Noah twisted his body, slipping between the whistling spikes hurled by the blue slime. They came fast, faster than before—like it was learning, adapting. He managed to avoid most, but not all.
A sharp sting flared through his shoulder. One of the spikes hit. Not a graze.
A full-on stab, and it packed enough force to send him tumbling back. His body hit the ground hard, bouncing once before rolling to a stop in the grass.
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, muscles trembling from the impact. His fingers reached for the spot that burned the most.
When he pulled them back, they were wet. Blood trickled down from a clean, deep wound. Not just surface damage. That thing got him good.
[HP: 25/30.]
The battle had just started, yet Noah already looked like he was reconsidering his life choices.
The slime wobbled in place, its translucent body shimmering under the sunlight like it had just been born from a spilled bottle of hand sanitizer and bad intentions.
"Damn it. So much for my grand debut as a monster-slaying badass."
[It would be slightly less pathetic if you at least pretended you wanted to win.]
He took a cautious step back as the slime bounced forward with all the enthusiasm of a toddler on espresso.
"As you can clearly observe, I am trying. This thing just happens to fight like a sticky stress ball with anger issues."
[You need to end it. Fast. The longer you waste time, the more it learns. And the more it learns, the more you're basically volunteering to be its protein shake.]
He rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out.
"Awesome. That would've been useful, I don't know, maybe two minutes ago? Before I turned into a discount gladiator fighting Jell-O."
Multiple jagged spikes surged across the ground like angry darts, homing in with unsettling precision.
Unlike before, they didn't just aim where Noah stood—they swerved, curved, and lunged toward where he might be. It was as if the blue slime had finally started learning.
The air trembled as more spikes burst forward, carving lines through the dust, narrowing the space Noah had to move.
"You think you're smart now, huh? Bad news, buddy—I operate entirely on chaos and vibes."
He darted to the left, then sprang right, bending low just as a spike skimmed past his ear. Another launched straight at him—he twisted mid-step, the spike grazing his side with a hiss.
Noah didn't slow. He ran straight toward the blue slime, weaving between the sharp projectiles with wild, instinct-driven motion. His limbs moved like he'd borrowed them from a dancer who'd had way too much caffeine.
Behind him, the ground tore up in bursts. The spikes chased him, but he was always a breath ahead—barely.
Noah darted across the field like a broken pinball, bouncing from one spot to another with wild, chaotic energy.
He didn't run—he zigzagged, flipped, dove, and spun, as if dodging invisible lasers from an overexcited arcade machine. Every step was unpredictable, every movement loud with purpose and absolutely zero grace.
When he finally got close enough to the gelatinous menace, he didn't slow down. He skidded into range like he'd just fallen out of a cartoon, his boots kicking up dust as he brought his flintlock up with a cocky flair.
"Knock knock, slime-for-brains."
He pulled the trigger. Again. And again. The flintlock roared with each shot, smoke curling from its mouth like a dragon with asthma.
Bullets flew at point-blank range, but just like he knew it would, the slime casually formed neat little holes in its wobbly surface, letting the projectiles pass through like it was showing off.
"You're not even trying, are you?"
The bullets popped through and hit the ground behind it with a sad little thud, like rejected ideas.
"And people say I'm the one wasting time."
Despite having emptied the last of his regular bullets, Noah didn't stop. His flintlock still roared with life, thanks to his passive skill—Mana Bullet. The fight wasn't over. Not yet.
He raised the flintlock once more, pressing it so close to the blue slime that its gelatinous surface rippled beneath the barrel. Almost like it shivered. Almost like it knew.
Blue-tinted mana pulsed at the tip. A heartbeat later, it fired. The air shimmered with each shot, streaks of light tearing toward their target.
The slime twisted and morphed, holes bloomed across its surface, allowing the bullets to pass right through without leaving a scratch.
"You think you're the only one adapting in this little dance?"
The blue slime's gelatinous body rippled like a water balloon about to burst, then scattered with a squelch. Dozens of sharp spikes shot out, stretching in every direction like a trap made of liquid glass.
Noah sprang from one foothold to another, twisting mid-air, each leap timed just before the spikes reached him. The slime wasn't slowing down, but neither was he. His boots hit the ground once, twice, barely brushing the floor before he was off it again.
But his focus? Locked in.
At the heart of the chaos, exposed and gleaming like a disco ball in a deathmatch, hovered the slime's crystal core.
Noah raised the flintlock, grin crooked, eyes locked.
"Peekaboo, motherpearl."
Noah raised the flintlock, the aged metal gleaming faintly as he pulled the trigger. A spark flared, and the weapon coughed out a single shot—bright blue, humming with energy as it sliced through the air like a comet.
The slime didn't wait. In a fluid burst of motion, it bristled with jagged spikes, launching them in all directions like a sea urchin defending its life. They tore through the air, zeroing in on Noah.
The bullet pierced the gelatinous body, diving straight into the core. A faint pop echoed as the nucleus cracked like glass. The creature spasmed. It collapsed inward. But not before its spikes found their mark.
Sharp pain tore through Noah's arm and shoulder. He gritted his teeth, a low groan escaping as the impact forced him a step back. The sting throbbed like electric fire, spreading beneath his skin.
Slowly, the spikes embedded in him began to lose form. Blue light flickered around the wounds as the fragments crumbled into shimmering dust, fading like an illusion at dawn.
The rest of the slime followed, collapsing into a pool of colorless blue mist, then drifting apart—silent, weightless, gone.
[HP: 5/30.]
[MP: 36/40.]
Noah dropped to one knee, his palm pressing into the dirt as he tried to catch his breath. Each inhale came jagged, shallow.
Blood trickled from gashes along his arms, smearing down to his fingers, the sting riding in waves with every movement.
His gaze flicked back to the fading gelatinous remains behind him—just a slime, they said.
"And they say slimes are weak. If that's the local punching bag, I'm not sticking around to meet the gym coach."
[You don't need to worry about fighting the first boss until you reach the 10th floor.]
He tilted his head slightly, still gasping, a humorless chuckle slipping through clenched teeth.
"Right. So I've got nine more floors of this... spa treatment."
[Technically eight. But who's counting?]
Nene ran up to him, her grin wide and full of pride. There was a spring in her steps, like she'd been holding back a celebration just for this moment.
Her eyes sparkled—not with surprise, but with the kind of approval that hinted at expectations met.
"You really pulled it off, huh? Took down that slime solo. Sure, they're bottom-tier, but still—not bad for a first-timer. You've got something in you. I can tell."
Noah dropped to the ground like someone had yanked his strings loose. He looked like a guy who'd just walked out of a fire with only his eyebrows singed.
"I seriously thought that was it for me. That little blob? Absolute menace. Like, I was two seconds from writing my own obituary."
[Try fighting a group next time. Slimes get clingy. Literally.]
Noah groaned and rolled onto his back, staring up at nothing.
"Can we not? I'm fresh out of courage and halfway into a coma. Five minutes of peace. That's all I ask."