Chapter 54: Clearing the Dungeon Last Part
Meanwhile, on the Other Side – Lilith’s Battle
On the other side of the endless white floor, Lilith faced her dragon.
Unlike the one facing Gabriel, this dragon—the emerald copy—was smarter. It had watched its sapphire counterpart fall, had felt the ripple of its death through the dungeon’s core, had learned from its sibling’s mistake. Or perhaps it had been designed differently, crafted with a more cautious, more cunning mind. Regardless, it did not charge blindly. It did not rely solely on raw power or arrogant pride.
It observed. It calculated. It adapted.
Lilith hovered in the air, her tattered dragon wings beating slowly, her crimson robe billowing around her like a living flame. Her silver hair floated in the still air, and while her crimson eyes gleamed with amusement, she was having fun. She studied the emerald dragon with the detached curiosity of a predator examining a new plaything, nothing more.
This one is smarter than the other one, she thought. Good. This will be more entertaining this way.
The dragon’s emerald eyes narrowed. Its massive head tilted, analyzing her stance, her mana signature, her posture. It did not roar. It did not lunge. Instead, it opened its maw and began to chant.
Draconic Magic.
Countless purple magic circles erupted across the sky, each one more intricate than the last, truly beautiful, she felt like she could use them as well, she would focus on exploring this type of magic later.
The countless magic circles surrounded Lilith on all sides, forming a sphere of arcane power that hummed with barely contained energy ready to devour her. But these circles were different from the ones Gabriel had faced. Their sigils were not focused on fire—they were focused on wind and space.
From each circle, powerful gusts of wind erupted—not ordinary wind, but wind infused with spatial properties. The currents twisted and warped, bending reality itself, creating pockets of compressed air and spatial rifts that could tear a body apart. They were trying to crush her completely, to fold her into a space that no longer existed.
Lilith felt the pressure.
It was immense. The spatial wind pressed against her from all sides, squeezing, compressing, trying to reduce her to a singularity. The air around her crackled with raw power, and the white floor far below was gouged by the residual effects.
But Lilith did not go all out immediately.
She was about to savor this like a helpless mouse in front of a cat. She was playing pretend.
Let them think they have me, she mused. Let them believe I’m struggling.
She dodged the first attack with a lazy tilt of her head, she even yawned, the spatial wind whistling past her ear. The second attack came from below—a spiral of compressed air that sought to impale her. She twisted her body at the last moment, the attack grazing her robe but leaving no mark. The third attack came from all directions at once—a cage of wind and space that sought to trap her. She simply vanished and reappeared a few meters to the side, as if she had merely stepped around an obstacle.
Still, she kept her expression serious, her movements just barely fast enough to avoid each attack. She let her wings flutter erratically, let her breathing become just slightly uneven. To the dragon, she looked like a cornered prey—desperate, barely surviving, clinging to existence by the thinnest thread.
The dragon’s emerald eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
It pressed its attack. More magic circles appeared, more spatial winds howled, more attacks rained down upon her. Lilith spun, weaved, ducked, and dove through the storm of magic. Each dodge was precise, each movement calculated—but she made it look desperate, made it look like she was barely keeping up.
This is fun, she thought, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. I could do this all day.
She navigated through those attacks with a smile that the dragon mistook for fear.
But the smile was not fear. It was the smile of a cat playing with a mouse that thought it was winning.
This continued for a while—the dance of magic, the weaving through spatial winds, the playful dodging that made Lilith look like a desperate prey clinging to survival, truly acting her part.
In the meantime, the dragon’s emerald eyes burned with growing frustration. Its attacks grew more frequent, more powerful, more desperate.
But Lilith continued to evade. Continued to smile. Continued to make it believe it could win if it tried better.
Then the dragon changed its approach.
It ceased its magical assault. Its massive wings folded against its back, and it dove—not with magic, but with pure, physical fury. Its crystalline claws extended, its maw opened wide, and it descended upon Lilith like a meteor of emerald and rage.
Finally, Lilith thought. Physical combat.
She met it head-on.
BOOM!
Their clash was a thunderclap that echoed across the endless white floor. Lilith’s bastard sword—dark as dried blood, crackling with purple lightning—met the dragon’s crystalline claws in a shower of sparks. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, cracking the marble-like surface below.
ROAARRRR!
The dragon roared, its emerald eyes blazing with disbelief.
How can she match me? it seemed to ask.
How can this tiny creature stand against my draconic strength?
Lilith answered with a grin.
She pushed. The dragon was forced back.
BANG! BANG!
They clashed again. And again. And again.
Lilith’s sword sang through the air, each strike precise, each movement fluid. She parried the dragon’s claws, dodged its tail, sidestepped its snapping jaws. She moved like water—flowing around the dragon’s attacks, finding openings, exploiting weaknesses.
The dragon, despite its immense size and power, found itself on the defensive. It could not land a single blow. Every lunge was met with a dodge. Every sweep of its tail was avoided by a hair’s breadth. Every breath of flame was dispersed by a flick of Lilith’s wrist.
Proof that she had been toying with it all along.
The dragon’s emerald eyes blazed with immense fury.
This creature... this tiny, insignificant creature... she has been playing with me. She has been mocking me. She has been making me believe I was winning.
