Chapter 17

  Avan pushed open the weathered wooden door of the stone house he’d claimed as his temporary refuge on the fifth floor of the *Tower of Akkalon*, stepping out into the sprawling meadow that stretched before him like a sea of green under the faint, otherworldly glow of the crystal-studded ceiling high above. The air carried a crisp, earthy scent, laced with the subtle dampness of underground springs hidden beneath the dungeon’s depths, and a gentle breeze brushed against his bare chest, tugging at the frayed waistband of his boxer shorts—the last tattered remnant of clothing after weeks of relentless grinding had shredded every other piece he’d owned. His translucent white ponytail, tied back with a strip of scavenged cloth, swayed lightly as he rolled his shoulders, the faint scars crisscrossing his skin catching the soft light, each mark a silent testament to battles fought and won. He stretched his arms overhead, joints popping with a satisfying crack from days spent swinging spears, dodging traps, and hauling logs, and let his gaze drift across the open expanse, a broad grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he spotted Horny, his *White-horned Rabbit*, darting through the grass.

  The little beast was locked in a frantic chase after one of the two *Akkalon’s Spheres* Avan had summoned earlier that morning, golden orbs of celestial mana shimmering just beyond the rabbit’s reach, dancing under his mental command like fireflies teasing a child. Horny’s horn gleamed with each determined leap, his small paws kicking up tufts of grass and dirt as he lunged, only for the sphere to zip away at the last second, leaving him sprawling in a heap. “Yoo, at least you’re getting some cardio after napping all damn day, you lazy fluffball!” Avan called out, his voice booming across the meadow as he smirked down at his companion, hands planted on his hips. Horny skidded to a halt mid-pursuit, whipping his head around to fix Avan with a glare so venomous it practically screamed *Fuck off* in rabbit-speak, his ears flattening in indignation. “Oh, come on, don’t give me that look—it’s good for you! Builds character, keeps those stubby legs from turning to mush!” Avan’s chuckle rolled out, deep and unrestrained, echoing off the distant stone walls of the cavernous floor, a sound of pure, unfiltered amusement that felt freer than anything he’d known in weeks.

  Through his *Celestial Sphere*, a constant pulse of awareness radiating ten meters around him like an invisible web woven from mana threads, he’d tracked the chase unfolding long before stepping outside. He’d nudged the orb with a flicker of intent—*keep moving, just out of reach*—watching Horny scramble in a playful dance of frustration, a game he’d orchestrated to keep the rabbit entertained while he tinkered inside. But standing here now, boots planted on the cool stone threshold, watching the chaos play out in real-time was a different kind of thrill, one that warmed him from the inside out. “Sure, I could’ve stayed in there and tracked this through the sphere—felt every hop and tumble like a ghost in the background,” he thought, leaning casually against the smooth gray doorway, its stone surface too perfectly carved, too seamless to be the work of human hands. “But there’s something about seeing it with my own eyes—Horny tearing around like he’s got a personal vendetta against these glowing balls. Beats any pet video I ever scrolled through back on Earth, hands down. This little maniac’s a one-rabbit comedy show, and I’ve got the best seat in the house.”

  Horny lunged again, his horn slicing the air as he misjudged the sphere’s dodge, tumbling head-over-heels into the grass with a muffled thump. Avan’s laughter deepened, shaking his broad shoulders as the rabbit popped back up, shaking off dirt with a glare that could’ve curdled milk. “Alright, alright, you’re doing great, buddy—don’t murder me with those eyes!” he said, still grinning as he pushed off the doorframe and stretched his arms wide, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles honed by weeks of brutal combat and relentless labor. His mind drifted to the grind that had brought him here—days and nights of blood-soaked battles, sweat-drenched crafting, and a relentless drive to push himself further, deeper into the dungeon’s unforgiving depths. “Been a hell of a ride these past weeks—feels like a lifetime since I was fumbling around up top with a busted spear and a prayer,” he thought, his grin softening into something quieter, more reflective. “Time to take stock, see how far I’ve climbed—what I’ve built down here in this madhouse of a dungeon.”

