Leo exhaled slowly, steadying his breath as the adrenaline began to dull into a sharp awareness. His heart was still hammering in his chest with a wild rhythm, but the initial panic had passed—replaced now by something more focused, more controlled.
He knew better than to get cocky. One mistake in a place like this—just one—and regeneration wouldn't matter. Pain was still pain. Even if his body could heal, the agony, the shock, the risk of disorientation—it was all very real. That alone made recklessness a fool's game.
Still, preparation gave him an edge. He pulled the standard-issue training sword from his belt—not ideal, but it would do. Channeling [Duplicate], he focused intently, and one by one, more weapons began to materialize around him until a pile of roughly fifty identical swords clattered onto the stone floor.
Next, he summoned his clones, directing them mentally to arm themselves. They followed the command without hesitation, each picking up a weapon and forming into rows around him like a silent militia.
The noise—metal shifting against stone, footsteps multiplying—was enough to draw attention.
Two goblins emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room. They weren't much taller than children, their thin green limbs barely holding up the weight of the rusty daggers in their hands. Their skin glistened in the dim light, and their wide, beady red eyes blinked rapidly as they hissed in response to the sudden movement. Their yellowed teeth, jagged and uneven, were bared in an instinctive show of aggression.
But then they saw the numbers
Dozens of armed, identical men turned to face them in unison, each clone's gaze sharp and unflinching. The goblins faltered immediately. Their hunched shoulders stiffened, ears twitching as fear replaced bravado. One took an uncertain step back. The other began to tremble visibly.
Leo didn't hesitate. "Kill."
At once, the clones surged forward.
The goblins turned to flee, but they had no chance. Steel flashed, and within seconds, they were overwhelmed—cut down from all sides before their shrill screams had even faded. Their bodies slumped to the stone floor, blood pooling beneath them.
Two monsters down, without a scratch on Leo or his clones.
He walked calmly toward the corpses, crouching beside one to examine the shimmering item left behind. It was the first time he'd seen a monster core up close. Roughly the size of a small egg, the [Strength Core] pulsed faintly in his hand with a soft inner glow, warm to the touch. It was simple, unassuming—and worth over a thousand dollars on the open market.
He tucked it into his backpack just as another screech rang out from deeper within the corridor.
Two more goblins had appeared, likely drawn by the noise. But they met the same fate as the first, overwhelmed before they could even react. Another pair of cores. More fuel for Leo's ambition.
Realizing the opportunity, he quickly issued new orders to his clones: spread out, eliminate every goblin on this floor, and return with whatever cores they recovered. The room emptied in a matter of seconds as his duplicates scattered through the labyrinthine tunnels, their footsteps echoing faintly until the space fell quiet again.
Occasionally, Leo felt the familiar mental tug that signaled the death of a clone. But each time, he simply replaced them, maintaining his numbers. His vitality ability fed the process endlessly, regenerating stamina and healing injuries, allowing the clones to fight with relentless precision and endurance.
Hours passed in a blur. Clones returned in waves, dumping monster cores at his feet. Leo collected them, packing each one carefully. He moved from floor to floor—methodically, efficiently. When the goblins began to appear in larger, more aggressive groups, he simply created more clones. The overwhelming numerical advantage crushed resistance before it could gain momentum.
He ascended like this—quietly, almost systematically.
The third floor.
The fifth.
The seventh.
By the time he reached the eighth, his confidence had grown, but so had his caution.
It wasn't until the ninth floor that things finally took a turn.
He was crouched beside a pile of loot, counting the newest batch of cores, when a sudden screech snapped his attention to the left. A goblin—faster and leaner than the rest—came charging through a gap in the clone formation. Its eyes locked on Leo, and it bolted forward with an agility that none of the previous enemies had displayed.
Whether it had identified Leo as the original or had simply been lucky in its path, Leo didn't know. But it was coming straight for him, dagger raised, fury in its snarling face.
Leo barely had time to react. He grabbed his sword and moved into a defensive stance, but before he could engage, one of his clones intercepted the goblin with a loud clash of steel. Another clone followed a heartbeat later, slashing the creature clean across the neck.
The goblin's momentum carried its body forward a step before it crumpled to the floor, head rolling several feet before settling.
Leo let out a sharp breath, tension slowly leaving his shoulders. That had been too close.
He stood there a moment longer, jaw clenched, hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. For the first time since entering, he truly considered the danger he was in. Not theoretical danger—not numbers on a page or strategies in a notebook. Real, chaotic, unpredictable risk.
His clones had sensed the threat before he did. It was their reaction—not his—that had saved his life.
That thought stuck with him.
Still, he couldn't help but smile. They'd reached the end of the dungeon's regular floors. The final door—the one that led to the boss chamber—stood before him, weathered and massive, its surface etched with ancient patterns and worn glyphs. It looked more like a tomb than a gateway, rusted with time and bound in iron bands.
Behind it waited the strongest creature in this dungeon. The final test.
His clones stood at the ready, weapons drawn. The injured among them had already healed, their bodies restored through the endless stream of vitality his skill provided. It was as if the battle had barely touched them.
Leo raised his sword and pointed it at the door, a grin spreading across his face—not one of arrogance, but of hard-earned anticipation.
"Last battle, boys," he said quietly, and this time, his voice carried not just command—but conviction.
He stepped forward.
And the door began to open.