As John took his third step, the hallway shimmered, the distorted reflections flickering like failing holograms, their warped images dissolving into static. Then, with no sound or warning, he was gone. In his place, a single, iridescent crow feather drifted gently to the floor, landing with a soft tick against the cold stone. John found himself standing in the familiar, if somewhat sterile, space of his safe room on the 10th floor. The transition was disorienting, as if he'd been ripped from one reality and thrust into another, the echoes of the hallway’s hum still ringing in his ears. A searing pain shot through his left hand, as though ice had burned into his flesh, the cold intensifying before fading to a dull throb. Looking down, he saw the silver number etched there, the '10' smoothly morphing into a '20', its metallic sheen unchanging. A notification materialized in his vision, glowing softly:

  Title Unlocked: Silver Heart Forged through unwavering resolve in the face of illusion. Where others falter, your spirit remains unblemished. No golden heart here; that metal is far too soft.

  Title Unlocked: Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing You may blend in with the other sheep, but you are a wolf in plain sight.

  “Jinn, what’s going on? How did I suddenly jump to the 20th floor?” John asked, his voice tight with confusion. “Ah, yes,” Jinn’s voice echoed, amusement tinging his tone. “That’s the nature of our little wager, John. You opted for the… express route, shall we say. Others form parties, tackling each floor as a group—waves of enemies, intricate traps, the whole shebang. But you… you’re taking the express lane.” “Express lane?” John repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds… efficient.” “Efficient, indeed,” Jinn replied. “Since you’re braving this dungeon solo, I’ve streamlined the process. You only need to overcome the floor’s guardian to advance. Think of it as a boss rush. Direct, yes, but not easier. You face each challenge’s full force, with no allies to share the burden.” “So, if I teamed up with someone…” John began.

  “You’d face the standard gauntlet,” Jinn interrupted. “Hordes of creatures, traps, mind-bending puzzles. Different challenges, perhaps less intense individually, but far more protracted. And, of course, you’d have to split any rewards with your party or ally. The risk of death will rise the longer you fight or the more floors you attempt. You can always revisit previous floors for more treasures or levels. But don’t expect any leniency or fewer challenges on fighting floors; my role remains impartial.” “The silver completions, the titles for solo adventurers… and the black achievements for teams,” John realized. “Precisely,” Jinn confirmed. “Each set of ten floors conquered solo unlocks a title—marks of distinction earned through individual skill and resolve. It’s a perilous path, John, but the spoils… they’re commensurate.” John nodded slowly, absorbing Jinn’s words. “So, the express lane it is. Harder, but… faster.” “Indeed,” Jinn’s voice echoed, a resonance John couldn’t quite decipher. “Now, about your performance. Let’s analyze your recent… progress.”

  Before John could respond, a wave of pure sensation crashed over him. It wasn’t pain, but an overwhelming surge bypassing normal senses entirely. He smelled a thousand scents at once, saw impossible colors swirling in his vision, and heard fragmented whispers vibrating within him. His skin burned and froze in rapid succession. It was as though his being was simultaneously compressed and expanded, bombarded with raw, uncontainable data. Then, it stopped. Silence enveloped him, complete and suffocating. When John awoke, the weight of previous trials was gone. A crystalline clarity replaced it, as if a fog had lifted. The "Silver Heart" title resonated softly, affirming his resilience. His gaze held a new intensity, cold and focused, like polished steel.