  With a mental nudge, he summoned his interface, the overlay flaring to life before his eyes like a holographic scroll etched in celestial light. It was a testament to his ascent, a record of every kill, every upgrade, every hard-won step through the *Tower of Akkalon*’s brutal floors, and he scanned it with a mix of awe and pride, his heart thumping steadily in his chest:

  Avan Leaf

  Level: 53

  Free Stat Points: 190

  Element: Celestial

  Class: Healing Dungeonheart [Human]

  Subclass: [Bronze] Healer of Akkalon

  Stats

  Strength: 75

  Dexterity: 80

  Vitality: 75

  Intelligence: 60

  Wisdom: 55

  Spirit: 55

  Active Skills [3/8]

  [Bronze] Akkalon’s Touch

  [Bronze] Akkalon’s Sphere

  [Bronze] Celestial Storage

  Passive Skills

  Pain Resistance: [Bronze] 3

  Steady: 8

  Potential: [Unlocked]

  Celestial Affinity: [Bronze] 5

  Identify: [Bronze] 6

  Celestial Sphere: 1

  First Aid: 1

  Tracking: [Bronze] 7

  Meditation: [Bronze] 8

  Pain Expert: 7

  Primary Resources

  Health: 425

  Stamina: 425

  Ambient Mana: 575

  Celestial Storage

  76 [Bronze Coins]

  23 [Silver Coins]

  1 [Gold Coin]

  10 [Golden Meaples]

  1 [Well-Used Spear]

  3 [Water Flasks]

  1 [Short Sword]

  3 [Blankets]

  1 [Tent]

  1 [Short Axe]

  1 [Bow]

  3 [Wooden Iron-Tipped Arrows]

  79 stacks of [Berries]

  11 dry [Roots]

  37 [Herbs]

  57 [Hound Hides]

  114 [Hound Fangs]

  13 [Small Stones]

  3 [Wooden Logs]

  15 [Wooden Sticks]

  Dungeon Creatures

  [Horny]

  A [Horned White Rabbit], found at the ruins of an Akkalon temple. Named Horny, he is wholly devoted to Avan, showing remarkable intelligence with potential for evolution into a fully sentient being.

  “Level 53—damn, that’s a hell of a leap from where I started,” Avan marveled, his grin stretching so wide it ached as he scrolled through the stats, his heart thumping with a mix of disbelief and raw pride. “Hundreds of kills—*Hounds*, *Kobolds*, traps dodged and dismantled—it’s been a brutal, bloody slog through this place, but look at this haul! Nearly 200 stat points sitting there, just begging to be spent, skills hitting bronze tier, and my subclass evolving at 50—I’m a walking force of nature now, aren’t I?” He’d torn through the first floor’s *Hounds* in a mere three days—fifty-seven solitary hunters felled with ruthless efficiency, their hides and fangs meticulously skinned and salvaged, piling up in his *Celestial Storage* like trophies of a relentless campaign. “Those dogs didn’t know what hit ‘em once I got my rhythm down,” he thought, recalling the early fights with a mix of satisfaction and grim amusement. “No packs, just lone stalkers prowling around—perfect for picking off with a well-aimed sphere or a quick spear thrust through the snout. Took me a bit to figure out the skinning, fumbled the first few hides, but I got the hang of it—now I’ve got a stash that’d make any hunter back home green with envy.”

  “The hides are useless to me raw—too tough to stitch with my clumsy hands—but Cyntha’s gotta have an armorer or leatherworker who’d pay decent coin for this much quality stuff,” he mused, running a hand through his ponytail as he pictured the bustling town Yue had described. “And those fangs—sharp as hell, but no use to me beyond throwing them like darts if I get desperate. Maybe an alchemist would want ‘em for some potion or another—grind ‘em into powder, mix ‘em with who-knows-what. Could be worth a shot.” He’d lingered on the first floor longer than planned, methodically clearing every corner, every shadowed nook where a *Hound* might lurk, driven by a mix of survival instinct and a stubborn need to master this new world. “Three days of hunting, skinning, salvaging—felt like a lifetime, but it was just the start,” he reflected, the memory of blood-streaked grass and the weight of his spear still vivid.

