The professional smile on Liliruca's face froze.
A flicker of shock crossed her big eyes, only to be swallowed by heavy disappointment.
She lowered her head and bit her lip hard. The dejected look she wore did make her seem pitiful—at least on the surface.
Robin, standing behind Faen, saw everything.
A trace of reluctance flashed through her lake-green eyes. With her kind nature, if she could, she would have liked to lend a hand to this miserable-looking girl.
But Faen was the captain of the Focalors Familia.
Robin believed he had his reasons.
She wouldn't let a moment of softness interfere with any of Faen's decisions.
So she simply stood there in silence, expressing unconditional support without a single word.
Faen's refusal was clean and decisive, leaving no room to bargain.
Liliruca Arde's small body stiffened for a moment. In the end, she turned away with slumped shoulders and disappeared into the noisy crowd.
Faen didn't spare her another glance. He led Robin straight into the Dungeon entrance.
The spiral staircase descended, cutting off the surface's clamor.
Air thick with the cavern's earthy dampness—mixed with a faint trace of magic, wrapped around them.
Robin followed quietly behind Faen. She didn't ask about his decision.
Still, Faen explained on his own.
"Supporters are a mixed bag. Plenty of them have ulterior motives. They rely on adventurers—yet at the critical moment, they can become the greatest liability."
He paused, lowering his voice even further.
"And because of my skill… we're likely to run into… special monsters pretty often. If outsiders are always around, my secret will be exposed sooner or later."
"Forming parties with strangers also risks exposing our abilities. In a place like this, the more trump cards you keep, the longer you live. So if we can avoid teaming up with outsiders, we should."
Then he added pointedly, "You can't judge a person by their face. Never decide someone's good or evil just because of how they look."
It was an oblique warning: that pallum girl who looked so pitiful might not be as simple as she seemed.
Robin was sharp. She understood the meaning almost instantly.
She didn't know the exact reason, but she trusted Faen's judgment without reservation.
She only nodded softly, signaling she understood.
...
Their steps were light as they chatted on the way down, and before long they had reached the Second Floor.
That was when Faen felt that familiar sensation again—the oppressive feeling of being watched by the Dungeon.
The walls began to writhe.
Brand-new monsters were born from the stone, incubated, and then peeled away as if shedding from the rock itself.
Still Slimes and Hilichurls.
Besides Fire Slimes, there were now Wind Slimes, bright green, carrying the scent of a fresh breeze—and Rock Slimes encased in hard shells.
The Hilichurls had diversified as well.
Along with the basic club-wielders, there were bow-wielding Hilichurls with crude quivers, and shield-bearing Hilichurls holding a wooden shield in their left hand and a stone axe in their right.
These monsters were already familiar to Faen.
When a Rock Slime rolled toward him, Faen didn't try to cleave it with his sword like yesterday.
That shell would chew through his weapon far too quickly.
This time, he stopped holding back.
"From the depths of my heart's lake, let ripples of the past arise—"
With that brief chant, a dim blue light flickered across his body.
He raised his hand toward the Rock Slime and spoke a single, simple word—one that carried terrifying power.
"Evangel."
A sound so faint it was nearly inaudible became an invisible cannon blast, erupting in an instant.
The Rock Slime's hardened shell was as fragile as papier-mâché before that shockwave—shell, core, and the magic stone within all shattered into dust.
Not far away, several bow-wielding Hilichurls were drawing their strings.
Faen's gaze shifted, and he spoke again.
"Evangel."
The invisible wave spread in a fan-shaped sweep, washing over them.
Their bodies jolted violently—then it was as if a massive unseen hammer crushed them. Bones cracked apart; blood sprayed from mouths and noses, and they collapsed limply to the ground, dead on the spot.
That horrific, uncanny lethality even made Robin look sideways.
They both used sound-based magic, but her [Whitewing Resonance] emphasized penetration—more like cutting and piercing.
It didn't feel nearly as brutal and domineering as Faen's spell.
Even Faen himself was startled by the destructive force of this magic—Alfia's magic.
Of course it was.
None of her spells were ordinary. Their power was plainly outside the standard.
And now, they belonged to him.
Once he began using magic, the upper-floor Slimes and Hilichurls could no longer obstruct them.
Faen didn't even need to draw his sword. He simply repeated the word "Evangel", again and again, and entire clusters of monsters vanished into nothingness.
Robin occasionally struck, sending a precise soundwave to erase a monster lunging from a blind angle—but most of the time she faithfully played the supporter's role, following behind Faen and gathering magic stones and materials from the drops.
They advanced like a battering ram.
Before long, they pushed past the Fifth Floor and reached the entrance leading down to the Sixth.
...
The Sixth Floor opened up dramatically.
Unlike the cramped, monotonous tunnels above, this was a vast domed cavern. The ceiling rose dozens of meters high, dotted with phosphorescent moss like stars scattered across a night sky.
The ground was no longer a relatively flat path—it became uneven and treacherous.
Massive stalagmites and stalactites interlocked and crowded together, forming a natural maze.
The air grew colder and wetter. Water droplets fell from above now and then, producing crisp drip… drip… echoes.
And the moment they stepped into the area, new enemies appeared.
From behind towering stone pillars, several enormous Slimes rolled out—each as large as a calf.
There was a giant Fire Slime wreathed in roaring flames, a giant Ice Slime covered in thick frost armor, and a giant Rock Slime formed from an entire boulder.
They were larger, their magical pressure stronger. Even the sheer force of their rolling advance was enough to make one's heart tighten.
At the same time, on a stone platform in the distance, several Hilichurls appeared carrying crude crossbows—each bolt tied to a small Fire Slime, turning it into an incendiary payload.
"Shoom!"
The air split as several burning bolts, trailing long tails of flame, screamed toward them.
And straight ahead, several charging Hilichurls wielding flaming wooden staves let out shrill cries, spread their legs, and launched into a direct-line charge.
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