Danmachi: The Quiet Reincarnate

Author: If it reaches 600 power stones another bonus chapter.

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Cael stepped into the Dungeon's gaping maw, a vast, echoing cavern that seemed to breathe the very essence of the earth. The air, cool and heavy, carried the ancient scent of damp stone and something primal, untamed—a whisper of the slumbering life beneath the city.

The Hestia Sword, newly forged by Hephaestus, felt less like an object and more like a companion, humming with anticipation. This wasn't just steel; it was a living weapon, destined to grow with him. His older sword, a cherished gift from Misha Flott, hung securely on his other hip, its weight a familiar, reassuring comfort. Preparedness wasn't just an idea here; it was everything, a lesson etched deep within him.

He descended the wide, spiraling stairs, each step taking him further from the world above. The natural light from Orario, a distant, fading memory, slowly receded, swallowed by the deepening gloom. Soon, only the ethereal, pulsing glow of bioluminescent crystals, embedded like scattered jewels in the walls, illuminated the path. Their soft, otherworldly light cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to writhe and stretch with every shift of his weight. The air grew heavier, thick with a silent hum of latent power.

By the time his boots touched the solid floor of the first level, the air hummed. The passage ahead opened into a wider chamber, its ceiling lost in perpetual twilight. Three Goblins shuffled in the dimness, their dull, beady eyes fixed on the entrance. They were low-level fodder—green-skinned, with crude builds, armed with rusty blades and splintered clubs. Their guttural grunts echoed faintly.

"Alright, easy pickings to start," Cael muttered to himself, drawing the Hestia Sword with a whisper of steel, barely audible above the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance. He didn't break stride; his movements were fluid and unhesitating.

The first Goblin, emboldened, lunged with a guttural snarl, its rusty club whistling through the air. Cael was a blur, a sudden, almost imperceptible shift in the dim light. His blade, impossibly swift, cleaved through its neck with effortless precision.

The creature dissolved into a puff of black mist before its crude body could even hit the ground, leaving a faint, acrid smell that quickly dissipated.

The second Goblin spun, startled, its eyes widening. But Cael was already there, a force of nature unleashed. He delivered a brutal, calculated thrust to its chest, a powerful strike that bypassed its meager defense and punched clean through its crude hide.

It too vanished, its death cry choked off before it could fully escape its throat. The last Goblin, its primitive mind paralyzed by shock and a sudden, overwhelming fear, barely registered Cael's approach before a final, decisive slash silenced it forever. Piles of shimmering Magic Stones, still faintly warm, and a scattering of black ash were all that remained. They had been barely a threat, easily dispatched.

Cael's heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the familiar, exhilarating thrill of combat. He collected the stones, their faint warmth a stark contrast to the Dungeon's pervasive chill. He then found a relatively clear spot and sat down, bracing himself. The quiet moments after a fight were often the most agonizing, for it was then that Crimson Rebirth began its relentless work.

"Here we go again," he gritted out, a familiar, searing agony beginning. It felt as if countless needles were piercing him simultaneously, each one twisting deeper. His entire body began to constrict, a terrifying internal pressure building as if his very bones were breaking, grinding, and then reforming. Nerves screamed as they were damaged and then rapidly repaired, each regeneration making them slightly stronger, more resilient.

Even if the growth was minuscule, the development ability, in its cruel efficiency, broke his bones just to replace them with new ones that were infinitesimally tougher. It wasn't just his bones; every fiber of his being, every muscle, every sinew, every organ, underwent this brutal, forced evolution.

'It wouldn't be a surprise if my dick was stronger than a dagger by now,' Cael thought to himself, a dry, humorless chuckle escaping his lips, a testament to his grim endurance through the pain.

His body renewed, albeit through agony, he rose. The lingering tremors of pain were a nuisance, but he waved them off as if they were nothing more than a persistent itch. "Alright, that's done," he murmured, continuing deeper. The faint glow of the Magic Stones in his pouch was a small comfort against the encroaching darkness.

The passages twisted and turned, leading him to dimmer light from the glowing crystals, casting longer, more distorted shadows. Here, Kobolds lurked, their matted fur blending seamlessly with the rough stone. Larger than Goblins, with pronounced snouts and sharper claws, they moved with feral cunning, their low growls echoing softly.

"More dogs," Cael thought, narrowing his eyes. One sprang from a shadowy alcove, its claws extended, aiming for his face with a guttural snarl. Cael met its charge, not with a block, but with a fluid pivot that brought him inside its attack radius, bypassing its momentum.

His Hestia Sword moved like a silver streak, a clean, precise cut that dropped the creature instantly. It dissolved into mist, leaving behind the dull thud of a Magic Stone.

He faced more Kobolds, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in small groups that attempted to flank him. They snarled, snapped, and swung their makeshift weapons—crude axes and sharpened bones. But they couldn't even scratch him. His movements were too fast, too controlled; his defense was an impenetrable dance of steel and evasion.

Each one fell in an instant, without Cael breaking a sweat, their forms dissolving into mist, leaving behind the dull thud of new Magic Stones. "Another round of hell, I suppose," Cael sighed, as he felt the familiar internal restructuring begin.

It was a nuisance, a constant, unwelcome companion, but he was glad that it always started when he was out of a fight, allowing him a moment to endure the hellish transformation without immediate threat.

He then went deeper, the air growing colder, the silence more profound, broken only by the distant, echoing sounds of the Dungeon itself. On his way to the third floor, he faced countless more Goblins and Kobolds, each encounter a swift, decisive display of his growing prowess.