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  The second floor had been a different beast entirely—*Kobolds*, cunning little bastards who’d turned his overconfidence into a hard lesson. “Got cocky at first—thought they were just pint-sized goblins, easy pickings like the ones up top,” he thought, rubbing a faint scar on his jaw where a jagged wooden spear had grazed him in the chaos of that initial skirmish. “Big mistake on my part—they were smarter, nastier, setting snares and jumping me from the shadows like they’d been planning it all along. That first fight was a breeze compared to what came after—took days to grind through their village, wading through rivers of their blood and ash.” He’d burned their straw huts to the ground after the slaughter, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes as he left their crude wooden weapons—sticks, spears, clubs—scattered in the wreckage, too flimsy to bother with. “No value in that junk—not worth the space in my storage—but I found coins in their hovels, little stashes tucked under mats and in cracked pots,” he recalled, intrigued by the system that had auto-sorted them into bronze, silver, and a single gleaming gold piece. “A hundred bronze to a silver, a hundred silver to a gold—wonder if there’s platinum or something fancier up the chain. Gotta figure out what that’s worth when I hit Cyntha—could be my ticket to some proper gear.”

  He’d stayed on the second floor longer than the first, not just to clear it but to gather resources—felling three sturdy trees with his *Short Axe*, their trunks now stored as *Wooden Logs* alongside a bundle of *Wooden Sticks* he’d snapped off for future crafting. “That bronze tier upgrade at 50 was a game-changer—kicked everything up a notch,” he thought, pride surging as he reviewed his skills, his fingers twitching with the urge to test them again. “*Akkalon’s Touch* hitting multiple targets at once, *Celestial Storage* swallowing whole logs like it’s nothing, *Akkalon’s Sphere* packing double the mana punch—overpowered doesn’t even begin to cover it. *Identify* and *Tracking* hitting bronze too, giving me eyes and a nose like a damn bloodhound. Still got *Steady* and *Pain Expert* lagging a bit, but they’ll catch up with more fights.”

  The constant cycle of pain and healing had tested his sanity in those early weeks—*Hounds* clawing at his legs, *Kobolds* stabbing with splintered spears, traps snapping shut inches from his flesh—but *Meditation [Bronze] 8* had been his lifeline, a soothing balm against the relentless grind. “Infusing my brain with celestial mana was the best damn move I ever made,” he reflected, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he remembered the first time he’d tried it, sitting cross-legged in the blood-soaked dirt of the first floor, mana flooding his skull to dull the ache of a fresh claw wound. “Heals the mind, soothes the soul—kept me from cracking under all that hurt-heal-hurt loop. Without it, I’d have lost it—turned into some gibbering wreck muttering about hounds and kobolds in the dark.” He flexed his hands, feeling the steady hum of power beneath his skin, a gift of his *Healing Dungeonheart* class that had turned every bruise, every cut into a stepping stone.

  His gaze drifted back to Horny, still stubbornly chasing the sphere, and he let out a low whistle, calling the rabbit off for a moment. “Come on, you little terror—give it a rest before you wear yourself out,” he said, watching as Horny ignored him, leaping again with a determined grunt. “Fine, keep at it—stubborn as ever,” he thought, amusement flickering as he turned his attention to the meadow’s edge, his *Celestial Sphere* humming faintly in the back of his mind. A flicker of movement caught his eye—a familiar presence, faint but unmistakable, stepping onto the cobblestone path that wound through the grass. “No way—that’s Yue!” he thought, delight sparking in his chest as he squinted across the field, his heart giving a quick, eager thud. Her orange hair glinted under the crystal light, her slim figure framed against the stone archway, and he raised his right arm high, waving with unrestrained enthusiasm, a wide grin splitting his face.

  She hesitated for a heartbeat, her posture tense, then broke into a run, her footsteps pounding the path as she closed the distance. Before he could brace himself, she flung herself into his chest, arms wrapping tight around his waist in a desperate, clinging embrace. Avan froze, suddenly hyper-aware of his near-naked state—boxers and scars on full display, no shirt, no dignity—and a flush crept up his neck, his hand darting to scratch the back of his head in a sheepish attempt to play it off. “Well, this is awkward as hell—caught me in my underwear like some half-dressed barbarian,” he thought, masking the embarrassment with a lopsided grin as he looked down at her, her face buried against his ribs.

