A small, motionless figure lay sprawled across the cold, rocky ground of the hidden dungeon—the very domain where Ooborosk had once ruled. No signs of life stirred from the battered body, its chest unmoving, its limbs limp. The aftermath of a ferocious battle was evident all around.


    Dark crimson stains painted the cavern floor, the scent of iron and venom thick in the air. Jagged stone fragments lay scattered across the dungeon, remnants of shattered stalagmites. Puddles of toxic residue sizzled faintly on the cracked earth and burned streaks marked the walls—silent witnesses to the deadly venom that had splashed across them.


    The silence was eerie, suffocating.


    For minutes, nothing happened.


    Then, a faint, pulsating glow—a soft green light—began flickering around the body. At first, weak and almost imperceptible, but slowly, steadily growing stronger.


    A sharp breath tore through my lungs.


    I was still alive.


    A dull, throbbing pain flooded my senses as I slowly regained feeling in my limbs. The memory of the final moments before Ooborosk’s attack flashed in my mind. The searing agony of its fangs piercing my abdomen, the venom burning through my veins… and the desperate gamble I had taken at the last second.


    Just before the fatal strike, I had forced down my very last item—Fleeting Potion.


    Even without the Daedalus’ Cursed effect, which halved spell cooldowns, Fleeting Potion had given me just enough time to cast Rejuvenation faster—slowing down the poison’s lethal progression and continuously patching my wounds at the very last moment.


    It saved my life.


    I exhaled shakily, still trembling from the ordeal.


    My thoughts drifted back to the sheer effort it had taken to craft that one bottle.


    Gnoll Tail.


    An essential material needed to brew Fleeting Potion.


    I had hunted countless Gnolls—and not a single one dropped it. I had nearly given up hope when, by pure chance, I obtained two Gnoll Tails after a chaotic battle against Mad-Eye Mordok. The irony? These materials were already laid on the floor before we defeated the Gnoll Chieftain.


    And because of that fluke, I had managed to brew exactly two Fleeting Potions. One had been used to escape the Minotaur. The second had saved my life today.


    I sat there for a long moment, staring at the flickering green glow on my body, reflecting on how a single, seemingly small event had changed my fate.


    A single drop of luck could alter the entire course of the future.


    For the first time in a long while—I truly felt lucky.


    ***


    I grimaced, holding my breath as I forced down the Ooborosk’s Egg, my stomach twisting in protest.


    The thick, translucent slime that coated its surface reeked of rot, filling my nostrils with a rancid stench that nearly made me gag. The outer membrane was rubbery and unnervingly tough, making it difficult to bite through.


    And the taste?


    It was revolting.


    A horrific blend of bitterness and overwhelming sourness, with an aftertaste that reminded me of month-old, unwashed socks left to rot in damp conditions. No matter how much I rinsed my mouth with water, the awful taste clung stubbornly to my tongue, refusing to fade.


    But it was worth it.


    [Egg of Ooborosk has been consumed.]


    [Passive Skill Acquired: Ooborosk’s Mantle. Negative status effect durations reduced by 15%.]


    A passive skill.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Unlike active skills or spells, which relied on resource and had cooldowns, passive skills had no usage limits—they were permanent buffs that stayed with me for as long as I lived.


    A 15% reduction might not seem like much now, but once I reached the higher floors—especially past Floor 4 and beyond—every second of survivability mattered.


    I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, still feeling the lingering bitterness, and forced myself to stand.


    I had survived.


    And now, I am stronger.


    [Eryndor Leafshade]


    [Soul Level: 1


    Vitality: 31


    Strength: 63


    Agility: 17


    Wisdom: 43


    Willpower: 134]


    [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter


    Passive: Ooborosk’s Mantle]


    ***


    It seemed that I had to endure countless misfortunes—even teetering on the brink of death—before I was allowed even a sliver of luck.


