Denizens of the Labyrinth

Jazmel urged his body forward, steadying his breath with calculated precision. Each inhale and exhale felt deliberate, a rhythm that allowed his Mana to course through his body and fuel his recovery even while on the move. His mind raced alongside his footsteps, grappling with questions as he traversed the oppressive halls of the mausoleum.

What had the system thrown him into this time? Where were the others? What could it possibly gain by isolating him here?

He had only just ascended to master tier, and while he had anticipated greater challenges within the labyrinth, this was something else entirely. The labyrinth had a way of testing more than strength—it clawed at your resolve, questioned your motives, and laid bare your ambitions.

For Jazmel, those ambitions were deeply personal. His journey wasn't just about power or survival. It was about uncovering truths—finding his parents and understanding what had happened to his mother. And then there was the plot bestowed upon him by the system itself: the quest to locate the city of Genesis, the fabled home of the Tyrants. As a newly ascended Tyrant himself, he felt a gnawing obligation to uncover what it meant to bear such a title.

Yet, for all his questions, he felt no different than he had before. Sure, his skills and stats set him apart, but in his mind, he remained human—just as Charme did, despite her own ascension. But who could truly say? He had never asked her outright. The labyrinth had a way of reshaping identities in ways that defied explanation.

Shaking those thoughts aside, he focused on the immediate task: breaking free from this mausoleum. Its oppressive atmosphere weighed on him, though it was nothing compared to the horrors of the dead city he had previously encountered. At least here, there were no signs of the dreaded Dullahan.

The air around him shimmered with a sickly green glow, a macabre aura of Mana that seemed to animate the dead. The blackened stone walls pulsed faintly, as if alive, their surfaces carved with the chilling runes of ancient rites. Death itself hung thick in the air, and Jazmel couldn't help but grip his sword tighter. The grave iron in its blade seemed to hum with a faint resonance, as if rejoicing in a homecoming.

Then came the sound: the faint clatter of boots on stone. Not his own. He froze for a moment, his senses sharpening.

Undead.

He drew his sword in a smooth motion, its blade igniting in a blue flame that licked hungrily along its length. The light cut through the darkness like a beacon, casting jagged shadows along the walls.

Shrieks tore through the air. The second layer was darker than any night, a void so complete it might have overwhelmed another. But not Jazmel. The Mana in the air was his guide, illuminating his surroundings like a vivid light source only he could perceive.

DING!

TIER III REVENANT KILLED!

The first revenant lunged at him, its twisted, skeletal form glowing faintly with that unnatural green energy. Jazmel's blade cut through it effortlessly, the strike clean and decisive. The creature disintegrated into a pile of lifeless bones.

He frowned. No experience.

Tier III was truly beneath him now. He almost laughed, remembering the indifference Baek had often shown during their earlier battles. Now he understood. This was what it felt like to fight beneath your level.

Still, he pressed on. The revenants came in waves, their shrieks echoing through the mausoleum as they clawed and stumbled toward him. His blade moved with precision, carving through them with unerring efficiency.

DING!

X44 TIER III REVENANTS KILLED!

EXP SLIGHTLY ACCRUED!

+1 WIL

He let out a dry chuckle at the paltry reward. A single stat point. But he wasn't bitter. Every stat mattered, and he had long since learned the value of hard-earned growth.

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The revenants grew bolder, attacking in larger groups. Their gnarled claws scraped against the stone, and their hollow eyes glowed with malevolence. Yet they were no match for his swordsmanship.

DING!

X56 TIER III REVENANTS KILLED!

EXP ACCRUED!

+1 END

Another group fell, and he crossed the threshold of a hundred kills.

DING!

YOU HAVE EARNED A TITLE!

TITLE: REVENANT SLAYER

AFTER KILLING OVER 100 REVENANTS, THE SEEKER GAINS EFFICIENCY.

20% DAMAGE AGAINST REVENANT TYPE MONSTERS.

Jazmel immediately activated the title, letting its bonus take precedence. He hadn't reviewed his titles in a while, and the thought crossed his mind to go through them when he had a moment of respite. But now wasn't the time.

