In another remote corner of the fifth floor—
Where dim light shimmered faintly from the glowing roots buried beneath the ground, a thick, sluggish swamp pond lay quietly to the south, as if it hadn't been disturbed for centuries. Whether the liquid inside was mud or diluted blood was unclear, only that it reeked of a chilling, nauseating stench.
Suddenly—
"Hey, you over there!"
A shrill, raspy voice rang out—like a flute clogged with sewer water—so grating that even the air seemed to shiver.
From beneath the pond, a bizarre creature began to rise. Its body was short and round like a mound of soggy sludge, slimy and covered in moss. It was a swamp monster—a creature despised even among monsters. Not because it was weak… but because it was filthy.
The creature called out suddenly turned its head.
Standing motionless at the edge of the water was a dark silhouette. It emitted no aura, made no movements—as if the darkness itself had been carved into human form. No eyes, no flesh, no features.
This was The Shadow, a being created by Gen using the skill of the Spirit of Darkness.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you! What the hell are you? You look like a walking lump of charcoal!"
The swamp monster waddled onto the shore, dripping chunks of thick mud with every step, the stench spreading like a miasma. It stared at The Shadow with a wary yet curious gaze—like a slum dweller eyeing a new neighbor.
"Why aren't you answering me?!"
It growled, feeling insulted by the silence.
The Shadow tilted its head, glancing around innocently. When it spoke, its voice was light and airy, like a child playing pretend.
"You… called me?"
Its expression was childlike. The voice belonged to the Spirit of Darkness, but it lacked the divine resonance of a god.
An awkward pause. The swamp monster felt like it was speaking to… a brainless rock.
"Of course I did! Who else is here besides you and me?" it grumbled. "What are you? Didn't you get the summons from the King?"
The Shadow tilted its head again. That clueless expression made the swamp monster reach a firm conclusion: "Idiot."
It sighed, shaking its head, and looked at The Shadow with pity—like a weakling meeting someone even more unfortunate.
In the fifth floor of the Dungeon, swamp monsters were among the weakest creatures, only level 30, and often stayed submerged to avoid being bullied. Meanwhile, other monsters in the outer regions had already reached levels 50–59, not to mention the stronger ones lurking deep within the bog.
And yet today, it spoke up first—because The Shadow looked even weaker than it.
"If you don't want to become food for the crazies in this place, you better stop wandering around like that."
It mumbled the warning, still scanning the surroundings warily.
Then…
"Come with me!"
The swamp monster suddenly called out, waddling off toward the west.
"Where are we going?" The Shadow asked, voice still innocent, like a breeze passing by.
"The gathering!" it replied, not bothering to look back.
"Where else?"
"Oh..."
The Shadow nodded and hurried to follow.
A short while later...
"Is this King… really strong?"
The Shadow looked up, voice full of childlike curiosity, like a kid asking about heroes in a bedtime story.
The swamp monster halted and turned to stare at The Shadow—part shocked, part sympathetic.
"You..."
"Of course he's strong! I've heard he's level 250! Two hundred and fifty! Got it?! ...And that's not even counting his four elite lieutenants!"
"They're strong too?"
"Each one… over level 200!" It emphasized every word, face serious as if telling a ghost story.
"So what? I'm the Monster King."
The Shadow replied calmly—half-joking, half-serious. Of course, it was referring to Gen—its original self, the skull-faced being with a collection of Jurassic-era creatures.
"You...!!!"
The swamp monster froze for a second, then sighed and gave up.
"Fine... you win." It couldn't argue anymore with such a weird entity.
"What's your name?"
"The Shadow!"
"...Fitting, I guess."
The swamp monster let out another sigh and fell silent. It decided not to waste more words on someone who was both dumb and strange… yet oddly hard to dislike.
Some time later, as the two quietly walked across patches of moss-covered earth—
Swish—!
From the swamp grass ahead, a gust of wind cut through the air, and water splashed. A black figure leapt out onto their path.
It was a humanoid creature with gray, scale-covered skin like a snake. Its limbs were long and gangly, each step scraping the ground with a sound like blades dragged across stone. Its blood-red eyes locked onto The Shadow.
"Oho… found me a little snack."
Its voice rasped like metal grating against brick, eyes glowing with excitement. It was a Stalker—a monster that preyed on weaker ones to farm experience. A classic opportunist.
"Perfect little bite before the gathering."
It chuckled darkly, dragging its sharp claws across the ground, sparks flickering up. Muscles tensed, it lunged toward The Shadow.
"Die, and let me level up—"
But in that instant, its gaze flicked to the waddling creature beside The Shadow.
A mobile pile of slimy, stinking mud.
"Wait a sec..." It stopped, face twisting as if it had just seen someone poop on the dinner table.
"You… you're with that thing?"
