Warlock of Oceans: My Poseidon System-Chapter 353: Tower of Severance (2)

"The second floor," Athena continued, "is home to wolves. These creatures are swift and deadly, attacking in packs with an almost supernatural coordination. The boss here is a Dire Wolf, a massive beast with fur as dark as the night, capable of summoning lesser wolves to its aid and moving with blinding speed."

"The third floor," she said, her tone growing more serious, "is where things start to get truly dangerous. It’s filled with undead—skeletons, zombies, and ghosts. The air is thick with the stench of decay, and the dark corridors echo with the moans of the damned. The boss is a Lich, a powerful sorcerer who commands the dead with terrifying efficiency, capable of casting devastating spells that can drain your very life force."

Cyrus’s expression remained focused as she spoke, but he couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of facing such creatures.

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"The fourth floor," Athena went on, "is a fiery inferno, inhabited by flame elementals. The heat is intense, and the very ground seems to burn beneath your feet. The elementals are relentless, their bodies made of living fire, capable of melting steel with a touch. The boss of this floor is a Flame Titan, a colossal being of fire and molten rock, whose very presence turns the battlefield into a blazing hellscape."

"The fifth floor," she said, her voice taking on a note of caution, "is a vast, frozen wasteland. Ice elementals and frost wolves roam this floor, their bites freezing flesh in seconds. The boss here is an Ice Dragon, a terrifying creature with scales as hard as diamond and breath that can freeze even the hottest flames. Its lair is a fortress of ice, where the very walls can trap you in frozen prisons."

Cyrus’s eyes narrowed slightly, knowing that these floors were not to be taken lightly.

"The sixth floor," Athena continued, "is a labyrinth of illusions. The monsters here are not physical but mental—phantoms and shadow creatures that prey on your mind. They twist reality, making you see things that aren’t there, or worse, making you believe that your allies are your enemies. The boss of this floor is a Nightmare Wraith, a creature that feeds on fear, capable of dragging you into a nightmarish realm where escape is almost impossible."

Athena paused for a moment, her gaze becoming more intense as she moved on to the seventh floor. "The seventh floor is where things become truly deadly. No one has ever completed this floor; those who’ve tried have either perished or retreated, scarred by the experience. It’s a dark, foreboding place, filled with ancient, cursed beings—banshees, revenants, and shadow demons. These monsters are not just dangerous physically; they attack your very soul, draining your will to fight."

She took a breath before continuing, "The boss of this floor is a creature shrouded in mystery. It’s said to be a Shadow Lord, an entity of pure darkness that commands the shadows themselves. It’s incredibly powerful, capable of enveloping entire rooms in darkness so thick that not even magic can pierce it. The Shadow Lord is relentless, attacking with a ferocity and cunning that leaves even the bravest adventurers in despair."

Athena’s expression grew somber. "The seventh floor is a place of death and despair. The rewards are said to be unimaginable, but the risk is equally great. Many have tried to conquer it, but none have succeeded. The few who made it back speak of the overwhelming fear and dread that consumed them, leaving them with nightmares that never fade."

Cyrus, despite the gravity of her words, felt his heart race with anticipation. The idea of a challenge that no one had conquered was irresistible. He was determined to be the first to do so.

Athena saw the determination in his eyes and offered a small, encouraging smile. "If anyone can do it, it might just be you. But be careful. This dungeon is not to be underestimated."

She then gestured toward the entrance, as if inviting Cyrus to take on the challenge. "The choice is yours, Cyrus. Will you dare to descend into the depths and face what lies within?"

"Is this why you have approached me?" Cyrus smiled, sending chills down Athena’s spine. However, she only nervously smiled back without giving him a verbal response. "Well, I guess that says enough." Continue your adventure at novelbuddy

Cyrus stood at the entrance of the massive tower dungeon, his eyes taking in the vibrant and bustling scene before him. The sheer energy of the place was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the silent, foreboding depths that awaited within the dungeon itself. Hundreds of small shop stands sprawled around the entrance in a semi-circle, each one a miniature fortress of commerce, brimming with the essential tools of survival and conquest. The area was alive with activity, the sounds of clinking metal, haggling voices, and the rustle of goods creating a symphony of preparation and anticipation.

