A spider dropped from the ceiling like a nightmare made real.

[Aracna, Guardian of Artemis – Lvl 20]

Its obsidian carapace caught the dim light, each plate layered like armor forged from shadow. Red eyes—too many to count—glowed with malevolent focus. Its legs curved like scythes, blades long enough to split a tank in half.

Something stirred in Luke's chest.

Fear.

Not now…

Since the dungeon, he'd realized he had... arachnophobia.

The spider reared back, mandibles spreading wide. A thick strand of web launched from its mouth with the force and speed of a harpoon.

Charlie moved first. Her body became a silver blur as Spectral Charge activated. She intercepted the web mid-flight, slicing it apart with a rising sweep of her blade. Without pausing, she pivoted and drove her armored fist into the spider's face. The impact rang out, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the nearest pillar.

Luke broke from cover, moving between the columns with fast, practiced steps. Knives left his hands in quick succession, aimed for the soft joints.

The spider hissed, recoiling for half a second—then it sprang. From floor to ceiling, then wall to floor, it moved with a violence that defied gravity.

Charlie took the brunt of the first hit. Her body slammed through a stone bench, breaking it into rubble.

Luke cursed under his breath. The creature's speed and raw force put it on par with the Orc Captain from before—maybe worse.

The air thickened as the spider gathered pressure in its abdomen. Sticky orbs sprayed outward like mortar fire, splattering across walls, floor, and columns. One landed near Luke, bursting on impact. The floor disappeared under a slick mess of glue-like resin.

He dove behind a pillar just as the ground shook beneath him. The stone cracked from the force of the spider's landing, dust billowing up in choking waves.

Luke's muscles tensed. He wasn't the same fighter he'd been weeks ago. Neither was Charlie. They could win this. They had to.

Shadow enveloped him as he triggered Basic Dark Dash. His body blurred forward—silent, fast—closing the distance between them. A flash of silver shot past his peripheral vision; a line of web sliced through the air, narrowly missing him. He twisted mid-movement, reappearing above the spider's face, kukris drawn and ready to strike.

But the spider didn't retreat. It surged upward, meeting him head-on with a brutal, bone-cracking charge. The collision drove him into a nearby column hard enough to fracture the stone.

Before he could recover, Charlie dropped in from above. Her blade came down in a clean arc, severing one of the spider's legs at the joint. A chunk of obsidian carapace hit the floor with a dull thud.

The spider retaliated immediately. Another web strand fired point-blank, pinning Charlie to the ground.

It coiled back, legs tightening, then lunged again.

Luke barely rolled aside as the column behind him exploded into rubble.

The spider didn't stop moving. It scuttled sideways along the wall at impossible speed, spraying webs across the chamber, forcing them into smaller and smaller pockets of space.

Luke responded with a hail of throwing knives, each blade aimed with calculated precision. They struck the armored carapace and ricocheted back, clattering uselessly across the stone floor.

Charlie wasn't finished. Spectral Charge flared again as she surged forward, driving a diagonal slash toward the creature's side. The spider twisted, dodging by inches—but that had been the intention all along.

Luke appeared at its blind spot, momentum carrying him onto its back. His blades stabbed down, targeting the vulnerable leg joints—

—but the spider twisted in a way that shouldn't have been possible. Its legs bent backward at unnatural angles. The head rotated a full circle, mandibles snapping.

Suddenly, Luke was no longer above it. He was underneath.

Shit.

The legs crashed down around him, slamming into the stone like spears. From the space between them, web fluid burst outward, forming a dome of sticky resin designed to trap him where he stood.

Luke reacted on instinct. He hurled both kukris into the nearest leg for leverage and vaulted sideways, escaping the cocoon's edge by less than a second. Behind him, the web sealed shut with an audible snap, leaving behind a fully enclosed pod of silk and stone.

The spider screeched and spun again, targeting him for the next strike.

Luke hit the ground beside Charlie. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. That was all they needed.

Together, they charged.

At the last moment, they split apart.

The spider tried to track both. It failed.

Charlie's blade severed two of its legs in one clean, sweeping motion.

The creature collapsed with a shriek, smashing itself against the nearest wall in a desperate, staggering lunge.

Breathless, bruised, and bloodied, Luke and Charlie stood over the ruined body.

Together, they'd brought it down.

Aracna slammed its fangs into the ground, releasing a screech that sounded disturbingly close to a curse. Its body recoiled, legs tensing, and then fired—a web orb the size of a shield exploded from its mouth, detonating mid-air.

Sticky strands scattered like shrapnel, coating the entire hall in a dense, suffocating mess.

Luke was caught mid-step. So was Charlie.

The web hit like cement. His limbs locked instantly. Arms refused to lift. Legs rooted to the floor. Panic surged as he pulled, but the threads only tightened.

Charlie fought harder, hacking at the strands with furious strikes. But the web wasn't just sticky—it was layered, reinforced, a trap designed to hold something far stronger than them.

The spider curled in on itself, coiling every muscle. Then it launched.