He moved through them like a phantom, his blade a silver flash, leaving only ash and stones in his wake. Upon reaching the third floor, the environment subtly shifted. The passages became narrower, more winding, and the bioluminescent crystals pulsed with a slightly more intense, emerald hue.

Here, the Dungeon Lizards made their home. "Sneaky little things," Cael murmured. He knew their tactics of ambushing prey from walls or crevices and remained vigilant. They were fast and agile, their scaly bodies quick across the terrain, but no problem for him.

A Dungeon Lizard, its green scales blending perfectly with the mossy rock, dropped from the ceiling with a hiss, aiming for his head. Cael sidestepped, the Hestia Sword flashing upwards to meet its descent. The blade sliced through the creature's tough hide with ease, and it exploded into mist and a Magic Stone before it could even complete its attack.

Another tried to scuttle along the wall, attempting to circle him, but Cael anticipated its movement. A quick, precise throw of his old sword pinned it to the stone before he retrieved it and finished the creature with a swift stroke of his Hestia Sword.

After dispatching several more, Cael walked, his body momentarily limping as the Crimson Rebirth took its effect. The pain was immediate and brutal. "Just... get... it... over... with," he gasped, but in a few seconds, he was walking perfectly, his stance firm and unyielding like a mountain.

The agony he experienced in those few moments was nothing short of hell, a private torment, but Cael knew it was inevitable. He needed to get stronger, and this was the only way. Pain was the price of his growth.

"Huh, still feels like hell, but I'm getting used to it," Cael mused, a terrifying observation. His body was adapting, building a tolerance to the constant internal restructuring. But his ability, ever cruel, would then unleash a new, utterly hellish wave of agony, shocking his system back into full awareness. It was a cycle: feeling dull, then experiencing unimaginable torment.

He now entered the fifth floor for the first time. The air here was noticeably colder, the glowing crystals emitting a deeper, almost violet light that cast an eerie pallor over the jagged rock formations. As he went deeper, passages widened into larger caverns, where he encountered two War Shadows.

They were dark, wraith-like figures, almost entirely intangible, their forms shifting and swirling like smoke. A single, ominous red light pulsed eerily in the center of their humanoid figures, serving as their only discernible feature.

Their bodies were indeed intangible, meaning blunt and sharp weapons had significantly reduced effect on them, often passing through as if they were nothing more than illusions.

Cael got on guard, his grip tightening on the Hestia Sword. "Right, the rookies' bane," he thought, knowing their reputation. He held his sword ready, his movements precise and measured.

He faced three of them now, their forms coalescing from the shadows, their red eyes fixed on him. The War Shadows moved with unnerving silence, their forms flickering, making them difficult to track.

One lunged, its shadowy arm phasing through the space where Cael had been a moment before. Cael didn't try to block; he knew it would be futile. Instead, he focused on their core, the pulsating red light.

He moved with a sudden burst of speed, a calculated dash that brought him within striking distance. His Hestia Sword, imbued with his will, sliced through the ephemeral form, aiming directly for the red core.

The blade met resistance, not of flesh and bone, but of condensed shadow. With a surge of power, Cael pushed through, and the core flickered, then shattered. The War Shadow dissipated into nothingness, a faint wisp of black smoke the only evidence of its existence.

The other two reacted instantly, swirling around him, attempting to disorient him with their shifting forms. One tried to envelop him, its shadowy mass pressing in, but Cael spun, his blade a whirlwind of silver, forcing it back.

He adapted, not fighting their intangibility head-on, but using his speed and precision to bypass defenses, targeting the vulnerable core with every strike. His movements were a dance of calculated aggression, each step and swing designed to exploit their weakness.

One by one, their red cores shattered, and they dissolved into the cold air. After killing them, Cael picked up the magic stones, his breathing becoming slightly more ragged as he endured the familiar, searing pain from his ability.

His body convulsed, bones grinding, muscles tearing and reforming, a silent scream trapped within him. It was a profound agony, but he met it with a stoic resolve.

A few moments later, his breathing became haggard, and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, but after the pain subsided, he went deeper into the dungeon as if nothing had happened, his steps firm once more.

As he ventured further into the fifth floor, the shadows seemed to deepen, clinging to the walls like a second skin. The air grew colder still, carrying a faint, metallic tang.

He was ambushed again by War Shadows, this time a pair emerging from the gloom of a narrow passage. He fought with the same ruthless efficiency, but their numbers and the confined space made it trickier.

He got some scratches on his armor, minor nicks that barely registered, but they were enough to trigger a subtle shift within him. The Hestia Sword felt even more responsive in his hand, a slight increase in its precision and speed—Bladebond, a cursed blessing, beginning to stir.

He dispatched them quickly, the nicks on his armor a testament to the minor challenge. And then he encountered a large group of them—five, perhaps six, swirling and coalescing in a wider cavern.

Their collective presence made the air feel heavy, their constant, flickering movements hard to follow. For a fleeting moment, Cael hesitated, a flicker of caution in his eyes. "This could be annoying," he thought.

But hesitation was a luxury he couldn't afford. He pushed past it, his mind clearing, his focus sharpening to an almost supernatural degree. He moved like a whirlwind, a blur of motion, his Hestia Sword a silver arc through the shadowy forms.

He didn't try to engage them all at once; instead, he focused on isolating one, then another, using the cavern's jagged pillars and uneven terrain to his advantage. He lunged, feinted, and spun, forcing them to overextend, creating openings where none seemed to exist.

The scratches on his armor multiplied, but with each minor injury, the Hestia Sword felt more alive, more eager. Its movements became faster, more precise, a silent hum of power resonating through his grip. He was bleeding, just a little, and the steel remembered. Each scratch fueled his blade, turning minor injuries into a grim advantage.