He didn't know how long he lay there.
Time inside the dungeon felt broken, stretched thin like a fragile thread. His breathing was slow, uneven, each breath scraping against his chest like broken glass.
[HP: 11/140]
[Status: Stabilized – Critical]
The system finally spoke again.
Not loudly.
Not urgently.
Almost… carefully.
The cold stone beneath him felt distant now, as if his body no longer fully belonged to him. He tried to move his fingers.
They responded.
Barely.
"…Still alive," he whispered.
He laughed, but it came out weak and hoarse.
The memory of the fight replayed in his mind—the faceless enemy, the way his power had meant nothing, how close he had come to disappearing without leaving even a trace behind.
For the first time since his rebirth—
He felt fear.
Not the fear of pain.
The fear of ending.
"If I had relied on the system any more than I did…" he muttered, staring at his trembling hand, "I would be dead."
The dungeon remained silent.
No ambush.
No sudden monsters.
As if Floor Three had already decided its outcome.
Slowly, painfully, he rolled onto his back and forced himself to sit up. Every movement sent sharp pain through his ribs, but he ignored it.
Pain meant he was alive.
[Passive Trait Active: Dragon's Will]
[Effect: Mental Resistance Increased | Survival Instinct Heightened]
He felt it now.
Not strength.
Not raw power.
Clarity.
His senses sharpened, not explosively, but steadily. He could feel the dungeon's presence again—its breathing, its shifting mana, its hidden hostility.
It wasn't gone.
It was watching.
"So you're not done with me," he said quietly.
Using the wall for support, he pulled himself to his feet. His legs shook, nearly giving out beneath him, but he stayed standing.
He refused to lie down again.
Step by step, he moved forward.
The chamber he had fought in was gone now, replaced by a long corridor stretching ahead. The pale stone walls were cracked, fractured by the earlier battle.
He didn't rush.
Every instinct told him that haste would kill him.
Instead, he walked slowly, breathing in rhythm, conserving what little strength he had left.
Minutes passed.
Then—
[System Notification]
[You have cleared Floor 3]
[Condition Met: Survival-Based Progression]
He stopped.
"…Survival-based?" he repeated.
No rewards exploded into existence.
No treasure chests.
No flood of experience points.
Instead—
[Reward Granted: Adaptation Growth]
[Effect: Resistance to Power Suppression Increased]
His eyes narrowed.
"So that's how this dungeon works," he muttered. "It doesn't reward strength. It rewards refusal."
A low hum echoed through the corridor as a faint light appeared ahead. A safe zone—temporary, unstable, but real.
He entered it and collapsed onto the ground, finally allowing his body to rest.
His wounds didn't heal instantly.
They closed slowly, painfully, reminding him of every mistake he had made.
As his breathing evened out, his thoughts drifted.
To the system.
To the unknown enemy.
To the feeling of being watched.
Someone designed this, he thought. Not to kill me… but to see if I deserved to live.
His jaw tightened.
"I don't care who you are," he whispered into the empty space. "God, dragon, or something worse."
His eyes burned with quiet resolve.
"I'll keep moving forward. Not because you want me to—but because I choose to."
[Mental State Updated]
[Resolve Increased]
The safe zone began to fade.
He stood again, body still battered, but spirit steady.
Ahead of him—
A staircase descended deeper into the dungeon.
[Next Area Unlocked: Floor 4]
[Danger Level: Extreme]
He took one last breath.
"This time," he said calmly, "I won't rely on borrowed power."
And with that—
He stepped forward, carrying not just strength…
…but experience bought with blood.