. His mind had already wandered back to Ashbringer.
The sword shimmered away in a series of white sparks, leaving only the memory behind.
His eyes shifted to the wall clock. The last time he exited the dungeon, the waiting period before reentry was fifteen days. Now it has increased to twenty. A full five-day jump. It was frustrating. Why even have a cooldown at all?
"If there wasn't a timer," he grumbled, "I'd have cleared all 50 floors by now."
Then something clicked in his mind.
"That's right—I hit Level 50."
He hadn't checked his full status since exiting the dungeon. He'd been too busy admiring his new sword, barely glancing at the rest.
With a flick of his fingers, a blue translucent window appeared before him.
> [STATUS WINDOW]
[BASIC INFORMATION]
Name: Shirou
Level: 51 (230/860 EXP)
Race: Human
Title: None, ???? (Locked)
SYNCHRONIZATION RATE: 1.8%
[CORE ATTRIBUTES]
HP: 565
Mana: 806
Strength: 290
Agility: 290
Intelligence: 292
Endurance: 292
Perception: 276
[ELEMENTAL AFFINITY]
Fire Release
Lightning Release
[SKILLS]
Omnilingual
Skill Absorption
Phantom Mirage
????? (Locked)
[COMBAT PROFICIENCIES]
Hand-to-Hand Combat – Intermediate (17/100)
Knife Mastery – Intermediate (8/100
Dagger Mastery – Intermediate (12/100)
Sword Mastery – Intermediate (43/100)
[INVENTORY]
Inferno Fang
Emberstorm
Ashbringer
Aether Coins
---
Shirou stared at it for a moment, then sighed.
"Still no change, huh?"
The mysterious locked title and skill remained as they were. "So Level 50 wasn't the unlock point. Maybe it's 100." He groaned. "That's going to take forever…"
He glanced at the synchronization rate—up by 0.1%."Still no clue what this thing actually does," he muttered. "Guess I'll figure it out eventually."
Levelling up had become a breeze inside the dungeon, but once he completed all 50 floors, he doubted such easy gains would come again. Outside, monsters were rarer, and battles took more effort and risk. The dungeon had essentially become his private training ground.
Last time he checked, he was somewhere between the early and late Apprentice stage. Now, with the recent boost, he was probably at the late apprentice level. And if he finished the full dungeon, he might even graze the Ascendant level.
But then what?
Beyond that lay Sage and Mythic, both sounding impossibly distant. What would he do when progress stalled? Would the system continue to guide him?
Despite his frequent complaints, Shirou had to admit—it had never failed him so far. The sword, the skills, the strange levelling system. All of it had brought him this far.
Then something caught his eye.
His Sword Mastery had jumped to 43. The last he remembered, it had been hovering around 20 back on Floor 29.
"How the hell did that happen?"
He tilted his head, recalling the flood of information that had surged through his mind when he first held Ashbringer. Not just knowledge about the blade, but about technique, movement, pressure, and control.
"It wasn't Ergus…" he realized. "It was the sword. It taught me."
Just then, his stomach growled loudly.
"Great. The dungeon really needs to open a restaurant," he muttered with a sigh, dismissing the window.
He locked the door behind him and started heading downstairs, hands in his pockets, whistling a carefree tune. For once, he felt light. He wasn't worried, wasn't angry, and wasn't pushing himself to the edge. He was just… happy.
"You seem happy today. Did she say yes to you?" a playful voice teased from the side.
The words hit him like a cold breeze.
His whistle stopped. His steps slowed. His smile faded.
And then, the realization struck like a blade.
In his obsession over stats, swords, and progress, he had completely forgotten about her. The one person more terrifying than any dungeon boss.
He turned toward the counter slowly, as if dreading what he'd find.
"…Miss Flora," he muttered.