It was the nineteenth day of the tenth month. The morning began with the now-comforting rhythm of my established routine: the sharp knock of the innkeeper, the shifting weight of leather and steel as I donned my equipment, and the simple, high-protein breakfast that fueled my body for the trials ahead. I had initially intended to visit the slave merchant first thing today to finally secure a companion, but as I looked out the window at the pre-dawn gloom, I realized I was far too early. The market districts wouldn't truly wake up for another few hours. Not wanting to waste the most productive part of my day, I decided to squeeze in a morning delve. If I moved quickly, I could explore the ninth floor and potentially reach the tenth by noon.

  I headed for the narrow alley behind the inn, the shadows clinging to the stone walls. After a quick scan to ensure no early-rising travelers were watching, I focused my mind. "Warp!" The shimmering vertical tear in reality appeared instantly, and I stepped through, leaving the smells of the city for the cool, damp air of the ninth floor.

  The scenery was familiar yet altered. The glowing lines within the dark stone walls were still that pale, sickly green I had first seen on the sixth floor, but the corridors felt tighter, as if the dungeon were beginning to exert more pressure on those who dared to descend this far. I took a deep breath and centered my focus, wondering what the dungeon had chosen to manifest for me this time.

  Just as the fourth floor had introduced the small, mischievous goblins, the ninth floor returned to a humanoid theme. However, these creatures were not small. As I rounded the first major corner, I spotted a figure standing guard.

  ***

  Race: Green Orc

  Sex: None

  Status: Normal

  Level 9

  ***

  It was an Orc. To my surprise, their physical stature was remarkably similar to a well-built human. I had spent so much time reading fantasy stories where orcs were massive, towering behemoths that seeing a creature only slightly taller than myself was a bit of a disappointment. Given their Level 9 status, perhaps it was unreasonable to expect a giant, but I couldn't help the feeling that these were merely a lesser branch of the species. Just as humans can be slim or giant, perhaps orcs had a similar variety.

  My disappointment vanished the moment the creature noticed me. It didn't growl or charge like a beast; instead, it gripped a rusted iron sword with a practiced hand and let out a short, sharp bark. Another Orc stepped out from a side passage. They weren't just humanoid in shape; they possessed an intelligence similar to the goblins but with significantly more physical power. Their primary advantage, I soon learned, was their coordination.

  On the previous floors, I had mostly encountered lone monsters at the start. On the ninth floor, however, the dungeon seemed to prefer groups. I only found lone Orcs a few times, and they were trivial to defeat—roughly equivalent to the bandits I had dispatched on the road to Targashar. But when they appeared in pairs, they were much more formidable.

  They didn't just rush me simultaneously. One would maintain a defensive posture, forcing me to focus on my shield, while the other would attempt to circle to my flank or use unpredictable, synchronized strikes to find a gap in my leather armor. They managed to land a few glancing blows on my limbs, leaving stinging cuts that would have worried me a week ago.

  Now, however, I found myself becoming a bit reckless. Armed with my new Monk job and the mid-level medicines from Naska’s shop, I knew I had a significant safety net. As long as the injuries weren't deep or lethal, I could afford to trade a bit of health for a faster kill. I shifted my focus toward offense, utilizing the golden light of Healing Touch whenever the pain became a distraction. This reckless efficiency allowed me to carve through the floor with surprising speed.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The fights on this level felt less like a "hunt" and more like a small-scale "warfare." The Orcs lacked the raw animal instincts of the wolves, but they replaced them with tactical reasoning. They were easier to read in terms of openings and posture, as if their growing intelligence had dulled their ancestral reflexes. I didn't particularly enjoy the feeling of fighting things that used human-like tactics, but I knew the experience would be invaluable if I ever had to face human enemies again—or if the dungeon eventually manifested something truly demonic at its core.

  By the time the massive black doors of the boss room loomed at the end of a long, green-lit hallway, I had already killed fifty Orcs. The process had actually been faster than the eighth floor's mantises because the Orcs lacked those terrifying biological scythes. I stood in line behind two other groups, both consisting of four or five members. They looked like veteran raiders, their gear dented and worn, but after days of avoiding social interaction, all these parties were starting to look identical to me—just more faces in the dark.

  Nearly half an hour passed before the doors reset. I stepped inside the chamber, the heavy stone thudding shut behind me. Given the pattern of the dungeon, I expected a "veteran" or "warrior" version of the orc, similar to the goblin boss on the fourth floor. I was right.

  The figure that materialized in the center of the room was two meters tall, a mountain of dark green muscle draped in pieces of heavy leather and salvaged mail. Its eyes were a fierce, predatory amber, and it held a heavy iron broadsword with a grip that suggested years of combat. It looked every bit the experienced fighter, and in terms of raw physical presence, it reminded me of Selbert, the bandit leader.

  However, there was a key difference. Unlike Selbert, who I had defeated by playing a game of attrition until he was too exhausted to stand, this boss was a product of the dungeon. From what I had observed, dungeon monsters were immune to physical exhaustion. They fought at 100% capacity until the moment they dissolved. I would have to win this through a head-on confrontation.

  The fight began with a deafening roar. The boss was significantly faster and stronger than the common orcs, and its swordsmanship was surprisingly refined. I utilized my superior stats—the result of my multiple job bonuses and system enchantments—to stay in the fight, but I quickly realized a sobering truth: if our stats had been equal, I would have lost in under a minute.

  I lacked any formal martial education. My dream-world memories were fragmented and unreliable, leaving me with high-speed reflexes but no true technique. The Orc Boss, meanwhile, was a master of the blade. It used its sword to divert my strikes, neutralizing my Strength by redirecting the momentum of my blade. It moved with an effortless grace, evading my lunges while maintaining a posture that allowed for instant counter-attacks.

  I won the fight, but it wasn't because I was the better swordsman. I won because I could take a hit that would have killed a normal man and keep swinging. I won because my steel blade was faster and harder than its iron one. I decapitated the creature after several minutes of grueling exchange, but as the body vanished into mist, I didn't feel a sense of triumph. I felt a sense of urgency.

  I have discovered my fundamental weakness, I realized, staring at the empty center of the room. I am a monster of stats, but I am still an amateur in a world of warriors.

  I had spent my time grinding levels and collecting coins, which I enjoyed immensely, but I had neglected the "art" of combat. Perhaps I needed to find a mentor in the city—someone who could teach me the proper way to hold a blade. I wondered if this world had environments for knighthood or even the legendary "Murim" sects of my old stories. If our paths crossed, I would certainly consider taking a lesson.

  The sound of clinking metal pulled me from my thoughts. The loot had dropped. I knelt down to find four silver coins and fifty copper Obscura pieces. I performed a quick mental calculation. I had killed fifty regular Orcs, each dropping forty-five copper, totaling 2,250 copper. Adding the fifty copper from the boss and the ten I had in my pocket when I arrived, I had a total of 2,310 copper.

  I utilized the "mana tax" merging process to convert the 2,310 copper into twenty-two silver Obscura. Combined with the four silver from the boss, I had earned twenty-six silver coins on this floor alone. My daily expenses were now a drop in the bucket compared to my income.

  I sat on the floor, pulled out my midday rations, and ate until I felt my energy return. My Monk job had ensured that my minor cuts were already a thing of the past. I checked my internal clock; it was exactly noon. I stood up, walked through the door to set foot on the tenth floor, and then immediately turned back toward the dungeon exit. It was finally time to see Zaydanov.

  [Edited]