How did we get here?

Swords were unwieldy. Clumsy, even. This was almost certainly because I'd never used one before, but the idea of revealing my claws didn't exactly fill me with joy. A sword, no matter how awkward, was still a sharp metal stick, and with enough strength, even a minotaur's hide could split. 

As for how I've gotten myself a sword? It was a gift from Santa and the Easter Bunny of course.

The first minotaur came barreling in, all rage and muscle, charging like a freight train with horns. Its movement was predictable, almost embarrassingly so. I sidestepped, letting it barrel past while I twisted, swinging the blade in a tight arc. Felt the steel bite into its flesh. Not deep enough to drop it, but it staggered, and that was enough.

The other two decided to close in. Uncoordinated. Big, heavy swings, no finesse. No subtlety. I backed up, parrying one blow while ducking under the other's swipe. I wasn't about to test their strength against my exoskeleton. It could probably tank a hit or two, but I didn't care to find out. I kept moving, fluid and precise, striking only when necessary.

I watched the first minotaur clutch its wound, saw its eyes narrow in fury. Perfect. It charged again, slower this time, pain slowing its movements. I spun, sword still awkward in my hand but guided by something like instinct now. The edge found its throat. This time, it went down hard, clutching its gushing neck.

The other two hesitated, as much as their tiny brains would let them. One of them stamped its hoof, snorting, and then both decided to charge at the same time. That was their mistake. I launched myself backward, out of range, and the idiots collided with each other. There was a moment, just a heartbeat, where they were tangled up—arms, horns, snouts—enough for me to dart in.

I swung the sword low, cleaving through a knee, and the beast roared as it toppled. The last one turned, claws outstretched, and I barely had time to raise my sword. It clanged off the flat of my blade, the impact sending a shiver up my arm. The thing loomed over me, breathing heavy, and I knew I had to end this before it regained its footing.

With a quick lunge, I drove the blade upward, right under its ribs. Felt it tear through muscle and bone. The minotaur froze, eyes wide, and then slumped forward, its weight pulling the blade from my grip. I stepped back, letting it crash to the ground.

Three minutes passed and I stood amidst three corpses. My hands worked methodically, prying open their chests to yank out the magic stones. 

I didn't even bother looking at the blonde standing a few feet away, even though she radiated power like a bonfire. Loki Familia's prized Sword Princess and spare protagonist of the world. 

I didn't know why she was here instead of with her future husband, and I sure as hell wasn't going to ask.

Her presence was like a weight in the air, an itch between my shoulder blades that I ignored. The world above might as well not exist for me right now, so currying favor with the Loki Familia held no appeal. Not until I managed to—

I forced the thought away, my hands still moving mechanically. Extracting the cores. Silence descended in the cavern, and if she had any common sense, she'd have walked off by now instead of watching me like I was some new species. Maybe the girl had no interest in small talk. Understandable for someone who'd sacrificed everything for strength.

I made to leave, keeping my back turned to her. Standing near someone who could squash me like a bug with a flick of her wrist wasn't exactly my idea of fun. I ignored the tension crawling up my spine and set my eyes forward. 

Weirdness aside, the haul was good. With a minotaur trait, I'd at least have a shot at pushing toward the 17th floor.

And then she moved.

It was like a flicker of light, a shadow in my peripheral vision that snapped into place right in front of me. One second she was there, the next she just wasn't. My eyes couldn't even catch the motion; she might as well have teleported.

"Excuse me... are the wounds on your back healed?" she asked, her voice soft, airy, like she didn't quite belong in the cavern's gloom. Her tone was as close to emotionless as I'd ever heard.

For the first time, I really paid attention to her.

The girl before me was all sharp edges and polish—a figure almost too perfect, wrapped in blue armor that clung to her like a second skin. Flexible limbs, the kind that could probably snap a neck in one motion, moved gracefully beneath it. She had a chest that felt out of place on such a slim frame, encased in silver breastplate bearing an emblem I had no intention of reading. Her sword, still bloody, hung loosely at her side, tip almost touching the dirt.

Her hair was the kind of gold that would have put a king's treasury to shame, cascading down to her shoulders like some portrait out of a storybook. Golden eyes met a featureless mask, and I felt no admiration, no awe—just the annoyance of being interrupted. 

She smelled like emptiness and blood, a small part of my mind noted. How the hell does someone smell like emptiness? I shelved the thought for later.

I sighed, feeling the irritation rise like a tide but I put a lid on it instantly. Murphy's Law at work, I was sure.

Fuck you, Murphy. Fuck you and your entire family tree.

Now...how to play this?