The Ninth Floor was a furnace of violence. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and iron as I stood at the threshold of the Great Arena. Before me stood twenty Ogres, each one a mountain of scarred leather and muscle, clutching clubs carved from the fossilized bones of prehistoric beasts. They were Level 25 warriors, and in any other story, they would have been the end of a hero.
But I was no longer just a "Bookworm." I was a walking library of death.
"Assistant," I whispered, my voice calm despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. "Interface active. Ready all offensive Generations."
I didn't wait for them to roar. I activated Split Mind, and my consciousness tore into two perfect, parallel streams. It was a sensation I had grown to crave—the feeling of being two people at once. One mind opened the Mage Grimoire, manifesting five overlapping magic circles—Fire, Water, Wind, Rock, and Dark—hovering like a halo behind me. The other mind unsheathed the Minotaur's Axe from my inventory and readied the Barrier Magic I had harvested from the Armagogons as an automated shield.
"Jump," I commanded. Using the Rabbit Generation, I blasted into the air with a shockwave that cracked the stone beneath my boots. I looked down at the twenty brutes from the apex of my flight. "Release!"
The five elemental circles roared to life, raining a localized apocalypse onto the arena floor. Fireballs collided with rock shards, creating shrapnel that shredded the Ogres' tough hide. Simultaneously, I channeled Point Shot x5, firing five condensed beams of mana while still mid-air. Ten Ogres were erased—their hearts pierced before they could even raise their clubs.
I touched the ground in a crouch and immediately vanished using Invisibility. The survivors didn't mourn their fallen brothers; they roared and sprinted toward my last known position. Using my Double Eyes, I tracked them in a 360-degree radius. I met the first wave with the Spider Grimoire. I launched a massive, sticky web, trapping five of them in a single move, and instantly activated Corrosive Poison. As they dissolved into green sludge, I used Minotaur Shiver, stomping the floor to stagger the final four. I flashed forward with Water Slash infused into my axe, a blue-and-black blur that cleaved through three of them in one motion.
The last Ogre stood alone. He was a veteran, his skin covered in the tattoos of a Warlord, but for the first time in his long, violent life, he felt the cold hand of fear.
The Submission of the Warlord
I walked toward him, the heavy axe dragging on the stone with a rhythmic skritch-skritch. My black tactical gear was covered in Ogre blood, and my eyes glowed with a predatory, multi-colored light.
"Submit," I said, the Assistant Grimoire amplifying my voice until it vibrated in the Ogre's chest. "Submit, or you will die in agonizing pain, just like your family back there."
I reached for the Taming Grimoire. The Ogre looked at the piles of ash and sludge that used to be his pack. He looked at me—a human who fought like a god. Slowly, painfully, he dropped his bone club and knelt, his head bowed to the floor.
[CONDITION MET: LEVEL 20 OGRE HAS SUBMITTED]
[TAMING SUCCESSFUL: OGRE GENERATION UNLOCKED]
Golden chains manifested from the air, wrapping around the Ogre's thick neck and pulling his physical form into the pages of the golden book. I felt a new surge of energy—Mind Sync. I could now link my consciousness to any tamed monster, seeing what they saw and feeling their strength as my own.
I was now Level 37, but the growth felt heavy. The leveling was slowing down, the requirements for the next stage becoming astronomical. I stayed on the Ninth Floor for three days, resting my mind. I used Creation to manifest milk and high-protein meals, mending my mana circuits and preparing for the inevitable. On the morning of the fourth day, I stood before the giant, obsidian doors of the Tenth Floor: The Boss Chamber.
The Necromancer's Graveyard
The doors groaned open, and a wave of tomb-chill air hit me. The chamber was a vast, circular graveyard, lit by flickering blue torches. Thousands of skeletons—human, monster, and beast—littered the floor in piles. In the center, sitting upon a throne of bleached skulls, was a figure draped in tattered, midnight-black robes.
"Appraisal," I muttered, my heart hammering.
[NAME: THE NECROMANCER]
[LEVEL: ??? — ERROR: LEVEL TOO HIGH]
[WEAPON: THE SOUL-REAPER SCYTHE]
I couldn't see his stats. The Assistant Grimoire flickered red, warning me of a level-gap so wide it was suicidal.
The Necromancer didn't speak. He didn't have to. He raised a skeletal hand, and the bones on the floor began to vibrate and click. They merged together, forming grotesque, multi-limbed bone-horrors that surged toward me in a white tide. I unleashed a Water-Infused Axe Dash, shattering the first wave, but the Necromancer simply flicked a finger and the bones knit back together instantly.
"Pointless," I hissed. "Assistant, ignore the minions. Target the source!"
I used Teleportation to blink past the bone-tide, appearing directly behind the throne. I swung the Minotaur's Axe with everything I had. But the Necromancer didn't even turn. In a blur of silver, his scythe parried my strike with a sound like a tolling bell.
Thanks to Double Eyes, I saw the follow-up coming from my rear-left. I activated Barrier Magic, the translucent shield shimmering into existence. But the Soul-Reaper Scythe didn't just hit the barrier—it ignored it. The silver blade cut through the magic like it was made of smoke.
"Release: Ogre!" I shouted, the golden chains of the Taming Grimoire shattering.
My tamed Warlord manifested, letting out a primal roar as he lunged at the Necromancer to buy me a second of breath. "Assistant, activate all elements! Split Mind: Full Sync! Don't stop until he burns!"
The Assistant Grimoire began firing rapid-fire elemental shards—Fire, Wind, and Dark—while I focused on a massive, quadruple-stacked Point Shot. I condensed the mana until my hand began to smoke, the pressure turning my skin purple.
"DIE!"
The beam fired like a torpedo of pure light, piercing the Necromancer's chest and exploding the throne into dust. For a second, a flicker of hope rose in my chest. But as the smoke cleared, the Necromancer stood unscathed, his tattered robes flowing in a wind that wasn't there.
He raised his scythe high, and the blue torches in the room turned a violent, screaming purple.
The Price of Arrogance
I didn't even see the movement. There was only a flash of silver and a cold, painless sensation.
I blinked. I saw a shape flying through the air—a limb clad in black tactical gear, still clutching the handle of a broken axe. It took a full second for my brain to process the image.
That's my arm.
"AAAGGHHH!"
The pain arrived like a tidal wave of molten lead. I looked down, and my breath hitched in a ragged sob. My right arm was gone, severed cleanly at the shoulder. Blood erupted from the stump, painting the white bones of the arena a brilliant, sickening red.
The Necromancer stepped forward, his boots crunching on the skulls of his victims. He didn't use magic; he used his foot, kicking me square in the chest. The force sent me flying thirty feet back, my ribs shattering upon impact with the stone wall.
I slumped to the floor, my vision tunneling. I had been the hunter for so long. I had cleared the goblins, outsmarted the chameleons, and tamed the ogres. I thought I was the protagonist of this world. But as the Necromancer loomed over me, his scythe dripping with my blood, I realized I was just another set of bones for his floor.
The true boss battle had only just begun, and I was already dying.