The second-floor landing was a cold, silent sanctuary. I sat with my back against the damp stone, the Creation Grimoire resting heavily on my thighs. My stomach was a hollow pit, but I was disciplined. I knew the rules of this world better than anyone—in an S-Rank dungeon, your resources are your life.
I opened the white pages. I didn't just want food; I wanted a reminder of why I was staying alive. I visualized a bag of chips—the specific crinkle of the foil, the salty, oily scent of the seasoning. Then, I thought of a set of black tactical clothes, reinforced at the joints, based on the diagrams I'd seen in my old world's books.
Create.
With a soft hum of mana, the items materialized. I changed into the gear and ate the chips, but I stopped there. I had two charges left in the Creation Grimoire. I closed the book firmly. "Save these," I whispered to the shadows. "I might need them to stay alive later."
I adjusted my new gear, checked my slime and goblin skills, and began the long descent to the Third Floor.
The Encounter
The atmosphere on the Third Floor was predatory. The air was thick with the scent of old blood and musk. I activated Goblin Eyesight, expecting to see a swarm of small thermal signatures. Instead, I saw a single, towering pillar of white-hot energy at the far end of the hallway.
It was a Minotaur. It stood eight feet tall, a mountain of muscle wrapped in coarse fur, holding a double-headed axe that looked heavy enough to crush a tank.
"Don't panic," I whispered, my heart hammering. I decided to strike first. I used Slime High-Jump, launching myself toward the vaulted ceiling. I thought I was being silent, but as I reached the apex of my jump, the beast's head snapped up. Its eyes were glowing with a heat-sensing skill that tracked my every move.
The Minotaur roared and swung the axe.
"Goblin Mimic!" I shouted, manifesting a dummy. The axe shattered the dummy like glass, and the shockwave sent me spinning. I realized I couldn't win this in a head-on fight. I turned and bolted for the stairs, knowing bosses were bound to their levels. I pushed my legs to the limit, using Dash after Dash, zig-zagging as the heavy footfalls of the Minotaur shook the floor behind me.
I reached the first step of the stairwell and lunged forward.
Then came the flash of white-hot agony.
The Minotaur hadn't stopped at the edge; it had thrown the axe. The massive blade caught my right leg just below the knee. I tumbled onto the stone steps, looking back in horror. My leg was gone—lying five feet away on the third-floor stone.
"AAAGH!"
Survival instinct took over. I shot a strand of Strong Mucus at my severed leg and yanked it toward me. With my other hand, I fired a second strand to the top of the stairs and dragged my mangled body up into the safe zone. The pain was a screaming tide of red. I held the cold limb against the stump and gritted my teeth.
"Slow Regeneration... Activate!"
The mana drain was like a vacuum. I felt the bone knitting, the nerves searching for their counterparts like writhing snakes. The agony was too much. Before the skin could even begin to seal, I passed out.
The Strategy
I woke up a full day later in a pool of my own dried blood. My leg was whole, but it felt "huge"—swollen, stiff, and marked by a jagged, circular scar. I was alive, but I was so weak I could barely lift my head.
I stayed on those stairs for another full day, staring into the darkness. I was trapped. I couldn't go back, and the Minotaur was waiting. "He can sense my heat," I reasoned. "If I can't hide my presence, I'll overwhelm his."
I spent the next several hours preparing. I created 20 mucus clones and 10 dummy goblins. I had an army of thirty decoys.
The Kill
I descended for the final time. I sent the army in first—a chaotic swarm of thirty signatures. The Minotaur roared, striking them down one by one. I stayed in the very back, hidden inside a hollow mucus shell that dampened my signature just enough to make me look like a discarded decoy.
Then, the moment arrived. The Minotaur spotted a clone and swung with everything he had. The blade missed and slammed deep into the stone wall.
He was stuck.
I dropped from my hiding spot. The Minotaur struggled, his muscles bulging as he tried to wrench the weapon free. He let out a wet, rattling cough, spitting dark blood onto the floor from the exhaustion of the hunt. He turned his head, his eyes widening as he realized the "real" me was standing five feet away.
"Too late," I growled.
I raised my hand. "Point Shot."
I poured every ounce of my rage and mana into my finger. I held it... the energy began to hum, then scream. My finger felt like it would explode from the pressure. The Minotaur let out a final, desperate roar, reaching for me.
I held it to the absolute last second.
Fire.
The beam acted like a high-frequency laser. It sliced through the air and through his thick neck in a single, clean motion. The Minotaur's head hit the ground with a dull thud, followed by his body. The "Boss" was dead.
The effort drained me of everything. I slumped against the wall and fell into a deep sleep.
The Aftermath
When I finally woke up, I was more than just tired; I was dying of exhaustion. My body was trembling, and the regeneration from the day before had left my internal systems depleted. This was the moment.
I opened the Creation Grimoire and used my final two charges. I created another bag of chips and another soda—high-calorie, high-sugar fuel to jumpstart my failing heart. As I ate, I felt the life returning to my limbs.
Only then did the Grimoire pulse with that final, heavy glow. [7-DAY COOLDOWN INITIATED]. The book was spent.
[BOSS DEFEATED]
[LEVEL UP! CURRENT LEVEL: 15]
But the level-up didn't just boost my stats. A new book materialized—the Mage Grimoire, an SSS-Class tome. I touched the cover and felt my "Grammar" skill explode. I could now read the "logic" of the dungeon. I could see mana flows, detect "mini-dashes" in the air, and see heat signatures through solid stone.
I rested for five more days to let the Creation timer count down. I picked up the Minotaur's Great Axe, and with Axe Mastery, it felt like a part of my own body.
I stood at the entrance to the Fourth Floor, four books orbiting my head like moons. "Floor four," I said, looking into the dark. "I'm the one writing the story now."