Bully Lord

Part-239

The dark, narrow corridors of the dungeon loomed ahead of James as he ventured deeper, his sword clutched tightly in his hand. Every step echoed ominously, the air thick with the stench of decay and the faint, metallic tang of blood. Despite the dungeon’s oppressive atmosphere, James felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. After countless trips, the dungeon had become almost like a second home—a twisted, dangerous home, but one he had grown accustomed to.

It wasn’t long before the familiar chittering of Ratlings reached his ears. Their yellow eyes glowed in the darkness, reflecting a predatory hunger that made James’s heart beat faster. But this time, he didn’t feel fear. Instead, a quiet determination settled within him. He took a deep breath, gripping his sword tighter as the first Ratling lunged at him.

James moved swiftly, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He sidestepped the creature’s attack and brought his sword down in a clean arc, cleaving through its neck. The Ratling collapsed into a cloud of black smoke, and James barely had a moment to catch his breath before another charged at him.

As he continued battling the Ratlings, James could feel the mental fatigue creeping in. His muscles screamed in protest, his arms felt like lead, and the constant strain was beginning to take its toll. Yet, something had changed within him. Every swing of his sword felt more precise, more controlled. He wasn’t just hacking at the monsters—he was anticipating their movements, reacting to their attacks with a fluidity that came from hours of repetition and training.

“Come on, is that all you’ve got?” James muttered under his breath, dodging a particularly vicious swipe from one of the larger Ratlings. He retaliated with a swift jab to its torso, watching with satisfaction as it stumbled back, clutching the wound.

As the battle continued, James found himself adapting to the Ratlings' tactics. He began to notice patterns in their attacks, anticipating their movements with increasing accuracy. He learned to read their body language, understanding when they were about to lunge or retreat. The fights were still challenging, but James was becoming more than just a survivor; he was becoming a master of his craft.

He started to feel a sense of rhythm in his movements, a flow that allowed him to effortlessly dodge attacks and counter with deadly precision. It was as if he had become one with his sword, his body moving instinctively in response to the Ratlings' assaults. The fights were no longer just a matter of brute force; they were a dance, a deadly ballet between man and beast.

Yet, despite his progress, James couldn’t ignore the slow trickle of experience points. Every kill brought him closer to gain another unallocated stat, but the respawn intervals for the monsters were agonizingly slow. He let out a frustrated sigh, leaning against the cool stone wall to catch his breath. He was tired—so tired—but he couldn’t afford to stop. There was still so much more to do.

“Maybe I’ll finally get stronger to clean Level-2,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Just a little bit more.”