A roar of pure rage erupted from its throat—a sound that shook the white floor, that sent cracks spiderwebbing across the surface, that would have shattered the ears of any mortal.
And then its form began to change.
It did not grow larger. It grew smaller.
Its massive body compressed, its scales tightening, its limbs becoming more slender, more agile. Its wings folded closer to its back, reducing its profile. Its claws sharpened, becoming longer, more deadly. Its speed increased—not gradually, but suddenly, dramatically.
The dragon had abandoned its size for swiftness. It had traded raw power for lethal precision.
It lunged.
Lilith’s eyes widened—not in fear, but in appreciation.
Clever, she thought. You learned. You’re adapting.
The dragon’s claws slashed at her throat. She leaned back, the tips grazing her skin. Its tail whipped toward her midsection. She twisted, the blow passing harmlessly. Its jaws snapped at her shoulder. She ducked, rolling through the air and coming up behind it.
But the dragon was faster now. Much faster.
It turned and lunged again, its claws a blur of emerald light. Lilith parried with her sword, the impact jarring her arm. She spun, counterattacking, but the dragon was already gone, repositioning itself for another strike.
Realizing that physical combat alone would not suffice, the dragon unleashed its magic once more—but this time, it did not hold back.
Powerful dragon magic erupted from its maw in rapid succession. It was not a single spell, but a barrage—a relentless storm of arcane fury that would have overwhelmed any ordinary opponent.
Thousands of crystalline projectiles shot toward Lilith, each one sharp enough to pierce through enchanted steel. She weaved through them, her body twisting and spinning, but a few grazed her arms, her legs, her wings.
Good, she thought. A challenge. This was getting interesting.
The dragon warped time around Lilith, slowing her movements, making her feel as if she were swimming through honey. But Lilith was not Gabriel—she could not command time. But she could command space.
She simply teleported out of the distorted area, appearing behind the dragon and slashing at its wing.
Spatial Severance.
The dragon retaliated with its own spatial magic—a blade of pure void that sought to cut Lilith in half. She dodged, barely, the attack grazing her cheek and drawing a thin line of blood.
She touched the wound. Looked at the blood on her fingertips.
And smiled.
Now this is getting interesting.
But even that did not last.
The dragon threw everything it had at her—fire, wind, time, space, raw mana, pure fury. It was a spectacular display of draconic power, the kind that would have reduced armies to ash, cities to rubble, kingdoms to dust.
Lilith dodged. Weaved. Parried. Teleported.
She was not overwhelmed. She was not struggling. She was simply... waiting.
Because deep down, she knew the truth.
This dragon, despite its intelligence, despite its adaptability, despite its impressive arsenal—was still a pale copy. A replica. A desperate creation of a panicking dungeon core. It could not truly defeat her. It could not even truly challenge her.
It was a toy. A plaything. And she had grown bored of playing with it.
Enough, she thought. Time to end this.
Lilith stopped moving.
She hovered in the air, her crimson robe billowing, her silver hair floating, her bastard sword resting on her shoulder. The dragon, seeing her pause, lunged with all its might—a final, desperate attack aimed at her heart.
Lilith raised her free hand.
And flicked her fingers.
A casual gesture. Almost dismissive. The kind of motion one might use to shoo away a fly.
But the effect was anything but casual.
Spatial rifts opened all around the dragon.
Not one. Not two. Dozens. Hundreds. They appeared in every direction—above, below, left, right, in front, behind. Each rift was a tear in the fabric of reality, a wound in space itself, glowing with an eerie violet light. They surrounded the dragon completely, forming a cage of pure void.
The dragon froze.
Its emerald eyes, once blazing with fury, now widened with terror. It understood, in that final moment, what was about to happen. It tried to move, to escape, to fight back. But the rifts held it in place, locking it in a prison of spatial distortion.
Lilith smiled.
"Goodbye," she said.
The rifts closed.
The dragon’s body was caught in the convergence of a hundred spatial tears. Its scales shattered. Its bones snapped. Its flesh was shredded into countless pieces, each piece pulled into a different rift, scattered across the void between dimensions. Its head—still alive for a single, agonizing moment—let out a silent scream that no one heard.
Then it was gone.
Forever.
Not a single fragment remained. Not a scale. Not a claw. Not a drop of blood. The space where the dragon had been was now empty—a clean, perfect void that slowly sealed itself, leaving no trace of the creature that had once existed there.
The dungeon core, watching from its hidden chamber, felt another piece of its soul shatter.
Gone, it whispered. Both of them. Gone.
Lilith lowered her hand.
She hovered in the air for a moment, her wings gently beating, her expression serene. Then she descended, landing gracefully on the white floor.
She glanced at her golden bracelet.
286.
The number had climbed. Not as high as Gabriel’s, she knew. But she did not care. The competition was secondary now. What mattered was the feeling—the exquisite, intoxicating feeling of victory.
She looked toward the distant location where Gabriel fought his own dragon. She could sense that it was over. He had won. Of course he had.
She smiled.
"Now that was fun," she murmured.
Then she turned, her wings folding behind her, and began to walk toward the center of the white floor.
The final confrontation with the dungeon core awaited, well, the only outcome would be the dungeon surrendering or else only death await. Soon, the couple left, just taking less than five days to clear and conquer a Red level dungeon, something unheard of, the world was about to send into turmoil, not that matters to them.