  A stifled sob vibrated through his chest, her trembling frame pressing closer, and his grin softened into something gentler, more protective. “Something’s seriously wrong—she’s shaking like she’s been running for her life,” he realized, his left hand settling on her back, tracing slow, comforting circles against the fabric of her worn tunic. “This feels too much like that first day—the goblins, her friends’ bodies, that raw shock we both carried. She’s too young for this kind of hell—be strong or get culled, huh? Brutal damn world.” He held her quietly, giving her space to breathe, the memory of their shared horror in the caves flickering through his mind—her tear-streaked face, his own numb disbelief at the carnage they’d stumbled into. “Whatever’s chasing her now, it’s bad—bad enough to drive her all the way down here through five floors of dungeon madness,” he thought, resolve hardening as he kept stroking her back, a steady rhythm to anchor her against the quiet sobs she muffled against him.

  After a long moment, Yue pulled back, her steps unsteady as she retreated a pace, her head tilting shyly to the side. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, cheeks flushed red from crying, and Avan rested a hand on her shoulder, firm but kind, waiting for her to find her voice. “Hey, Avan…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, one orange eye peeking up at him through a curtain of tangled hair, the other hidden by her tilt. “I’m so happy you’re doing well… and you’ve grown a bit, haven’t you?” Her words were soft, tentative, and he squeezed her shoulder gently, offering a reassuring smile. “Glad to see you healthy too, Yue—been wondering about you out there,” he said, his tone warm and steady. “No pressure to spill anything right now—how about we get you some tea and fruit? Warm you up, take the edge off whatever’s got you rattled?” He gestured toward the house—smooth gray stone, its edges too perfect to be human-crafted, with a wooden door and two open windows framing the entrance like silent sentinels.

  Inside, he led her to the lone table—a sturdy slab of wood he’d carved from a felled log, flanked by two rough benches he’d lashed together with plant-fiber ropes—and moved to the kitchen corner, a humble nook he’d cobbled together from scavenged finds. “Let’s get some comfort going—she looks like she hasn’t stopped running in days,” he thought, grabbing a dented teapot from a shelf of mismatched metalware he’d salvaged from the upper floors. He filled it with water from an iron bucket he’d hauled from the meadow’s well a week back, the liquid sloshing softly as he set it aside. Kneeling by the stove—a simple stone slab with a grate—he summoned a handful of *Wooden Sticks* from his *Celestial Storage*, their rough bark scraping his palms as he stacked them into a cone beneath the metal frame. With a practiced flick of his flint and knife, sparks caught, and he poked the growing flames with a stray stick, coaxing them into a steady crackle. “Just needs a little nudge—there we go,” he thought, satisfied as the fire took hold, its warmth spreading through the small space.

  Standing, he tossed a pinch of dried *Herbs* into the pot—scavenged from the second floor’s jungle, their earthy scent rising as the water heated—and turned to catch Yue at the table. Her fiery orange hair was a wild tangle, strands sticking out in every direction, and her fingers nervously twisted an amulet around her neck, the metal glinting faintly in the firelight. “Poor kid looks like she’s been through a war zone—hair’s a mess, hands won’t stop moving,” he thought, softening as he studied her. “You know, I’ve been wondering how you’ve been holding up in Cyntha these past weeks,” he said, his voice warm and genuine as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “All that mess with your friends—how are you? Not just whatever chased you down here, but really—how’ve you been? Me, I’ve had some quality time with hounds and kobolds—those dogs were cuddly, I swear, once you got past the claws and the snapping.” He giggled, leaning into the tease to lighten the air. “Tea’s steeping—want some fruit? You’re eyeing that basket like it’s calling your name.”