Merchants called out to passing adventurers, their voices rising above the crowd, each trying to outshine the others with promises of the best gear, the most potent potions, and the rarest of enchanted artifacts. Their stalls were packed with a dizzying array of items—gleaming swords and axes, intricate suits of armor, mysterious scrolls, and vials filled with liquids of every color imaginable. The air was thick with the scent of leather, oil, and something more ancient, something that hinted at the countless battles fought within the dungeon’s depths.

Adventurers of all shapes and sizes swarmed the area, their faces a mix of determination, excitement, and, in some cases, weary caution. Cyrus watched as a group of fresh-faced adventurers, clearly new to the game, nervously inspected a rack of weapons, their hands trembling slightly as they hefted the unfamiliar weight of swords and shields. Nearby, a grizzled veteran, his armor scarred and dented from countless battles, haggled fiercely with a merchant over the price of a particularly vicious-looking battle axe, his voice a low growl of dissatisfaction.

Amidst the throng, Cyrus spotted a few adventurers who had just emerged from the dungeon. Their eyes glittered with the thrill of survival and victory, and they proudly displayed their hard-won rewards. One held up a glowing gemstone, its light pulsating with a rhythm that seemed almost alive, while another carefully examined a strange, rune-inscribed amulet that radiated a faint, eerie power. These items, Cyrus realized, were the tangible proof of the dangers they had faced and overcome, the spoils of their descent into the unknown.

The variety of goods on display hinted at the diverse challenges that each floor of the dungeon presented. Here was a stall selling potions designed to ward off fire, there a merchant peddling charms said to protect against mind control. Cyrus could see the hunger in the eyes of the adventurers, the eager anticipation as they prepared themselves for the trials ahead. Each person here was driven by the same unspoken goal: to conquer the dungeon, floor by floor, and emerge victorious with treasures that no one else had claimed.

As he moved through the crowd, Cyrus felt the pulse of the place in his veins. This was more than just a marketplace; it was the heart of a community bound together by a shared purpose. The camaraderie was palpable, a sense of unity forged in the fires of battle and tempered by the unyielding challenge of the dungeon. Here, adventurers exchanged not just goods, but stories, tips, and warnings, all in the hope that the knowledge gained would be the key to surviving another day.

Cyrus’s gaze swept over the bustling stalls, the eager faces, the glimmering rewards, and a wide smile spread across his face. This was exactly where he belonged, amidst the thrill of the unknown, where every step was a gamble, and every victory came at a price. The thought of descending into the tower, facing the monsters that lurked on each floor, and uncovering the secrets hidden in the dungeon’s depths, filled him with a fierce, almost reckless joy. His heart beat faster, not with fear, but with the exhilaration of the challenge that lay ahead. This was the kind of place that tested a person’s mettle, that separated the true adventurers from the pretenders, and Cyrus knew, without a doubt, that he was ready to prove himself once again.

Cyrus’s gaze drifted back to the entrance of the towering dungeon, where the steady flow of adventurers coming and going marked the relentless cycle of the challenge. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a particular group emerging from the shadowy maw of the tower—a party of five, their arms laden with loot and their faces etched with the exhaustion of battle. The glint of gold and jewels sparkled from their bags, evidence of their recent victory, but there was an unease in their formation, a tension that belied their apparent success.

Trailing at the back of the group was a rogue, his movements shaky and unsteady. Cyrus noticed how the man’s hands trembled uncontrollably, his entire frame quivering as if he were cold, despite the warmth of the bustling marketplace. A sense of foreboding settled over Cyrus as he observed the rogue more closely. The man’s eyes, once sharp and alert, were now rolling wildly, the whites slowly clouding over, turning a sinister shade of black. His breath came in ragged gasps, and beads of sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the grime of the dungeon.