The evening had settled into a tranquil hush, the sixth floor bathed in silver moonlight and soft shadows. The last rays of sunlight had long vanished behind the gentle hills, leaving behind a sky ablaze with stars. They blanketed the heavens in such vivid clarity it made Noah wonder if this dungeon floor had plucked its sky from another realm entirely.

Noah knelt beside his small campfire, the flames flickering with golden warmth, casting long shadows over the grass and surrounding stones. The soft crackle of firewood mixed with the chirping of strange crickets and the occasional splash of fish from the lake. It was the perfect setting for an indulgent evening.

He had gathered a collection of wild ingredients throughout the day—some sweet goldenroot bulbs with honey-like juice, a few ruby-hued mushrooms that released a fragrant, savory aroma when sliced, and thin stalks of green mana-garlic that shimmered faintly when peeled. From the nearby spring, he'd retrieved a fish with scales that sparkled like tiny gems, its meat known for its rich taste and mild magical enhancement properties.

With practiced ease, he skewered the fish and slow-roasted it over the fire, basting it with juice from the bulbs, crushed herbs, and a dash of salt he'd picked up in an earlier level. The scent was mouthwatering—rich, earthy, and tinged with sweetness.

Beside him, a wine bottle floated out of his item box—a rare vintage from the Skyvine region, tucked away long ago for a worthy moment. Tonight felt like one.

He poured a small cup of the deep crimson liquid, watching it catch the firelight like molten rubies. As the fish cooked to perfection, its skin crisping and crackling, he leaned back and took a slow sip.

Smooth. Slightly sweet with a lingering warmth. Perfect.

By the time the fish was ready, his stomach had long since begun growling. He plated it with a few grilled mushrooms and mana-garlic curls, garnishing it with fragrant purple leaves that added a minty finish.

Noah sat cross-legged beside the fire, the egg resting nearby like a loyal companion, as he ate under the stars.

Each bite was a reward, far beyond sustenance—it was a reminder that even in the heart of a deadly dungeon, life still offered beauty. Comfort. Taste. Peace.

He drank deeply from his wine cup, feeling the tension of the past days begin to melt away. The warmth of the fire, the fullness of his belly, the silence of the floor… it all should have lulled him to sleep.

But it didn't.

Despite the perfection of the moment, a restlessness stirred in his chest.

He gazed up at the sky, the constellations swirling with silent mystery, and exhaled.

"I should be tired," he said aloud, glancing at the egg. It pulsed faintly in the firelight. "But I'm not."

He stood, stretching his limbs. His body, though relaxed, still yearned for motion. Energy buzzed beneath his skin—perhaps from the wine, or the feast, or the floor's subtle mana. Or maybe it was just who he was.

Noah didn't rest because he had to. He rested so he could push further.

With Nemesis slung across his back and his coat fluttering in the breeze, he took off into the moonlit fields, beginning a steady jog. The wind whispered through the tall grass as he ran, his feet silent on the earth.

The air was cool, crisp, and smelled of wildflowers. Fireflies followed him, drifting around like faint spirits.

He jogged around the lake twice, then broke into a full sprint toward the far tree line, heart pounding, lungs pulling in the night air in great, refreshing gulps. Sweat formed at his brow once again, and he relished the burn. He wasn't escaping sleep—he was chasing the calm that came after effort.

Finding a flat clearing at the edge of the woods, Noah came to a halt, took a long breath, and unsheathed Nemesis.

It gleamed under the moon, like a fang of polished midnight.

Then, he moved.

The night echoed with the sharp whispers of steel as he danced through his forms—swift slashes, elegant spins, precise footwork. It wasn't just training now; it was art. A silent performance for the stars.

He moved like a blur in the moonlight, his blade carving invisible patterns in the air, feet gliding across the grass with practiced precision. His muscles sang with each motion, honed from battle, hardened by purpose.

He incorporated kicks, palm strikes, short dagger feints, and even evasive rolls into the routine—flowing between disciplines he had learned and refined over countless battles.

He fought an invisible enemy that never tired.

By the time an hour passed, his breaths came ragged and his shirt clung to his back, soaked through. Yet he smiled—calm now, his inner fire quieted. His thoughts had been burning too fast since the fifth floor. Now, they were focused. Clear.

In the moonlit silence, Noah returned to his camp.

He cleaned himself with water from the spring, dried off, and changed into a fresh tunic. He took a seat beside the egg once more, placing a palm gently on it. It pulsed steadily, as if waiting for him to return.

"You're still not ready," he murmured with a faint smirk.

He poured himself a final half-cup of wine, leaned back against his pack, and let his body finally relax—truly relax.

The stars above sparkled in silence. The breeze shifted the fire's embers. Somewhere in the distance, a soft bell-like chime echoed across the lake—perhaps a creature singing in its sleep.

Noah closed his eyes, the warmth of the fire, the stars above, and the egg's gentle pulse beside him guiding him into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

The soft chirping of morning creatures and the warmth of the rising sun stirred Noah from his slumber. Eyes still closed, he stretched, muscles flexing beneath his shirt, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of Nemesis—a habit too deeply ingrained to break.

But there was no danger.

Only the soothing scent of wildflowers, the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze, and the faint bubbling of the nearby spring. Slowly, Noah opened his eyes.