Slash. Stab. Duck. Roll. Rise while stabbing. Change grip to icepick. Wide slash.

Zilo moved on autopilot.

'It's better to trust your instincts when you're on a battlefield. Especially if you've been trained.'

Another piece of advice from his now dead dad.

He hadn't been sad when his dad died. At that point, it hadn't even hit him.

He just sat there, numb to the world.

It took him three months to find out what had once been obvious actions to him no longer had any meaning.

Even when he yelled, "I'm back!" to the now empty home, there wouldn't be a reply anymore.

Even when he cooked for two, he would be the only one who ate.

Even if he laid a pair of futons, his would be the only one messed up.

Each one of these everyday actions - such actions we think are normal - took a toll on his mental state.

It was then he decided to follow his father's footsteps.

"There will be walls you need to overcome in the future. Remember: you are strong. You are talented. And it's not because of you being a genius. It's because..."

'... I never give up.'

He smiled unconsciously at the words his father had told him mere hours before he had passed.

'You're right, dad.'

Even when Zilo looked on at the never-ending horde in front of him, his excitement wasn't damped in the least.

'I have never given up, and never will.'

'Because...'

"It runs in our blood."

His father hadn't given up. Even when he had felt the last of his life force ebb away, all he said was, "I won't be done in that easily. I was the one of the only fifteen to survive out of five hundred - you think some old injuries could do me in?"

And although he died mere two minutes later, his dad's smile would definitely live on forever.

"Haah!"

He gave out a wide slash, yelling out loud to put in more energy.

No matter how hard his training was, no matter his level increased, he had limited stamina.

After all, this leveling up only increased your maximum stamina and health; it didn't replenish any that had already been lost.

'No. I will never give up.'

He unsheathed his sword, shifting it to his weaker hand. Well, although he thought it was the weaker hand, he was nearly just as proficient with both hands.

He was one of those called 'Ambidextrous', although he wasn't yet there perfectly.

'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.'

In this world, where Dungeon Diving was something no one would bat an eye at, there was nothing more obvious.

'Each and every monster can kill me. So, each one of them should make me stronger.'

'And yet... my strength isn't increasing.'

'That means... relying just on killing monsters to grow is not the way to go.'

Although it was a common truth to the others, he was someone who had challenged the very worldview.

'I learnt combat, and so increased my base strength... so maybe I should go ahead and train more while I'm at it.'

It was a crazy idea, sure. Zilo himself knew it. Yet, that didn't mean he wouldn't do it.

'My situation right now is crazy in and of itself.'

And he slashed. And slashed. And stabbed.

He didn't feel comfortable first. He had used many weapons, but he had never used two different ones at the same time.

Although he could use two knives and get on with it, his knives had shattered earlier while fighting Jofts. Their skin was quite thick, so weapons shattering was quite common.

Since he hadn't Updated yet, he wasn't able to make use of his increased Stamina and Health. The only downside of getting a Vilia, but there was nothing he could do now.

'No making excuses. That's nothing but a waste of brain cells.'

Especially in a situation such as his.

He felt his last bit of stamina leave his body as he hunched over, unable to lift his arms. His palm was burning due to the unceasing use of weapons; the rub of metal on his hand, for so long, had already punctured his skin.

His knees were about to give out; crouching for so long had brought them to their limits. He was heaving heavily, his lungs greedily devouring every last bit of Oxygen they could reach.

'Is this the end...?'

He gripped his fingers around the hilts, pulling his arms up. He leaned down into a crouch, slowly regulating his breathing.

'What ending? I'll never accept an end I hadn't made!'

'I'll never give up!'

His eyes grew steely, the previous exhaustion in them nowhere to be seen. His back grew straighter, and he sank into his stance.

'After all, I am the son of the Battle God Mistlaer!'

He sprang forward, his sword slashing out. the monsters, who had closed in on him to take advantage of his brief exhaustion, were all cleared out with one swipe. Of course, most of his newfound strength had ebbed away with that one strike.

His legs, that had nearly lost all of their strength, couldn't bring him to stop in time; he stumbled, and twisting his body just in time, barely avoided the knife aimed at his heart. unfortunately, he couldn't avoid it completely - it lodged itself between his ribcage, right into his right lung. He stabbed at the monster, but that did nothing to alleviate his pain.

"Fuck this shit."

He slashed his sword all around him haphazardly, trying to make some space. Some time, good ol' swinging is better than using flashy sword techniques for making space.

"Aargh!"

Suddenly, two little cat monsters sprang up out of the blue, biting both his arms and slowing his movements. Yet, the pain seemed to clear his fumbling mind. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to say thank you. They wouldn't understand, anyways.

He was bleeding badly, now, yet he didn't do anything about it. After all, it was kinda hard to find time to bandage yourself when surrounded by hundreds of bloodthirsty monsters who wanted to eat you as fast as possible.

Yet, his movements had definitely slowed. Soon enough, two heavy wolves had jumped him, pinning his arms.

'Is this the end...?'

He smiled to himself.

'No way.'

He twisted his wrist and stabbed the wolf on his right with his knife, freeing the hand and brought it down on the neck of the one on his left.

He then kicked out, pushing an airborne monster back into the mob. Their mob worked against them; the whole side fell like dominoes, and taking advantage of the brief respite, he jumped on them.

Two hours passed, and now, Zilo was barely even moving. Yet, there wasn't much more for him to do. He had nearly wiped out the whole Monster Tide by himself. He was bleeding all over; his every move was sluggish, and he still hadn't stopped.

For the monsters weren't wiped out.

There were still slightly over a dozen monsters left. None of them even dared to approach him before, but looking at his sluggish moves, all of them rushed him.

Zilo moved on pure instinct, slashing his sword diagonally. He slashed his dagger parallel to it but in the opposite direction slightly above the original slash, taking apart seven of the monsters. The other six, though, landed on his back, toppling him over.

Yet, his instincts had completely taken over; he didn't even freeze, turning during his fall, letting three of the monsters take the brunt of the force, dissolving them into Dungeon Dust. The other three tore away pieces of flesh before managing to dodge in time, but they had fallen prey to his blades.

Finally, he let go of his weapons, the sword on the verge of shattering, the knife already shattered the moment he dropped it - that was his second one in the battle - and he fell over, his blood everywhere on the battlefield, mixed with that of the monsters.

The whole floor had turned into an almost literal Sea of Blood, leaving very few 'Islands' of the original stone floor.

And Zilo closed his eyes, just a moment after hearing an explosion.