We lingered on floor 60 longer than planned, mostly because the Crystal Behemoth kept coughing up respectable EXP for Party B and nobody had the heart to tell it to stop dying so efficiently.
Once the gains tapered off into "this is just cardio now," we called it.
No rushing. No heroics.
We sat, ate, drank, stretched sore muscles like people who fully intended to survive the next floor. Stamina recovered the old-fashioned way.
Breathing.
Joking. Oreo snored in my system like he'd personally tanked the entire dungeon alone, eveb if he wasn't summoned.
When we descended to floor 61, the air changed.
Lizardmen.
Not the feral kind. These ones stood in ranks.
Shields interlocked. Spears angled forward. Casters in the back already chanting. And at the center, a General. Taller, plated in bone armor, eyes sharp with actual thought behind them.
He raised a claw.
The formation shifted instantly.
"Oh," Zeref muttered. "They're organized."
