Bully Lord

Part-198

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the dungeon. Instead, he found himself lying in his bed, back in his room at his family house. James bolted upright, his heart racing as he took in his familiar surroundings—the blue walls, the shelves lined with books and trinkets, and the distant hum of the city outside. Everything was just as it had been before.

But something felt off. **Was it all just a dream?** he wondered, blinking in bewilderment. He vividly remembered the battle—the impact of his fists connecting with the ratlings, the weight of their attacks, the exhaustion that had nearly defeated him. Yet here he was, in his room as though nothing had happened. No aches, no cuts or bruises, no signs of the struggle he had endured.

He quickly examined his body, pulling up his sleeves and scanning his arms. There were no scratches, no evidence of the wounds he had sustained in the dungeon. His muscles, which had been in agony just moments ago, now felt completely normal, as if they hadn't been pushed to their limits.

James frowned. **What is going on?**

His mind raced to make sense of the situation. Each time he had collapsed in the dungeon, he had been sent back to the entrance, fully healed. It seemed the same had occurred, but this time he was back in the real world. Or was he? Could this be another facet of the dungeon's magic?

As he swung his legs over the bed, his gaze fell on the object that had started it all—the Lamp of Time. It sat on his desk, faintly glowing. He rushed over and picked it up, examining it closely. The once-bright flame inside the lamp was now extinguished. The lamp was empty, devoid of any spark. A soft chime echoed in his mind, followed by a notification.

**[Notification: The oil in the Lamp of Time has burned out. The lamp will replenish in 24 hours.]**

James stared at the message, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. So, the dungeon's magic had been fueled by the lamp, and now that the oil was depleted, he had been returned to his room. It made sense, but it left him with more questions than answers.

He set the lamp down and ran a hand through his hair. The dungeon had been real—he was certain of that now. The battles, the pain, the triumph—it wasn’t a dream. But the Lamp of Time operated on a cycle, granting access to the dungeon only for a limited time before resetting.

**24 hours**. That was how long he’d have to wait before he could re-enter the dungeon. The forced pause was frustrating, but he knew there was nothing he could do. The lamp’s magic was beyond his control. For now, he could only reflect on what he had learned and prepare for the next attempt.

As James paced his room, his thoughts returned to the dungeon and the battles he had fought. The ratlings had pushed him to his limits, forcing him to use abilities he hadn’t fully understood until now. **Crisis Mode**, his ultimate skill, had been crucial for surviving the swarm, but it had limitations. It drained him quickly and had a cooldown that left him vulnerable afterward.