The Shadow tilted its head and replied lightly: "Yes. This is… my friend."
"Your... friend?"
The Stalker's eyes widened. He instinctively stepped back.
"That smell… it reeks! That's genuine swamp stink!"
He held his nose, scowling in disgust, then turned to glare at the swamp monster with utter contempt.
"I'd rather eat dirt than touch scum like you! Filthy, weak, and slimy like a runny nose!"
The swamp monster said nothing. It just smirked, a sneer of disdain.
"Oh, please. If you're scared of mud, stay out of the swamp. What, planning to become the filthy King of Rot?"
The Stalker's face flushed red. He growled, "I'll remember you two!"
He raised his hand, formed a dark magic seal—then vanished into the shadows without even bothering to fight. Maybe he thought that killing someone who hung out with swamp trash wasn't heroic enough.
Silence returned.
The Shadow blinked.
"You know him?"
The swamp monster waved a hand dismissively and sighed.
"One of those guys who hunt the weak to level up. Think they're so noble… but scared of mud."
Then it turned to The Shadow and nodded.
"Stick with me, at least... you won't get eaten."
"Okay."
The Shadow smiled—if a being of darkness could smile—and continued walking.
Strangely enough, in the treacherous fifth floor swamp where monsters devoured one another daily, the two weakest beings—one filthy, the other hollow—had chosen to walk the same path together.
Eastern Sector, Floor Five.
Boom! Boom!
From the heart of the hazy mist, a magic circle suddenly appeared midair and struck down with two blinding bolts of lightning. The thunderclaps tore the damp earth apart, sending dirt and filthy water flying, raining down in a thick storm of mud.
The one who had cast that spell was none other than Gerald, a seasoned mage, who held in his hand a staff made of oak — a treasured artifact that enhanced and replenished mana with each spell cast.
As the spell faded, Gerald slowly approached the scorched ruin left behind. At his feet lay the charred corpse of a massive, one-horned gray bear, its body torn in half, the acrid stench of burnt flesh lingering in the air.
Seconds later, the corpse dissolved into particles of light, leaving behind a shimmering blue enchantment stone. Gerald bent down, picked it up without hesitation, and stored it in the space ring on his finger before continuing his trek through the mist-filled realm.
The farther he went, the deeper he ventured into the floor, and the dim glow of dusk gradually faded. Each step echoed like it was falling into a bottomless abyss. The mist clung heavily to dead branches and rotting trunks, and behind him, the sound of an unseen beast's breath echoed faintly—like the very darkness itself was breathing.
Suddenly, a furious roar echoed from afar, halting his steps.
In the blink of an eye, a shadow streaked toward him like a flash of black lightning. Just a few steps away, it stopped, revealing a humanoid figure with no face—more like a living shadow than a man.
This was one of Gen's remaining three Shadows.
As it approached, Gerald noticed a long gash on its arm, from which thick black ink-like drops were falling to the ground. Strangely, that shadowy blood faintly glowed, like dim crystals in the fog.
Gerald narrowed his eyes at the strange creature before him. A new kind of monster? A shadow with substance? And that speed…
His instincts warned him — this being was no ordinary foe.
What Gerald didn't know… was that the Shadow's speed came from a skill called [Light Flash] .
Suddenly, three monstrous figures burst through the mist in pursuit. A massive orc, with two tusks protruding from its lower jaw, clad in beast hide, was swinging a heavy bone club. Flanking it were two gray wolves, their fangs bared, fur damp with mist.
"Hey old man, you're strong, huh? Mind taking care of these for me?"
The Shadow's voice was childish, almost innocent, but there was a sly glint in its eyes.
Gerald was momentarily startled. This creature… it can talk? And it knows my level? While he, a seasoned mage, couldn't see anything from its status at all…
The orc stepped forward, growling arrogantly, "Human! Know your place. This is the domain of our King. Surrender now, and I may let you live long enough to meet Him!"
"Oh? You have a King?" Gerald raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.
"Hmph. Level 250…" the Shadow cut in, half-serious, half-joking. Then quickly added:
"...At least, that's what the rumors say!"
That number made both Gerald and the orc flinch. Even someone like Gerald, a Level 199 Mage, couldn't hide his surprise at such a claim.
"But he's not the strongest," the Shadow added calmly.
"What? There's someone stronger than that?" Gerald asked almost involuntarily.
"Yeah. Me."
Silence.
Then the orc burst into laughter, as if he'd just heard the most ridiculous joke of his life.
"Ha ha ha ha! A shadow… the King?!"
Gerald merely sighed, not even bothering to respond.
Apparently done with the chatter, the orc narrowed his eyes and growled, "Attack!"
The two wolves snarled and pounced toward Gerald like arrows.
"[Thunder Spiral] !"
