The expedition's advance was blisteringly fast and impressively efficient.
After each vanguard squad handled a wave of monsters, they immediately rotated out. Every team had enough time to rest, and enough time to warm up again before their next turn.
One full round of handoffs brought them to Floor 13. From here, the monsters scaled up—strength tripled or even quadrupled compared to Floor 1. Minotaurs, Hellhounds, and Killer Rabbits piled pressure onto the shield-bearers: brute force from the first, devastating spell-like blasts from the second, and razor-quick assassinations from the third.
From this floor on, each team's difficulty spiked.
Not only did quality rise—quantity did too—slowing the overall push. Yet under heavier strain, the adventurers didn't flag; their excitement only climbed.
"This efficiency is beyond my expectations," Alicia breathed, startled by the speed. "Warrior, shield, archer—front and rear lines making a tight combat loop. No matter how agile the monster, someone can answer it. Archers can finish or harass as needed."
Kaguya watched the three-person squads and quickly grasped their core. The front-back pairing could flex for any enemy, changing on the fly.
After a clash, each trio yielded the field for the next. Archers who spent their quivers got time to resupply. There was no risk of arrows falling behind demand.
"Training in the Dungeon matters, but so does the 'Challenge Space.' This formation must have been proven there," Kaguya said, nearly certain from the way they fought. Three was the sweet spot—clear roles, crisp tempo control, and built-in windows to catch breath after contact.
She glanced back at her own unit.
They had roles too, but not this precise, three-person rotation. In high-intensity moments they sometimes couldn't grab a breath. That needed to change.
When this expedition ends, we'll start tuning our formation and division of roles, Kaguya resolved.
"Hah!"
A dual-blades adventurer burst forward, flashed beneath a Minotaur's guard, and opened the first goblin's throat in passing—only for three more to screech and charge. The dual-blades fighter slid aside instead of rushing in. A shield-bearer took the lane and met the trio head-on.
Shield crash!
With a thunderous impact, the greatshield slammed into all three, launching them skyward.
Twang!
Three arrows were already nocked behind the shield. They leapt as one and pinned the airborne goblins cleanly. Four kills, done in a blink.
The trio withdrew at once, leaving space for the next team.
Group after group kept the rhythm. On the upper floors this was mere warm-up, but the relay pattern was designed for the maze ahead—share the load, save strength, keep the line fresh for more enemies.
A Minotaur roared—bull head, man's body—its twin horns and massive axe both deadly. It fought in wide, brutal sweeps like a berserker. Caution was everything.
The beast hacked down at a one-hand-sword fighter, who slipped the chop and slipped inside its reach. The Minotaur tried to swat him with a wild backhand—
—but standing rooted made it a perfect target.
An arrow snapped out and buried in its eye with a wet thud.
Screaming, the Minotaur windmilled its axe. The shield-bearer sprinted, raised his wall of iron, and absorbed the frenzied chops. The swordsman ghosted behind and slashed for the hamstring.
The Minotaur's body was a suit of living muscle—tough enough to blunt ordinary cuts—but the tendons behind the knee were soft. One clean stroke and the giant dropped to a kneel, axe wavering. The shield-bearer drove forward and slammed the plate into its face.
Boom.
Off-balance, the Minotaur toppled. The archer planted a boot on the shield-bearer's back, vaulted high, drew, aimed—three arrows this time—straight for the throat.
They punched in—but not deep enough to kill. The swordsman strode up, gripped with both hands, and drove his blade down through the larynx. The monster went limp in an instant.
Fight after fight ended this way: control, unbalance, blind, unbalance, finish.
Deeper floors meant more monsters. One squad alone wasn't enough; a dozen teams advanced in parallel, spacing themselves with practiced ease. Even when fights bled into each other, they could cross-support without tripping lines. That kind of fieldcraft took real chemistry—yet Loki's adventurers made it feel like daily routine. They barely spoke, and still hit their cues, even wrapping bouts at nearly the same time.
The efficiency felt like art.
"Baby Dragon!"
At the shout, the current trio fell back and a different package stepped up: a five-shield line in front; three mages with staves behind them; and, flanking left and right, a five-person dual-blades team.
The young dragon's roar rippled the air into shockwaves, which broke into harmless rings across the forward shields. The dual-blades squad split and sprinted around the formation's edges.
Among the middle floors, baby dragons were apex threats—scaled, thickly armored, and ruinously destructive. Unlike Minotaurs, they wore real plate in the form of scales and could spew fire or batter foes with sonic force.
But scale that turned blades didn't turn spells.
For all its armor, it was still juvenile—its resistance to magic was poor.
While the five dual-blades drew its attention and prevented it from building flame, the three mages finished their chants.
Three spells slammed into the young dragon's skull, erasing it in an instant and ending the fight at record speed.
(End of Chapter)
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