The impact crushed the air from Luke's lungs. He flew backward, hit the stone floor hard, and skidded across fractured tiles until his body slammed to a stop against a broken pillar.

Dizzy. Ears ringing. A hollow pressure bloomed in his chest where ribs should be.

He forced himself upright, vision swimming—and saw her.

Charlie was pinned beneath the monster's massive frame, her armored body straining against its weight. Metal creaked under the pressure. Her arms trembled, locked in place. The thing was crushing her.

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Luke clenched his jaw and flicked his hand, summoning—nothing. His kukris didn't return. Trapped somewhere in the web.

"Damn it..." The word left as a growl more than anything.

No time to think. He sprinted, ducking under one of the spider's raised legs as it shifted to adjust its grip. Its shadow swallowed him whole.

Fingers flying, he yanked open the system interface mid-run, heart hammering. Inventory. Weapons. Kukris. Select.

A flash of light—blades materialized in his hands.

"Round two," he muttered.

Beneath the spider, Charlie shifted. Both hands gripped her sword as she drove it straight into the creature's underbelly. A sharp crack split the air as the blade punched through carapace. The spider shrieked, jerking back.

Luke didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, activating Dark Dash mid-stride. Shadows engulfed him, carrying him in a blink to the creature's flank.

The spider spun faster than anything that big should've been able to move. Its abdomen flexed, and another web blast fired toward him.

Luke vanished sideways, slipping out of the blast radius just before the sticky mass painted the floor where he'd stood.

The spider stumbled, two of its legs dragging limply behind. Panic set in. It fired webs wildly, spraying in every direction, desperate to regain control.

Luke answered with steel. His kukris left his hands in a sharp throw—splitting mid-flight into four. Each blade struck deep into joints and gaps between armor. The spider's shriek pitched higher, full of static and pain.

Charlie didn't stop. She advanced like a wrecking ball, her Spectral Charge flaring with each step as she skipped between patches of webbing. She leapt, spinning mid-air as her blade arced upward.

The spider fired again—desperate—but Charlie didn't flinch. Whirlwind Strike activated mid-spin. Her sword tore through the webbing like paper, clearing her path mid-flight.

Luke blinked to her side in a flicker of shadow. His kukris flashed once. A leg severed. Another followed.

The spider buckled, staggering on half its limbs. Then, with a screech that sounded less like rage and more like fear, it lunged straight at Luke, mandibles gaping wide enough to snap his torso in half.

Charlie dropped from above. Her fist swung back—then drove forward in a clean, brutal punch directly into the spider's skull. The sound of fracturing chitin echoed through the hall.

Luke rolled aside, landed on one knee, and drove both blades deep into the creature's flank, sawing straight through a knot of muscle and sinew. The spider flailed, shrieking as another leg spasmed forward, punching through Luke's side.

Pain exploded, a white-hot shock that nearly stole his vision. But he didn't back down. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the embedded leg with both hands, planted a kukri against the joint, and sawed until the limb tore free in a spray of dark ichor.

Charlie didn't slow. She flung her sword upward, caught it mid-fall, spun the grip into her palm, and drove the blade straight down—burying it to the hilt through the spider's skull. The creature convulsed once, then went still.

A chime echoed in his mind.

[Princess Charlie has slain Aracna, Guardian of Artemis – Lvl 20]

*Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 15! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

**[Princess Charlie has reached Level 6 – Skeleton (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

[You have unlocked a new Class Skill]

[An item has been added to your Inventory]

Luke staggered back, panting, chest rising and falling as he scanned the ruined hall. The beast was dead.

Silence settled—thick, heavy—broken only by the slow drip of webbing and the distant crumble of fractured stone.

That had been... brutal. But something gnawed at him. It hadn't felt as impossible as the Orc Captain. Not even close.

"Is it because we've grown stronger…?" he muttered under his breath. "Or maybe... that orc had a high-tier class?"

Fingers still trembling, he pulled open the system window.

[New Class Skill Unlocked!]

Five choices appeared in front of him. Only one.

He scanned the list, eyes narrowing.

[Ricochet Dagger (Uncommon)]: The assassin throws a dagger that, upon striking a target, ricochets to a nearby enemy, dealing reduced damage. Ideal for handling two opponents quickly and with precision.

Luke let out a slow breath. "Not bad... but no way it beats Blood Regeneration."

He scrolled further. His thumb paused mid-air. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth—small, quiet.

Now that... that's more like it.

[Bloodshot (Rare)]: The assassin fires a bullet formed from condensed blood, launched at high velocity. This skill consumes both HP and mana, sacrificing vitality for a brutal, ranged attack that's fast, vicious—and highly unpredictable.

His eyes widened. "Bloodshot...?"

Immediately, calculations started spinning in his head. A ranged ability—finally. Something lethal from a distance. He'd needed this. For a long time.

But the cost...

"It drains health... That's risky," he muttered, scanning the fine print for numbers. None. Not a single clue how deep the cut went.

"A double-edged blade. And, of course, the System won't tell me how deep it bites."