The revenants kept coming, but Jazmel wasn't fazed. He carved through them like a reaper in the night, his blade singing with every swing. He wasn't just killing; he was refining his form, each motion more efficient than the last.

As he ventured deeper, the atmosphere shifted subtly. The stone grew colder beneath his feet, the air heavier with the stench of death. The faint glow of Mana seemed to intensify, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. It was as if the mausoleum itself was alive, guiding him deeper into its heart.

But Jazmel was undeterred. He pushed forward, his eyes set on the path ahead. Whatever lay in the depths of this cursed place, he would face it head-on. The revenants were just the beginning.

Jazmel pressed forward, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone of the mausoleum's endless halls. The oppressive darkness seemed alive, pressing in on him, but he held steady, his focus unbroken. The faint, greenish glow of death-infused mana still cast its unsettling light, revealing wave after wave of revenants shambling toward him.

He exhaled sharply, his sword blazing with blue fire as it cleaved through their ranks. The sound of bones shattering and lifeless husks crumbling to the ground filled the air.

DING!

X78 TIER III REVENANTS KILLED!

EXP ACCRUED!

+1 AGL

The system updates were a constant rhythm now, a hum beneath the relentless battle. Jazmel had long stopped counting his kills manually. The revenants were nothing more than gnats—annoying, persistent, but ultimately insignificant. Yet their sheer numbers demanded his stamina and focus.

"More of them," Jazmel muttered under his breath as another tide of revenants surged forward, their soulless shrieks rising in a discordant crescendo.

He held his ground, shifting his stance. A trio of revenants lunged at him simultaneously. With a fluid motion, he parried one's clawed swipe, spun low, and slashed upward, bisecting two foes in a single motion.

DING!

X132 TIER III REVENANTS KILLED!

EXP ACCRUED!

+1 STR

The air felt heavier as he delved deeper into the layer. The walls around him began to change, the black stone giving way to veined obsidian streaked with crimson, like dried blood frozen in time. The corridors became narrower, and the revenants seemed to grow more desperate, their shrieks more guttural and fiercer.

Jazmel's breathing remained steady despite the constant exertion. His blade flashed like lightning, reducing the revenants to piles of brittle bones and fading mana wisps. He couldn't help but wonder how much mana was trapped within this cursed layer.

DING!

X216 TIER III REVENANTS KILLED!

EXP ACCRUED!

+1 DEX

His pace quickened as he saw the faintest hint of light ahead. But with every step, the revenants seemed to grow in numbers, an unrelenting tide of undead clawing to slow him down.

"I don't have time for this," he grunted, planting his feet firmly. He raised his sword high, allowing its blue flames to roar to life.

Flaming Evisceration!

With a powerful slash, a wave of fiery mana surged forward, incinerating dozens of revenants in its path.

DING!

X300 TIER III REVENANTS KILLED!

EXP ACCRUED!

+2 END

DING!

YOU HAVE EARNED A NEW TITLE!

TITLE: MASTER OF THE DEAD

AFTER DEFEATING OVER 300 REVENANTS, YOU GAIN AN EDGE OVER ALL UNDEAD CREATURES.

PASSIVE BONUS: 30% DAMAGE AGAINST ALL UNDEAD CREATURES.

ACTIVE EFFECT: UPON DEFEATING UNDEAD, A FRACTION OF THEIR MANA IS ABSORBED INTO YOUR RESERVE (5% OF BASE MANA).

Jazmel's lips curled into a faint smile as he swapped the title in immediately. The newfound strength coursed through him, a warm pulse in the cold, deathly atmosphere. He felt his mana reserves replenish slightly as each revenant fell to his blade.

The corridors finally widened, leading into a massive, domed chamber. The room was lit by faint green flames flickering in sconces along the walls. A towering, ornate sarcophagus rested in the centre, its surface carved with grotesque depictions of battles and sacrifices. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the heavy pressure of lingering mana.

"This must be the heart of the layer," Jazmel muttered, stepping forward cautiously. His eyes scanned the room, his mana-infused vision catching faint movements in the shadows.

He reached the edge of the sarcophagus, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. He could feel it—the oppressive, malevolent energy radiating from within. Whatever lay here was no simple revenant.