  A chilling realization struck him: challengers who fell in these depths didn’t vanish. Their essence was absorbed by the dungeon, twisted and corrupted into fuel for its creatures. The cores… they weren’t trophies. They were echoes of shattered ambitions. Fragments of lost souls. “They will make me stronger,” he thought grimly. “I will not share their fate.” Accessing his inventory, he retrieved a beast core, its inner light pulsing faintly. Without hesitation, he swallowed it. Raw energy erupted within him, searing heat coursing through his veins like molten metal. His bones ached, muscles strained, his body pushed to its limits.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The energy surged into his bones, a maddening itch burrowing deep within the marrow. John gritted his teeth, refusing to yield to the discomfort. He focused on precise control: one bone at a time. Starting with his hands, he visualized the energy flowing upward, saturating each bone. The process was excruciating but deliberate. Once his hands hummed with power, he shifted to his legs, systematically fortifying his body. When he began working on his spine, the process slowed. Each vertebra demanded focus, the pain nearly overwhelming. Time stretched. Sweat dripped from his brow, but he pressed on, his resolve unbroken. As the core’s energy dwindled, John retrieved another—a significantly larger one. Swallowing it, a torrent of power engulfed him, a blinding emerald light illuminating the room. He instinctively activated Time-Chi, slowing his perception. The slowed influx allowed meticulous control, making the overwhelming energy manageable.

  When the energy finally settled, a profound shift occurred. His bones compressed, becoming denser, an emerald sheen glowing faintly beneath his skin. Excess energy flowed to his internal organs, igniting a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. He steeled his mind, focusing on control. “This must be a controlled assimilation,” he thought, breath hitching. “I cannot let this power consume me. I will not let it consume me. I will consume it!" John had initially planned to work on his muscles before his bones, but he knew enough about the body to realize that blood originates in the marrow. By upgrading his bones first, his blood would grow stronger, providing a foundation for the rest of his cultivation. Then he could work on his muscles, skin, and finally his organs. This was John’s path of body cultivation.

  Somehow, he instinctively knew that after refining his body, he could work on unlocking his meridians. Over the past few days, he had learned that the body contained countless tiny meridians, essential for cultivation in the spirit realm. Once he began unlocking the 12 main meridians, his ability to draw in chi would accelerate. However, since the body housed the soul, John wanted to strengthen it first, then reinforce his spirit. This path felt right to him. It might take longer than others, but he didn’t care.

  John also avoided pulling up his stat sheet, fearing it would make him view this as just a game. He knew it was a game—the game of life and death—but treating it as numbers would distract him. Instead, he relied on Max to monitor his progress. Numbers were just one way to measure growth; he chose to feel his gains, grounding himself in the process. “The goal is to survive and grow as much as possible,” he thought. “Rushing to the end would be a mistake. Even if I make it out alive, whatever comes next will require every ounce of strength I can gain.”

  This is a new world, and while I may not be able to fish on the lower floors, that limitation gives me a reason to explore the surface world more. There are nine other towns I have yet to see—just the ones Jinn can teleport me to. While getting stronger is my main priority, I still want to discover what else this world has in store for me. I also want to spend time investigating the guilds and seeing what the different sects may offer. Worst case, I can figure out who might be worth teaming up with. Max has just begun meeting with the other groups of people in power on the 10th floor. I’ll need to come up with a way to change my appearance when I go out in public. Perhaps I can also explore the 20th floor now that I’ve reached that level. The different sects don’t pay much attention to anyone below the 30th floor, as that’s where they mostly set up their halls. From what Max has learned, they start scouting people from the 10th floor onward, but they rarely invest in anyone until they’ve proven themselves capable of reaching their main halls on the 30th floor.

  John then started to reflect deeply on everything that had happened so far. As he looked back, he realized that since his race had changed, he had developed a much colder disposition toward death. He attributed this change partly to his new race and the nanos in his system. Yet, he couldn’t be certain whether it was Max subtly influencing his perspective, the unrelenting demands of dungeon life, or simply the natural effect of constant fighting and survival on a person’s psyche. Perhaps, he mused grimly, the transformation was entirely his own—a necessary adaptation to the kill-or-be-killed reality he now faced. Despite this, a part of him longed to remain the caring John he once was, even as he acknowledged the harsh truth: survival often reshapes the heart in ways one cannot always control. A nagging thought tugged at the edges of his mind, though. If he survived long enough, if he clawed his way through the darkness and emerged stronger than anyone expected, what kind of person would he become? The answer eluded him, a shadow lurking in the depths of his mind. For now, he resolved to take one step at a time, each step forging a path toward the unknown.