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, metallig of blood. Despite the dungeon’s oppressive atmosphere, James felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. After tless trips, the dungeon had bee almost like a sed home—a twisted, dangerous home, but one he had grown aced to.

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

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

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

  “e on, is that all you’ve got?” James muttered under his breath, dodging a particurly vicious swipe from one of the rger Ratlings. He retaliated with a swift jab to its torso, watg with satisfa as it stumbled back, clutg the wound.

  As the battle tinued, James found himself adapting to the Ratlings' tactics. He began to notice patterns in their attacks, anticipating their movements with increasing accuracy. He learo read their body nguage, uanding when they were about to lunge or retreat. The fights were still challenging, but James was being more than just a survivor; he was being 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 ter with deadly precision. It was as if he had bee oh his sword, his body moving instinctively in respoo the Ratlings' assaults. The fights were no longer just a matter of brute force; they were a dance, a deadly ballet between man a.

  Yet, despite his progress, James couldn’t ighe 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 stroo Level-2,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Just a little bit more.”