Lightning flared in Gerald's hand, and a small magic circle appeared midair. Thunder boomed as two bolts split the air with a roar.
BOOM! BOOM!
Both wolves collapsed, scorched, their smoking corpses fading into the mist.
"Bet they're well done," the Shadow muttered.
The orc's eyes widened in fear. He turned to flee—but too late.
"[Light Confinement]!"
A spiral of light enveloped his massive frame, locking him in a cage of glowing chains. Unexpectedly, the Shadow was also caught in the light, frozen mid-step inside the spell's circle.
"Wha—!? Old man! What the hell are you doing?!" the Shadow shouted.
"What do you think I'm doing?" Gerald replied with a half-smile.
The Shadow scowled. "You shouldn't use this kind of spell on me… These chains don't just bind the body. If I lose control, Gen will know…"
"Gen?" Gerald muttered, frowning. He assumed the Shadow was rambling nonsense.
The orc thrashed violently within the glowing prison. "You'll regret this, human! You cannot leave this place without our King's permission!"
Gerald narrowed his eyes. "Tell me—where's the exit?"
The orc sneered and laughed. "Want to know? Then meet our King! If you survive that... perhaps you'll get your answer."
"Then let's go," the Shadow said indifferently.
Gerald let out a long sigh. A mage who had fought countless battles… now forced to wager his life just to find a way out.
He rummaged through his space ring, checking each item carefully — as if preparing for the most important fight of his life.
"Lead the way," he ordered, eyes sharp as blades.
The orc grinned in triumph and started moving. The Shadow followed, grumbling, "Damn it… why'd you have to bind me too…"
On a distant cliff, a tall, four-legged creature resembling a deer stood motionless. It was draped in a shimmering fur cloak, and its glowing red eyes — like twin moons — silently watched the trio walk away. Moments later, it vanished, as though it had never been there.
Gerald and the Shadow followed the orc in silence, trekking through dense, fog-choked forests. Somewhere in the darkness, the faint clang of metal striking stone rang out… and sent a chill down Gerald's spine.
"What was that sound?"
The Shadow looked up, his expression tense.
The orc, visibly pleased by their fear, explained gleefully, "It's the Guiding Bell — a summoning call from the Dungeon King."
"Summoning?" Gerald asked.
"Yes. Whenever someone trespasses on this floor… one of His four Level 200 subordinates will appear. That bell is the sign… someone is coming. Ha ha ha! Human, you've been found…"
Gerald stood still.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment and exhaled.
"So I've been discovered already?"
He replied, calm but cold:
"Then I'll face it head-on."
In the deepest reaches of Floor Five's swamp, where no light pierced the endless fog, and even the traces of life had long been devoured by mud and time…
There stood a scene so surreal it defied all reason.
A magnificent palace rose from the gray swamp like an illusion. Its ancient architecture boasted towering domes, and its outer walls — carved from the same eerie black stone of Floor Three — emitted a ghostly glow. The majestic palace stood tall, violating the very laws of nature in this forsaken land.
No one would believe it unless they saw it with their own eyes: a palace so vast and imposing, hidden in the heart of rotting marshland. It rivaled even the Imperial Citadel in grandeur — perhaps even surpassing it in eerie magnificence.
Yet what truly made this place unique…
Was the massive stone dragon draped across its roof.
Its wings stretched wide like walls of the heavens, shrouding the palace both in protection and silent menace. Each scale seemed sculpted by divine hands. Even with its eyes closed, the dragon exuded an overwhelming majesty — as if opening them would reduce the world to ash. Whether it was merely a statue… or a beast in slumber… no one knew.
No one knew how many centuries had passed in this forgotten corner of the world. But today…
In the vast courtyard before the palace, cloaked in thick fog, over a thousand monsters gathered from every corner of the fifth floor.
Fierce creatures of bizarre shapes — hulking orcs, snarling shadow wolves, even rare recluses like three-eyed blood spiders, steelworms, and moss-covered giants.
Even ancient monsters who had long slumbered deep beneath the muck emerged from their lairs, stepping slowly into the open, their gazes solemn and full of fear.
All eyes… turned toward the palace. Toward the throne at the heart of the grand hall, behind its half-closed Dragon Gate.
There, bathed in the faint glow of magical torches lining the hall…
Sat a figure.
A young man, his posture lazy yet emanating an undeniable aura of authority. Long black hair flowed down his back, his eyes closed as if dreaming, and with every breath, the air around him rippled like a silent tide.
He sat in stillness, not uttering a word, yet not a single monster dared make a sound — not one crossed the threshold into the sacred hall.
Because they all knew…
The one seated upon the dragon-clawed throne...
Was the King.
The King of the Dungeon.
Ruler of this deepest floor of the labyrinth.