Danmachi: The Quiet Reincarnate

Author: I AM THE GOAT, UPLOADED 3 CHAPTERS!!!!!!!!!! IN A FRICKIN DAY.

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Cael gasped and straightened slowly, chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths. His muscles burned, but they felt stronger. Denser.

Faster to respond. His grip on the sword felt more precise, more natural.

He clenched his fist once. Pain and power—tied together.

"…Tch," he hissed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Still worth it." Then he moved forward—deeper into the dark.

The Dungeon had only just begun to test him.

The second floor was a labyrinth of twisted passages, a true challenge.

The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of damp stone and something vaguely organic. Pale blue crystals pulsed with a deeper, more unsettling glow, casting long, dancing shadows that played tricks on the eyes.

The sounds of movement were more erratic here — the scuttle of multi-legged creatures, the low growls of unseen beasts. Cael kept his back straight, his eyes scanning every alcove, every shifting shadow.

His plain iron sword felt like an extension of his will, a familiar weight in his palm that somehow lessened the lingering ache of his recent Crimson Rebirth.

A low, guttural snarl echoed from a side tunnel. Cael pivoted, his stance wide, blade raised.

Two Kobolds emerged, larger than the previous ones, their matted fur coarse and their claws tipped with darker, sharper points. They moved with a predatory grace, flanking him.

The one on the left lunged first, a blur of brown fur and snapping jaws. Cael sidestepped, letting its momentum carry it past, then spun, bringing his sword in a wide, sweeping arc.

The blade caught the Kobold's side, ripping through flesh. It shrieked, dissolving into black mist, leaving behind a single, pulsating magic stone.

Before Cael could adjust, the second Kobold was on him, its claws tearing at his shoulder.

Pain flared as the leather armor groaned under the impact, a sharp sting piercing his skin beneath. His left arm flared with a dull ache.

Good, Cael thought, a grim satisfaction settling in. The pain was real, a minor injury.

His grip on the sword, which had felt merely "natural" moments before, now sharpened. The weight of the iron sword felt suddenly lighter, its edge keener in his grasp.

Bladebond activated.

Steel remembered the blood that wielded it.

He parried the Kobold's next wild swipe with an almost fluid motion, the iron blade meeting bone with a jarring clang.

His counter-attack was faster, more precise than before. A rapid thrust pierced the Kobold's chest, silencing its snarl as it crumbled to mist.

Cael pulled his blade free, a faint warmth spreading through his injured arm, not from healing, but from the heightened connection to his weapon.

This is… different, he mused, flexing his left hand.

The dullness he sometimes felt when uninjured was gone, replaced by a subtle, almost electric hum. He retrieved the magic stones, tucking them into his pouch.

He continued deeper, the Dungeon's pressure increasing with every meter.

He passed a few other adventurers, mostly in small parties of two or three. A group of female adventurers, clad in light chainmail and wielding daggers, paused as Cael walked by.

Their leader, a tall, agile girl with short black hair, observed his calm stride and the fresh monster mist in the air.

"He's moving alone," she murmured to her companion. "And that look… he's barely even breathing heavy."

Her eyes lingered on his focused expression.

"Cool," her companion whispered, a slight blush on her cheeks.

Cael heard their whispers, but gave no indication, simply continuing his path. Such observations were becoming common.

He found himself in a wider chamber, its walls riddled with cracks. From these fissures, the true terror of the second floor emerged.

Lizards.

Lean, reptilian monsters with powerful limbs and sharp, darting eyes. They clung to the ceiling, camouflaged against the dark stone, before launching themselves with startling speed.

One dropped from above, landing silently behind him. Cael reacted, his instincts honed.

He spun, his sword blurring, parrying the lizard's snapping jaws before it could close around his arm. The force of the blow jarred his teeth.

He pressed the attack, driving the lizard back, but another one dropped from a side wall, aiming for his legs.

He jumped back, narrowly avoiding the second lizard's lunge, his movements a disciplined dance of evasion and counter.

The Bladebond hummed, making his sword feel like an extension of his own will, each swing imbued with a savage elegance born from previous injuries.

He darted forward, impaling the first Dungeon Lizard mid-leap, its body dissolving.

But as he pulled his blade free, the second lizard slashed across his thigh.

A fresh wave of sharp pain, a small trickle of warmth spreading.

The injury, though minor, deepened his connection to his sword.

His parries became faster, his lunges more precise, his every move sharpened by the sting of his own blood.

He dodged another lizard's airborne strike, twisting his body to avoid its powerful tail.

He drove his elbow into its vulnerable underside, then followed up with a brutal downward slash, cleaving it in two.

The creatures dissolved, leaving behind their magic stones.

Cael collected them, his breath steady despite the growing pain in his leg.

This is good. More excelia. More growth.

He was not a sadist, but he recognized the cold logic of his power.

The constant low-level fighting and the subsequent Crimson Rebirths were beginning to take their toll, even on Cael's disciplined mind.

Each small gain of excelia from a vanquished monster now triggered the agonizing internal restructuring.

He would drop to a knee, muscles clenching, bones shifting under his skin with a faint, disturbing creak.

A sharp, searing pain would erupt from his core, spreading outwards like wildfire.

It was not like a simple wound; it was as if his very cells were being ripped apart and then meticulously reassembled, stronger, denser.

He learned to bite back his screams, to channel the agony into a quiet, simmering resolve.

His face would contort briefly, a muscle twitching in his jaw, before settling back into his usual stoic calm.

The lingering phantom pain of the Martyr's Halo he used earlier also echoed within him, a memory of absolute agony.

He was constantly aware of the faint, dull ache in his sword hand when he was uninjured, the insistent yearning for Bladebond to activate, for the steel to truly sing in his grip.

It was a subtle discomfort, a persistent whisper that urged him to push harder, to risk more, to let the blade taste blood and truly awaken.

He pushed deeper into the second floor, his encounters growing more frequent, his movements becoming a blur of calculated aggression.

He dispatched more Kobolds, their growls cut short by his decisive strikes.

He adapted to the Dungeon Lizards' unpredictable leaps, his parries growing tighter, his counter-attacks swifter.

Each monster dissolved into mist, leaving behind the valuable excelia that fed his cursed growth.