  He snagged a green *Apple* from a woven basket on the shelf—a relic he’d found in a *Kobold* stash, miraculously unspoiled—and tossed it her way with a playful flick of his wrist. Yue yelped, her chair scraping as she flailed to catch it, nearly toppling backward in the process, the fruit bouncing off her hands before she snagged it mid-air. Avan chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. “Okay, maybe less force next time—I’m not hurling cannonballs here,” he thought, amused by her startled reaction. She glared at him, baring sharp fangs as she bit into the apple with a crunch, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, those teeth—better not mess with her! My lady fox, your humble servant forgot his manners,” he said.

  “You dumb-ass,” she shot back, shaking her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

  Grinning, Avan fetched two stone mugs from a hanging shelf above the kitchen—crude but functional, scavenged from the third floor’s trap-riddled tunnels—pouring the steaming herb tea with a practiced hand. He slid one across the table to her and settled into the opposite chair, the stone cool against his bare thighs. “Mission accomplished—she’s smiling, even if it’s small,” he thought, sipping contentedly, the warm liquid soothing his throat as he tilted his head back to study the ceiling, its smooth gray surface etched with faint, ancient runes he hadn’t yet deciphered. “Guess it’s time I hit Cyntha—my boxers won’t last much longer at this rate, and fighting half-naked’s losing its charm fast,” he mused, his mind drifting to practicalities. “Can’t keep embarrassing myself like this—next thing you know, the *Kobolds* will start running at the sight of me, not out of fear but sheer horror at my lack of pants. Need proper gear—shirt, boots, something that doesn’t scream ‘desperate dungeon hermit.’ Plus, these hides and fangs piling up—they’re no good to me raw. Cyntha’s got to have an armorer, a trader, someone who’d pay for this stash. Yue could guide me through—she knows the place, the people. Maybe we could snag some quests through her guild without me registering officially—keep my name off the books for now, let her claim the rewards. Hmm…”

  Yue drained her mug, clutching it nervously with both hands, her fingers tracing the rough edges as she fidgeted for a moment before finding her voice. “Avan… someone’s hunting me in Cyntha,” she said, her tone trembling, eyes dropping to her lap. “I don’t know why—I couldn’t figure it out—but they are. All I overheard was something about the goblins we killed in the caves, someone furious if they don’t bring me back to whoever’s pulling the strings. They chased me for days—blocked every safe spot, the guild, the guards, everywhere I could’ve run to. I fled through the slums, dodging them at every turn, and even then, they kept finding me, hounding me nonstop. You’re the only one they wouldn’t know about—not connected to me in their eyes—so I slipped through the gates, praying you’d still be here… And now I’ve dragged you into this danger with me…” Her voice cracked, guilt heavy as she stared at her cramped, folded hands, knuckles whitening.

  Avan’s grin widened, wild and gleeful, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Oh, and here I thought you just missed me,” he teased. Her expression shifted—half incredulous, half *you’re an asshole*—and he laughed, a deep, rolling sound that filled the room. “Kidding, Yue—relax! Don’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind! Danger? Please—I’ve left a trail of corpses from here to the surface. Overconfident? Maybe, I’ll give you that—the goblins were small fry compared to what I’ve faced since. But now we know they’re coming, we flip the script—turn hunters into hunted. We’ve got time to set the stage, rig some traps, use the floors above us. All those disarmed goodies up there—pitfalls, spikes, boulders—we can reactivate ‘em, tweak ‘em, make ‘em ours. How’s that sound? Let’s see how they like being the prey for once.” He gestured upward with sweeping hands, his grin turning downright maniacal, a glint of anticipation dancing in his eyes.

  Yue’s lips twitched, a reluctant smile breaking through as she shook her head at his antics, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “Worth every bit of the theatrics—she’s back, even if it’s shaky,” he thought, watching her stand and gather the mugs, carrying them to the kitchen corner with a quiet determination. He whistled sharply for Horny, the rabbit abandoning its sphere chase to dart toward Yue, nuzzling her legs for pets. “Traitorous little bastard,” Avan muttered under his breath, smirking as he rose, beckoning her with a flourish. “Come, oh huntress—let’s bring pain and death to these fools who dared chase you!” His voice boomed with overdramatic flair, one hand sweeping toward the door as he strode forward, ready to turn their hunted fate into a hunter’s game.