Luke hovered, hesitated, then flicked to the next.

[Extended Blade (Uncommon)]: By channeling mana, the assassin generates an energy blade that extends over their daggers, temporarily increasing their length to that of a sword. Ideal for direct strikes and extended reach during intense combat.

His expression flattened. "My kukris are curved and short for a reason. Turning them into swords? That's not my rhythm."

Didn't match his tempo. Not his style.

Next.

Then he paused.

[Knifeweb (Rare)]: The assassin throws a blade that unravels mid-flight into threads of mana, forming a magic web. The trap ensnares enemies for a few seconds, halting movement and leaving them wide open to a finishing blow.

His gaze drifted, unbidden, toward the mangled corpse of the spider behind him. "Of course... this one shows up because of that fight."

The System didn't do coincidences. It responded to patterns. Context. Stimulus.

But still... he tapped his thumb against his thigh, weighing it. "Would this even work on something that size? Maybe a kobold. Tops. Not worth the gamble."

Useful, sure. But not enough.

Then he saw the last one.

[Demonic Blade Dance (Rare)]: A dual-blade combat style in which you gain proficiency in fast, devastating attacks. Your movements become more agile, and your strikes hit harder, causing continuous bleeding damage to enemies. The skill also enhances your defensive capabilities, allowing you to block and evade more effectively during combat.

(Secondary Effect: Dancing Mimic): When the skill's secondary effect is activated, your speed increases, and a dark afterimage forms—a dancing mimic made of pure darkness that follows your every move, mirroring the intensity and fluidity of your attacks.

Luke stared. His eyes traced every line of the description, twice, then a third time.

"...A fighting style?"

This wasn't just a skill. It was a system. A framework. A methodology of movement. Of pressure. Of lethal efficiency.

His gaze flicked back to the line about bleed damage. "That syncs perfectly with Blood Regeneration..."

But that wasn't the real hook. The real hook was the secondary effect.

A phantom. A visual echo with every step. Not just functional. Not just damage. Style. Presence. Fear.

"A dancing mimic made of pure darkness..." he whispered, voice barely audible. "It's like leaving a shadow behind with every move."

This wasn't just an upgrade. It was a leap.

Luke drew a slow breath and stared at the two finalists on his screen.

Bloodshot—a weapon for ranged lethality.

Demonic Blade Dance—a refinement of everything he already was.

A weapon... or mastery.

But the decision was already made. He didn't need to reach further. He needed to sharpen what was already in his hands.

[You have acquired the Class Skill: Demonic Blade Dance]

The interface vanished. Luke exhaled slowly.

Power wasn't enough. Not here. Not anymore. He needed something more precise. More permanent. And now... he had it.

The moment the skill locked in, something detonated inside his mind. Not sound—sensation. A surge of impressions burst through him, flooding every sense like a dam breaking.

Hundreds of images—stances, breathing patterns, pivots, grips. Footwork etched directly into muscle memory. Blade paths drawn not on paper, but into his nervous system.

An entire library of motion, compressed and crammed into his head like a violent download.

A figure appeared in the dark behind his eyes—a masked shape moving through candlelight, spinning, stepping, slashing. Blades sliced arcs of silver through the air, each motion seamless, fluid, lethal.

For a heartbeat, it was almost beautiful.

Then the pain hit. A spike behind the eyes. Sharp. Sudden. Blinding. His vision whited out—then snapped back.

Luke staggered a step, panting. His hands were still gripping his kukris... but they didn't feel the same anymore.

He didn't feel the same.

It wasn't just power anymore. It was clarity. And, mixed with it, an echo of shame—sharp and unwelcome.

Shame for how he'd been fighting until now. How sloppy. How... loud.

"I was just flailing," he muttered. "A brawler with sharp toys."

Now, though... now he knew the difference. The line between someone who used blades—and someone who became them.

Luke drew a breath and moved.

One step forward.

A twist of the hip.

A low slash carved through empty air.

His body turned with it, smooth as breath. The next strike flowed seamlessly from the last. A pivot.

Kukris reversed in his hands. Another slash—this one higher. A drop of the shoulder. A sweeping cut. A slide-step to reset spacing.

No thinking. No second-guessing. His body already knew the rhythm. The distance. The weight of each strike.

Every muscle cooperated. Every breath landed exactly on time. Each motion balanced between artistry and threat—a choreography designed to kill.

The whisper of steel slicing air sang louder than any battle cry.

It wasn't a fight. It was a performance.

He wasn't attacking. He was dancing.

Luke spun, blades tracing a clean, perfect arc, and came to a sudden stop. The kukris settled in his grip with a solid, final click of metal against calloused palms.

He stood there, chest rising and falling, staring into the quiet wreckage around him.

"So... this is what it means to be a blade."

A dull ache tugged at his knee—a leftover injury from earlier. The reminder pulled him back to the present, forcing a wince.

Right. He still had one more thing to check.

"Almost forgot..." His eyes flicked open. "I got an item."

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