Test run

Almiraj were identical to the simple rabbits in my past life, which, given that they were created by the Dungeon, without evolutionary pressure, implied either that someone in this world knew of my original one, or a common creationist deity. That, or the matrix, I guessed. Funky.

The little bastards also had the keenest danger sense of all the monsters I'd met so far, bolting away the second they caught sight of me. It didn't help them overly much, but it lowered the amount I was able to kill. They also caught fire like rotten wood, so there was that.

Hellhounds were big wolves that spat fire. Cool.

Minotaurs were old news by now. I made sure to kill a few and grab that Bovine Strength trait. My Strength was my arguably weakest stat after all. Interestingly, it seemed to affect my adrenergic glands somehow, infusing them with mana. Felt like a jolt of electricity coursing through my system every time I flexed.

I liked the Ligerfangs most, though, aesthetically if nothing else. Bigger than any lion had any right to be and even faster than me when I wasn't jumping around.

I was decently sure there were supposed to be a few more new monsters between the 12th and 17th floor, so I would have to remember to interrogate the next unlucky adventurer I caught before offing him. 

All in all, there were only a few more things I had to do before finally sleeping for a bit after…48 hours of non-stop killing? 

Things got a bit boring at some point, and I rounded up 33 hellhounds and attempted to brute-force learning magic. It worked, and I got some new goodies on my stat sheet. 

As for the level-up... I didn't feel all that different, and my soul felt identical to my senses, but I knew it couldn't be all that simple.

 There was a moment of... enlightenment involved, similar to when I revived Golbin, but also different.

 I would find out eventually, but first, there were tests to be done.

I looked at the white flame in the palm of my hand. It flickered and danced, but didn't feel warm at all. It felt frigid, starved, lonely, weak, and afraid, and the more I stared at it, the brighter it burned.

I was decently sure magic wasn't really supposed to work this way in this world. Weren't there some chants to be said or something? Didn't it take eating a book or two? Grimoires, were they called?

"You know, in many books I've read, dragons were said to be masters of magic. I know you're an Infant Dragon, but surely you know some tricks?"

The Dragon in question growled at me, a deep rumble vibrating through its scaled chest. Its black eyes narrowed, watching me warily, but there was a hunger there—more bloodthirst than I expected from something with the word "infant" in its name.

 Its body, covered in dark crimson scales, shifted as it braced itself, claws scraping against the stone floor. 

It also didn't seem inclined to talk.

 A jet of flame erupted from its mouth, a bright, searing yellow that roared like a furnace as it surged toward me, heating the air around it.

I countered with my magic? Skill? I wasn't sure. It didn't quite matter as the white fire swallowed the yellow heat, turning it into nothing but a wisp of steam. 

Completely non-scientific. It made me sigh and smile at the same time.

The Infant Dragon attempted to dodge the blindingly white blast and it almost managed. Almost. It wasn't the most nimble of all the creatures I'd fought, four meters long as it was, with its bulk slowing it down.

One of its legs was licked by the fire. It melted with a hiss, the scales and flesh turning to bubbling liquid. The dragon roared, a guttural, pained cry that echoed off the stone walls, but to me, it sounded like a mouse's dying screech.

"Flamma Furoris," I muttered, watching the flames dance along my fingers. "Flame of Madness."

 Fitting name. Staring at it too long almost felt like looking into a fever dream. If I squinted, I swore I could see a silhouette, pushing a boulder, repeating the same struggle again and again. Very cool.

The flame held one single effect that I could tell—it burned. No tricks, no hidden properties. It just burned, proportional to the mana I poured into it. Plain and simple.

The Infant Dragon hobbled toward me, dragging its melted limb. Its jaws opened wide, revealing rows of sharp, gleaming teeth as it lunged, snarling with a desperate fury. I rewarded it with another blast of fire, this one holding 20% of my total mana, compared to the previous 10%.

"It's fitting, I suppose... the amount of sacrifice, equivalent to the result..."

When the light faded, the dragon was gone. No ashes, no remains—not even the magic stone. I laughed.

"Great. Took me half an hour to find that bastard, and nothing to show for it. Was it an Infant Infant Dragon or something?"

I scanned the area, eyes darting between shadows. "Also, where the hell is Golbin?"