    At first, I doubted my own eyes. The lingering effects of Ooborosk’s venom still clouded my senses, my vision unfocused, my body sluggish. But amidst the battlefield’s ruins, half-buried in the darkness, I spotted something.


    A small, semi-transparent orb, barely distinguishable from the shadows.


    The dim glow from the dungeon’s crevices reflected faintly off its smooth, glass-like surface, giving it an almost ethereal presence. It was black as the void, but within its depths, I could see a ghostly silhouette shifting—a distorted shadow of Ooborosk itself.


    I picked up the mysterious sphere, cradling it in my trembling hands, and examined it closely. This was the first time I had ever seen a Soul Fragment up close. And it was breathtaking. I could have stared at it for hours without growing tired, mesmerized by its delicate yet powerful aura.


    It was small enough to fit neatly in my palm, light as a feather, yet its texture was unlike anything I had ever felt—somewhere between solid and gas, as if it existed in two states at once. Despite its fragile appearance, it was surprisingly sturdy. It wouldn’t shatter easily, which meant I could store it safely inside my pouch.


    But no matter how valuable it was, I couldn’t use it.


    Ooborosk’s power held no synergy with mine.


    Soul Fragments were precious, but my Soul Slot was limited—and wasting one on a fragment that didn’t compliment my abilities would be a grave mistake.


    Still, I couldn’t bring myself to discard it.


    Reluctantly, I tucked the fragmented soul into my sub-space pouch, unsure of what to do with it. Perhaps I would keep it—or perhaps I would sell it. A Soul Fragment of this caliber would fetch a fortune on the market.


    I would decide later.


    ***


    When I finally woke up, I felt refreshed.


    I had no idea how long I had slept, but judging by the aching stiffness in my body, it must have been for hours. The exhaustion from yesterday’s brutal battle had completely wiped me out.


    I sat up, stretching my sore limbs, and glanced around. The cavern was eerily silent, empty and desolate without Ooborosk’s presence.


    Strange.


    Despite its gloomy, foreboding atmosphere, this dungeon now felt… safe.


    It made sense. With Ooborosk gone, this place was likely the safest location in all of Redridge Mountain—at least, for now.


    I exhaled slowly.


    There were only a few hours left before the Tower closed, meaning my time here was running out. It was time to take stock of what I had gained from this treacherous journey.


    I emptied my inventory, laying out everything I had collected. 212 Mana Stones and various monster parts—likely worth around 100-200 Mana Stones.


    Not much, honestly.


    A beginner adventurer could easily farm at least 1,000 Mana Stones on a standard run. But considering how much I had sacrificed for my real goal, this amount was understandable.


    After all, a large portion of my Mana Stones had been used as an offering at the Vault of Aether—the altar where I had obtained that peculiar relic: a hexagonal artifact, engraved with intricate, cryptic patterns—which can lead to a great fortune.


    But beyond raw currency, I had gained far more valuable rewards—items that would shape my journey in the long run.


    The Fangbone Scepter, a powerful weapon that had carried me through every fight so far.


    The Talisman of the Ursine Spirit, a rare and formidable artifact that significantly boosted my strength.


    A boost of luck from the Golden Harpy, something any adventurer would kill for.


    Ooborosk’s Egg, which had granted me a new passive skill. And lastly, the Ooborosk Soul Fragment—its power still a mystery, but undeniably potent.


    Any one of these would have been considered a major haul for a first-time adventurer. To obtain them all in a single run?


    Unheard of.


    The total value of my loot was beyond extraordinary.


    Of course, this also meant that if word got out… I would become a target. Greedy eyes would turn toward me. Rivals, envious adventurers, and possibly worse.


    I needed to be careful when I returned to the city. My success was not something to be flaunted. The moment I became careless, I would invite dangerous, unwanted attention—and in this world, jealousy often led to disaster.


    ***


    Before long, the clock struck noon.


    A familiar, disorienting sensation washed over me—a strange, fleeting discomfort, as if the very fabric of reality was shifting.


    And just like that…


    My first Tower exploration had come to an end.